BEYOND THE CONTRACT

"God, women are such a pain." Robin Borders snapped his cell phone shut and threw it on his night table. He untied his blue-striped silk tie and tossed it on the bed. In moments, his Italian-cut three-piece suit lay equally flung aside. Pulling open the bottom dresser drawer, he removed a fraying, college sweatshirt and a pair of faded blue jeans. After lacing up his well-worn sneakers and ruffling his groomed, thick black hair, he stared at his reflection in his full-length mirror. The transformation from the powerful chairman of a multinational corporation to a regular guy took less than five minutes. Grabbing his wallet, he removed his driver’s license, one charge card, and thirty-five dollars, placing them into an old, beaten-up wallet. He stuffed it into his back hip pocket, grabbed his cell phone, and exited his bedroom. Donking his jacket with the New York Rangers team’s logo, he checked the pocket for his car keys, then rode his private elevator down to the basement parking garage. He walked past his three expensive imports, unlocked the rusted, dark blue Camaro, and drove out of the upper rich side of Manhattan. Traffic was a beast. Snow had fallen all day. The roads were slippery and regular people were anxious to get home. Not Robin. He was heading away from his high-society nightmares to a dive bar on the corner of “dont know and dont care”. He needed to escape the relentless pursuits of superficial socialites and matchmaking mothers, especially the lingering ghost of his ex, Daiane, who had treated him like nothing more than a status symbol. Opening the heavy door of the bar, he stepped out of the mid-November chill into his alter-ego world. The place wasn’t special, just a nondescript drinking joint that was dark, hazy, and full of people wanting to get drunk. But he loved it. Here, masquerading under a completely regular personal, he wasn't Robin Borders, the billionaire tech and corporate magnate. He was just Robin. He sat on the stool next to his three drinking buddies. “Yo, low-lifes and scum-beings.” They waved their beers. “Barkeep, whatever they’re drinking I’ll have two of. I’m behind here and gotta get caught up.” He grabbed a handful of peanuts. “Thought you had a date tonight,” said Steve, married with three kids, who spent many nights hiding out in the bar spending his paycheck on beer and false conversations. “Women are nothing but a pain.” Robin tossed some money on the bar and took a heavy gulp of beer. He was deeply cynical, exhausted by the transactional nature of the elite women his mother kept pushing on him. “Bulletin,” recently divorced Linc shouted to the few patrons in the bar. “Robin’s broken up with his woman of the month.” A buxom waitress wiggled her way past and pressed her ample breasts up against Robin’s back. His groin sent him an automatic alert. “You promised I’d be your next girl,” said a pouty little voice. Robin turned on his bar stool, chest to chest with Trixie. His hands cupped her breasts out of sheer habit. “Beautiful. Full and very suckable.” The bartender cuffed Robin across the back of the head. “How many times do I gotta tell you? Don’t touch the staff.” Robin dropped his hands. Trixie wasn't a girl; she’d worked here too long and any genuine softness had been worn away years ago. He grabbed his two beers. “Come on guys, table over there. The game'll be starting soon and I gotta get drunk.” “Bad day at work?” Kevin asked, a drummer from a now-defunct rock and roll oldies band. Robin collapsed into his chair, the weight of a looming boardroom coup heavy on his shoulders. “Stinking day. Think I’ll get rich, buy the company, and fire my boss. He’s such an ass.” Steve °swallowed his beer. “Hey, could you get rich enough to fire my boss?” “I’ll get rich enough to fire everybody’s boss. Then we can all be boss,” Robin muttered, hiding the bitter irony that he was the boss, and his board of directors was currently plotting against him. “And fire ourselves.” Linc raised his bottle. “I’ll drink to that.” Steve clinked his bottle with Linc’s. By nine-thirty, Steve and Linc were singing old Beach Boy tunes, led by Kevin. Suddenly, Kevin’s eyes brightened. “I know. Place an ad.” Robin rubbed his face and gaped at Kevin. “What the f**k you talkin’ ’bout? Steve, you know?” Steve shrugged his shoulders. “Me and Steve don’t know what ya talkin’ ’bout.” Robin was about to ask Linc what was going on, but his cheek was practically pressed against crushed peanut shells and spilled beer. “Screw this! I gotta take a leak.” Robin made a beeline for the men’s room. When he exited the restroom, Trixie was waiting. She pulled him into the empty manager’s office. “He’s not in tonight.” Robin’s ice-blue eyes focused on her as she rolled her n*****s between her fingers. “f**k me, Robin.” Cupping her breasts, she offered them to him. “I can’t believe no woman has caught you yet. With that gorgeous thick black hair and those eyes. And what you're packing. How come you’re still free?” He didn’t answer. He didn't want a connection; he wanted distraction. His mouth latched onto a n****e and sucked. His tongue swirled and lapped at her, teasing her until she grew firmer. Trixie’s fingers found the zipper on his jeans, releasing him and coaxing him to full size with an experienced grip. He dropped her tight shorts to the floor, sliding his hand between her thighs, finding a wet recess. “You don’t need any foreplay. You are ready, woman.” He pulled a condom out of his wallet. Trixie opened the package, rolled it down the length of his shaft, and after a quick tickle of his balls, she turned and spread her legs against the desk. Slipping inside her, Robin felt the familiar physical pleasure begin to grow. But mentally, he felt entirely detached. He didn’t need a girlfriend. He didn’t want the emotional manipulation, the corporate social climbing, or the high-society expectations. He needed a woman who would fulfill his physical desires under a strict contractual agreement, but never clutter his life. Focusing entirely on the release, his pace grew frantic. Panting, he said, “Better c*m soon, Trixie. ’Cause I am about to.” Trixie’s hand rubbed her c**t. “Oh God, that feels so good. No, don’t come. I’m not ready.” With one last powerful thrust, Robin exploded inside her. His movements slowed. While Trixie furiously worked herself to her own climax, Robin hung his head against her shoulder and regained control of his breathing, feeling entirely empty. He slipped out of her, tossed the condom into the garbage, zipped up his jeans, and returned to his buddies. “What’d ya get lost?” Kevin asked. “Naw, was handling some business.” “Don’t tell us that.” Steve held his hands to his ears. “But I like what you said earlier, Kevin.” Robin sat down, his mind suddenly sharpening around a wild, desperate idea to fix his personal life. Kevin’s brow crinkled. “What did I say?” °°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°