The woman at the other end of the bar was staring at Marissa's tits again. It was really starting to get on her last goddamned nerve. She knew it was unfair to hold another woman to a different standard of lecherous behavior than a man, but somehow it felt worse coming from her than it would have coming from some dude--she was big-chested herself, she had to know what it felt like to constantly have someone talking to you while making eye contact directly with your fucking nipples. And yet there she was, nursing a cheap shitty beer and giving Marissa long, slow, ogling looks whenever she thought Marissa wasn't paying attention. It was frankly bullshit.
It really kind of ruined her night. Not that she was having much of a night anyway--she came down to the scummiest dive bar she knew to drink hooch, get absolutely plowed, and maybe shove someone's teeth down their throat if they even so much as looked like they were going to ask her about Derek. But however lousy her evening was, it was even lousier when some tiny little doe-eyed ditz with fake tits who didn't even look like she was worth punching kept looking in Marissa's direction like she was working up the nerve to propose a threesome with the boyfriend who was probably waiting back at home for her.
It was enough to make Marissa want to actually go back to her too-empty apartment and break open the bottle of whiskey she had sitting in the back of the cupboard. Sure, she'd probably end up drunk and maudlin and sobbing over old photos of her and Derek on their trip to Miami. But she was going to be drunk and maudlin wherever she was, and at least she wouldn't have to deal with a five-foot-nothing bleach blonde airhead who thought Marissa was going to be the sloppy bi-curious kind of drunk. She got up, her gait not quite steady but far from staggering, and left a fifty for the bartender before starting the long walk home.
It didn't take a full thirty seconds before she heard the door open and close behind her, and the sound of footsteps following her down the sidewalk. Marissa turned around with a sigh, already knowing she was going to see the woman from the bar. "Yes?" she asked wearily, her hands itching to close into fists even though the perky white blonde lady barely even came up to Marissa's collarbone. If she wanted to, she could probably rest those tits the stranger couldn't keep her eyes away from on the top of her empty little head.
The woman favored her with a bright, beaming smile that somehow didn't touch her eyes. Marissa felt a tiny shiver run down her spine at the sight of that cool gaze, a little note of wrongness in amongst the scenario that was otherwise running depressingly as expected. "Well, it's just that I saw you back at the bar, and you seemed like... you know, very much a woman with a certain air about you, a certain physical prowess that's very attractive in its own unique way. And I was just wondering--"
Marissa rolled her eyes and gave a long, weary look at the heavens. "Yes, I'm butch. No, that doesn't automatically make me gay or even bi. Yes, you're very pretty. No, I'm not interested in being your first or a third in your threesome or any other number you want to name. Yes, I'm drunk, no, I'm not drunk enough, yes, they're real, no, I don't like you staring at them, yes, I'll hit a woman, no, I don't want to have this conversation anymore. Does that answer all your questions?"
The woman's smile hardened a bit, and her icy blue eyes narrowed menacingly. "The important one, yes. Zoo time, babe. Time to join the menagerie. Master's been looking for a butch girl with big tits and you fit the profile." There was an odd, sinister coolness to her voice that came out of nowhere, but that wasn't why Marissa took a staggering step back and brought her hand up to her suntanned temple to try to rub the numbing shock out of her brain.