Bar Life

A quick, lust-filled interaction in a bar setting.

He indulged in heated voyeurism as her perfect mouth sculpted itself around the lip of the martini glass, slow and intimate like a skilled lover. For a fleeting moment, he contemplated ripping her clothes off and ravaging her right then and there. But then his nerve messengers flicked his internal switch: ANIMALISTIC IMPULSE OFF. He cleared his throat, loosened his tie a bit, and reverted back to a civilized self�"he was wearing an Armani suit, after all.

He stalked casually to the other side of the bar, careful to avoid the vixen’s penetrating stare that easily ignited the blood in his veins. Without looking her way, he slid onto the empty bar stool next to her.

The bartender placed a square napkin in front of him.

“Bacardi and coke with a twist of lemon.” he said before the barkeeper could ask his poison. The barman nodded cordially and began concocting the drink.

“Aren’t you going to ask what I’m having?” The woman said. He stole a glance at her long and shapely legs before meeting her gaze.

“Thought I should give it some time first,” he winked. “We didn’t even introduce ourselves.”

“You’d forget my name a few minutes later anyway,” she said. “And besides, a drink tells you everything about a person, doesn’t?”

The bartender placed down the rock glass. The man immediately took a quick swig of his drink. Tastes like s**t, he thought.

“Perhaps,” he said. “What does yours say about you?”

She picked up her martini glass and drank out of it slowly, keeping her electric eyes locked on his aching face.

“Mine is vodka martini,” she said after a moment, rhythmically drumming her pointer finger against the stem of the glass. “Extra olives with a splash of olive juice, to make it a little dirty.”

She gave him a wry smile.

“It means that I know what I like.”

“And mine?” He asked, nearly falling onto her as his pulse exploded.

“Rum and coke?”  She laughed. Her cat-like eyes followed his contours with a calculating gravity.

“You live from nine to five,” she said, amused. “with a twist of convention. Extra dry.”

He deflated.  He turned back to the counter. What a c**t.

She then leaned over, placing her mouth so close to his ear that her tongue flicked against his lobe when she spoke.

“And in case you’re wondering, I’m not wearing any panties.”

Animalistic impulse ON.