Betty leaned back in her chair, back away from the table and the conversation. She looked around the crowded bar shaking her long brown hair back away from her face. It had been a long time since she had been in a place like this. A meat market. That's what she and her friends from college would have called it. Was that term still in vogue? She smiled to herself. That shows how out of things I've gotten, she thought. You've just got to get out more. And damn it, now that the divorce is final, she was determined she would. A bubbling giggle drew her attention back to the group around the table. For a moment, her eyes rested affectionately on Jenny, her best friend in the office. Three years of working together, of coffee breaks and days off. They were both married, or had been, she laughed inwardly. As of today at noon she was no longer married. Free, damn it felt good!
Jenny had never seemed to take her marriage very seriously; even now, as Betty watched a man, one of the many who milled around the table, was resting his hand on Jenny's bare shoulder, his fingers pressing into the woman's flesh just above the swelling of her breasts. Jenny's peasant blouse left a lot of flesh exposed. Betty knew that she and her friend had almost the exact same measurements...Betty's hips were perhaps a little more full than her friend's but Jenny had her a bit in the breast department. But only a bit, Betty told herself with a smile.
Jenny was considered a little wild. Betty had had to cover for her friend many times at work, and even gotten in some trouble herself letting Jenny pull her into things. Yet Betty had never censured the other girl for her "looseness." Far from it. In her most honest moments, Betty freely admitted to herself that she envied the other girl. Envied her her free attitudes, and her approach to life. If it was fun, and didn't hurt anyone, then do it! Betty freely admitted to herself that her life had been made more interesting and fun because Jenny was her friend. But still she never wished that she could be more like Jenny, she really would never want to be like Jenny.
Betty knew herself very well. To be like Jenny, you had to be assertive, you had to go after what you wanted. That wasn't Betty. She freely admitted to herself that she preferred to be led, even pushed. Betty was one of those rare people who knew and liked themselves. She knew she had faults, but she knew she also had strengths. And, if her life seemed dull sometimes, she had a very active imagination. She grinned to herself. Even Jenny would probably be very shocked if she knew some of Betty's fantasies; she just needed someone to bring her out. Someone far removed from Bob, her now ex-husband.
It wasn't that Betty was shy, or even quiet in the way that word was usually used. This afternoon, for instance, she had been doing her share of giggling, flirting, having fun. And it was fun. She didn't even feel any regrets about the divorce. She had grown tired of being cooped up, all alone, when he went off on his business trips. Actually, she thought ruefully, it wasn't too different when he was home. They never went anyplace. Bob seemed to be interested in nothing but making the firm he had inherited from his father even bigger than it already was. And for God's sake why, she wondered for perhaps the ten-millionth time?
It certainly wasn't because they needed the money. Betty herself, upon her twenty-first birthday four years ago, had come into a trust fund that was practically inexhaustible. She had very little sense of, or interest in, financial matters, but her father's attorney had told her that it would be practically impossible to spend the income from the fund as fast as it came in. Making a dent in the principal would be well beyond any but the most determined spendthrift.
Bob was just as well off. Money was something that neither of them had ever had to worry about, or even think about. Yet it seemed to be all that Bob did worry about. Oh, he didn't exactly worry about it, but he didn't enjoy it either. He was always worried about "what would it look like?" Betty shook her head. She had once loved the man, but there had always been just something missing. Something missing in their marriage, something missing in bed...something missing in life.
As she had so often throughout her life, and even more so since her marriage, Betty took refuge in fantasy. In her fantasies, she was like Jenny. No, she was more than Jenny, and different. She wasn't a loud aggressive type, even in her fantasies. Just the opposite. In her dream world, Betty was taken, was pushed, was...... She shook her head. Now stop that, she chided herself. You can't go off into a daydream while you're in a bar surrounded by people.
She noticed then that Jenny was looking at her with a concerned look. Betty smiled back at her friend, and leaned forward, lifting her glass to her lips and giggling as she took a drink.
She was glad Jenny had called her this morning. Glad that she had let her friend talk her into coming out with her after work, "to celebrate your freedom!". And Betty, who usually went right home after work, had let Jenny talk her into it. She wanted to be talked into it, she admitted to herself, wanted to be led. It was always like that. She wanted to do things, but, on her own she just never seemed to do them. And that was why she and Jenny had become such good friends in the first place. They sort of played off each other, Jenny's brashness driving Betty further than she would ever have gone by herself, while Betty's hesitancy kept both of them from going too far. The problem was, Betty decided, that after being tied for the last three years to a man who was even more hesitant than she was she was kind of feeling like it was time to lose her hesitancy.
At that moment her eyes, once more roaming idly around the crowded room, lit upon a man standing at the bar. He was staring at her and their eyes met. Something stirred in her loins and she flushed, looking away quickly. She tried not to, but in a few seconds she glanced back at him. He was still staring at her and as their eyes met for a second time he smiled, very faintly. Again something fluttered in her lower belly and again she forced herself to look away. When she looked back, he had turned to face the bar. She felt a vague disappointment.
The man, if she had been able to see his face, was still smiling, more broadly now. He too was feeling a sensation in his loins. He knew he had found one.
He often came to this bar, or others like it. Looking for women, for a pick-up. Most nights, he left alone, never having even spoken to a woman. But the nights when he didn't leave alone made it all worth while. He was very choosy in the women he approached. He studied them carefully. And when he did pick one he was seldom rebuffed. Even to himself, he could not describe exactly what he looked for in a woman, what signs told him this one was open to him while that one wasn't, but he was almost never wrong. Even the few times when he had approached a woman and been rebuffed, it had been a gentle rebuff, and given only after that momentary pause that told him the rebuff was with regret. And none of the women, not one, had ever been angry. Most women would be furious. He did not have what could ever be described as a smooth line. His approach was direct, insultingly direct, obscenely direct. A mistake in his choice would most probably result, at the least, in a humiliating denouncement, and at worst in a beating or even arrest. He had no desire to experience either outcome. But his targets never complained. He made them from the very beginning feel cheap and dirty; let them know that he looked upon them with nothing but contempt. A mental rapist, he sometimes thought of himself. But not a physical rapist. He would never force a woman. That would be of no interest to him. He wanted the woman to cooperate, to embrace her own degradation, to freely and willingly submit to everything he inflicted upon them.
And so, he was very careful, and very patient. Tonight, his patience was thin. It had been months since he'd found a target, and the next one he found was going to have to pay for his deprivation. He was really going to drag this one through the gutter.
When Betty next glanced toward the bar, the man was gone. She mentally laughed at herself. What did she expect? And why had he attracted her so? Since she and Jenny had come in, her eyes had met several other men's. She was an attractive woman and of course men looked at her. But none had caused that stirring in her loins. She blushed when she realized she was even a little damp down there. Oh well, in any case, she'd never see him again probably.
Suddenly a glass was slammed down in front of her. She looked up, startled. It was him, the man from the bar. He leaned over her and said something. She shook her head. Surely she hadn't heard him right. Her face was puzzled and shocked as she looked at him. "Wha...what did you say?" she said.
He grinned. "I said, 'I'm going to fuck your brains out.'"
She stared at him. The room seemed to freeze around her, the crowd of people receding into the background. His face filled her vision, his grin mocking her confusion. He pulled a chair from another table and squeezed in beside her. The man that had been sitting next to her turned, frowning, and started to protest, but the intruder looked at him and the protest died unsaid.
The newcomer reached for the glass he had sat on the table before her and his arm brushed her breast. It felt like she had been touched with a branding iron. He grinned at her, and when he lifted the glass to his mouth, he pushed his elbow against her. She couldn't seem to move. She sat there, his elbow digging into her boob while a maddening itch grew behind her womb.
He set the glass down again, and replaced his elbow with his hand, moving it over her breast. Her face felt flushed and she couldn't seem to get enough air. She wanted to tell him to stop it, wanted to scream at him. Any sound, any protest, she knew, would bring several men leaping to her defense. That was all she had to do. Even show him her distaste for his insulting behavior would be enough. He would go away. She knew he would. He would take his...exciting...hand away from her breast and leave her alone.
She swallowed, and lifted her own glass to her mouth, taking a large gulp.
He leaned closer to her, his breath hot in her ear. "Yeah, Baby," he said. "That's what a chick like you comes in a place like this for...to find some guy willing to fuck the shit out of her. And don't you worry...I've got exactly what you need." He drained his glass and stood up. "Come on," he said. "Let's dance."
He pulled her to her feet and had her out on the tiny little dance floor before she really knew what had happened. He was strong, or was she just weak? He didn't look particularly strong, nor particularly good-looking. He was quite a bit older than her, probably in his forties. His face was thin, and while he seemed to smile easily, the smile never reached his eyes. They were cold. Dark, deep pools. Out on the floor he pulled her roughly against him.
"Please," she said, trying to move back away from him, but he held her tightly, forcing their bodies together as he began to move them. The dance area was crowded, actual dancing was almost impossible. Betty had noted earlier that the couples on the floor seemed to be far more engaged in heavy petting than in dancing. Now she was out here, and the man's hand was moving down her back, down to her butt.
Again she tried to back away, putting her hands on his shoulders to push him, but he only held her tighter, his hands gripping her buttocks, hurting her. She moaned. Their loins pressed together. She could feel his penis, hard and hot, burning her pubes through their clothes. A sudden wave of dizzying lust swept over her, and she moved against him, a tiny animal sound rising from her throat.
"That's it, baby. You feel that dick don't you? Eight inches, baby...You're in luck...I'm horny as hell tonight."
