Last Friday Night

The lights are hot. There are so many of them! The colors are blinding. In the maddening rainbow I can only guess the original hue of the crowd’s wardrobe.

Faces blur, voices pelt my ear, a calypso rhythm on my eardrum. The glass in my hand never runs dry. I have no idea what I’m in for as I suck the liquid into my mouth. The bitter taste of lemon fills my mouth in a flash before it’s numbed by the vodka.

The man in front of me smiles and continues his story, accidentally grazing my breasts for the 37th time. I laugh politely at the appropriate times and tilt my head seductively as if I’m hanging off his every word while imagining him nude. The latter part of that scenario is spot on. I wonder how many times he’s told this story. The rate of wins vs losses must be positive because here he is, regaling the event again and hoping it will win me over.

I have no idea what he’s saying. If only he knew none of this was necessary. That I have a checklist in my head and it’s simply a yes or no question. I always know within the first 3 minutes of meeting someone whether or not I will sleep with them. He’s a yes. Which is why I’m still here. Drinking his petty cash and tittering like a drunk teenager because I can tell it strokes his ego in all the right places.

He lets his hand linger on my back as he pulls me out of the way of some altercation behind me. It falls lower. Lower still. It’s resting on my ass and I notice his lips have stopped moving. Now they’re slightly parted and he’s looking longingly at mine. I move a little closer, licking my lips and letting the bottom one get caught between my teeth. I’ve assumed the position.

He reaches around me with the other hand and closes the gap between us. His body feels perfect.

Solid. Strong. Sexy.

He leans down and his luscious looking lips finally reach mine.

It’s showtime.

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