On the red leather couch facing the wall-mounted TV with his legs perched on the glass-top table before, Marke watched the city's team, the Picket Paladins, bulldoze through their opponents with the new quarterback.
The circular clock over the TV showed the time was 7:25 PM.
Any other day and he would've been off to work, but today was Sunday, and the only work he had to do came to him.
His black cat, Nuts, sat on the armrest, watching the football match with uncanny attention.
Turning to the door, the cat meowed lightly.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three knocks on the door called his attention.
She's here. He thought. His work had arrived.
Getting up from the couch, he grabbed the plain black t-shirt hanging from the massage table beside the couch, put it on, and hopped to the door, Nuts trailing him.
"Coming," he yelled, turning the key, then the doorknob, and pulling the door open.
"Good morning," Mrs. Olivarez greeted with a smile, laugh lines faintly visible under the makeup.
"Morning, Mrs. Oliveraz." He scanned her: an olive-toned woman with a straight nose, plump lips, and stark green eyes, hair tied in a bun, a white t-shirt with a few buttons on top unlatched and showing the fleshy valley of her D-cup breasts, and blue jeans wrapped snugly around her thick thighs and ample hips. "What can I do for you today?"
A CCTV camera turned towards the hallway blinked.
"I'm here for the rent," she said.
"Oh right!" Marke scratched his raised brows, pretending to be troubled. "Oh, I don't think I can make the deadline this month, Mrs. Olivarez." He pursed his lips. "How else can I repay you?"
Mrs. Olivarez held back a chuckle. "Stop the charade," she mouthed. "And let's go inside."
"Of course," he nodded, moving away from the door and letting her in, then closing it.
"Oh!" She swooned, crouching and picking up Nuts. "Hello to you too, little one."
"Woah," Marke watched her butt shift in those pants, a shelf jutting out with saddlebags.
She turned around, looked at her butt, then at Marke, Nut in her arms staring at him with a deadpan look.
"Like what you see?" She raised a brow.
"Have I ever not?" He asked, taking a few steps towards her, hips just an inch away from her butt, and their eyes locking.
He could smell her lip-gloss, strawberry.
Nuts silently made his exit with practiced ease from Mrs. Olivarez's arms.
Putting his palms on her hips, feeling a little fat—he didn't mind—he pulled her back towards him, her eyes blinking to attention and breaths ragged.
The softness of her doughy butt pressed against his erection.
"What were you here for again, Mrs. Olivarez?" He asked in a whisper.
"Oh," she smiled, pushing her hips back. "Just to pay my rent."
One perk of having a relationship with Mrs. Olivarez as intimate as he had was that he didn't have to pay rent, and her husband wouldn't look into it because all the rent of the tenants in this apartment building went into her bank account.
Reaching under, he grabbed a handful of her ass and began molding it. "Is that the only reason you are here?"
Mrs. Olivarez knew how to play along, and that was why she was one of his favorites. "No," she replied with a cheeky smile, "I've been a bad girl, papi." She whispered, minty breath rushing near into his nostrils.
Any other Sunday, he would have her on her knees and sucking him off already, but not today.
Today was special.
Reaching behind her to grab at his lightning rod, which would be too much stimulation for Marke to keep his rationality, he scooted back, taking a deep breath to calm his heart.
"We'll try something new today," he said, lifting her off her feet and princess-carrying her.
"While watching football?" She gave him a disgusted look. "That's lame."
"Not football," he said, holding back on making the comment that she was being judgemental.
Any other Sunday it wouldn't matter if she stormed off furious and grumbling, as she always came back, but not today.
The concoction of arousal and anticipation of her sultry presence and need to verify his sanity bludgeoned and amplified the sound of his heartbeat in his ears four times over.
"Massages?" She asked. "Since when did you start giving them out?"
"Just now," he said honestly.
"Gave up on trading?"
"Eh, it was always about luck more than skill anyway." He set her on the massage table and took a step back, admiring her thighs squished on the table and spilling out and stretching the pants to the brim.
"You must be quite lucky then," she said. "With that sleek car in the garage."
The thought of the Lamborghini made him smile. It hadn't been luck as much as insider trading, but he wouldn't say it. Letting others believe what they wished or something.
He set a palm on her thigh. "Lucky to have you on your knees every Sunday," he jested.
"Heh." Olivarez scoffed. "Corny."
The palm slid between her thighs, snaking upwards, grazing her core, her breath hitching for a moment.
It was damp and hot against his fingers. "How are you wet when I haven't done anything?" He traced a line with his middle finger on her between her lower lips.
She reached a hand, finally grabbing his rod through the black trousers he wore. "Why are you so hard when I haven't done anything?"
His arms circled her hips, grabbing her by the butt and lifting her, hip to hip and chest to chest, her nipples like diamonds rubbing against his pectorals. He leaned forward, and she followed, lips crashing into a few tender smooches and progressing into a feral frenzy, tongue invading each other's orifices, saliva swapped in a sloppy mess.
Then, Marke pulled back, watching her eyes dazed in arousal and pushing her hips against his.
She brought her lips down again, but he dodged away. "Why?" She asked.
"That was punishment for talking back," he said, setting her down again. "Now, take off your clothes; pull that towel to cover your essentials if need be."
Mrs. Olivarez sighed. "You're in a teasing mood today."
"Just trust me," he said, making his way to the curtain walls to pull the drapes.
The view of Bullswok, a galore of apartment complexes with brown exteriors stretching either side of the entire Francis Jr. and Francis Sr. streets, owned entirely by a real estate firm Mrs. Olivera's husband was a shareholder of, was a dreary sight.
When I return here a year later, he thought, will I also be amused?
He thought the sight was dreary because his entire life had been spent here. For those like Mrs. Olivarez who visited only to collect rent on Sundays, the symmetry and the structures being exact copies of each other must possess an aesthetic beauty of sorts.
That was the point he aspired to reach, where windfalls by seducing wives and getting information for them to trade weren't a necessity, and where he could carry himself with a dignity and respect reserved only for those who stood over the masses in Picket.
He pulled the drapes close, plunging the room into a dimness like that evening.
Closing his eyes, he called out:
System.
[Host: Marke Ean]
[Profession: Masseur (Lvl 1) Strength 3, Endurance: 4, Bone structure: 4, Dexterity: 4, Stamina: 4]
[Skills: Masseur (Lvl 1): You have years of experience massaging. Perk: The fingers of your left hand emit a cooling and calming energy, while the fingers of your right emit a scorching and arousing energy. Consumes stamina with each use]
[Profession points: 0 (can be earned by having your skills as a masseur recognized)]
[Skills Points: 0 (can be earned by massaging clients to completion or elation)]
He opened his eyes, watching Mrs. Olivarez lying supine, towels covering her breasts and a portion from her hip to her upper thigh, staring at him in the darkness.
Let's see if I've really gone mad. He thought. Or if I really have a system of like those in the novels.