I'm wearing a long black coat that I picked up from one of those fashionable clique shops in London. It's got a double row of brass buttons up the front and a collar that wouldn't look out of place on a Russian military uniform. It swishes slightly round my knees as I walk and it makes me feel like ones of those stylish New York socialite girls. I find that I give my hips an extra little curve as I walk, just because it feels cool.
I meet you at a fancy bar in the city. It is low lit and warm, cluttered with the conversations of others and the clinking of glasses. I see you at once, leaning on the bar, watching the door. I pause in the doorway to let my eyes wander over you. You're wearing a pale blouse, narrow skirt, shiny black shoes, and a sly smile. I walk over nice and slow. The clip of my heels on the tiled floor cuts through the background noise of the bar and I keep a steady beat, unbuttoning my coat as I walk.
Once within a few feet, I shrug the coat off my shoulders and open it wide at the hip, revealing my tight little black dress, low cut and short enough that you know that my bare ass would touch the seat if I sat down. I turn smoothly in a full circle, as if allowing you to admire the view. An elaborate show so that you can see that I don't have a pistol hidden anywhere. Meaningless of course, because the theatrical sweep is careful to conceal the strap into the lining at the back of the coat, but you smile and I know you don't know.
I hook the coat on the back of a chair and fish in the pocket for a few banknotes to buy some drinks. Shots of vodka and bottles of beer. You tell me about your day and I mostly just listen. We pretend we're looking round the bar while we talk, but I'm pretty sure we're really just watching each other.
When you finish your beer you say you're going to the bathroom, and you give me a bright little smile that makes your eyes shine. I know you're thinking of getting your hands on me. I let you walk ahead while I finish my beer then I make my way over to the ladies bathroom.
The floors are shiny with black marble tiles and the taps over the wash basins are polished and golden. I'm barely in for a second before you grab me and drag me into one of the three stalls. You bolt the door behind us and then lean back on it. We stand and face each other in the close confines of the cubicle. I can see you're a little nervous but excited at the same time. I watch you without moving. I know what you want, you dragged me in here, and you're going to have to follow that up with something.
"Turn around."
I keep my eye on your for a moment, judging your confidence. You don't flinch; you don't repeat yourself; you just wait. I turn slowly and face the back wall. Now that I can't see you my imagination starts running wild. I wonder what you're doing. I wonder if you might touch me. I hear your feet move on the marble tiles. I'm sure you're up so close behind me I expect to feel it, but you don't touch. I enjoy the tension, the anticipation. I'm sure you want to touch me. I wonder if you're waiting because you're nervous or just because you like to keep me in suspense. I want you to touch me. I'm half tempted to say it, but this is your lead, so I just wait.
"Put your hands on the wall."
