She sits at the end of the bar, alone, veiled in a sequened party dress, resembling a twenty-first century Venus with arms and, apparently, all other attributes intact. Her head is bowed and fashionably short, blonde hair hangs in limp concealment of her features.
A calf protrudes, thin and alabaster from the glittering hem of the dress. That pure white, dangling limb draws me; a beckoning signal-tower in the sultry, smoke-clouded, half-light of the near deserted bar, while the repetitive bump-and-grind of pop music oozes from vibrating cardboard cones hidden in the surrounding shadow. I imagine the twin of that calf, now hidden under the dark overhanging ledge of the bar counter, picture them rising to where two white thighs meet and what I would like to do there.
I collect misguided courage from several scotch and sodas already consumed, and another freshly arrived; the amber liquor glistens, welcoming; given structure by a perfect geometric framework of ice-cubes. I slip from the stool at the bar and walk in her direction.
"Hi," I say, and merrily jingle the ice in my own glass. "Can I offer you another drink?"
The head rises and I am startled by the two eyes that come to meet mine; so pale and clear that I wonder for their gift of vision.
"You just did," she answers and her voice is low in her throat, feline; neither a purr nor a growl.
I signal the bartender who nods and promptly chooses a bottle from a fridge below the bar. He pours the syrupy, dark liquid, perhaps dubonet, and adds ice, then, in a strange show of advancing and retreating at the same time, he leaves the glass and is gone.
The dance begins in a flurry of banal banter and innuendo. An hour and a half and several drinks later, I know that my speech is slurred but my libido shows no signs of flagging. She says she is staying at the hotel across the street and asks me if I'd like to join her for a night-cap in her room. I feel my sexual tension edge up a notch.
"Just so you know," she adds as she steps lithely to the floor, "I like to bite."
"Oh, yeah?" I answer, and feel the blood pulsing in my neck. "What else do you like?" I ask hoping for something suitably obscene.
"Suck," she says simply. "Bite and suck."
I can feel surging heat and warmth in my groin and we walk together toward the exit. I catch sight of myself in a mirrored pillar; short and balding with an ample middle-aged spread over the belt of my trousers. I quickly scan the reflection looking for her but seem to miss her as the door opens. I look back in time to see that perfect white body shrouded in the sequened dress step out into the night. I cast off the impression left by the strange illusion, practically salivating over the thought of the forbidden pleasures to come.
The next night, the bartender looks up from polishing glasses as the young woman in the sequened party dress accomodates herself at the corner of the bar, and poses a perfect white calf into the dim light.
"How did it go last night?" he asks, sliding up the bar in her direction.
"He tasted of Scotch," she answers, disgruntled but joking. They laugh together; hers is deep in her throat, feline.
"What can I get you, Scarlett?" asks the bartender, "the usual?"
She thinks a moment and then responds; "Do you have a something in a more younthful, AB-positive?"
it's funny how things come back.
this was actually posted as a 'fragment' quite some time ago; i included it at the end of a completely unrelated story and there it sat. but then it returned to me at the beginning of the week and i wrote most of it on my 'Palm' PDA while going and coming from work. i love that device - it's a godsend. :p
cheers and thanks for visiting. :)
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