A/N: I make no apologies I’m in a weird mood grrrrrrrrrrr......
Chapter 71: Patty VIII—The Land of Nuts and Fruits—Cheap Perfume
The woman beside him smelled strongly of the alcohol that saturates the brand names of eau de parfums. It was hardly a pleasant scent. It wasn’t so much a scent as it was a sensation. A pungent sensation that stabbed up one’s nostrils and dug into one’s brain and stayed there, it was an assault. If one inhaled it deeply enough, say by burying one’s face into the dampened flesh of the wearer, the sensation slashed the brain and made the eyes water but at least that way one could faintly detect the delicate tracings of the scent that the perfume advertised it to be. It was the scent of prostitutes, this scent. And it was a scent that never failed to turn Patrick on.
Michele used to wear those scents, when she was younger. She never touched them now, having discovered that paying an extra hundred an ounce made her acceptable amongst the class of woman she loved to prowl in. All the women belonging to his teammates never wore such cheap scents anymore. They were whore’s scents.
Patrick hadn’t thought about how a woman used to smell until he had entered this throng of prostitutes and was overwhelmed in the concoction of aromas they were doused in. It had immediately transported him back a decade, two decades, when he had prowled the streets after dark with his teammates, sniffing out like a wolf pack all the young, over-willing puck bunnies, or those cheap, decaying whores that at that age seemed like experienced goddesses. He had been immediately aroused.
It hadn’t been hard to get Joe out of the picture, once he had seen that woman who looked like Debbie, Patrick knew it would be easy. And Joe had left and they were free.
"What’s your name, honey," the woman had said to him, brushing a lock of tightly curled, bleached hair behind her ear. Her cheeks were shiny, red and round. Patrick had liked that immediately, her round, soft face, which tapered down into a slender neck and soft shoulders.
"Don’t matter," Patrick said, sliding his arm around her soft waist where he could feel no sharp bones poking through. "Come on, I have a friend you can help out, he’s been going through an unfortunate problem, a problem I’m sure you specialize in."
"Really?" the woman said with a laugh in her voice. It was a laugh that every escort seemed to have. It was a reflexive laugh almost, Patrick thought. These women learned fast how to cope with things so as not to bother their customers and spoil their illusions and fantasies, so they giggled and laughed to hide whatever they were feeling.
Her perfume began to dig into his senses right about then as they walked down the long hallway to the hotel room, and Patrick half closed his eyes. It was such an ugly scent he loved it. "What’s your name cherie," he said.
"Oooh, I love French," the woman giggled.
"I bet you do," Patrick said. "What’s your name?"
"Melinda," she said. "Or whatever you please. And what about you? Shall I call you Pierre?"
Patrick laughed. "Non," he said. "Patrick will be fine."
"Patrick?" Melinda laughed, "That’s a silly name for a Frenchman."
Instantly, Patrick was annoyed. "And what do you know you ignorant whore?" he said pleasantly in French.
"Oooh," Melinda giggled again, Patrick had guessed correctly that she hadn’t understood a word he said. "Say something else, please!"
Patrick ran his hand down from her waist and over her plump bottom and turned her around to face him, looking into her brilliant blue eyes which he was sure were color contacts. He lifted her chin with a finger. "S’il vous plait," he said. "Say please."
"Please," she said with a smile showing slightly dingy teeth.
"Non," Patrick said. "S’il vous plait."
Melinda kept her smile but she caught on. "Oooh," she said. "Seee Voo Play."
"Brilliant," Patrick said in French. "You’re only part an ignorant whore now. Congratulations."
There was another giggle. "What did that mean?" she asked.
"I said, ‘You’re as beautiful as an apple cheeked girl.’" Patrick replied.
"Oh," Melinda said quietly, her smile was gone for an instant. "I don’t think I deserve a compliment like that."
"Of course you do," Patrick said. He was beginning to get bored, she had showed a flash of her own emotions, and she had showed him some of her personality, a lack of self-esteem. There wasn’t any fun in that.
"So who is this friend?" Melinda asked with her false giggle returned.
She leaned against the wall, crossing one arm over her stomach and with her free hand she brushed her hair out of her face again. Her wrists were milky and delicate before they led to the roundness of her plump forearms. Patrick grabbed her hand, smoothing her flimsy golden bracelet up her arm until it stopped. He lifted her wrist up and pressed his lips against the soft skin, the perfume had been spotted there. Melinda giggled again, "Shouldn’t we go into the room," she said.
"We could," he murmured and then he gripped her wrist briefly in his teeth. Melinda gasped. "Oh, that’s a little scary honey."
Patrick looked her directly in her eyes; he could see a flash of confused fear there. "Are you new at this?" he asked. "Girls see worse than this in your position."
Melinda didn’t dredge up a new smile; instead she dropped her gaze. She was a fledgling at this, Patrick decided. This should be interesting.
Holding her tightly around her waist, Patrick pulled her forward against his body and kissed her. He could feel her mouth tighten a bit, and he held her a little tighter, moving his hand up her back and holding the back of her neck. Her curly hair tickled on his hand. He fluttered his finger against the skin of her neck and she hopped in surprise, loosening her mouth to laugh and her kissed her deeper. He could feel her relax and she rested her arms over his shoulders, she was feeling safe again, he supposed.
He broke the kiss from her mouth, enjoying the sound of her gasp for air and he brushed his lips over her throat. It tickled his mouth, the vibration of her giggle through the skin over her voice box. He leaned over her a bit pressing his cheek against her breast and sliding her loose skirt up her leg. He could feel how hot her skin was becoming as he ran his hand up the inside of her thigh, at that moment he decided that Foote didn’t deserve to have her.
"Oh God," she gasped. "In a room honey."
Patrick looked at her and grinned, not removing his hand, watching her close her eyes and sigh a little sigh. With a louder groan she dropped her head back against the wall and that’s when he stepped back from her. The almost confused, glazed disappointment in her face was priceless.
"He’s right inside," Patrick whispered as he opened the door to the room.
"Oh," she said quietly. "What happened there?" she then asked, noticing the scratches peeking from underneath his shirt.
"A bad cat," Patrick replied walking into the room. "Come on."
Melinda stood still for a moment, glancing down the hallway and toying with her hair again. That nervousness was on her face again. Patrick leaned forward and picked up her hand, kissing the back of it lightly. "He won’t bite you," he said. "But if you want to leave, I won’t stop you. You couldn’t ask for a better deal than that, no?"
Melinda smiled again, a weak smile. "Yeah," she said and then she slowly walked into the room. "It’s really dark in here."
"And he’s snoring," Patrick said. "Have a seat, make yourself comfortable."
Footer’s snoring was grating and deep, and Patrick frowned at him as he flicked on the lamp by the bed. "Adam!" he barked. "Adam! Wake up."
Footer moaned and coughed, but he didn’t open his eyes. When he breathed out again, Patrick could smell the beer on his breath. He had drunk himself to sleep. He would be useless now.
"Well," Patrick said, turning around to see Melinda sitting at the very edge of his bed, her hands gripping each other as if she were wringing the life from them. "He is not responding. Perhaps is your lucky day today, being paid for nothing."
Melinda bit her bottom lip briefly and sighed. "Yeah," she said. She was hugging herself in such a way that made Patrick tilt his head a bit and ask, "Are you still warm?"
Melinda shook her head. "I’m a little cold, actually."
"Would you like a drink," he asked.
Melinda blinked. "No, thank you. I haveta go I guess..."
Patrick moved in front of her as she stood up and she just as quickly sat back down. She took a deep breath, "You want me to stay?"
"Oui," he said. "Of course I do."
Patrick didn’t see her eyes as she whispered a reply and leaned forward, lifting his shirt, running her warm, soft palms up his ribs and kissing him with a soft, almost shy mouth. He closed his eyes and sighed. They were soft, quick kisses on his stomach and up to his chest as she rose to her feet, pushing his shirt up higher. He helped her take it off and as he did he kept thinking of what Michele had told him about Danny, such shy little kisses my love, like butterflies...
The thought suddenly angered him, that pup slipping into his bedroom, kissing his wife, thinking it was his own plan, and then she had let him go. Something had made her stop and let him go.
"Ow!" Melinda exclaimed as Patrick growled and roughly gripped her arm, taking her down onto the bed. Was she scared again? He couldn’t tell or he didn’t care as he pulled her blouse open, pushing her skirt back up. She wasn’t saying a thing, or making a noise, and he could see her eyes closed. She was holding her breath.
"Breathe," Patrick whispered. "Things are easier when you do."
Melinda opened her eyes, "I need to use protection, please."
Patrick smiled. "Of course. Of course," he said. "That would be stupid not to, eh?"
Melinda nodded and she slipped her hand into the front of her red bra, pulling out the condom package and tearing it open. "Here," she said, holding it to him.
"Don’t you know how?" Patrick said, more teasing than anything.
"I... don’t really," she said slowly. "I don’t do it that often."
Patrick grimaced and sniffed. "Well now is as good a time to learn as any, no?"
Where the hell did they find her? He thought as he sat back and with trembling hands she fumbled with his pants and with rolling on the condom. She was not going to last long in this business.
"You’re not going to tell me you’re a virgin now, are you?" he asked her, holding her face in his hands and looking straight into her eyes.
Melinda looked down, "No," she said. "I’m not... I’m just trying to get a hang of this."
Patrick kissed her again, and squeezed her thigh tightly, pulling her leg up around his waist and with some delight he watched her eyes shut and her face twist a bit as he pushed himself into her with full force. She wasn’t quite ready for him, was she?
"Oh my God!" she gasped, "Slow down!"
"Not on your life," he whispered.
She had enjoyed it, he had felt her body accept him the way they usually do in the end, but she didn’t say anything else to him. She had moaned and gasped in his ear, scratched some at his back, arched her body almost frantically under him. And when they were done and he had rolled away from her, she silently slid off the bed, fixing her clothes around her body and scurried from the room as if she had been a thief.
Patrick yawned and stretched, laughing silently to himself. When he rolled to his side to turn off the light he was met with Foote’s gaze, a wide-eyed almost frightened gaze. "Jesus Patty," he said. "I thought you were going to kill her for a minute there."
Patrick grinned. "Don’t start forgetting what it’s like my friend."
Adam shook his head. "I don’t think I’ve ever done it like that."