The air was cold, but it felt invigorating after spending twelve thankless hours in a stuffy office cubicle, a rainy mist hitting my face as I exited the revolving doors to the main street. The city was lit up, as it had been dark for several hours. I had been asked to stay late to organize several accounts that a former co-worker intentionally sabotaged just before he was fired for incompetence.
Pissed off, tired and hungry by ten o'clock when I finally started for home, I decided I needed a glass of wine to relax. A massage and a valium were what I really needed, but it was too late to get the former, and I had none of the latter. I remembered there was nothing to eat at my condo anyway, so I figured that I might as well grab something while I was out.
I pulled into a restaurant with a bar, a place I was unfamiliar with, but only a half mile from where I work in the city center. After I was inside I figured at least I would order a salad, as it was an upscale place and quite busy in a good way, and I only managed to get the last open seat at the end of a long, curved bar.
The bartender brought me a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, cocking her head when she looked at me with her eyes narrowed, as if either she knew me or I looked like an old friend from high school. She didn't smile, nor did she strike up a conversation, but her look wasn't exactly unfriendly either, even though she said nothing despite her repeated appraisal of me. I would look up and notice her watching me. But as I drank more I thought less and less of it, and anyway, I'd been checked out by lesbians before, and though she didn't seem to fit that profile, I had no idea of why else she would have been so overtly looking me over.
She was rather striking to look at and built quite differently than I, tall, leggy and thin with small boobs and a pert little butt that no doubt looked great in tight, skinny jeans. She had high cheek bones, blue eyes, dirty blond hair cut into a short wedge, and several piercings that followed the curve of her ear. She wore a pressed white blouse, a black bow tie and a black pleated skirt that was so short it played panty peek-a-boo with the customers. Every time she stretched for one of the top-shelf liquors her white panties became visible as they caressed her cheeks. And it appeared that all of the waitresses had to wear these uniforms, as well as strappy black heels that arched their lower backs and exaggerated the sway to their butts when they walked.
After my second glass of wine I wondered what a bartender was paid as I started dwelling on my job, and how as the new kid on the block I was always stuck doing the work no one else wanted. And as the newest CPA at the agency, I was also the least paid CPA on the block as well. I found myself wondering why I had become a CPA. After three glasses of wine it dawned on me that I was getting quite buzzed and needed some food.
As I perused the menu the seat next to me opened up and a guy quickly took it. He chatted quietly with the bartender while I mostly ignored him and considered the salad choices, the wine on my empty stomach now having gone straight to my head. I was vaguely aware that he ordered a drink but was unaware that he ordered a refill for me until he slid it in front of me.
I half-heartedly protested and offered to repay him, but he very familiarly insisted that I have the drink, and soon, partly from the booze and partly out of boredom, I found myself chatting with him, the alcohol writing most of my dialogue and my food temporarily forgotten.
He was, I guess, about forty-five and wore a wedding ring; he said his name was Rob; he was charming in an unpretentious way and proceeded to tell me that on Thursdays he frequently chatted with Diane, who usually sat in my seat. Did I know her, he asked, with a tone that seemed to say 'of course you know her'. She sometimes dresses much like me he said, and since I was wearing a conservative dark blue blazer and matching skirt with a white blouse, I could only assume that she too was a wage slave.
No, I replied, I didn't think I knew her, and he smiled as he nodded his head and took a drink of what appeared to be scotch. He paused and then proceeded to ask if I was working, seemingly not sure whether to look into my eyes or to check me out as he inquired, his eyes sliding from my eyes to my lips and then boldly to my cleavage and back again to my eyes. And me, buzzed and getting sillier, said that I had been working, and I further suggested, tongue-in-cheek, that the girl who usually sat here probably was still at her desk, "being taken advantage of too."
"Well, Diane is a sociology professor" he said, "but I guess you can always use some extra money if you have the looks and the," here he paused to think, "I guess itch is the right word, at least for some" he continued, "I know it is for her."
"Yep" I said, naively oblivious of his curious choice of words and of what he was implying as I accepted still another drink, now staring drunkenly into his eyes, brown eyes that fitted his tanned face, and dark brown hair with gray wisps beginning to form at his temples, his mouth centered over a handsomely dimpled chin. An unexpected shiver washed over me, and I took a deep breath and squeezed my thighs tightly together and released them, catching myself applying pressure to the tingle that had awakened unexpectedly. I realized that I probably was too drunk to drive and for that matter too drunk to be making decisions of the heart, or the libido as the case may be, several glasses of wine overwhelming my diminutive frame and beginning to do my thinking for me.
And as to my diminutive frame: I have wavy brown hair with auburn highlights, olive skin and green eyes with a slightly Asian or Mediterranean look to them that I share with my father. Though I would kill to be five-ten just to be able to reach the middle shelves of my kitchen cupboards, I'm five-five and mostly have small features, save for my chest, which I think is far too large for my torso. No petite woman should have to tote around boobs the size of grapefruit, and the first thing I do when I get home is remove my bra to 'let the guys breathe' as a friend puts it. But there they are, so sensitive to the least stimulation that my nipples crinkle and stiffen if I even think of sex. And though I always threaten to have a breast reduction, over the years every guy I ever have been with has vehemently argued against such a course of action. "Most women would kill for your boobs" they argue. "Don't do something you'll regret later. A hard little butt and big firm boobs, get real Kris."
But to get back to the bar, by now Rob's hand was touching my arm familiarly as we chatted, and to be fair, my elbow was resting against his as well: "I don't want to keep you up too late" he finally said, "let me pay up and get on with things."
I blindly agreed, knowing I needed to get home and eat something, thinking of casting caution to the wind for my admittedly short drive. I just let him pay the bill as I hadn't the wits to argue with him, and I left the bar nearly hanging on his arm, not really sober enough to walk confidently, let alone drive. Though it was rare for me to go home with a perfect stranger, what girl hasn't had one impulsive hook-up in her life? But that wasn't part of my plan then.
"Diane never drinks this much" he said, again curiously mentioning his friend as we walked. "But I guess that's all a matter of what you're used to" he continued, describing a friend who practiced law with a hip flask of scotch nearby at all times. I listened and tried not to fall in my heels, not noticing that we were not heading for my car.
We soon reached a large BMW sedan, expensive and sand colored. Rob gently but firmly twirled me around so that my ass was pressed against the wet passenger side door. He proceeded to look me over as the mist, now heavy, continued to tighten the ringlets of my hair and the world continued to spin for a bit. He undid my blazer, pushed the cloth aside and plunged inside as he uttered a low growl of appreciation when he explored my chest. He massaged one of my boobs, his thumb zeroing in on my nipple, rubbing it until it not only became hard but until my body began to shudder in response to each teasing pass of his thumb.
My head lolled backward and my eyes closed at the pleasurable sensation, and I let him proceed without a second thought as he kissed my neck from just below my throat up to my ear where he whispered huskily before he took my lobe between his teeth, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to affect the speech of a Shakespearean actor: "For the divine services of her lovely mouth Diane assessed a $300 fee. Would you grace me with your company for similar compensation?"
