I walked into the bar feigning confidence. It was broad daylight and this was not the most reputable bar on the strip, a fact that was noted when determining the meeting place. I stepped inside the doorway pulling off my sunglasses slowly glancing around the room; hoping my eyes would adjust quickly and that I would see him right away.
I looked to my left and saw the counter, filled with people who must have been regulars judging by the way that they spoke to each other and the bartender. All of them in ratty shirts and jeans, greasy hair, and sporting glassy eyes that I guessed were attributable to substances other than the alcohol in front of them. To my right I saw a bunch of tables, most of which were empty, but more unsavory characters occupied a few. I tried to avoid eye contact with everyone and let my eyes flicker further around the bar, and then I saw him.
He stuck out almost as much as I did, wearing a blue button down shirt and designer jeans. I walked up to the table conscious of the attention I was getting and trying not to attract it at the same time. I was wearing my Lucky Jeans, with a low-cut turquoise top that matched my eyes exactly; a pair of four-inch pumps that made my legs look miles long completed the outfit – and this was my idea of dressing down.
"Hey Jake!" I said over-brightly, trying to compensate for the shyness and insecurity I was feeling. His eyes seemed to darken when he saw me, but he greeted me without standing up, solving the dilemma of whether we would hug, and I apologized for being late because I had missed the street three times. He laughed, and the tension started flowing away; things were going back to normal.
I could not believe I had actually shown up. Jake was a classmate, a married classmate, one who apparently had been attracted to me for the last two years – without me having a clue. We had started graduate school at the same time and had most of our classes together; after spending days locked into classrooms listening to boring lectures we had developed a flirtatious banter that often exceeded the norms of propriety. Since we had met when we were both in relationships, and had both stated we were kidding on numerous occasions, I had never given our flirting another thought. Until now, until this week.
Jake and I had wound up at this bar on accident. Both of us upping the ante of our flirtation until we got to the point of no return. His wife went out of town and he joked that I should keep him company. I am not one back down from the challenge joked right back that he should come and visit me. We went back and forth trying to figure out if the other person was serious, and all of the sudden it stopped being a game. I decided to back down once and give him a chance to drop the subject, he teased me about it and joked that I was a quitter. . . So I warned him, if he started another round of flirting I would not be the one to back down. He started teasing me again, and now here we were sitting at a bar we knew none of our acquaintances would frequent, looking at each other – and yet it wasn't awkward.
"So. . . get much work done today?" I asked Jake coyly, knowing that he had spent the entire day talking to me.
He laughed, "No, not really; although there isn't much for me to do anyways." He replied, seemingly at ease.
"What exactly do you do? I know where you work but you've never said what your job is." I asked trying to come up with conversation. He launched into a narrative explaining his company, the departments, and his role. He didn't leave much room for questions, and his explanation was rather good; I was relieved not to have to come up with something. It was just natural, like talking to a friend – which he was, and I'd lost sight of.
After a while, he noticed that I was wincing whenever I turned my head to the left; I had woken up with a stiff neck that morning and it was getting worse by the minute. I subtly kept trying to twist my neck and rub my shoulder but nothing was helping and it was staring to hurt just to keep my head up.
Out of nowhere, he reached over the table and started rubbing my shoulder. It felt so good until he hit the knot and I yelped, but he kept rubbing it causing me to grimace and cringe as he worked it out. It was the first physical contact we ever had and I was impressed with the way he just reached over to touch me, and help me; and the way he knew exactly where and how to touch me.
"I took a massage class in undergrad." He said, by way of explanation as his phone started ringing. He glanced down at it, and looked at me apologetically. I nodded my head at the front door in understanding, and he left to go talk to his wife. Strangely, it didn't bother me. It was his choice, and his life; I wondered at my motivation for getting involved but didn't feel like analyzing it at that point. I sipped on my drink, feeling more at ease, when I saw him approaching from the corner of my eye.
He came up behind me and put his hands on both my shoulders, my neck being a great excuse for physical contact. He started rubbing my shoulders gently and I leaned back against him, pressing closer to him to feel him. My head started to roll back against him as he gently explored my shoulders trying to get a better sense of the knot, and get me used to his touch. I felt the heat radiating from his body and I was certain I could feel his erection pressing into the middle of my back.
My breathing accelerated as I acknowledged the attraction between us, and realized that I was definitely curious about how far things could go. He found the knot right then and started working on it specifically, I didn't expect him to work it so hard, but it was really helping even though it hurt like hell. The pain was worth the sensation of him pressing against my back, but soon he stopped and sat back down across from me. I think that was the moment that I truly accepted the attraction and knew that it was only a matter of time.
We talked for the next two hours, catching up on gossip and all the people we knew. The camaraderie was easy; we were only a few years apart in age, both of us under thirty. We talked about careers, school, travel . . . everything except the reason we were sitting at the bar. He knew better than to force the question, and I still hadn't decided whether I would take him home with me. Soon we had had several drinks, and without talking about it both of us refused another round and opted to settle the tab.
