This story is dedicated to Mo, my inspiration and driving force in beginning to write again. It's been quite some time since my last submission, so please, leave feedback, good or bad.
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It amazes me that I enjoyed my own death as much as I did. I expected to die of old age, asleep in my bed. However, much to my delight and surprise, I died much younger. At only 26 years of age, my life was given freely in an unbelievable moment of passion.
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I was working as a waitress at the local hot spot, a bar named Giovanni's. The customers were upscale, usually childless, and driving late-model BMW's. The tips were great, and since I had some leeway with the uniform, the occasional grope of my posterior was expected, but not unwelcome. Besides, allowing that random fondle usually resulted in a much larger tip.
Now, I consider myself fairly attractive, and as such, when working, did my best to highlight my considerable.....um.....assets. At five foot six and a svelte one fifteen, I have curves in all the right places. High, firm breasts above a narrow waist, gently rounded hips and a tight ass that Jennifer Lopez would kill for. I kept my dark hair cut flatteringly short in a pixie cut, and my huge green eyes, full lips and pert nose added to the mischief of my face.
Our uniform at Giovanni's was supposed to be all black. Anything, so long as it was black. You can imagine the liberties I took! I wore a short, tight skirt, a low-cut fitted cashmere sweater, thigh-high sheer stockings and sexy heels. Anytime I bent over, the tops of my thigh-highs would flash, baring that brief bit of skin between them and my ass. My tips were largest on the nights I dressed like this.
Most of my shift was uneventful in that the bulk of my customers were the happy hour sort; stopping in to slam back a couple beers before heading home or back to the office. My regulars earned genuine smiles and extra attention, but one customer in particular drew my interest, though at the time my attraction to him was unusual.
He was sitting alone in a shadowed corner booth near the kitchen. Tall, from the looks of his long legs encased in supple black leather, strikingly gorgeous with longish dark hair and deep blue eyes, and well built as evidenced by nicely toned arms in a tight black t-shirt. His lips were quirked in a deliciously dangerous smile and I couldn't help the rush of liquid heat to my center as I sauntered over to take his order.
What will it be?" I murmured quietly. His smile widened and for a moment I could have sworn he was going to hit on me.
"Rum and coke." Short, sweet and to the point. He smiled again as I nodded and turned away, feeling a little disappointed. Normally, I appreciate the rare, true gentleman who orders, drinks, tips generously and leaves, but I wanted this one to touch me. In fact, I craved it. I flushed, feeling flustered as I headed back to the bar to fill his order. What the hell was wrong with me? I didn't know this man, wasn't sure I wanted to, but I yearned to feel his hands on me.
As I carried his drink to his table, I tried unsuccessfully to keep my eyes off his. But they seemed to draw me with an unexpected heat and he chuckled melodiously as he sensed my inner turmoil. I set his order down with more force that necessary in my confusion and when I turned to walk away, I felt cool, strong fingers wrap around my wrist. Delicious sensations rose from the pressure he gently exerted.
"Eliza," he mused. "A lovely name." Startled, I jerked my hand away from his and Steve, our bartender, made a questioning gesture, silently asking if I needed help. I mouthed "no" and turned back to the stranger.
"How do you know my name?" I demanded, fear making my voice harsh.
