The bar was crowded. She sat, perched on a tall stool, the slit on her long, black dress effectively exposing a slash of pale brown thigh. Her hair was packed up in a bun high on her head, baring her long neck. Long black earrings trailed down to creamy shoulders, untouched by the low cut of the sheath dress. A single bracelet adorned one wrist. Her feet looked naked in flat black slippers, a silver anklet encircling one ankle.
She tapped her foot, trying not to look as impatient as she felt. Sipping Smirnoff, she searched the crowd. A voice from behind her said, “Heineken!”. Her head whipped around.
He stood there, his recent haircut making him look young and fresh. The fingers of his left hand drummed absently on the counter top, while his right thumb hung from his pants pocket. He wore a dress shirt, a baby blue with white stripes down the front. The band around his wrist professed his loyalty to his football club. Pale corduroys made her want to see the back view and a pair of sporty shoes finished it off.
He looked at her then, at the shoes, then back up. And smiled.
“Thanks. You’ve got a nice… dress.”
His gaze still lingered on her cleavage.
“Thank you, Mr. …?”
“Steele. Rambo Steele.”
She liked the impatient way he waved away the bartender’s offer of a glass, flicked off the cork and drank his beer straight from the bottle. The movement of his Adam’s apple had her reflexively licking her lower lip.
“May I sit, Ms…?”
He raised an eyebrow. A very nice eyebrow.
“Christine Skillz. And yes, you may sit.”
He sat, blazing an optical trail from her toes, up her leg, to the exposed thigh, up to the cleavage and back to her face.
“Thank you”, he said, a gleam in his eye.
“You’re welcome”, she said, drinking thirstily from her glass, her eyes gleaming back.
* * *
She stepped out of his car and followed him up to the door. A dog appeared, wagging half its body in silent welcome, a big doggy grin on its face.
“Hey, you!” Rambo bent down to scratch the proffered belly.
“Nice dog”, Christine smiled, waggling her fingers at the animal.
“Let’s go in, babe”, he said, leading the way.
The dog thumped his tail, looking longingly after them as they went inside. Minutes later, he cocked his ears when he heard a series of moans coming from within. His head dropped onto his front paws as the sounds reached a crescendo. He whined softly when he heard the sound of contented feminine laughter. And in resignation, fell asleep.
* * *
She rolled onto her side, a smile still playing on her lips. He was flat on his back, still breathing heavily. Her phone beeped. She quickly read the text and dropped the phone, slightly irritated. As if on cue, his phone rang shrilly, piercing the sweaty silence. She watched him as he spoke to the unknown, invisible intruder on the other end of the line. A raised eyebrow was her only reaction to his mumbled “Love you too, babe.” There was an uncertain silence for a few minutes, then he got up and started to rummage around the scattered clothes for his boxers.
“Babe, time to go”, he said, pulling on his pants.
She stretched languidly and began sorting out her undies, absently wondering just how many “babes” he had in his life.
This time, she patted the dog’s head while he thumped his bushy tail on the floor. They both got into the car, Rambo having asked for and gotten her phone number, Christine having accepted his offer of a ride home.
And so it began…
- A Private Experience (linguisticplayfulness.wordpress.com)