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I read the address scrawled across my palm one last time. Yeah, this is the place, but it looks more like a luxury hotel than a medical clinic. The outside is solid brownstone with sleek steel and glass accents. As I step through the automatic, frosted glass doors, I see that the inside is all marble and dark wood. An ornate woodwork desk is in the center of a spacious entryway, and a smiling woman in pastel pink scrubs sits behind it.
“Hi!” she chirps. “May I help you?”
“I umm… I have an appointment with Dr. Astrid. I’m Sparrow Winchester.”
“Ahh, Ms. Winchester! Yes, of course! Follow me. You’ll be in Dr. Astrid’s private waiting room until she’s done with her current patient.” She stands from behind the desk and leads me to a set of frosted double doors, where she slides a key card and motions me to go forward. I do so, and she steps right behind me, leading me down the long marble hallway to a spacious, carpeted room with a large couch and several leather chairs.
“Have a seat. Someone will be with you in a moment. May I offer you some sort of refreshment?”
“Oh, no. Thank you.”
I’m a bit nervous. This is unlike any medical center that I’ve been to before. Of course, I’ve only ever been to the ER and the health department, well, and my mother’s psychiatric facility, of course. We’ve never had the money for healthcare. But still, I can tell that these people are striving to make their patients feel like they’re at a resort. There’s soft lighting, classical music playing low in the background, and sleek furniture. Underneath the air of wealth and privilege, there’s the underlying, almost cloying smell of antiseptic. It’s really the only clue to what this building functions as. I must be lost in my own thoughts, because when I hear my name being called, I almost jump out of my seat. I jerk my head up to see a middle-aged woman with chestnut hair pulled elegantly away from her face. Her blue eyes seem kind, and she’s smiling at me.
“Sparrow?” she questions again. I nod and stand up rapidly.
“Uh, yeah. That’s me. Sparrow Winchester.” Again, she smiles.
“Sparrow, I’m Dr. Astrid. Follow me, and we’ll see if we can’t get you all sorted.” I follow her down another marble hallway to an open room with a medical table in the corner.
“There’s a gown in that wardrobe over there. I’d like you to remove your clothes and slip it on. I’ll be back in a moment.” With that, she slips from the room, and I glance around nervously.
Something tells me that this process is not going to be fun, but I need the money, and with any luck, in a few months, I can leave this all behind and be secure enough to pay my mom’s bills and provide for myself without breaking my neck to do so.
Three hours later, I’m leaving the medical center with a clean bill of health and a new prescription for birth control. I notice a sleek black car parked close to the entrance when I leave, but I don’t pay it much mind. Afterall, it fits in a hell of a lot better here than I do. I’m coming down the stairs leading to the parking lot when I hear “Sparrow!” being shouted. Immediately, my defenses go up. I’ve lived in NYC long enough to know that if you don’t fight, you die. But as I turn, I see that it’s Collin, and I ease up a little. I walk to his car and stand a few feet from him.
“Hi,” I greet lamely with a limp wave.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he replies with a smile.
“So, uhh… What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to pick you up. We have some shopping to do, remember?”
“The phone. Yeah, I remember.”
“Not just that. I’ve been invited to a New Year’s Eve party, and you’ll need an outfit.”
“A party? I don’t really party. Well, not anymore.”
“It’ll be fun. There will be people your age there.” That’s when it hits me harder than ever. He is older than me. Much older than me. And maybe that’ll be a problem. He seems to have a distaste for people “my age,” if the look on his face is anything to go by. But then why bother making this arrangement with me? I’m sure there are older sugar babies. Sugar women? Either way, I hope that it’s not an issue. If so, it’s going to be a long few months.
I watch as Sparrow searches the racks for something that suits her tastes. She seems lost in her own world, and I can’t help but admire her. She’s wearing jeans that are frayed at the bottom and an old Led Zeppelin t-shirt. Her pants hang low on her hips, and her shirt slips down one shoulder a bit. Looking around at the other women in the store, I realize how out of place poor Sparrow must feel. With their highlighted and stacked hair, designer bags, and fake, bleached smiles, they look at Sparrow in disgust. Like they are somehow better than her. I feel the anger boil lightly in my veins. No one is better than my Sparrow, least of all these pathetic housewives.
“Uhh, Collin…” Sparrow says, waving her hand at me, obviously having done this a few times before I noticed.
“Yes, sweetheart?” I reply, ignoring the other women as I stride over to Sparrow.
“I think I found some options. I was gonna go try them on, and well, I… I didn’t know if you wanted to come or not.” I smile. She really is a sweet girl.
“Of course. I’d love to, if you wouldn’t mind.” She shrugs and heads to the back of the store. I follow, stooping under the curtain as she holds it up. I can tell she’s nervous. I’m about to speak, when she beats me to it.
“It’s not you. Well, not entirely,” she says, crouching to untie her shoes. “Making me nervous, that is. It’s dressing rooms. I hate them. They make my skin crawl. I hate all the mirrors. And the curtains. And the fact that anybody could just stroll in. it’s all… quite frankly, it’s all bullshit,” she concludes, taking a deep breath.
“I see. Well, I’ll make sure no one comes in. I’ll block the curtain. How’s this?” I ask, stepping between her and the curtain. She gives me a shy smile.
“Thanks, now, just do the same with the mirror so I don’t have to see myself,” she says in a joking tone, though I can tell it’s no joke to her.
“I would never block such beauty,” I answer truthfully. She lets out an uneasy giggle before sliding her pants down her hips and stepping out of them. She leaves them on the floor and tosses her shirt onto the bench. And I’m shocked at the number of tattoos covering her skin. Under her breasts, a delicate fan of roses and a spiky purple flowers surround a triskele. Her thigh is covered by a large peacock feather, with the word “dream” woven in and a sparrow sits on each hip, while a tree of life is perched between her shoulder blades. I must be studying her for longer than acceptable, because she clears her throat just as I catch sight of the “Be brave” tattoo on the outside of her forearm. She has other words near her elbow, but I feel like I’ve stared longer than I should, so I look up to meet her eyes.
“I… my friend is a tattoo artist. He was apprenticing, and he needed practice. And now he needs to fill his portfolio. I let him eat free on Meatloaf Tuesdays, and he gives me ink.” She shrugs and rubs the back of her neck. “You hate them, don’t you?” she asks, not meeting my eyes. “Is this a deal breaker?” she questions.
“What?! No, of course not! May I…”
“You can look,” she says, moving her arms to her sides.
I step forward, taking her forearm into my hand. The words “But Darling, what if you fly?” are scrawled in elegant script on her delicate arm. I study her closely, making a circle around her, pausing as I catch the tiny moon behind her right ear. I also notice the large, raised scars on her arms, but the look in her eyes tells me not to question it. I give her a smile and gently kiss her cheek.
“They’re very nice. Your friend did a good job. Tell me, what are these flowers?” I stroke over the only colored ink on her body.
“Sheep’s Bit. They’re pretty big in Ireland. Before we came here, my mom let me press one in a book. I still have it. I like to look at it sometimes and remember home.”
“Well, that’s beautiful. I’m glad you have something left of there. Believe it or not, I know how it is to miss home.” She nods at my words, giving me a shy smile and looking down at her feet.
“Now, you have dresses to try on.”
After dinner at a nice Mexican place, Collin leads me to his place. It’s a loft on the 29th floor of one of the glass and steel buildings in Manhattan. I’m reminded how rich he actually is as we take his private elevator to the top floor. Of course, everything looks expensive, but surprisingly, it also looks homey. I can tell that he likes to be comfortable at home, and he’s added his own touches to the otherwise impersonal space.
“This place is just temporary. I’m looking for something I like better. I have a house in Texas that I love, but the work brings me here. Make yourself at home. I’m going to go change.” He walks toward what I assume is his bedroom, and I take a careful seat on his black leather sofa. The view from his window wall is amazing. I can see the twinkling lights of the city, and I remember that I do love New York. It’s as much home as Ireland. And while I wasn’t born here, I like being a New Yorker.
When Collin emerges, he’s in faded jeans and a white t-shirt. “That view’s great, ain’t it?” he chirps.
“Yeah, it’s beautiful.” He takes a seat next to me and studies me for a few seconds.
“What?” I ask. I’m not used to people looking at me so closely.
“You’re a beautiful girl, Sparrow.” He scoots closer as he cups my cheek. His hand is large and warm against me, and I soak in the feeling of having someone appreciate me. When he leans in to kiss me, I follow, and let his lips brush mine. When his tongue pushes against my lips, I open my mouth to let it in.
After making out with Sparrow for long enough to harden my cock and wet her panties, I pull away and ask, “Can Daddy make you feel good, Baby?” She nods dazedly before her eyes widen and she blushes.
“I’ve… I’ve never… you know,” she stutters, looking down. Oh, she’s a virgin. Something about that fills me with pride.
“That’s alright, baby girl. I can still make you feel good,” I say as I crouch down in front of her and reach for the button on her pants. She lifts her hips long enough for me to slide the jeans out of the way, but her hand immediately darts down, covering the black fabric of her panties.
“Nobody can like see in, right?” she questions, looking fearfully at the windows. I chuckle.
“No, love. It’s one-way glass. You’re safe here with me. Okay, I’m going to take good care of you.” She nods and moves her hands away, allowing me to remove her panties and toss them with her jeans.
I nip her thigh before spreading soft, warm, slow kisses up her thighs to her core. I bury my nose in her damp skin and flick her clit with my tongue. Her hips dart off of the sofa, and I smile. She’s easy to rile up. Holding her hips down with my hands, I dive in, knowing that I’m about to have her screaming my name.