The Small Cafe

Note: English is not my first language, so apologies if the grammar is a bit off. Hope you enjoy!

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I entered the cafe while it was still early, just six 'o clock. I had cooked at home and eaten risotto after which, on an impulse, I decided to cross the town on my bike to read my book and have a drink in the small cafe instead of at home. I knew what I did, obviously, but I didn't really think it through. When I opened the door, there was nobody else inside yet. Such a small, charming place. The first time I had ever entered it, as a student, I knew that I had picked the right city to go to college in. Even though I loved the atmosphere, the chairs, the floor, the large windows and the choice of music, I had never become one of the 'locals'. There seemed to already be a group of regulars, to whom I had never belonged. My heart skipped a beat when I noticed that, indeed, the bartender I was here for was working tonight.

"Good evening," he said while looking up, "It's you. That's been a while," he added, in his typical dry and sarcastic way. "It is," I answered just as dryly. My body was already jubilant, only two feet in. Oh, how I missed this: men in bars. I looked around to decide where to sit, I was planning on dragging this evening out and enjoying it as much as I could. I had been home alone for the past 4 days, just living the quiet life of a married, working woman with her dog: early mornings, work, cooking dinner for one, walking my dog and then early to bed, only to repeat it again the next day. The house was entirely cleaned, the dog asleep and I was bored as hell. It was only Tuesday, a cold and rainy spring evening. I picked the small table in front of the wood burner, which wasn't burning, unfortunately. I got flashbacks to that one night, when I was sitting in front of the fire that was lit just for me, with a plate of freshly cut cheese cubes and a glass of the best rum in front of me. Was I still the same person as all those years ago?

I took my book out, put it on the table and started reading the menu. Daniel came up to my table. "So, what's it going to be for you?". That slight passive aggression in his voice, even after all those years, I loved it. I asked for a glass of red wine, the kind he liked the most. Back when I was bartending myself, I hated it when people would ask me for my suggestion. Mostly because I didn't like the drinks we served, but that's not something you could say to a customer. In this cafe they were about the good life, one could notice.

Obviously, I had done some online research, just now and then, to check what he had been up to. Unfortunately, I always like the men who aren't big on posting on social media, so I didn't find out a whole lot. I thought I knew that he was one of the owners of this place now, or at least a permanent member of the team. I had also seen pictures with other women, but nothing to indicate the seriousness of those relationships. The glass of wine was placed on my table without much ado. I looked him in the eye, smiled and thanked him and then continued reading.

Luckily, my book was actually good, otherwise, it would have been much harder to feign my disinterest. After only 10 minutes of being just the two of us in the small room, another customer entered the place. It seemed to be a local, as he just sat at the bar and started sipping a large pint of beer.

Daniel came to pick up my empty glass. "So why are you reading your book here?". I couldn't stop myself from smiling. He had always been so blunt, another thing I seemed to like in men. "I was thirsty." I cheekily answered, locking eyes. He still had the same dense, dark beard that covered so much of his face and his mouth. I couldn't really see whether or not he had aged a lot (no doubt he did) and only his eyes, which were behind thick glasses, could tell how he really felt. "Oh, so you didn't have anything to drink at home?".

I remembered being with him in a car, once. We were returning from a weekend festival. I was sitting in the passenger seat, next to the driver who was my boyfriend at the time. Daniel was sitting behind together with my boyfriends' brother. He had decided to finish a bag of red wine during the ride home. He was drunk and viciously stoked an argument between the driver and his brother, right until the brother got so angry that he just threw Daniel out of the car at a gas station. Daniel walked and hitchhiked for a couple of hours and then turned up at the brothers' house, apologizing for his behaviour. We all slept over and took a train to our college town the next day. Actually, I'm not sure I remember the ending of that story correctly. I do remember the car ride and the annoyance of the brothers. I found him needlessly mean but didn't think he was wrong in his comments and quietly admired how he just said all those things out loud.

He was trying to stoke an argument as well right now. But back when we were still working together, it became apparent pretty quickly that I could easily deal with his snark by just refusing to take it personally. I answered: "Yeah, indeed, nothing to drink at my house. Already drank all the wine, the water accidentally got turned off and the one box of milk in my fridge went bad. In order to survive, I had to come here to read my book, otherwise, I would have died of dehydration. I didn't think it would be a problem. I'm sorry, is this a no-book-establishment?" I knew he found it funny when I tried to outsmart him. I wanted him to find me funny this evening. "Oh no, books are allowed. Enjoy. You want another glass of wine?" "Yes please."

It was a quiet evening at the cafe, but some people did show up. Students, people that I assumed were living nearby, some tourists. I wondered if there would be more or fewer alcoholics in the city, where you could go for a social drink on any night of the week, or more in the countryside, where you had to drink alone at home more often. The past couple of years I had drunk more times alone at home and also drank significantly less than before. "Work next day" would squeeze out all of the joy of getting wasted. But right now, I didn't care about work tomorrow. I was genuinely enjoying sitting here, reading my book, hearing the voices of the people around me, the warm atmosphere of the cafe, and the pretty bartender serving everyone drinks. He seemed to be only grumpy towards me, smiling and joking with the other customers. Now and then he disappeared in the back, to get more drinks or clean out empty bottles. He sipped from a glass of red wine that was behind the counter.

While serving my third glass of the evening, he seated himself at my table. He seemed to have warmed up a little by the presence of other people. "No, but really, why are you here? I know you don't go out a lot because I do and I never see you." "I'm here for you, Daniel, obviously," I said, with a slightly sarcastic tone, but smiling very sweetly. His smile looked a bit sour, "Sure." I didn't say anything else, I just smiled. I was noticing the effects of the wine, I wasn't used to drinking any more, and my thoughts were moving a bit slower already.

"Do you remember that one night, after the teambuilding," he asked. "I sure do. It was one of the nights I cherish the most." I answered, honestly. "Hmm," he nodded, and then, more aggressively again, "and do you know why none of the other people really liked you back then?". Him with the arguing again, why did it turn me on though? "I don't think people didn't like me, I think they just didn't know what to do with me really. I was friendly, but I wasn't a friend. I was pretty, but not a model. I did my job and showed up, but didn't really belong there. I also think you DID like me." "No I didn't" he replied, just a tad too quickly. "Sure, whatever. But do you know why people didn't really like you back then?" I replied. "No?" he asked surprised. "Me neither." He laughed now, out loud. He tapped my glass while getting up. There had been another customer standing at the bar, staring at us, ready to order. "What's it for you, sir", Daniel shouted while getting up.

Ten-thirty now, not that late, but usually I would be in bed by now. And with the three glasses of wine. I was getting sleepy but also felt like I could still dance all night, just like I used to. To wake myself up, I ordered sparkling water with lemons and icecubes. He brought over the glass of water, but also another glass of red wine. "Actually this is the best wine, not the one I served you earlier. Taste it." I did. It waltzed around in my mouth, full, tastier than the one before indeed, but I didn't really know a lot about wine. "Hmm," I hummed. "Aren't you married?" he blurted out. That's how it goes with men that have social media profiles, but don't share anything themselves: they spend all their time on other people's pages. Cute.

"I am indeed married," I said. "And where's your husband then?" "He's out of town for work. I'm home alone for an entire week." "So all of sudden you remembered me." "Not all of a sudden, I have thought about you before. Occasionally, I even dreamed about you." "Wow, you dreamed about me. I never realized I had made such an impression on you." I smiled but said nothing. My entire body only wanted one thing, it was getting harder to think of the right words to say. He also kept quiet and said goodbye to a customer that left but didn't get up to clean the table after him.

"Do you remember the game we played that night? Or that bet, or whatever it was." I asked. "Uhu", he nodded, a bit lost in his thoughts it seemed. "I won, didn't I?" His head quickly turned towards me. After a brief pause he had to admit: "Yes, I guess you won." "I regretted it afterwards.", I continued, "I was very drunk, so I'm not sure I remember everything correctly, but I think we were dancing over there, next to the bar, holding a broomstick and your head came so close, you wanted to kiss me, I could already feel your beard touching my face, but I turned around and ruined the moment. I saw you were angry and hurt, maybe, but I laughed. Hahahaha, because I won and I was right: you wanted me. It was only later that I realised that I wanted you as well. I asked myself if it wasn't me who had lost the game, because after that evening, it wasn't the same and then later we just never met again." He had been looking at me intensely while I was telling this, and then he said, with a slight burn in his throat, as men get when they're oh-so horny, "Do you need to go home tonight?" "No, I don't. But I am getting very tired, I think I'm ready for bed."

I started feeling a bit out of touch. What were we saying here? I didn't only feel lust, but also fear, fear of the consequences of what I was doing, the urge to back out at the very last moment, as usual. But I didn't back out. This was all too exciting, I loved every moment. It had been so long that I had seduced a man at a bar. I felt very alive.

"I live nearby, just a bit further up the street, that's handy when I have to close up late. Here's my key, it's number 175, second floor. I keep another key here at the bar, for when I lose one, which has happened before. You can just close the door behind you and sleep in my bed. You're lucky, I just refreshed the sheets." I didn't smile anymore. Was he being serious? Always so hard to tell. My glass of good wine wasn't even half finished. I accepted the key and hung it on my keyholder. "Number 175, second floor, okay. I'll just finish this glass."

After I had, I went to the bar to pay my tab. "It's on the house," he said. God, I loved it when men paid for my drinks. "How very gallant, thanks." Then it got awkward for a minute. We didn't know each other that well. We never had a serious conversation, the only thing we ever did was provoke each other and work together. Eventually, he said: "I think I'll be here for one hour, two hours tops." "I will peek through all your things when I'm in your house," I replied. "You can, there's nothing interesting you'll find." "And there won't be anyone else entering your house while I'm there? No roommate or girlfriend?" "I do have a girlfriend, but she won't be there tonight." "Ok, good." "Good." We both grinned stupidly. I almost couldn't believe how turned on I was, so turned on that I didn't even ask about the girlfriend. Who she was, why he was cheating on her. But I knew the answer to the last question already. After all, I was here as well, wasn't I?

I found the right house, got the front door, climbed the stairs and entered an unknown, dark apartment. This was the first time ever I did something like this, but I felt strangely calm and secure. I thought about my dog. Tomorrow morning I needed to be home at an early hour, otherwise, she would become distressed and confused. I registered two alarms in my phone for the next day, just to be sure. I took off my shoes and then just as well my pants and sweater. It was warm inside. I saw a standing lamp and turned it on, not wanting to break the mystery of the dark space with the ceiling lights. It was clean. As I expected it to be. Some scattered piles of books, a record player, and a nice vintage sofa. I tiptoed around in the apartment, but he had been right, his stuff was not that interesting. I drank a large glass of water in the kitchen, noticing jars with pickled vegetables on a wooden rack. I looked inside the fridge, not much there, just a plate of chicken wings underneath a plastic foil. On the door of the fridge were an Instax-picture of Daniel and a blonde girl I had seen on his social media some years earlier. Then that was probably serious. They were both smiling on camera.

In the bathroom were two toothbrushes and some products that men never buy for themselves, but no indication of them actually living together. Their bed wasn't that big, not as big as mine back home, a queen-size. The sheets smelled fresh indeed. I slid under them and felt myself, how wet I already was, this whole evening counting as foreplay. I fingered myself and I came so quickly that I think I was fast asleep only ten minutes later.

I didn't even wake up when he got home, only after he suddenly turned on the big lights in the bedroom. "Ey, what the fuck, I was asleep," I muttered grumpily, but as soon as I realised where I was, I was wide awake again. He looked a bit surprised to see me. Here I was, in his bed. We had never even touched each other. He turned off the lights again and I heared him going to the bathroom, without saying anything to me. I jumped up and followed him, opening the door without knocking. He stood there casually brushing his teeth. His pants were hanging open, his boxers visible and his dark beard looked extra dark underneath the white light. He didn't seem nervous and just continued brushing his teeth. Eventually, he asked: "Did you brush your teeth as well?" "Yes," I said, according to the truth, because what did it matter that I used his or his girlfriend's toothbrush for this one time? "Good," he said and then spit out the toothpaste. Suddenly I started feeling uncomfortable. Did he pick up our game from all those years before? Did he want to get revenge and win the game this time? Was I being played?

"Why did you ask me to stay over?" I asked. He didn't answer and walked past me to the living room. I followed him: "I hope not just to ignore me for one night?"

He answered by repeating his earlier question: "Why do you think people didn't like you back then?" "I don't give a fuck, actually," I answered, getting angry now. I was tired and horny and felt caught. "Did you like me, yes or no?" I insisted. He seemed to not hear me. "People didn't like you because you always felt better than everyone else." "I don't feel better than anyone else.", I snarled. This accusation, jeez. "I just feel good about myself and most people don't. But that's not my fault." He seemed to think about this answer. "Did you like me then? Do you like me now?" I asked, again. "Yes, obviously I did and I do, and you know it, so don't play dumb. But you were so fucking mean to me. To all men, actually. So deceiving and lying. I really don't get why you're here and why you're in my bed. I have a girlfriend, you know." He said this all quickly and angrily.

"It was your own idea," I felt myself softening again, warming up, becoming supple, getting ready for the jump, "You gave me your key and your address." "I don't know why." "I do," I said, "you were just thirsty.

I had gotten really close to him, but we still didn't touch each other. For the millionth time, I imagined how his face would look without the beard. And I also, now, urgently needed to know how his chest looked. I imagined him being strong but tawny and in bad physical condition from all the drinking and partying. I took off his glasses. He let me. "Are you nearsighted or farsighted?" I asked quietly. "Just bad-sighted." "Can you see me?" "Yes, of course, I'm not blind," like a dog snapping to maintain the distance. "Hush, calm down," I said, stroking the hair behind his ears. My both hands were wrapped around his face as I studies his skin and eyes. I noticed the little wrinkles, from smoking and alcohol, but maybe also from being so melancholic all the time. Never before did I look at him in detail like this. "I mean: do you see me? Do you see were we are? Do you see what I'm doing? You win, you know, we both win and therefor we both deserve a price." I pushed myself against him and felt his boner against my naked upper leg.

It felt surreal what was happening, the night of our game we were reminiscing about almost ten years ago. We were both in our thirties. I knew close to nothing about him, not even his exact age. We had never had a real conversation, we had never been somewhere alone together before, not to mention I was married. I didn't expect him to take the initiative, but he did. He pulled off my t-shirt, and my panties and led me in front of the vintage couch, where he sat in himself. He positioned me in front of him and started looking at me. Shameless. His look was different now, hungry, and greedy, but also a bit scary, as if he was going to hurt me. Of course, I had showered, shaved and oiled myself before going out. I loved that the apartment was so well-heated. His penis was throbbing against the edge of his pants, which were still open. He still had his sweater on, though. I was getting antsy from just standing there like that. I wanted to lean towards him, but he tapped me away. "Off," he said, putting me back in my place rather roughly, "I want to look at you first." "Good for you," I said, "but I want you inside me. So then keep your eyes open." I pulled his cock out of his pants and lowered myself on it. Aaah mmm. Better that way.

From that moment on, we both lost it a bit, as only two people who have waited a bit too long to fuck each other can. Licking, biting, pushing, thrusting, pumping. We were both stubborn and both wanted to make the other moan as hard as possible. We wanted to prove ourselves and were impatient. The clashing made it only hotter. He pulled out quickly when he was about to cum, pushed me onto my belly across his lap and spanked me on my crotch and then he trusted three fingers in it. It felt amazing. I tried to stay as still as possible until I came shaking and yelling. I didn't give a fuck about his neighbours. We continued for a while in the living room, until he said: "And now, to the bathroom, I want to look at you while I cum." He pushed me against the old sink. The cold ceramic felt good against my belly and he held my neck, my head tilted upwards while he fucked me slowly from behind. With his other hand, he caressed my belly and breasts and he watched in fascination in the mirror, looking at my body, with his hairy shadow behind me. His hands gripped my pale skin. He came inside me with a growl never closing his eyes, with his mouth panting open. I turned around and we kissed very slowly, lots of tongue and then walked to the bed together. There we fell asleep immediately.