It was just a normal Friday night. I had finished a particularly tricky piece of software ahead of the deadline and now I was looking forward to a nice, lazy, relaxing Bank Holiday weekend. The friends I normally hang out with down the pub had gone off for an 'away' darts match so I sat at the bar, over in the corner, drinking my favourite tipple - vodka, Campari and soda - and just watching the people around me, not really paying much attention to anything in particular.
"Where's the rest of your motley crew? Deserted you?" I hadn't even noticed the barstool next to me becoming occupied. Looking up I saw the pretty face of another of the pub's regulars, but she was usually in a group of four girls. All of them have apartments in the same building as mine.
"Yeah - darts away match over at the Red Lion. I wasn't sure if I could make it so they took Johnny instead. Where are the rest of your little gang?"
"Two of them at a hen party and Jane went home to her parents for the holiday. I'm Sandy, by the way." She held out her hand, which I took in mine.
"Ben," I responded, maybe holding her hand a little more than the social occasion demanded. We exchanged smiles. "Can I get you a drink?"
"What's in your glass?"
I told her and she pulled a funny face. "It's something of an acquired taste."
Sandy reached for my glass and took a tentative sip, pulled her face again but swished the drink around her mouth before swallowing. "I'll try one of those, please. I'll try anything once and again if I like it." Her eyes twinkled as she let out a low, attractive chuckle then finished off the rest of my glass.
I caught the barmaid's eye and asked for two more of my drink. While we were waiting, we sized each other up. I saw an attractive, confident young woman. Her curves curved in the nicest places. She didn't try to hide her ample bosom, but she didn't flaunt it either. Her hair was waves of lustrous deep chestnut, falling about her shoulders and held in place by a yellow ribbon. She wore a pale yellow simple cotton summer dress, buttoned down the front and fabric light enough to show the shadow of her underwear, the skirt ended a few inches above her knees. I liked what I saw.
The drinks arrived and I paid for them. Raising her glass to mine she asked, "Well, do you like what you just almost photographed?"
"Very much," I responded, and then put her in the same position. "Do you ...?"
"Touché!" There was that chuckle again. "Yes, I do. Have you any plans for this evening?"
"I came here with the intention of sitting at the bar, getting a little tipsy and watching people come and go. And you?"
"Pretty much the same idea," said Sandy. "Maybe we could keep each other company."
"I would be delighted to have your company for the evening, Sandy. You're pleasant to my eyes and ears and you lie gently on my soul."
"Well, there's a nice chat-up line." She raised her glass and waited until I touched mine to hers. "Let's get this evening started then, noble gentleman." Sandy chuckled and downed the rest of her drink then ordered another two as I matched her.
When the drinks came, I fished out my wallet but Sandy insisted, "My round." When she had paid, she took my hand in hers. "Ben, if I let a man pay for my drinks all evening, maybe he's thinking of it as a down payment for the night. Shush, Ben," she squeezed my hand as she saw a protest building in my eyes. "I'm not saying that was on your mind, but going Dutch means there are no obligations: no problems. OK?"
Of course it was OK, I told her, then, "Would you like to sit at a table rather than perched here on these stools? If I may offer my world-famous wisdom, the main advantage of the table is it's more comfortable seating while retaining the ability to see the world passing by. The disadvantage is that we would have to go to the bar for the drinks each round. I leave the choice entirely in your hands."
Grabbing her glass, she hopped off her stool and walked over to a table in the corner, turning once to make sure I was coming. I noticed that her behind nicely filled the back of her dress, and that her bare legs were shapely in the low heels she wore. Very pleasant sight. We sat side-by-side on the well-padded bench seat, which ran around the sides of the room, affording us a good view of the rest of the denizens of the bar. We could see the door, so saw everybody who came in.
As we settled back, drinking our brew, we swapped the usual details - what we did for a living, what food we liked, favourite bands and so on. As we mellowed in drink, we had both been up to the bar again, we started whispering comments about the people around us. There was a guy over in the corner we were sure was wearing a wig; his wife (we assumed wife) was one of those women almost desperately hanging on to her youth. Talk about mutton dressed as lamb! "She must put her makeup on with a palette knife," observed Sandy.
Our former seats at the bar were now occupied by a youngish couple dripping in bling. He was a bit of a loud-mouthed braggart and she, his trophy wife, had an inane cackle for a laugh. "I bet he drives a BMW," I whispered.
"Or maybe an open-topped Merc.," Sandy countered.
"Not with that silly hair-do of hers. She'd be a mess."
Lots of similar irreverent little observations and remarks, some of hers were particularly wicked, spiced our drinks as we dissected just about everybody in the room. Conspiratorially, we got closer and closer, the better to hear the whispers through my stifled laughter and her deep, sexy chuckles. I was conscious of our legs pressed together, feeling the warmth of her thigh against mine.
"Ben," she whispered as we silently scanned the room for the next unsuspecting victim, "Ben, you're a tit man."
