Fireworks at Rick’s Cafe – Short Erotic Story (1)
How curious is life! Everything comes back one way or another. Is it Karma? A lesson? A circle that has not closed? When He gave me the lubricant for my birthday, I remembered an anecdote.
A long time ago I worked as a commercial. It was not my thing, but you had to pay the bills, surely you understand me. The employees threw a Christmas party in the office, the typical: canapés, drinks and an invisible friend. I was touched by a colleague who fell fatally. *Perfect* , *an early Kings gift to me* , I thought.
When he opened the package, he broke into a forced smile.
“In case your lip fails,” I said. They all laughed. “And in case you need to put your ass in again,” I added. No one laughed, though he conceded the blow with some dignity.
“I’m sure it will do me good,” he whispered.
At that moment, I realized that it had happened to me. It sounded very funny in my head, but cruel out loud. The thing about the labia had its point, it was not only the most successful commercial of the company, but also the most flirtatious; but the other was too low a blow. The head of the section had hung all the medals from a millionaire contract that he had managed and had to swallow it folded.
He kept going around while having a drink and pretending to listen to the accounting lady. Why was I so disliked? He was attractive, intelligent, charming, a cinephile like me… I was even tempted to be seduced, but I pretended to be interesting and it happened. It was that? Did it bother me that you hadn’t tried harder?
I slipped away to the copy room. I was smoking, with my elbows resting on the windowsill, absorbed in the city lights, when her voice brought me to reality:
“Did I hurt you in another life, Will Scarlett? Where did that bitter hatred of me come from?”
-I do not understand.
“It’s a scene from *Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves* .” If you were to tell me now “If I knew that our father loved you more”, I would kiss you.
Maybe it was the glasses, maybe the accumulated resentment, maybe that smug face gave so much: he lit my wick:
—Well, look, talking about cinema. You are like Rick in Casablanca: a pretentious and cocky asshole, a coward who has no courage to fight for what he wants.
“And you want a Victor Laszlo, Ilsa?” The firework exploded. We kiss angrily, biting our lips, ripping off our clothes, digging our fingers and nails into the flesh. She scooped me up, sat me on the copier, linked my legs to her hip, and sank inside me. We fuck like he wants to break me, like I want him to. Strong, hard, desperate. I came stifling a moan; he, shortly after, growling like an animal. I swear the room lit up. We looked into each other’s eyes for an endless moment. He opened his mouth to say something to me, but was silent. I also.
We never saw each other again. He said goodbye after arguing with the section chief. I guess he had dignity, despite everything.
If you read me, “Rick,” I tell you that I hope my gift had something to do with it; that I really admire Lazslo, but I want Blaine; and I hope everything goes well for you.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/hkti1k/sex_at_christmas_part_12
?