I was sitting at the bar, nursing a watered down whiskey when she finally strolled through the door. It had been nearly thirty minutes since she had texted "Almost there! See you in five". The anger and frustration that had been building slowly over the last agony-inducing half hour was student m suddenly giving way to an intense need to do anything to make this date go well and a sudden gratefulness that I had masturbated in the shower.
She looked nothing like her picture, which I realize now should have been a sign of how little effort she had planned on putting in to meeting men on Tinder. Her hair was no longer blonde, instead it was a rich mahogany that contrasted the vibrant green of her eyes. This was not the cute, pastels and butterflies Southern sorority girl from her pictures. In her place was a woman who had a look that said she had seen much of the world, and knew the parts of it she cared for and spared no thought for the parts she didn't. I was desperate to be in the former.
"Hey, you must be Kaitlin!" I hoped I hadn't stuttered or stammered and tried to project the confidence I had strolled into the bar with, confidence that flew out the window the moment she came in.
"Sorry, I'm late. My dog was being a real motherfuck and wouldn't listen or go in his crate. What are we drinking?" I had to laugh at her decision to censor the last -er of the word, but I stifled it enough to answer, emphasizing the first word enough to show that I wasn't sure if she planned on drinking with me. "We're drinking Kentucky's finest--bourbon."
"Oh thank God. If I met up with another pretentious business school ass who tried to sell me on some instagram cocktail with liqueur you can only buy in the French Alps, I was going to lose it."
I had only ordered bourbon because it was cheap, quick and simple. But whatever earned me points, I guess.
As we drank, we chatted about what brought us both to New Orleans. I had just left a miserable job in Grand Rapids, and was desperate to be in a place that had culture, music, food and women. I wasn't sure in what order to rank those needs. She had graduated from Ole Miss a few years prior, and had intended to go to law school. A brief "I'll just work here to pay the bills" at an insurance agency later, and she had stumbled into delayed plans and enough roots that law school seemed miles away.
After the second round of bourbon was all ice, she asked me how long it had been since I had last blown my load. My eyes went wide and before I could finish the w sound of the "Well..." that I knew was coming, she cut me off.
"And I'm not talking about rubbing one out in the shower before you left tonight cause you had extra conditioner in your hand. I'm talking about the kind where your knees get a little weak, you have to prop yourself up cause you're disoriented and you're pretty sure you need a Gatorade after. "
I flushed at the conditioner comment, because that had been EXACTLY what I did. But she continued before I could even ponder exactly what kind of witchcraft she was operating with.
"Yeah, that's kind of the vibe I was getting. You're cute, and you've at least been kind of subtle about trying to see what color panties I'm wearing."
She was definitely a witch.
"Meet me in the bathroom and maybe you'll find out." With those ten words, she spun herself off the stool and headed towards to two bathrooms by the entrance. I watched her glance over her shoulder, before opening the large wooden doors underneath the word "Women".
