Saturday, January 10, 2015

Something a bit piquant for your reading pleasure

I knew the first time I saw him that I wanted him. It was a regular night in Seattle - chilly, slightly windy with the smell of rain in the air. I was indulging my frequent habit - a cocktail at the best Bourbon bar in the city. The bartender makes a mean Manhattan, and he's nice to look at besides. Not really my type, but what girl can't resist fantasizing about the hot bartender? 
I walk in, bringing a gust of wind and the attention of every male in the place. I could hardly blame them - I had just come from dinner with my agent, and I'm dressed to the nines. As I took off my ruby red wool coat, I revealed a beautiful fitted vintage black velvet dress, cut just low enough in the front to be sexy yet discreet and stopping just a few inches above my knees. The back of the dress cuts down to my lower back, framing the beautiful winged heart tattoo in the middle. A slit rises from my knees just high enough to show a peek of the lacy red top of the black Cuban-heel stockings encasing my long legs. When I walk, the fabric shows a hint of ruby silk lining inside the dress. I feel their eyes at my back, sliding down the black seam if my stockings to the 4-inch black stilettos encasing my feet. The brand's signature red sole completes the red and black mix, as does the perfectly matched red lipstick on my generous lips. My brown eyes are framed by a subtle cat-eye liner, long inky black lashes, and lids naked to my delicately arched eyebrows. My sleek chocolate cherry colored hair is swept back in a subtle French twist, baring my long and flawless neck. The only decoration I wear are subtle diamond earrings and a chain with a single diamond.
I walk through the slightly crowded room, my head high and shoulders back, knowing it will add a swell to my already generous breasts and a twitch in my hips. I can feel the murderous looks of the few women in the bar, but I shrug it off. They are nothing to me. I slide into the chair facing the bar at my usual table in the center of the room, crossing my feet at the ankle, a prim gesture that none the less emphasizes their length. More glares. "Go ahead, be jealous" I think to myself, a wry smile twisting my lips. I have to look down so they won't see the humor in my eyes. No need for a jealous mob when I just want a quiet drink.
The bartender brings over my perfectly made Manhattan that he automatically makes when I come in the door. He knows me well enough to know that I love my bourbon peppery yet honeyed, my vermouth sweet, and two cherries. Even the glass is my favorite - extra long-stemmed and elegant. I accept the drink and his flowery kiss on my hand with a smile and we wink at each other. Giving the patrons a good show is fun for us. It's a shame he's not my type....he looks like he would be tons of fun to play with.
I take a few moments to sip my drink and survey the people casually. Many men are sending inviting looks my way, and I dismiss them all as I survey their features. I can spot a player easily, and there are many present. A few married men too, with their now-bare ring fingers showing the tell-tale signs of bondage. Any girl worth her salt knows the signs - indentations, missing tan lines, etc. Married men are a yawn - so eager, in a hurry for the release their wives can't (or won't) give them, and usually not worth the fuss. I'm nearly ready to pass off the room and engross myself in my drink when my eyes catch his. He's almost hidden in a group of white collar men - I only see him because he sits about a foot taller than the others. His look is curious, interested but not quite inviting. I sip my drink, my eyes smoldering at him over the rim. Neither of us have looked away, and some of the others in the bar are beginning to notice. Feeling uncharacteristically shy, I drop my gaze.
Once the others go back to their drinks, I peer at him from beneath my lashes, studying his features. I guess his age to be about early-to-mid 30's, though it's hard to tell from so far away. He is the very model of a Nordic man - chiseled jaw, glacial pale eyes, and golden blonde hair. He's definitely not my usual type, but I'm so drawn to him that I can already feel heat between my thighs. I want him more than I've ever wanted any man.
I brood over my drink, barely noticing the bartender approaching with a fresh drink in hand. He's well-trained in his trade - he knows I have exactly two drinks and I tip heavily for his courtesy. As he sets my drink down, he says gently "You have an admirer, gorgeous. He sent this drink with his compliments to your remarkable beauty."
I smile at him, my flirtatious side taking over. "Those are your words, you cad." I say, laughing at his amused expression.
"Perhaps, but his words were similar." He holds his hands out in a "what do you expect" gesture, grinning at me.
I sober my face, sure that my blonde suitor is watching and tell the bartender "Convey my thanks to the gentleman, but let him know I am here for a quiet drink....alone."
He bows, and conveys my message to Mr. Blonde. I see his brows pull together in a frown, and he shoots me a curious look. I raise the fresh drink slightly in thanks, then return my attention to the table. I finish my drink in a hurry, afraid I will break ranks and find myself in Mr. Blonde's lap before I know what I'm doing. I want to savor him, and I know he's already found out from the bartender that I'm a regular here. Knowing my empty glass means I am leaving, the bartender hurries over and we settle the bill, an absurdly big tip in his pocket. "I'll be here tomorrow," I tell him. "Make sure he knows, and get as much info as you can. Discreetly."
I stand, finding my jacket already open and sliding up my arms. "Thanks," I purr to the bartender, and he once again kisses my hand. Taking my oversized shades from my bag, I begin the slow walk to the door. Just as I'm opening it, I slide the glasses on my face, turning to give Mr. Blonde a last look. Satisfied that he is still looking, I walk to the curb and into my waiting car. I'm glad I'm driving my Tesla rather than my other toys; I don't want to scare him off. I see his face through the window of the bar as I pull away. "Good." I think, smiling in the mirror.