It is late; dark, but newly so. I am sitting in this unfamiliar car, in an unfamiliar state, in front of an unfamiliar bar and I am nervous. Not nervous enough to leave but nervous enough to feel on edge, keyed up—as if I've had one latte too many.
The appointed hour is drawing near so I do a check in the mirror. Everything's in place; my hair and face look fine, good in fact, but I'm flushed. Not surprising. I've worn a simple black wrap dress and heels, sexy but not trashy. I've had this body for a while now and I know how to work it when I have to. Tonight is a have-to night. I adjust the v-neck on the dress a tad bit lower. Special occasion so why not amp it up a bit.
I leave my car and head towards the bar. Upon entering I can see it's your everyday working class beer joint. Neon pheasants and cowboys light up the wood paneling. Pool tables line one side and a solid, varnished bar lines the length of the other. I can tell immediately that I'm overdressed. Women come here in jeans and t-shirts to get drunk and spandex and sequins to get laid. A wrap-dress place this isn't.
As I walk into the hazy light of the bar I can feel eyes on me. There aren't many women here and I'm drawing attention, maybe because I'm a stranger in a sea of "regulars," or maybe because they like what they see. For ego's sake, I opt for door number two.
I see an open bar stool and make my way to it. The bartender asks for my order and I down my shot as soon as he hands it to me and order another. He smiles and complies. Liquid confidence, I think. Appropriate for times like these. Before long the warm liquid has made its way through my veins to my brain and I'm feeling relaxed. Ready.
I turn my stool to scan the pool table area. I don't see you—but I can't be sure since I've never really seen you. Pictures never compare to real life. I slowly turn some more to survey the rest of the place. My heart starts to quicken and I contemplate being stood up. My eyes work a little faster hoping to find a glimmer of recognition from myself or from an unfamiliar face. My fears are unrealized as I see you sitting at the other end of the bar, next to the wall, watching me. Our eyes lock for a minute. In the flesh you are more enticing than I thought possible. Your face is strong, serious, almost studious and in no way betrays the devious, dirty mind I know lies within.
My body responds immediately as if remembering some long-lost memory I know I've never had and I fight the urge to go to you—to touch you, feel you . . . but you look away and I'm left dangling. Maybe he's changed his mind? Maybe I should leave? You look back and give me the faintest hint of a smile and look away again. I know what you want. The game is on.
The bartender's back and I order a beer, something to nurse while I stalk my prey. This bar seems filled with flannel shirts and ball caps and while I notice men looking, none fit the bill for me. I draw the line at 50 year old alcoholics and redneck don juans. I decide I need to get up and mingle—survey the scene, mark my territory.
I see the bathrooms and decide to head that way. Good excuse to walk around and flaunt my wares. On the way I notice two men at a table. One is watching me intently. Not bad. Average, but not scary. He'll do. I saunter past and we exchange smiles. I hope to catch him on my way back out.
When I return I notice his friend has gone and he's standing near the bathroom exit, pool cue in hand.
"Wanna play?" he asks.
"Sure" and he hands me a cue.
He racks the balls and breaks. As he takes his turn I look for you. You're not watching me but I sense you're keeping tabs through the corners of your eyes.
As the game progresses I make sure to flash my new friend bits of skin as I bend in various directions to make my shots. He begins to stand closer and brush against me as he passes. I can feel the sexual tension rising and I know that he's an easy mark.
When the game is over he stands next to me and I can feel his hand brush my bottom.
"Wanna play again?" he asks.
"Maybe." I glance your way and see that you're staring straight at us. You quickly finish your drink, give me another glance, and head for the door. My cue.
"I need some air, let's go outside." My nameless pool partner follows obediently.
The night is dark, moonless, and cool.
"Where's your car" I ask.
He motions to a truck at the edge of the lot. I wander over with him close behind. I'm searching for you, wondering where you are. I can sense that you're near, but you've disappeared into the night.
I lean back against the cold, hard side of the truck and pull the stranger to me. My hands on his chest, I whisper "You know what I want, right?"
He smiles and nods and begins to kiss my neck. I roll my head back and close my eyes as his tongue and lips work my neck and shoulders. I hear movement nearby. You—watching—I know it.
I turn the stranger around so he's against the truck and my back is to the air. His kisses get rougher, more urgent, and his hands begin to caress my bottom. These aren't the hands I want on me but they feel good nonetheless and my body responds and I press into him. He hikes my dress up over my hips and begins to cup and fondle the roundness of my flesh. His hands slide under my black panties—kneading, pleading for more. I can feel his hardness against my stomach. I begin to move my body against it and he becomes more frantic. Soft moans escape his lips. I know I am pushing this poor man to the edge, and I feel bad that I will leave him frustrated, but I have to keep my word to claim the prize I truly want.
His lips meet mine and he begins to kiss me deeply. My hands move to the front of his body and massage his hardness. I open my eyes and look for you over his shoulder. This is beginning to get a little too real—I need to know you're there to get me out of this.
My pool player begins to pull down my panties and I am both aroused and frantic. I need you to stop this. My panties are at my thighs now—moving toward my knees—I'm starting to think I'll have to fend him off, stop this myself, when I hear and angry "HEY!" It's you.
The stranger stops what he's doing and we both look in the direction of your voice. You're walking towards us and your face is red and angry.
"What the hell is going on here?" you shout.
I move away and pull myself together while the stranger stammers incoherently.
"What are you doing with her? She's mine?" you bluster.
"Holy shit", the stranger mutters, " I didn't know, I'm sorry man."
He's flustered and when you get in his face and tell him to leave, he puts up no fight.
With him gone you take me by the arm to your car and we get in. You start the engine and begin to drive without saying a word. You still seem angry. My mind is spinning. I'm aroused, by the stranger's hands, but more so by the proximity of you. I'm also confused and a little scared. Are you angry with me? This was your game—you wanted me to seduce a stranger while you watched—but did I go too far? I reach my hand to your leg and rest it there, hoping for a reassuring response, but finding none. I pull it away and look out the window. Now is not the time to cry, I tell myself, but I wanted to please you and I'm so frustrated.
The car makes a right and we're on an unlit, unpaved road. Looks like the outskirts of town. You pull over to the side and cut the engine. You turn to me and our eyes meet and lock again. I feel your hand on my knee and I see your face soften. You lean toward me and kiss me deeply and I can feel the stirring in the lowest part of my belly.
"Did you like that?" you whisper, "Did you like his hands on you?"
"Yes, but I wanted your hands, not his."
You smile and slide your hand up my thigh. I spread my legs slightly. Your fingertips lightly brush my panties, "Mmmm, you're wet." I nod.
