Buoyancy Pt. 01

The room was the definition of hot and cold. They might as well have had the furnace cooking on one end and the AC blasting on the other.

It was actually a big laughable game. The men almost universally had a little paunch, no matter how tall or buff they had been back in their heyday. The woman, well, they were all a little too done up. The fake tans were a little too sprayed on, a shade too dark. They wore a little too much makeup and stood comfortably on heels that were a little too high.

And the stone cold stares that they shot to their husbands when their eyes would invariably wander over to the far table lingered a little too long not to be noticed. Each married lady there would have their gaze fall on their husband's face just as his jaw would begin to slacken, just in time for his eyes to lightly glaze over, just as the light of imagination and lust flickered behind those eyes. And the flicker would extinguish just as quickly when the men would turn and see that they had been caught, that their surreptitious glances were anything but. They would look quickly away but not nearly quickly enough and the heat of their eyes would be replaced by the whoosh of cold air that followed the cold stare of women who sipped lightly at their drinks.

Kevin watched the dynamic play out maybe twenty times in the first 15 minutes that he sat there. This was a million times more entertaining than he'd thought it would be. But the one person who should by right be enjoying it most, wasn't enjoying it at all. She didn't even know any of it was happening.

Because she hadn't once looked up from the table since they'd entered the room and sat down and every pair of eyes fought to keep free of her.

Brooke looked like a trope. She looked like a setup on Candid Camera, or a gag from an old Charlie Chaplin silent film where the movie starlet walks out of a film and into real life. She was more than stunning. She was unbelievable. You got the feeling that no one could look that good in a room of people that looked so...middle America...without having planned to upstage everyone for the last 10 years. Her hair was styled, sure, with her little blonde curls like a cloud of gold on her head. Her makeup was light, her blush was especially artful. And the dress was...the dress might at first seem extravagant. But if anyone actually looked at the cut of the dress itself and not the whole package, it really wasn't. It really was just a red dress. It's just that this particular normal red dress had probably never looked better worn by any other woman on the planet. The blood red of it was making blood boil all around them but it wasn't anymore daring or revealing than anything any of the other women were wearing. She just filled it out with her phenomenal figure the way the dress was meant to be filled.

No, Brooke hadn't tried to upstage these women and steal the show. Truth was, she was so terrified of even coming to this 15 year reunion that she only threw herself together this afternoon.

That probably wouldn't get her any faster into the good graces of the women with their cold stares and watered down drinks.

Kevin held her hand on the table and could feel her trembling. "Your missing a treat, babe. This here is...social dynamics at its best. I hope for your sake that these bitches left their knives at home," he said with a chuckle under his breath.

Her worried eyes looked quickly up at him before casting down again. "Wha...whaddya mean?"

She wasn't fishing for a complement like so many other hollow women. She really...really didn't know.

"I don't know how far up your ass your head must be to not already know this...but you are a solid iron clad '10' and I can see only one gal in this room that might break a 7. You know how they say don't fuck your siblings? The mouthbreathers in this room are the reason why. This room is a cautionary tale for fucking inbreeding," he muttered. "You grew up with these people?"

At that she snorted. "Can we just go? I don't need you to say that...make me feel better. We came. Now I just wanna go..."

Kevin's eyes narrowed. "Fuck you, we're not going anywhere! I want to see who's the first hero who'll make the move."

"What move?" she asked.

He smiled. "Man up, walk over here and try to start up a convo without me catching him staring at your tits." His eyes scanned the room. "I honestly don't think any of the James Bonds in this room could walk and chew gum at the same time let alone pull that off. I'd be impressed if they kept from motorboating you the moment their face got within range of your chest."

Finally, she smiled, blushing. "You're fucking sick...Trust me, they don't even know I'm here. I can almost hear them talking about other things. Except for the ones talking shit about me."

Kevin squeezed her hand, hard and long enough for her to catch his eyes. "Baby, you left them speechless. They're too busy trying not to stare."

Brooke rolled her eyes at him. Her beautiful blue eyes stared dejectedly at his.

***

Have eskort bursa you ever had a moment when you were talking to a girl that you'd give your right nut to nail and its just seeming way too easy? Kevin was having that moment. He was never the smoothest talker in his younger days and by thirty, the amount of notches on his belt remained stubbornly short of double digits. But now at 34, with his online retail store finally, 10 years in, moving stock at scale, he at least had some money in his pocket. He could comfortably spend a shitload of money on a date if he saw light at the end of the tunnel and coupled with the fact that he had some boyishness to him and a joke or two when the need arose, the extra dough often paid off in surprising ways: he'd gotten more head in the last year than he had in the five years previous.

It was into this status quo that his compadre Miguel introduced him to Brooke at a party to celebrate Miguel's promotion at Salesforce.

Holy fuck, she's hot...was all he kept saying in his head every couple of minutes. His dick was at full mast just standing next to her...and he'd jacked off this morning. He had no idea what he was saying to her. It was like his dick was communicating to her for him by way of his brain.

For her part, Brooke was nervous as hell. God only knows why but he didn't even notice at first. He was too busy sucking up every curve of her body like his eyes had straws. He wanted to mount her in the worst way. Thoughts of those tits covered in oil wrapped round his lubed up dick trickled though his mind every moment that he stared down into the solid black darkness of her cleavage, the bottomless chasm in the V of her top.

Her dirty blonde hair was conservatively styled and her lipstick and makeup were a touch heavy, like she didn't want to seem lazy. Again, things that only occurred to Kevin in retrospect - the fact that she was trying hard to look pretty.

Damned unnecessary. Because between that black fitted V-neck top that made it clear that she was packing a mind-boggling pair of tits, those skin-tight jeans and the boots, Brooke was a walking wet dream: a 50's pinup model transported into the future. Those magical, gravity defying tits would jiggle every time she laughed - suspended in a bra that was definitely getting a failing grade on the cup size scale (closer to E than to DD). She was the hottest thing that he'd ever been in contact with, let alone spoken to for more than ten seconds. He cornered her the moment she stepped in the door and Miguel introduced them. And he spent the rest of the night ignoring everything else and standing between her and the eyes of every other guy that looked over in their direction. As is usually the case with these things, luck was on his side too. He had picked a stool for her near the bar and the washroom. If he wasn't pouring another drink down her throat, he was busy giving guys dirty looks until she got back from the can.

Brooke was, of all things, a photographer (her precise description was 'A fucking fabulous photographer'). She gave him her card and her job title below her name was actually 'F*cking fabulous photog'. He actually rolled his eyes and laughed out loud at the sight of it. Never mind that she should spend all her time on the other side of the camera - she actually had an incredible eye. She got out her phone and showed him her portfolio and it frankly blew him away. Her day job was framing product shots for online stores, but her real passion was work at weddings and some contract work with Marie Claire. He didn't know much about the industry himself but he knew that he wouldn't have thought twice about seeing her black and white stuff in a gallery. It was top-notch.

She laughed at all his jokes: her big bright smile shining, the lone dimple and those blue eyes each time blew his mind to pieces. He had crossed her past the point where he couldn't tell if she was laughing because he was funny or because she was drunk and she seemed to cross the line happily, eagerly almost. His hand lingered on her waist to steady her now and again and at one point, the heat from her body through the sweater was like a furnace. Her perfume was sweet and summery. He felt light-headed from the aroma of her and feeling light-headed herself, she leaned into him resting her head against his chest.

"You're really warm," she said over the din of the music.

"Don't go fucking passing out on me," he warned half-jokingly. "I didn't bring you that bottle of water for nothing."

Her eyes opened looking up at him and went wide, as if she were trying to comprehend him. And then, the realization seemed to dawn and she smiled