Dating : “Have you got time for one night?” — Trax

I don’t have time for a relationship, but Trax wants me to have time for one night.

“Come on, you’ve been off all week,” Bree said, dragging me out of the taxi. As my best friend, Bree was my one-woman pep rally.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I sighed, hoping she wouldn’t hold me to the promise to come to a college house party. I’d escorted her as far as the path leading up to the laughter, thumping music and clinking of glass bottles. All the normal sounds of a party in full swing and the last place I felt like hanging out.

“It’ll be mad, heaps of gorgeous guys — even you should find someone interesting.”

“You make me sound like a virgin.” Bree had no idea about my real life. I had more than enough interesting men, usually. It just seemed that all my babysitting clients had decided to get into relationships. Yes, my babysitting services were still required but lately it was their girlfriends who opened the door, handed over the children with dinner and bedtime instructions. It was the girlfriends who ended up with a night of fine dining, romance and mind-blowing sex.

Two weeks of celibacy and at the ripe old age of 20, I felt the world was passing me by.

“When was the last time you had a night out? Between work and study, you might as well apply for your v-card to be reinstated.” Bree’s death-grip on my hand didn’t give me a chance to escape.

“Or I could just go home.”

“Or, you can come inside, and give the guys a chance.”

Unlikely, although Bree wouldn’t understand. For the last year, I’d been romanced and fucked by the cream of the crop. Men with abs as impressive as their wallets, already successful and established in their careers. In their 30s or 40s, they were looking for their next ex-wives and I was their favorite babysitter. I’d lost the inclination to date boys in their 20s. I wanted men who knew how to treat a woman. Men who’d already been there and fucked that — who were now willing to share their expertise with me.

“No promises,” I sighed again, losing Bree within minutes of arriving.

“Excuse me!” I shouldered my way through the mosh pit of party goers, ignoring the bitchy looks from the women who saw me as competition. Hardly. A year into university and I’d already outgrown parties that hit every stereotypical low point of drunken assholes and women who still wanted them.

Not trusting the giant bowl of party juice being ladled into plastic cups for all female guests, I headed out to the backyard looking for an esky of bottled drinks.

“Here, let me get that for you.”

The mid-to-late-twenties male sounded as out of place as I felt. Tall, well built without being a gym junkie, his accent sounded private school and tone bored. Dressed to blend in with casual jeans and firm fitting white tee.

“Thank you.” I handed over my vodka cruiser.

“Trax,” he said, handing me the opened bottle.

“Okay?” A one-word statement answered no question.

“My name, it’s Trax.”

“As in you’ve met the needle a few times?” If so, the needle marks were hidden beneath intricate tattoos.

“Trax as in I dropped out of high school, parents sent me up north to their property and I spent the next two years moving around as a tracker.”

“Your accent?” His story didn’t match the plush vowels, but it did explain the lean muscles.

“Boarding schools. When I say I dropped out, I might have exaggerated.”

“As in?” I couldn’t believe we were having a real conversation that hadn’t bored me to tears.

“My parents say dropped out, my old principal would say expelled. My punishment was smashing out my studies by correspondence. Took longer but at least I got there in the end.”

“So, what’s a man like you doing at a kid’s party like this?”

Trax had escorted me to the far end of the backyard. As the motion sensors came alight, I caught the full impact of his dark navy or deep brown eyes. Whatever their color, they were nicely framed by manscaped eyebrows and went well with his light stubble and long shaggy fringe.

“The wayward son is now the favored. My parents want me to babysit my brother.”

“He needs babysitting?”

“Let’s just say, he got into trouble last weekend. A couple of weekends under my eye and then they should trust him again. What do you do?”

“I’m a real babysitter.” We found a sunlounge away from the barrels of drinks and noise. “Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye on your brother?”

“Do you think I could stop him if he wanted to find trouble?”

We laughed without the pressure of conversation. “What’s your story?” he asked, “What brings you to a party that is about an hour away from getting dirty.”

“Here with a friend.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Single.”

“So, does the single lady babysitter have a name?”

“Unless you’re looking to book me as a babysitter, you don’t need my name.”

“A woman of mystery?” he bantered, leaning back and enjoying our exchange.

“A woman who doesn’t take unnecessary risks. Why get invested in a person if you’re never going to see them again.”

“What if it could become more, permanent?” He reached over, placing the lightest touch on my knee. I wondered why I hadn’t flinched or moved away. I didn’t go to parties. I didn’t hook up with randoms.

I didn’t have flings.

“I don’t have time for relationships.”

“Have you got time for one night?”

Trax drove a beaten up sedan that with more dents and scratches than I had pairs of shoes. “Well — ” Now, he helped me into the passenger side, “What are things you’d love to do but can’t because you’re single?”

“Like restaurants or tennis?”

“Too late for tennis, and too early for dinner.”

“I used to like going tenpin bowling.”

I didn’t care that my short black bodycon dress was inappropriate for bending over and rolling a ball down wood panelling. Going crazy with Trax was much better than drinking back at the party.

“A game of champion bowling it is.”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.” Trax plugged the coordinates into his GPS, did a u-turn at the next set of traffic lights and headed back into town. “What’s your favorite cuisine?”

“I don’t know.” This guy was crazy good.

“Favorite meal?”

“Um, I’m not fussy.”

We set up next to a family with youngsters. Trax didn’t hesitate before offering to help arrange the bumpers so the parents could focus on their children.

Trax bowled strikes and spares while I joked about putting bumpers down for my turn just to stop gutter ball after gutter ball.

I liked the way he genuinely celebrated each pin I knocked over, and when I finally bowled a spare, he picked me up, spun me around as if I’d won the World Championship.

By the time we finished, I’d had my fill of popcorn, drunk my soda and laughed more than I had in months. I no longer felt flat and on the shelf.

Under Trax’ gaze and banter, I felt beautiful, desirable and very wanted by a man who didn’t even know my name.

“Strap on your seatbelt, because your night has only just begun,” he sang, plugging in more coordinates.

I was now underdressed for the expensive foreshore restaurants. Trax didn’t seem to notice, greeting the waitress by name and air kisses. After checking my food intolerances and preferences, he proceeded to order for both of us.

Our conversation never faltered or felt forced and Trax brushed away my offer to pay half.

“Nonsense, I promised you one night, how about a midnight stroll along the harbor.”

By the time we reached The Boardwalk, Trax’ arm was circled around my waist and the moonlight had never looked more romantic.

“Beautiful,” he said, pulling me to a halt at the edge of the sand.

“It is,” I agreed, looking out to the glistening waves gently lapping only metres away.

“Oh,” he moaned, turning to cup my cheeks and gently pressed his lips to mine. “You. Beautiful, you.”

I’d expected impatient or immature.

He kissed with the experience of a man twice his age. Opening me as he would pluck petals from a rose. Not pressing his advantage, but not backing away as I ground against him. Needing to feel the size of his erection before I committed to one night.

With a pained moan, Trax lead me around the point where paths converged. We took the one away from the water, finding a park bench in a little clearing.

Pulling my dress up, I straddled his hips. Craving the roughness of his jeans and bulge of his cock. He helped free my arms until my dress was just a band around my waist, breasts free and nipples puckered in the breeze.

“This seems unfair.” I playfully bit his lower lip before evening up our lack of clothing by removing his tee. “Oh,” I moaned, rubbing my naked breasts against his perfectly sculptured chest until his nipples were as hard as mine.

I wriggled until my legs were wrapped around his waist and his friction could bring me satisfaction in minutes. Actually, Trax didn’t have to do more than kiss me and rub my breasts occasionally.

He was my pawn.

I was his —

Holy shit!

Trax mouthed kisses as if gulping oxygen, thrusting his hips against me, doing his best to stay involved. I felt the thrill of his erection grow, imagining it screaming for mercy — trapped within his jeans.

Should I?

I slowed the kisses, needing to catch my breath before carefully undoing his zipper, extracting his smooth cock through the gap.

“Wait,” he said, helping me off while he discarded the jeans. “The last thing I want is you getting pinched in the zipper.”

“A gentleman.”

“Oh, lady, you have no idea.”

Fully erect and safely sheathed, Trax pulled him into his lap. His chest to my back, I struggled to position his cock against my clit or crack but it didn’t matter. His hands were kneading my breasts with the care of a baker. Finding pleasure in my pleasure, responding to my moans.

“Oh, Trax,” I cried, raising up and guiding him inch by inch until he was balls deep in my pussy, hands now encasing my nipples.

“Set the pace, baby, set the pace.”

I did. Raising up and jolting down until the nighttime sounds of crickets and frogs were drowned out by his cries. We didn’t have long. Anyone who heard him would either call the police or come and watch.

Closing my eyes, I gave into the rush of my clit being rubbed while my pussy was filled and Trax moaned sweet nothings.

“You feel like fucking peaches and cream.”

“Come for me. Gush over me.”

“Oh, fuck, I want to spread you over my bed and lick all your juices.”

“Come for me, I’m coming, come with me!”

Trax cried as the bench rocked under the weight of his thrusts. I held on for the ride, trusting that he wouldn’t stop until I joined him.

Gradually, his shudders slowed, and his cries stopped. I’d never heard a man so vocal — especially at the risk of getting caught.

Trax didn’t care.

He wanted the world to know what I had done to him.

Barely taking a breath, he pressed against my clit, rubbing with one hand while his head twisted under my arm until he could take a nipple in his mouth.

Explosions and lightning.

My orgasm shouldn’t have taken me by surprise, but it did. One moment I was still basking in the glow of Trax and then I was next. Screaming and convulsing. Almost bucking off his spent erection.

All the while trying to tell myself that this was just a fling.

Tomorrow, it would mean nothing.

By the time he dropped me back at the party, we’d talked about the world, the universe, everything, except —

“I do want to know.” He brushed my knuckles along his lips before opening my hand to softly stroke my palm.

“Know what?”

“Your name.”

“Why?”

“Does this feel like a one-night wonder to you?”

“I don’t know. What do they usually feel like?” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in a relationship — or even started one. Not really. The men I saw were looking for something permanent — just not with me.

“That the whole purpose of the night is to climb into bed and the whole purpose of daylight is to extract yourself and pretend it didn’t exist.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted?”

“I did.”

“What changed?”

“You. This. Us. I want to know your name. I want to have your real phone number. I want to call you and see whether we can have a tomorrow.”

“What if we can’t?”

“Then,” he sighed, placing my hand back in my lap, “Maybe I don’t want tonight. Right now, you’re the perfect woman in the world. We could be planning our future and in a couple of years, travelling the world or thinking about a family.”

“Trax, I’m only twenty — ”

“Shh.” He pressed a finger to my lips. “I get it. We’ve just met, and you’ve got a life waiting. But tell me you didn’t feel something tonight?”

I reached to the dashboard before handing over his phone.

“Yes?” he asked, handing it back, unlocked.

I typed in my real number, saving it under Lana.

Thanks for reading. I’m just a journalist student having fun babysitting my way through college. Single dads make the best clients but occasionally I need something more. Follow me to read more from my babysitter diaries.

Check out the rest of the stories in the March Madness Challenge

https://link..com/vodaqBRkieb

https://.com/babysitter-diaries/it-will-take-more-than-his-billions-to-impress-me-jacob-87e2827176c7