Sometimes I think I have a sixth sense. I can spot a woman and know she has a naughty side.
I'm not talking about the ones that are obvious. Of course anyone can see a woman in a short skirt with a tramp stamp with her tits half out and know she's probably up for a good time.
I'm talking about the closet cases. The church girl with a dark impulse. The buttoned-up professional that's dying to let her hair down. The newlywed who can't forget an impetuous encounter from her past. The suburban wife with a lifelong fantasy she's never acted upon.
It's been that way since high school when I first convinced a buxom little red-head to let me unbutton her school girl blouse and let me fondle her gorgeous tits. I loved every moment of helping her break out of shell. I got a dirty thrill out turning a curious little Catholic girl into an insatiable nymphomaniac who was up for anything.
I can't claim to be 100% successful. Sometimes I can sense someone's desire, but they're still reluctant to act. And just because they have a secret fantasy, that doesn't mean that I'm the person they want to fulfill it. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm not everyone's cup of tea. But I do better than average.
The way I see it, there is never any harm in making my interest known. Rejection is part of the game. If you never take the risk, then there's no chance of reward. And that's how I've ended up picking up women at the most mundane places. Standing in line at the grocery store. Strolling through a park. In a waiting room at the dentist.
I met Wendy at a gas station. It was a beautiful day and I'd decided to cut out of work at lunch. She was on the opposite side of the pump I was using. And I knew right away that I had a shot with her. There was just something in her face. A look of frustration mixed with boredom. It didn't matter that she had on a wedding band or that she was driving an SUV with a child seat in the back. I didn't know if the timing was right, but I knew at some point she'd be ready to cast her commitmentβat least for a few hours.
She wasn't a knockout. More of a girl-next door type, but all grown up. She looked to be in her late 20s. She was tall and pretty, but in a plain way, with good cheekbones and nice eyes. Her natural, dirty-blond hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. She had on a pale blue velour track suit with the hooded top zipped-up over a tank-top.
I immediately started thinking of ways to start a conversation. Fortunately, fate intervened. She had the nozzle in her tank and kept glancing back at the pump. Finally she made a frustrated sound.
She glanced up and looked at me.
I offered a polite smile.
"That kind of day?" I asked.
"You wouldn't believe it," she said. "You'd think I know how to start a gas pump by now."
I walked around to the other side. There was a lever she hadn't flipped up.
"Allow me," I offered.
"Well I feel stupid now," she said.
I quickly made a comment about how we all have bad days. My pump was finished, but I lingered next to her while she filled her tank. I was polite and little flirty, but I tried not to make it too obvious.
"It sounds like you're having a shitty day," I finally said. "What are you doing with the rest of it?"
"Nothing much. Running errands," she responded.
"My day has been frustrating, too," I said. "I just cut out of work early and I'm thinking of treating myself to a manicure. Why don't you join me? You can vent your frustration."
She seemed hesitant and started to shake her head.
"Come on," I pleaded playfully. "At least listen to ME vent about my day. It will be fun. I know a place that serves mimosas while they do it."
She was on the fence. I'm sure she thought it was some kind of hustle. She looked me up and down like she was hoping to see a sign that I was a criminal. But her eyes lingered on my long, stocking-covered legs.
"I'll pay, if that's what it takes," I said. I put my hand on her shoulder and ran it down her arm. "Is that what you want? Someone to treat you? Like on a date?"
I gave her a quick wink.
"Come on," I added. "It will just be two girls seeing what trouble we can get into. It will probably remind you of college. When's the last time you just had a day like that?"
She nodded to the car seat and the soccer ball in the back of her car. She admitted it's been a while. I knew she was caving.
"OK," she finally said. "But I'd still be standing here like a bimbo staring at the gas pump if not for you. So I'm buying. I insist."
I couldn't argue with that. I told her to follow me to the little salon in the Asian part of town. The parking lot was filled out front, but I found a spot in the alley behind the building and parked. Wendy parallel parked a few spots up.
There was a short wait inside, so we had a couple of cocktails while we waited. Wendy quickly loosened up from the champagne. She vented about her day and I talked about some generic work stress. By the time we'd finished our second glass I was pouring on the charm. I touched her arm repeatedly as she talked. We looked at the rows of polish and I pointed out a color.
"That will be beautiful on you," I said. "It will match your eyes."
Wendy blushed.
"This one will match your eyes," she said.
"No," I said. "I'm going with this one."
I pointed to a bright blue bottle.
She looked me up and down with a puzzled look on her face. She obviously thought it wasn't right with my conservative gray suit and ruffled black blouse. I leaned close to her ear.
"It matches my panties," I said with a wink. Wendy blushed in response.
We continued to chat and laugh as the ladies did our nails. There was an instant rapport between us. We each had another drink.
I refused to let Wendy pay for me when they'd finished. And she refused to let me pay for her. So we each paid our own bill. Then we walked back around the building to the deserted alley where our cars waited.
"I had a great time," I said. "I think we clicked. And I'm not just saying that because you're cute," I added.
Wendy blushed again.
"Thanks," she said. "I had a great time, too."
She hesitated for a moment.
"And I think you're cute, too," she said shyly.
"Just cute?" I asked playfully. "I usually strive for sexy."
"Oh," she said slowly. "I didn't mean too...I mean, you are," she said. "I think you're very sexy."
I flashed a wicked grin.
"Oh," I said suddenly. "I almost forgot."
I quickly opened the top two buttons on my blouse. I held my fingernails between my cleavage against my bright blue bra.
"What do you think?" I asked. "Did I pick the right color? Does it match?"
She blushed for a third time. Then she nodded slowly. She bit her lower lip like a nervous school girl deciding if she should make a bold move.
"It matches," she said nervously. "But I thought you said you chose it to match your panties. How do I know they're the same color?"
I felt my face light up with a grin.
"Are you asking to see?" I questioned.
She shook her head playfully.
"No," she said. "I'm just asking. I'll take your word."
"It sound like you doubt me. Like you want to see," I teased.
She bit her lip again. She was the perfect image of the grown up All American girl.
"What would you do?" Wendy asked. "Show me?"
"I showed you my bra."
"That's not the same," she protested. "You only had to open a few buttons. It's not the same pulling up that tight skirt."
"Is that what you want?" I asked. "You want me to hike up my tight skirt? You want me to wiggle it up my thighs right here in the alley so you can see my blue satin panties?"
She glanced up and down the alley anxiously.