I followed you there, to the bar down near the strip mall. I knew you'd be there. I quietly sat at a table in the dark, careful not to do anything to catch your eye or distract you from your "quest." I knew what you were after – your body betrayed your intentions with every word and every action you took to get out the door before you left home. Your sweater was just a little too tight – you flaunt your tits at every opportunity; you relish the leers from the men where you volunteer, the stares from the hapless men in line at the supermarket turn you on, and the once-overs (and sometimes twice-overs) from the men you talk to make you wet. I know because I've sampled that wetness on occasion when I've come home and you are eager for some action. I admit it, I love those days. Your taste is exquisite, a sampling of the finest wine... but I digress.
Your short black skirt was begging to be scrunched up to provide everyone a view of your smooth, rainbow striped panties. When you leaned against the bar, the garters holding your stockings up showed, posing the question of whether or not you even had panties on. From where I sat, I watched as heads turned when you leaned over to get your drink (which the bartended had conveniently placed just out of reach). As you sipped your beverage, I watched your eyes and your body language as I tried to discover who your intended target of the night would be. The older gentleman with graying hair and a decidedly Sean Connery-esque appeal? Or the middle-aged business man who just seemed to be trying to get away from his sexless shrew of a wife for a night? But, no, your taste generally ran towards the younger, leaner, hungrier men (boys?) who came to the bar looking for some easy action. Because the bar was so close to post, they were almost assuredly military men, which meant they were in decent shape and their testosterone levels were high – they exuded sex, and you liked to lick it off of them.
Luckily for you, you didn't even have to really work at it. They flocked to you – your presence, your confidence, your poise, and your body drew them to you like bees to honey. Your honey is irresistible, and I almost feel bad for them – they really don't have much of a chance once you set your sights. The little smirk you get when you choose your target is always a dead giveaway and when I saw what you were after, I couldn't help but chuckle a little to myself. Tonight you weren't just going for the quick, easy fuck; you had something more devious in mind. Your entrée may have been a small chicken salad, but for desert you wanted one who was already taken.
I watched as you assessed him. He wasn't married. That was obvious by the lack of ring and by the way he and the girl he was with subtly argued and bickered back and forth. It was clear that she was pissed at him, and he was trying to be defiant and manly, but it was obvious that he would cave in and grovel soon enough. He was tall and lanky, but still meaty enough for a good ride – he wasn't skin and bones. I watched you watch him when he stood up and made his way across the bar, taking the long walk towards the restroom. I was always fascinated with how quickly you were able to get what you wanted when you wanted it. Men, women, boys and girls, you held power over them all. Sometimes you would take one of each, and they never denied you. I envy the power of your raw sex that makes them weak-kneed in your presence.
When the bathroom door opened, signaling his imminent return, I watched you make your move. As cunning as a fox, you stepped backwards and into his direct path back to his table - and his girlfriend. When he got close, all it took was your standing up in his eye-line to stop him in his tracks. I watched as you held your tongue until he finished his once- (and then twice-) over as he looked you up and down, taking in your long, trim legs that playfully disappeared up your tight black skirt, promising untold and mysterious pleasures at their crux. His eyes roamed over your hourglass body, taking in the curve of your hips and then faltering for a moment as they were drawn to rest on your ample bosom, your cleavage creamy and smooth under the dim bar lighting. I don't know what you so softly said to him in that brief second, but whatever it was, he was diverted from the path back to his girlfriend and towards the bar where I watched him hail the bartender. I almost felt bad for the poor boy, his night was on the path to both bliss and sorrow, all at the same time. It was surely a night he would remember.
As you worked your magic on him, I turned my attention back to the girlfriend your prey had so easily been distracted from. She was young as well and trim. She didn't have a clear line of sight to the bathroom from her table, and it was obvious that she was becoming impatient with how long her boyfriend was taking in returning. Her legs were crossed and she tapped her fingers on the table when she wasn't sipping her drink. The whole of her body language said, "Stay the fuck away from me." She glared daggers around the room at no one in particular and the incessant tapping of her nails on her glass was audible even from across the room and over the din of the other patrons.
You had fully captured the attention of your prey and were sending all the signs he wanted to see. The short brush of his shoulder, "to dust something off;" leaning in close when he talked because it was loud; moving close to whisper in his ear, ostensibly because you didn't want to talk loud, but really so he could feel your warm breath in his ear and against his neck; the cute giggles, the eye contact and the sultry smiles – you had them all going and it was only a matter of
time before he collapsed and you "gave into him" and let him take you home.
I waited until I was sure you had your new toy firmly in your grasp before deciding how to approach her. Once his hand was on your back (and I knew that inside he was dying to just let it slide down and caress your ass), I decided it was time. I picked up my drink and walked to her table. On the way, I chanced a glance your direction and watched him escort you towards the exit. You flipped your hair back and looked around quickly – I thought I caught a sly glint in your eye and there was no mistaking your victorious smile – but was it directed at me? Did you see me? Or was it just happenstance that I caught those looks? No matter. The gears were in motion and the night was still young.
I sat down at her table and began to make small talk. Could I buy her a drink? Was she here alone? I asked if she was ok, mentioning that she looked a little distressed or angry, I couldn't tell which. She was quick to tell me she was here with her fiancé who had gone to the restroom and would be back any second. I continued to make polite chit-chat (ostensibly until her fiancé returned), and when he hadn't come back after another minute or so, I volunteered to "go check on him" and see if he was ok. She said, ok sure, and I walked slowly back to the bathroom where I relieved myself and came back out. When I returned to her table, I asked her what her fiancé was wearing, but told her I hadn't seen anyone in the bathroom. At that revelation, her face took on a surprised, angry posture and she stood up quickly and went to the bar.
I followed her there, in order to appear surprised and concerned about his disappearance, but was just waiting for the inevitable. She asked the bartender about her fiancé and described what he was wearing. The look on her face when the bartender immediately said, "Yeah! I remember that guy, he left just a few minutes ago! Good tipper!", and then the look of recognition dawned on his face when he realized what happened AFTER that tip. "Anyway, yeah, I saw him, he just walked out about five or ten minutes ago." She wasn't done with the questions – "Where did he go? Why did he leave? Did he say anything before he left? Was he sick?" – and when the answers were not forthcoming, her face turned flush and the ice in her voice chilled the air, "Was he alone?" The question hung in the air before the bartender softly shook his head, "No."
As she stormed out, I followed, asking if she was ok – feigning concern, interest and surprise – and when we made it outside into the brisk night air, I watched with quiet amusement as she looked around, thinking he would just be standing around. The sidewalk was empty. There was a nip in the air and she was shivering. When she pulled out her cell phone and flipped it open, the tension in the air was palpable. I watched her hit the speed dial and hold the phone up to her ear - I heard the ring, ring - ring, ring before a man's voice picked up.
"Hello?"
"Don't you "hello" me, asshole! Where the fuck are you?" The venom in her voice was clear and the icy tone seemed to chill the air even further.
