PART 1 - The Guy
Her hair was on the short side, dark with little curls here and there ... it framed her face perfectly.
"Another?" The barmaid caught my attention having spotted that my pint glass was almost empty.
"Yes, please same again," I replied, glancing briefly at her whilst keeping my main focus on the young girl who seemed to love being the centre of attention in the small group that she was sitting with.
I had been watching her for some time and not once had she looked up at me, she was far too vivacious for that. The centre of attention, so why did she need to look away? Who was she? That thought brought a smile to my face.
I knew the answer to some of my question ... a student, probably eighteen to twenty years old, it was always hard to tell exactly, but she had too much confidence to be a first year girl, was my thinking, so maybe a second-year student ... nineteen then. That was the age I would give her, it seemed to fit.
So, I knew her age, I knew her occupation and ... I knew what she was.
The refilled glass appeared along with the barmaid's hand for my money. I sipped the beer through its smooth, white head and watched the girl some more.
Making some comment and laughing at her own words, along with the mirth filled responses of her small group, the girl, my girl, stretched her body upwards, and the top she wore rode upwards to expose the tell-tale marks, marks that I recognised only too well.
Like I said, I knew what she was.
Deciding that my voyeurism was bordering on the obsessive, I turned away from the small group of Friday-night-let's-get-pissed students, so that I could give my imagination a short rest.
The pub was busy, but the guys calling in for a pint on their way home from work were beginning to fade away, and the main bar room was looking less full by the minute.
"Are you gonna keep watching me all night."
I turned to look at the pretty face by my side. For all I had watched this girl ever since I had been in here, her approaching me was a turn of events that I hadn't really anticipated.
She wasn't looking at me when she spoke, nor I at her when I replied, "Would you like me to?"
"Free country, do what you like, you pervs usually do."
I laughed at her attitude, sassy and so damn sexy.
"Perv I grant you, but not in the way you think."
Now she chuckled and said, "Oh and what way do you perv then?" We still hadn't looked at one another.
"Well, for a start I'm no danger to you. I'm not going to follow you, or stalk you or ..."
"Rape me?" She added. Now I turned to look at her, and was taken aback at the sparkle in her eyes. I nodded and confirmed, "Correct, I certainly have no intention of raping you."
She did not reply.
"Two pints of bitter please," her girly voice sounded kind of wrong ordering those drinks.
"You like a man's drink?" I grinned. She smiled but didn't reply.
"I know what you are." I stated somewhat out of the blue. It was a comment designed to be provocative, and to elicit a response. It worked.
"Huh?" She looked quizzically at me, "What did you say?"
"I said that I know what you are."
Her beers arrived and she handed over the ten-pound note.
"You do huh? And what am I?"
I paused as she looked at me, her change from the ten pounds arriving. I had her attention now, which was what I was aiming for. I took my time, as well as a drink from my beer, while she waited patiently for my answer.
"Your stomach ..." I then said, with a cryptic intonation.
"What?" She answered with an undertone of confused annoyance.
"... and a little higher. I can see when you sit back in your seat and stretch. The marks, red still ... and your nipples are hard under the sweater, clearly no bra and I would wager no panties either. And no one knows right ... not a single one of your friends knows ..." I looked across at her face, directly into her eyes, as she hung on my words.
"No one ... except me. Am I right?"
She swallowed hard, this pretty young student, and then said with a marked lack of eloquence, "Fuck you Mister." Despite the obvious attitude she made no move to walk away.
"Now if I had said those words to you little girl, then maybe they would have a more literal intent underpinning them.
Once more she swallowed hard.
"I bet if I asked you to remove your sweater I would see the marks right? Red and raised, the welts from a whip."
Her eyes widened beautifully as the nail was hammered right on the head.
"Is he your boyfriend?" I nodded my head at the laughing guy in the seat next to one currently vacated. She nodded.
"And did he ...?" I raised my eyebrows to indicated what I was referring to. Again, she nodded.
"You need to get your beers back little girl."
"I'm not a little girl," she replied with a contradictory assertion.
"No, I can see that," I smirked turning back to face my pint glass.
"Go fuck yourself," she said once more purposely demonstrating a lack of eloquence.
"If you want to do what you're doing with more skill and technique and enjoy the true pleasures that go with the pain, then in ten minutes I will be standing out at the back near to the toilet block. If you come out to me then I will give you my phone number."
Did she gasp? I like to think so.
"Now get your beers back to the table before they go flat."
PART 2 - The Girl
Did I tell you? Well, I was in a bar with the BF and some other mates the other week. One down near where we live. A local, I guess you'd say. Anyway, the usual banter about work and footy and the next lecturers' strike and you know. A few beers, a few laughs. And I loved so much feeling myself naked under my sloppy sweater and feeling the material of my jeans against myself and knowing that I had those gorgeous red marks that only my BF knew about.
And then there was this bloke. Staring at me. I think he was. The sort of stare that turns away when you clock it. He wasn't a regular, and this wasn't really the sort of pub that businessmen go to, so probably he was just up on a visit, or something, and fancied a bit of eye-candy peeping at students after hours. Couldn't really blame him. We (well me and my mates, Clare, Mel - oh, and their BFs - we're all pretty good eye-candy I think).
Anyway, he didn't really let up, and well, he was pissing me off a bit. Even more so when he started to talk to me when I was up at the bar. Fuck you I was thinking. Just fuck off. But he didn't. He said some things I didn't like, but some things that made me a bit scared too.
He said he knew what I was. I was fluttering a bit. He said he knew what was under my sweater and somehow, I knew he knew and he knew what it was about and he knew about that stuff. And I told him he could fuck off. But he persisted.
