Ghosts of Manhattan Read Online Free PDF Page B

naked.
    They make their way over in a practiced, slow, sexy way and start rubbing their hands over me. My ears are simultaneously nibbled and it’s clear this is a routine they have performed many times. I’m still grasping for my bearings, and I look around theroom. It seems both a place for a friend to crash and a place to store random man memorabilia. It has the required furniture of king bed, matching nightstands, desk, a couple chairs, and bookshelves. This is layered over with autographed footballs and baseballs, picture frames attempting to make meaningful some torn ticket stubs to Super Bowls and World Series games, jerseys and posters on the wall—pathetic for a forty-five-year-old. On the top on one bookshelf are a Jets and a Giants football helmet.
    I reach my hands around and grab each of their asses. I need to know if this is real and I can really do this. I can’t believe how firm and warm they are. I can fit a round butt cheek in each hand. I get a good handle and raise them up and down a bit.
    â€œThat’s it, baby,” in one ear, and the other ear gets nipped by the brunette’s teeth.
    I have no idea how this is supposed to go. Do we start having sex or are we supposed to discuss it and choreograph some of this up front? I think with three of us there’s a lot more to figure out. I keep palming butt cheeks until I can think a few steps ahead. I’m not even sure I want to have sex with them. Maybe we can just do other stuff. I’d always said I’d never pay for sex, but maybe that wasn’t a moral issue, it was just something cool to say. Besides, I’m not paying for this.
    â€œYou want to lie down, Nick?” It feels weird to have a stranger say my name. A naked stranger. She’s a professional service provider who seems to know I’ll find it erotic to hear her say my name.
    â€œNot yet.” I squeeze a few times like I’m pumping the ball of a gas line. My hands are sweating a little and I can’t get over how good their asses feel.
    We keep standing, rubbing and squeezing. I’m at the edge of the high-dive platform without the resolve to take the next step. I’m surprised at my own indecision.
    â€œI have an idea.” I’m taking back control. I release their butts, walk to the bookshelf, and pick up the Giants and Jets helmets. They’re regulation and heavy. “You play for the Giants.” I hand this one to the brunette, and the blonde becomes a Jet. Even when I tighten the chin straps for them, there is still room to wobble the helmets around their heads when I shake the face guard.
    I take a step back and smile at the enhanced sexiness. Bright feminine eyes peering out from the face masks, with long hair flowing out the back, and slender shoulders barely wider than the helmet leading down athletic little bodies to four-inch heels, their only other equipment. “Okay, let’s run some tackling drills. Line up.” I line them up across from each other in the three-point stance of an NFL lineman. I insist on their keeping the heels on, which they manage to do though it forces their butts higher and tips their weight over their hands on the floor.
    I’ve never heard of anything as ridiculous as what I’m doing right now. “All right, ladies. On three. Hut . . . hut . . . hike!”
    The girls fall forward with almost no force at all but bump helmets before twisting around each other. They’re led around by the heavy helmets and look like two naked babies learning to walk and getting tangled up. There’s lots of giggling, also by me.
    â€œNicely done.” I give them a hand up and a pat on the bottom. They give me a pat on the bottom back, then repeatedly pat each other’s bottoms, chasing around in a circle.
    â€œWhat’s next, Coach Nick?” The whole thing is getting sort of playful and fun. They’re actually pretty nice girls, I