One of Those Nights

A'right, let's get something clear right from the start. It's one of those nights. The ones you want to remember. The ones you might but never are sure you do correctly. One of those. It's gonna be one of those. It all starts innocent enough though I should've seen it coming. It was that clear from the moment she walked in, two seconds ago.

She walks with a gait that'll grab the attention of every red blooded man in the room. Hell, I saw even the not so red blooded men steal a glance. Half the joint loved her that very instant completely, the other half hated her with a passion. Yep, love or hate on first sight. You know the type.

I happen to be drinking Kentucky whiskey and coke. I like my bourbon and coke, I hate the way it sends my mind racing after thoughts I am too lazy to hunt down and kill sober but I love the place those thoughts take me. I'd said to the bartender to leave both bottles with me, it'd been a thirsty afternoon. It was. That's not an excuse, that's the way it was: 30 degrees in the shade at 90% humidity. The weather had been killing and I'd decided let the bourbon finish me off. Everything be damned, bury me at dawn!

She walks up to the vacant stool next to me. Parks her fine ass where I can't see it. Damn, life never is fair. On the plus side, I can now smell her. I don't mean her perfume but her real smell. In this heat everybody's sweaty, she just happens to smell good that way. I'm not so sure about my own stench. Ah well...

She's sitting next to me, I am drinking my bourbon and coke. Everyone in the joint seems to be talking at top volume about shit and nobody is taking any notice of the TV showing the Friday night football game. I finish my drink and glance over my shoulder. She's looking at me, in a half assed way, looking but not really noticing. There's only one thing to do. 'Wanna a coke and bourbon?' So next thing I know we're both drinking coke and bourbon. I mix them, she does shots with coke chasers. As I said, one of those nights.

She's good at talking about nothing. I am not. But I hold my own. The bourbon is my co-pilot and so far she's giving me good directions. We laugh a lot. I am not really sure why but it's good to laugh again. It's been a while. Too long. Too little. Maybe more bourbon is the answer to all our problems. We should try to get that skunk ho bastard "Global Warming" drunk, disorderly and kicked out of our planetary bar. Who's with me on trying?

She's looking good. That's not the bourbon talking, I said. A lie of course. It is, I am far too shy to say true shit like that sober. But it never been true like this. Anyway, I forget the important stuff. She tastes sweet yet spicy, and quite a bit like bourbon. And she's hot, physically hot, like a fever dancing around in my mouth. Again, that's not the bourbon, that's a strong muscle. Those are fleshy lips, soft and warm. She's like a stove wrapped around me, a boa constrictor, muscular and yet soft where it matters.

Fast forward an hour or so. The bourbon and coke are long gone. And so are we. We're at my place. Bedroom to be exact. More or less. She's standing, leaning against the open door, high heels and nothing else, hips trust forward opening herself to my tongue. She tastes spicy and sweet, nothing like bourbon, grabbing my hair with both hands to tilt my head, to get the angle just right. I love the way she's not bald all the way, the way she crushes my head between her thighs. Oh yeah. Oh fuckin' yeah.

Lying on my back on the bed, enjoying the way her long hair caresses my belly while her head bobs up and down, letting her hair run through my fingers, smiling at her looking her in the eyes that are burning like coals. What's not to like about bourbon and coke and feisty woman, there's a volcano under pressure and it's only the beginning of the weekend. One of those weekends. Oh yeah. Oh yeah. OH YEAH!

Maybe to be continued...