Goth Girl

“Problem?”

She was looking directly at me when she spoke, and she looked pissed.

“With you or with me?”

Her jet-black eyebrows straightened when she made a face, looked to her left, then to her right.

“What?”

She asked like I was toying with her.

“I don’t know. You said “problem” and I asked you a question in return.”

Yeah, she was definitely rattled. It almost looked like wanted to stab me, but something was keeping her from doing so.

“Stop staring at me, jerk.”

“Sorry to deflate that overly inflated ego of yours, but I didn’t even notice you. I was reading the delay schedule behind you.”

The metal chains on her leather jacket rattled against the metal and glass as she spun to look behind her. The red lights of a digital read out were clearly telling us of an impending delay with today’s subway service.

Maybe I should back-up just a bit.

I was headed downtown via NYC’s famous subway system and at that time of the day, there is usually a less than normal number of riders. Today was not the exception. I found a seat facing the aisle and set my briefcase on the seat beside. The girl sitting a couple of seats over and across the way was what most would refer to as a Goth Girl. Overly dark make-up on her pale face. Black lipstick. Jet-black hair and leather everything else, including the mandatory Doc Martens.

There was no doubt that she was an attractive girl…to someone, just not me. Way too skinny, and way too many piercings and tattoos for my liking. It was obvious that she was going after the “Lisbeth” look from the movie, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and it seemed that she had hit the nail on the head. But I wasn’t about to judge her, simply because I didn’t care.

When she looked back toward me there was a surprised look on her face, but nowhere inside of her was there an apology for her accusing me of staring at her.

I smiled at her to show no ill will before lowering my head back down to my printed agenda briefing. Today would be the lightest workday of the week. My company likes to call it a convention. I like to call it a sale’s “boot camp” and “torture chamber”. While we were here wining and dining, corporate would hit us with upped quota’s, upped regions to cover, then drop the bomb that they had to drop our sales commissions to help keep the company afloat. Afloat? We are a publicly traded company. Anybody with eyes and half a fucking brain could see that we were doing well. But this was all part of the game. And I play it well. I know every possible expense loophole and tax break that will help me. And being in the top 2% of sales nationwide, I was never questioned about my expenses, not once.

The subway car brightened as lights came into view as we started to slow for the next stop. For the first time since I had looked away from “Lisbeth” I raised my head to look around. It wasn’t my stop. I actually had 3 more to go before I got off.

The Goth Girl was on her feet. Her chain dangling while waiting for the car to come to a complete stop and for the doors to slide open. She caught me trying to check out her skirt covered ass as she stepped onto the platform and shot me the finger. I couldn’t help but grin, and she couldn’t help but continue holding the finger up as she passed by the windows in front of me.

Now that I had zero need for concern, I stared out the window into the darkness of the tunnel, but the only thing that I saw was me. The sad reflection of a lonely man.

I tried to remember the good old days or at the very least some better days. Days when I was still married. Days when my kids still talked to me. Days when my daughter would send me a picture or a short video of my grandchild on a daily basis. But those days were long gone.

My eyes were drawn to something as the subway once again started to slow. On the seat where the Lady in Black had recently sat, was a cell phone. It was black, hard to believe, and when I picked it up, I could see that someone had painstakingly taken the time to paint a picture of an old tombstone on the case and painted on the slab of stone was the name Amy Boven. With D.O.B. May 13^th, 2000 and D.O.D. = UNKNOWN?

There was no possible way that this didn’t belong to the crazy finger bitch.

I don’t know why, but maybe it was because common sense had fucked off right out of my head, but I grabbed my stuff and darted between the doors of the subway, just as they started to close. Standing on a platform where I had never set foot before, I looked for an exit.

One of NYC’s finest cabbies was waiting curbside for his next fare. Unfortunately, he probably assumed that it would be further than the last stop. Imran, or so said his name plate, didn’t bat an eyelash when I told him. He just hit the meter and put the yellow beast into gear.

The odds of finding her would be slim at best, but other than time, I had nothing to lose. Scanning both sides of the street as we drove, I didn’t notice anyone that even resembled her. I tried to open the phone, but it required a security code. So, when Imran pulled up to the curb, I handed him some cash and got out of his taxi.

Had I been looking for a shawarma, a taco or some burgers, I would have been in luck, but there wasn’t an over abundance of leather clad girls.

I went down the stair to the rails, then back up the other side. Maybe she had stopped to report it as being lost. No luck.

45 minutes later she was still nowhere in sight, so I called it a day. I looked for my good friend Imran, but like Goth Girl, he was nowhere to be found. But some luck was on my side, because when I held out my arm, 1 of the 3000 taxis that were passing me, pulled over.

“Dream Downtown, please.” Not Imran, but perhaps a cousin.

The meter hadn’t even reached the $5 mark when I let out a small scream. My “needle in the haystack” was walking in the opposite direction that the car was headed. My driver scoffed, but pulled over, I tossed him a $10 and jumped out.

She was walking at what some might call a jogging speed. There was no way that I would or could catch up to her unless I ran, and I certainly didn’t feel like running.

“Amy.” I yelled it loud enough, but not a single person turned around. What the fuck was wrong with this city? “Amy, I found your phone.”

Really? She didn’t even flinch. I had come this far, why not a few more steps. It was either this or I toss the phone in the trash, or maybe throw it at her. What did I have to lose?

“Amy Boven.”

That was the one that did it. My black leather girl spun on her Doc Martens and looked directly at me. Her teased and hair-sprayed jet-black locks bounced only slightly as she made her way back toward me.

Nothing had changed in the past hour with her. She was still looking emaciated and no less a bitch than when she gave me the finger getting off the subway.

“Problem asshole?”

“What?” But it actually came out, “What the fuck?”.

“Do you have a problem?”

“Yeah, I got lots of problems, and now apparently you’re one of them.” The unforgiving crowd pushed us closer to the street and out of their way.

“Look, tell him to leave me alone. Or tell him that you couldn’t find me. I’m not a baby anymore. This is where I want to live. And if you bug me again, I’m going to kick you right in the nuts.”

She pointed to her combat boots to show me that she meant business.

“Who?” She gave me a look that made me feel stupid. “Who the fuck am I supposed to know that you would know?”

“My father.”

“How the fuck, would I know your father?”

“I saw you get on the train. You got on and looked for me. How much does he pay you? What’s your name?”

“Calm down, I…”

“You calm down. If you weren’t following me, how did you know my name?”

“It’s on your phone.”

“My what?”

“Jesus Christ, is everything a fucking question with you? You left your goddamned phone on the subway. I picked it up, but you were gone. I got off at the next stop, not my stop by the way, and 2 taxis later, I tracked you down to this exact point. And my name is Bob Miller. Happy?”

There was a very long pause before she answered, “What do you think?”.

“I think no. I bet not too fucking much in life makes you happy. So, I can’t help you.” I handed her one of my business cards. “If you want the phone back call my cell number. Shit. Call the business number. They will verify who I am and that I don’t even know your old man.”

I made 4 steps before she spoke.

“Where are you staying? And how am I supposed to call if you have my phone?”

“Honestly, that gets old really fucking fast. That’s at least 3 questions since I told you to stop asking me questions.”

For the first time since I sat across from her on the train, she smiled. It surprised me that she had all of her teeth.

“Wow. You swear a lot.” Another smile after she said it.

“It’s the company I keep, I can promise you that “fucking” much.”

We stood in silence for the longest time. Neither of us moving. Amy stepped back when I reached into the breast pocket of my suit. I pulled out her phone and handed it to her.

“Look, I feel like I’m starving, and you certainly “look” like you’re starving, so, where can we go to eat?”

After another long stare down, she asked.

“What makes you think that I would want to have lunch with you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess lots of 20-year-old’s that are struggling in a big city, turn down a free lunch.”

“We could go to The Perfect Pint on 45^th.”

“Now you want lunch?”

“I hadn’t planned on eating at all today. That was until you said that you were buying.”

“Maybe you should treat. I did find your phone after all.”

“Then it looks like we ain’t eatin.”

Anywhere else in the world we may have looked out of place, but not in NYC. Me in my 50’s, dressed in a good enough suit, her in her 20’s, dressed like she may murder the entire group of diners gathered in the restaurant, while they were eating their greasy Rueben sandwiches, and drinking their cold pints of beer.

For a twig of a person, she ate most of my appetizer, all of hers, ordered the biggest entrée that they had. Eat it. Then ordered dessert. Washed everything down with a third beer, then asked if it would be okay for her to order a mixed drink.

Amy really opened up about her life after the second beer, and by the time her lips touched the rim of her bourbon and Coke, she was an open book.

She had worked as a make-up artist off Broadway. Covid “fucked her in the ass”, just like everyone else in the city that relied on tourism. She lost her apartment and flopped wherever her friends would let her. Mother and Father had “old” money. Lived in Georgia and they wanted her to move back home. Clean-up and become a southern belle once again.

Me, I played it a little cooler. Only telling her what she asked in the form of a direct question. I answered honestly, but vaguely. But finally, she chose her questions more wisely.

“So, Bill, how many children do you have?”

“2. A boy and a girl. And it’s Bob.”

“Ages.”

“23 and 25.”

“Wow. Both are older than me. You see them lots?”

“Not really. They sided with their mother, when the courts sided with me.”

“Their loss.”

“No, it’s really not. I love them more then they can ever imagine.”

“What happened to your wife?”

“D-I-V-O-R-C-E.”

“Why? You seem charming enough for an old man.”

“Thanks. Seems that when I was a young man, I worked too fucking hard. She found what was missing in our relationship from friends.”

“Nasty. Man or woman?”

“Both actually.”

“Which does she prefer?”

“Same answer as before. She lives with them both. My ex best friend and his wife.”

“Nice. You from Utah?”

“No smart ass, Ohio.”

“Sorry about your luck.”

“Really? You’re from Georgia for Christ sakes.”

“Well, “F” you and the horse that you rode in on. I meant “sorry” about your wife.” There was a long pause in the conversation before my pale friend spoke again. “So, “Bill”. What do you do to get yourself laid in Ohio?”

“Probably the same thing that you do here in New York.”

“I highly doubt that. You don’t look like the kinda guy that would bang someone, so that you could sleep on their couch.”

“You’re correct, but I haven’t been in the position where I had to find out, have I?”

The silence returned, but it didn’t last. Amy put her lips to her glass and emptied the contents.

“Is there a swimming pool where you’re staying, or are we staying here for another drink?”

“I would imagine that there is a pool. But another drink sounds like fun too.”

She completely ignored the drink comment. Her mind was on the pool.

“Good, lets go find out if we can swim.”

“You got a suit hidden on you somewhere?”

Her grin turned devilish.

“I guess that you’ll have to wait and see.”

The doorman at the boutique hotel where I was staying gave me the eye when I showed up with Amy on my arm. I’m not sure why, but a nervous tick made me say “my daughter” when he looked us up and down. All would have been fine there, but my Goth Girl had to say, “yeah, you wish”. She laughed. I groaned. And the doorman gave us a, “whatever”, just for good measure.

One of the perks of being tops in your field is the pick of suites. Mine was one of the largest that came with an outdoor patio and hot tub. It looked a lot like a small pool, but it was a hot tub.

“Holy cow. What do you do for a living? How can you afford a room like this?”

“My company pays for it.”

“Wow, get me a job working with you.”

Dropping her backpack on my bed, Amy went exploring.

“Are you freaking kidding. You have your own pool?”

“It’s a hot tub.”

“Maybe where you come from, but here in the city, that’s a pool.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Can I go for a swim?”

“Wasn’t that the original fucking game plan?”

“It was. Why do you swear so much? Are you releasing pent up anger by spewing expletives?”

“Look who’s talking about releasing anger.”

“Yeah, but I’m smart enough not to swear.”

“You never swear?”

“Of course, I do, but normally only when having sex.”

“Oh yeah, what’s your favorite word?” Her black eyebrow cocked, and she showed me a sly smile.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Amy spun on her heels and made her way to the bathroom, disappearing behind closed doors.

I took the opportunity to pour us 2 glasses of Patron and waited. When the door finally opened, I was surprised. Amy wasn’t nearly as thin as I thought she might have been. Don’t get me wrong, she was tiny, with a few of her ribs showing, but not in a sickly way. Actually, if she washed the black shit out of her hair and removed some of the metal pieces from her body, she might have been a model.

Her skin was whiter than any that I could remember seeing, and it lacked any blemish or distinctive markings, other than the tattoos that had been added on as an accessory. Much of the make-up she had been wearing was washed off, leaving her face clean and fresh looking. Her leather covered breasts were not much more than an “A” cup, but combined with her hard little ass, they complimented and flattered her body.

“First leather bathing suit I’ve ever noticed.”

“It’s not a suit, but it comes in handy when I want to swim. It’s just a bitch to dry. I’m not very fond of hard leather chaffing all my soft spots.” Picking up the glass of tequila. “For me?”

“Yes. I can stay in here. You can take the suit off and have all the privacy you want.”

“What makes you think that I want any privacy? Maybe I get off having old men stare at me, and I just didn’t want you getting kicked out of your hotel. Plus, I caught you checking out my ass on the train, if you remember back that far.”

“Well, we both know the part about old men staring at you isn’t true. I thought you were going to stab me on the train.”

“Only because I thought that you worked for my father.”

We clinked our glasses to a “cheer’s”, and a “salute”. After a sip, Amy set hers back on the table and reached behind her back. The leather bra fell away from her body, exposing her small titties and the jewelry that poked through her nipples.

“Too small right?”

Any man that would say “yes” to that question is a complete idiot. They looked much better on her than a larger set would have.

“No. I think they’re absolutely per…”

I stopped dead in my tracks, Amy dropped her bottoms. A steel dumbbell sat perched at the top of her slit. She was completely shaved. A little bit of stubble, but no telltale hair. The shiny silver bar looked like a crown sitting on the top of her puffy lips and slit. There was no way to hide the fact that Amy had pierced nipples and a pierced clit.

“Shit…did that hurt much?”

“You’re kidding right?” I shook my head “no” and continued staring at her slit. “More than any of my other piercings or any of my tattoos, combined. But now…” she pulled her finger through the trench of her crotch, up and over her clit. I watched as a shiver raced over her body. “I love it.”

Her ass pranced over the carpeted floor toward the outdoor area. She swung her towel haphazardly over shoulder and looked back at me.

“You comin?”

“Yes.” One way or another, I was fairly sure that I was “comin”.

I peeled off my clothes, all but my underwear. Taking time to hang my suit in the closet and headed out to the hot tub.

“Hey, bring a bottle of shampoo or liquid soap.” This girl “was” going to get me tossed out of my hotel.

I handed her the small container from the accessory’s basket in the bathroom.

“Not too much.”

“Don’t be a spoil sport Bill.”

“It’s Bob, you little…”

“Yeah, whatever. Get in.”

Instantly bubbles started to form as she dropped a large stream of soap into the jets.

“No. No. No. Drop the hardware. You got to see my pussy. I get to see your dick. Even trade.”

Amy gave a dirty whistle as my semi hard cook popped out of my underwear. It wasn’t the biggest in the world, but it had served me well over the years.

“Nice cock Bill. For sure your wife’s a dyke.”

“Thanks…I quess.”

The water felt good swirling around my body. Leaning back, I took a sip of my tequila. By the time I looked back up, half a foot of bubbles was sitting on top of the water, and unfortunately, Amy’s cute little titties had disappeared from my view.

“Shit. This tequila is so good. How can you afford stuff like this?”

“It’s not bad, but there are plenty out there that are much better.”

“Now do you know? You ever been to Mexico?”

“Many times.”

“What’s your favorite place?”

“I have a few, but I love Huatulco.”

“Wanna take me next time you go?”

“We’ll see about that. Maybe you will want to go with the next private investigator that your father sends after you.”

“Bite me.”

“I’ve been thinking about how much I want to do exactly that. My only concern is chipping one of my teeth on all that metal.”

“Silly boy…you lick those spots.” Her mischievous smile melted my heart.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“No…you’ll have to show me.”

The bubbles continued to increase in volume. Until some of them poured over the edge of the tub. Amy didn’t seem to be at all concerned, and actually I wasn’t either.

“Cunt.”

“What.” That came out of the blue and I wasn’t sure if she was directing that at me.

“It’s my favorite sex word.”

“I see.”

“You know, like “lick my cunt” or “Oh you cunt, that feels so good”. Yeah, I like using cunt.”

“Good to know.”

It appeared that the tequila had kicked in. Amy was staring at me in a way that I hadn’t had a woman look at me in a long time. Then she made a move.

I assumed that she was on her knees as she made her way across the divide of water that was separating us. When she stopped, her face was only inches away from mine. So close that I could smell the scent of tequila on her. It was the first time that I had been this close to a girl with a nose and lip ring.