My drink is almost finished and I don't think I want to order another one. The bartender keeps glancing my way, but it's clear I'm nursing this, and he doesn't see any signals from me to make another.
I've been sitting here for a couple of hours and I feel ridiculous. Who did I think I was to come to a bar by myself? I look around me again, and the crowd hasn't changed. Everyone is younger and cuter and better dressed and sexier than I am. I should have known better than to try to fit in here. I look at the ring finger on my left hand. I am still getting used to its bareness.
The ice has long melted in my paloma. I lick at the salt on the rim and decide to go home. I signal to the bartender that I will pay my tab. And then, you sit down.
"Hi," you say. It startles me. I had almost thought myself invisible here. I smile.
"Are you leaving?" you ask. I nod. "That's a shame. I was just going to ask if I could buy you a drink. May I?"
It doesn't take too long to decide that yes, I would like another drink, and you order one for me.
You are immediately charming. There's no game here; you appear to be buying me a drink just so that you can chat with me. You smile easily, and ask me questions that are interesting but not too intrusive. We talk about why I like palomas, whether I like the songs playing at this bar, who I've seen in concert, and the book I most recently read. You offer your answers to these questions in response so this conversation doesn't seem like an interrogation. It's loud in the bar but not so loud that we have to shout to hear each other. I find myself laughing and nodding my head. This feels natural.
We finish our drinks. The bartender rings the last call bell and you incline your head towards the empty glass to ask if I want another. I shake my head no.
"I suppose I should get going," I say. You nod, and then check your watch.
You lean in close to my ear. "Do you need to go?" you ask. A frisson passes through me at the soft tone of your voice. This is a question and an invitation. It has been a while, but even I recognize this move.
I slowly shake my head no.
"Good," you say, still close to my ear. You move your chair a little nearer to me and rest your hand on my leg. I look at it for a moment, unsure of what to do next. I feel the heat of your palm on my thigh; you see me watching your hand, and when I look up you are watching me with lowered lids. You start to stroke my thigh with your thumb, slowly, gently. I smile my approval.
This is what I came here for. This.
You lean in close again. "Do you want to go somewhere?" you ask. My stomach flips and I freeze for a second. I do want to go somewhere, but I don't know where. In the old days you just took people to your place without worrying too much that they would get weird, that you wouldn't be safe. I have no idea what it's like now. You see my hesitation.
"Don't worry," you say. "We can go to my place. It's nearby." You tell me the address so I can text it to a friend.
The walk to your place is slow and easy. You hum a little - I don't recognize the song - but your voice is nice. You can keep a tune. You sing a line, low and softly, almost to yourself. It's late. It's dark and quiet in the street.
As soon as the door closes, you turn towards me. You stand close to me, but not so close that I feel I can't move around you. You reach out and take my hand.
"Can I kiss you?" you ask. I nod, and you bring your hands to my face and press your lips to mine. I feel this kiss all the way through my body. Your lips are tender, and your beard just long enough to be soft against my chin.
You pull away. "You taste salty," you say, "like the rim of your drink." You lick your lips. I lick my lips, tasting the salt on me too. And then your mouth is on me again, a little harder and faster.
You turn us to press me up against the door, your hands on my low back and then traveling up my sides to my shoulder blades as you kiss me. I sink into this kiss. I do not think about what kind of underwear I have on, or whether your place is nice, or whether you're dating material.
I only think, "Fuck me. Please, fuck me."
I feel you smile against my mouth and I wonder for a second if I've said it aloud.
We are still up against your door. You untuck my shirt and slip a hand onto my stomach. I suck my stomach in, almost without thinking, and you stop.
"Is this okay?" you ask. I nod. You must see something on my face, because you go on.
"Listen. I'm into this. Let me make you feel good." you say.
I take a breath. I give myself a little pep talk in my head. This is okay. This is feeling good. This is what I'm here for, after all. And then I nod.
You put your hand back under my shirt and trace your fingers along my stomach.
"Your skin is so soft," you say, leaning in to kiss my neck. I relax into your touch. You bring your hand to my breast and lightly touch my nipple through the fabric of my bra. I make a sound, and then quiet myself.
"No, sweetheart, you don't have to be quiet," you say.
You lean in to kiss me again and reach into my bra, roll my nipple between your fingers. I moan into your mouth. I can't help it. You pinch my nipple a little harder and my hips begin to move.
"You really like that, don't you?" you say. "Can I take off your shirt?" I nod and reach for the hem.
"No, no, sweetheart. I'm going to do it," you say as you slowly lift my shirt. After you set my shirt down to one side, you gently pull my bra down my arms and set it on top. You look at me, examining me. I'm standing in front of you working hard to fight the urge to cover myself with my arms.
You step closer to me. "Baby," you say. "Baby, you look so good."
I feel heat traveling up my neck at this.
"And I'm not saying this because I'm going to fuck you tonight," you say. "You're gorgeous and I am enjoying looking at you."
At the words "fuck you tonight," my hips twitch, and I take in a sharp breath. You take my hand and lead me further into the apartment.
"Take your shirt off. Please," I say, so that I'm not the only one standing in your living room half naked.
"Why don't you do that for me?" you say.
