Y2K Compliant

New York City
12/31/99, 11:20 p.m.

I move easily through the Times Square crowd. They were expecting two million people here, and I think the count may exceed that number. I hear every language under the sun as I pass, and I pause for a moment when a word or two of Russian catches my ear. I hear it so seldom these days that I have to stop and listen, but this conversation isn't worth it. I used to converse in Russian about science, the arts, other things of substance. These two are arguing about where the toilets are.

Time is short, but I don't think I have to hurry. She should be easy to spot, even in this crowd. I know what I want, and I know that somewhere in this throng must be what I'm looking for. I squeeze past a group of giggly teenage girls, and my gaze falls on the sign on the store in front of me; the Virgin Megastore. Virgins. If there are any over about age sixteen in this crowd, there won't be by the time dawn breaks. Not if the gropes I got from the teenagers are any indication.

I make my way down Broadway another half block, and there she is. Two million people here, and suddenly she's the only one I see. It's obvious that she's different from everyone else here. No stupid millennial tchotchkes for her. No glittery "2000" glasses. No hats, no balloons, no noisemakers, no shiny multicolored wig. She looks much classier than everyone else. I'd hoped that my companion for the evening would be dressed as if for the Rainbow Room, and it looks like she lives up to expectations. She's wearing a black velvet wrap, and when she turns a bit, I see that she's wearing a column of blue velvet. Strapless blue velvet. Is there such a thing as a strapless Wonderbra? If there is, she's wearing one under there. Her breasts are magnificent. They can only be moreso au natural.

I move up behind her, where she doesn't see me. Her bearing is different, too. Everyone else around here is babbling about how exciting this is, how great New York is, how much they already drank, where they can get another beer, where they're going after this. She seems detached from all this, almost bored. She's waiting for something more, as am I.

"I know what Y2K really stands for," I murmur into her ear, and she turns sharply. Oh, yes, she's magnificent in all respects. I want her desperately, but I must be careful. She eyes me, but says nothing.

"It really stands for 'your two knockers.' You've got a great set there." Crude, I know, but sometimes the unexpected works wonders.

She arches an eyebrow and looks me over. Icy, just like I wanted. I know how to melt the icy ones.

"From your attire, I expected a classier pickup line," she sneers.

Seems the tux is good for a first impression, at least. I shrug. "Yeah, well, my mother always said she could dress me up, but she couldn't take me anywhere." I let my gaze take her in again. Truly beautiful. "I'm surprised you have any experience with pickup lines," I tell her. "You look like the type who snaps her fingers and expects the perfect swain to appear."

She looks me over again, then turns. "I didn't snap my fingers, and you're hardly perfect."

I grasp her elbow and pull her closer. "I may not be perfect, Princess, but I'm damn good, as you're about to find out."

She yanks her arm, but I hold fast. "And how am I going to find that out?"

I bend close, inhaling her perfume. The night isn't too cold, but it is damp, and her hair is curling around her ears. Somehow I manage to resist the impulse to suck on her earlobe. "Know what the best pickup I ever saw was? It wasn't a line, it was a hand. She knew how to use it, and she was wearing this nail polish that had to be called Fuck Me Red." I let go of her arm and let mine snake around her waist. She lets me. "That lipstick you're wearing is the exact same shade. It is called Fuck Me Red, isn't it?"

She sighs softly. "What do you want from me?"

Ah, the opening I need. "I just want to tell you that I know what you'll be doing when the clock strikes midnight."

She turns, curious. "Oh? What will I be doing?"

I look her right in the eye. "Fucking me."

Her Fuck Me Red mouth forms a perfect "o," and my cock twitches at the thought of those velvet lips wrapped around it. "Why would I do that?" she asks.

"Because, Princess." I feel my lip curl in a half-smile. "I may not be perfect, but I am damn good. And I want you."

She smiles demurely and turns away again, but says nothing.

It wouldn't be long now. I enfold her in my arms and press her against me. She sighs, and I know she feels my growing erection. "My hardware is also fully Y2K compliant. Guaranteed not to fail at midnight."

She swallows hard, and her voice catches in her throat. "That's good to know."

"How about you? Is your software Y2K compliant?"

I don't even need her nod to know it is. I know she's wet under that blue velvet dress.

"Yes," she sighs. "Yes, I'm compliant."

I turn her around again and kiss her. "Then comply and come with me."

She stands at my bedroom window, looking out at the crowd. "Perfect view of the ball drop from here," she says.

I come up behind her, dropping little kisses on her shoulders. "I could've sublet this place for the weekend for upwards of a hundred grand if I wanted to. Damn tourists are crazy. They're everywhere, and they'll pay anything."

She sighs and relaxes against me. "I did hear a lot of languages out there..."

"Mmm-hmm. That crowd is all tourists. They've been here all week. The city started closing streets two days ago, all because of the damn tourists."

"How do you know I'm not one of those damn tourists?"

I laugh softly and ease down the zipper of her dress. "I know you are. Real New Yorkers don't go out there."

She turns and kisses me, driving her tongue into my mouth. "Then what were you doing out there?" she asks breathlessly when she draws back.

Okay, I'm only a part-time New Yorker, but at least I know how things work around here. "Looking for you."

My jacket and tie are gone, and her perfect nails are working at the buttons on my shirt. "How did you know I'd be there?"

Unzipped, her dress can't stay up on its own, and she lets it fall to the carpet. She is wearing a strapless bra, but it's in the way. I ease it off her and bend my mouth to her glorious breasts.

She moans softly and sags against me, and I feel her hands working at my zipper. "How did you know?" she asks again.

Oh, she knows what to do with her hands, too. I must have her now, right now. There's not much time left until midnight, but I don't know if I can last even that long. "Fate," I gasp. "Destiny. You were meant to be here with me tonight."

She pushes me away from her and sheds the rest of her clothing, posing before the open curtains in all her magnificence. "Then let's get it on," she says. "Time for that Y2K compliance test."

She's swift and expert. At six minutes to midnight, she has me naked on my bed, teasing my cock with her hands. I ache to feel her mouth around it, but she makes no move to do that. It's enough, though. Enough to make me explode before I wanted to, before fulfilling my millennial destiny. "This..." I gasp. "... isn't what I... had in... mind..."

"That's right, I'm supposed to be fucking you at midnight," she purrs. She looks composed, but I can see that her efforts have an effect on her, too. She's flushed, breathing hard. She's ready. "Hardware checks out," she says, moving to straddle me.

"Then let's see..." Oh, God, I'm going to come already. Just feeling her wetness on my thighs... "... let's see how... the hardware works... with... the software," I manage to finish.

"Mmmyes," she sighs, positioning my cock at her entrance. "Destiny..." She sinks down, enveloping me in that sweet wetness, gripping me with strong internal muscles. I groan as she starts moving gently. "Works perfectly together," she sighs.

My eyes stray to the window, to the countdown clock. Four minutes to midnight. I can do this. I know I can.

She seems to know exactly what I want. She doesn't move much; just enough to maintain the proper amount of friction. She knows I want to wait... but it won't be long anyway. I've been playing this scene in my mind all day; but it's better than I ever imagined. She feels so good, so right. I want to spend the next millennium exactly like this.

Two and a half minutes. I reach up to her breasts, then let my hands skim down her body until I find her clit. Her motion is designed to get her off too, but I have to help a little. She growls softly and starts moving more, faster as I tease her, and I can feel her getting wetter. She pushes herself into my hand.

One minute. The ball lights up and starts to drop.

She moves faster still and cries out, each spasm of her orgasm caressing my cock, pushing me closer to the edge. She maintains her rhythm, squeezing with each stroke now.

Thirty seconds. I feel it coming, feel the climax coiling up from my balls. Any second, any second...

The sound comes up from the crowd down in the street. The amorphous cheering turns into discernable words. She chants along with them.

"TEN!"

She holds her position and squeezes, harder.

"NINE!"

She moves again, in time with the chant.

"EIGHT!"

She leans down and flicks my nipple with her tongue.

"SEVEN!"

I realize that the undercurrent I hear is my own moaning. I grip her hips, then the sheets, then the slats in the headboard.

"SIX!"

"Almost time," she whispers. "I can feel you. You feel sooooo good..."

"FIVE!"

I'm going to come now, I can feel it, she's going to squeeze it out of me...

"FOUR!"

She draws up, almost off me, then quickly back down.

"THREE!"

She squeezes again and I feel it coming; I'm going to explode any second...

"TWO!"

"Come for me, baby," she purrs. "Right now."

"ONE!"

And I do come, strong and hard. The most pleasurable sensations I've ever known explode in my lower body, fireworks go off behind my eyes, fireworks go off outside my window, and I don't know if that sound is the crowd or me as I empty myself inside her.

I awake to sunshine streaming through the still-open curtains, and her soft lips playing over my chest. "Good morning, Alex," she says. "Happy New Year."

I kiss her deeply. "Happy New Year to you too, Dana."

She leans her chin on my chest and looks up at me. "So... last night.

What'd you think?"

"Better than I ever dreamed. You?"

She laughed. "Okay, I admit it. You were right. It wasn't nearly as tacky as I thought it would be."

I so seldom hear from her lips that I'm right, so I can't help but tease her a little. "Those silly Mylar wigs weren't tacky?"

"Everybody else was tacky," she corrects herself. "Our bit was... perfect."

"Even got the timing right." I kiss her again. "Thanks for that. It was amazing."

She's drawing little circles on my chest with her fingernail. She knows I love it when she does that. "You know what they say?"

"What?"

She looks up into my eyes. "That whoever you're with at midnight on New Year's Eve is who you're going to spend the next year with."

"I sure hope so," I tell her. "Does it work the same with millennia?"

She smiles. "Guess we're going to have to wait another 366 days to find out."

"Math geek." I ruffle her hair. "So, in the meantime... I seem to recall you betting that this trip would be tacky. You just said it wasn't."

"Yeah, so?"

"So... pay up."

Now she gives me one of those full, radiant smiles of hers. "With pleasure." And her lips, devoid of the Fuck Me Red lipstick but still perfect, wrap expertly around my cock.

Yeah, the style's a bit different, but this little confection fits into the "You Better You Bet" universe. It's not the proper followup to that story that I wanted to do, but I hope it's enjoyable anyway :-)