Part One of Two
Saturday night. I'm not feeling proper and optimistic these days. Some things pertaining my personal life have gone awry. Losing a bird to your indifference might appear to be the most cost-effective way to drop a bad card. Losing a bird to your involvement might appear to be the most cost-effective way to drop into depression. Don't get me wrong, the days of relentless fretting about the mechanisms of cause and effect resulting in applicable loss are long gone but it's always interesting to witness how exactly does an attachment to an outcome or an idea affects your thinking patterns and influences behaviour. Nowadays every transition between states of consciousness is a clinical experiment, a litmus test displaying prowess in adaptation rather than being a veritable cause for genuine concern about your overall well-being.
The bar is scarcely populated. The outside terrace is almost filled to capacity but the inside hall with the large imposing rectangular central bar is still mostly empty. A few bar-stools are already occupied but I have no trouble securing two of them at a (strategically chosen) corner of the bar, right next to the waitress's service point. I'm supposed to be meeting a friend here tonight. I'm not supposed to be engaging in any activity other than idle socialising, my current disposition makes sure that any urge pertaining the externalising of my inner workings is tonight kept at bay. I've got my comm on me and a cigarette lighter. Two devices, one robustly modern and the other arcanely outdated. Smoking has long been eclipsed by other means as a favourite pastime and addiction for many but some people still prefer it, attributing to it the advantages of vintage romanticism and a communicated air of inherent counterculture coolness.
I am in doubt whether tonight I will be lighting any woman's filtered hopes on fire.
Time passes uneventfully and I'm engrossed into noting down my thoughts and memoirs on an electronic notepad. Swift walking waitresses carrying trays laden with glasses containing dubious liquids of various colours lightly brush my sides as they swing from the service point towards their designated targets. What is going on around is not of my concern. Tonight I am removing myself from the specific demands of sensual prowling. Tonight is considered to be a night off. I am expecting to receive no calls, no messages, no winking winkling offers. Although I have mentally included myself into the thralls of contingent socialising I have also physically removed me from any interaction. It's almost like I'm not there although in all descriptive physicality I very much am.
The friend that I'm supposed to meet here tonight is late as usual. I finish my first drink and decide to take a break from being engrossed in myself, so I get up and walk around the slowly populating bar. One of the waitresses sitting around an empty table, waiting for a random hand to hail orders is intercepted by my wary wakeful eye. An old story, an old seemingly extinguished flame. Slowly, tentatively I make my approach. She sees and recognizes me coming from a distance, smiles, and waves. In an instant, I am feeling slightly more optimistic about the world around me and soon enough I'm flanking her idle resting body.
“Hey”
Within the coiling, twisting world of prospective, established and past lovers this small exclamatory greeting has come to contain myriad little displays of covert affection.
“Hey!”, she smiles back.
She is almost ten years younger. Ample body, marginally taller than me. Big, round olive-green eyes, dark complexion, black straight long hair tied up in a simple ponytail. Regressive, conservative clothing, black jeans, non-revealing white blouse. I find her nose to be of exquisite variety. Strong, straight, longish, leading the examining eye to focus on the most prominent of her facial features, highlighting the clearness of the skin and the slightly oriental curvature of the eyes. Biggish, round bottom. I find this woman to rank consistently amongst the top ten on any given night at this bar. I might have been de-constructively inconsistent in pursuing her in the past. A window of opportunity had once been, in the spur of the moment as most business in my field are conducted, carefully crafted and opened by yours truly but for some reason not yet fathomed I had permitted a draft of idleness to subsequently close it shut. Tonight I'm talking to her as a random acquaintance and not a long lost but returning, recurring lover.
“Been on holidays yet?”
She appears as if she is searching for the correct words in order to properly address my question.
“Took a week off, didn't do much, spent a couple of days at the sea and then in a retreat up in the mountains.”
I'm naturally drawn into an inquisitive quest. Any shared detail is welcome in my covert search in determining her current state and status.
“So you've had your share in experiencing monastic life, tell me, what was it like?”
She smiles, throws her head back and lets out a tiny laugh.
“I wasn't alone! I went along with friends!”
I'm standing a couple of inches away from her. Light gushing out of a nearby lantern creates visual contrast through intricate shadow interplay. Her naked arm is beckoning me, to touch, engage, transmit a coded message marking our mutual engagement in the game of seduction but somehow the will for strong action on my part seems to fly out of every loose crevice tonight. In this moment in time, I'm content with my imagination milling out pictures, scenes of action starring my erect cock traveling in and out of her open welcome mouth.
We continue to chat for some time more, discussing the mechanics of taking days off in order to maintain composure upon returning once more to a workplace. The conversation is really starting to bore me, I'm not interested in listening to the particulars of her life experiences unless said particulars have explicitly to do with my trouser sword in conjunction with her flower bed. A hand beckons from a distance, she excuses herself and rushes over to tend a customer. I feel as if I've had enough for the day, or night and without further ado, I turn around on my heels and exit the premises. It's only a five-minute walk to where my car is parked and as I'm traversing the distance dark thoughts circle my head like stonewashed carrion birds over a week-long dead human corpse.
Just before I turn into the main road where my faithful chariot is awaiting my imminent arrival my comm notifies me of a message. I have a good mind not to engage with anyone else for this night but the caller seems quite persistent so I check in on it. It's my late friend.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Where the hell are YOU?”
“I'm at the bar asshole! Weren't we supposed to meet there?”
This guy is obviously thinking himself as being quite the funny character. There is a high chance that if I return to the bar I will get myself into some kind of heated altercation. Zen-hood aside, there are moments where aggressively dealing with lameness and stupidity proves to be quite invigorating. Momentarily I pause in my tracks, quietly stirring in contemplation. There is obviously a part of me that still wants to party hard. As I'm balancing on the edge of the pavement, waiting for the ether to provide me with a tangible applicable decision, a vehicle pulls up the road behind me.
“Excuse me, can I ask you something?”
I turn around slowly, casually, displaying no eagerness in engaging in any interaction. The vehicle, a black soft top coupé, is parked right next to me. All of its windows are open. Two dark figures occupy the front seats. Without haste, I lean forward and peer through the frameless opening.
At first, I don't recognise them. While my eye adjusts to the new lighting conditions I begin to notice things. Smiles. Hair colours. Bosoms. A pair of hands tightly squeezing a steering wheel. Black dresses and pearl necklaces. Perfume that stirs up desire. Smiles, again. I've seen these faces before. I've been in those places before. I know this car.
Quick as lighting she leans over from the co-driver's seat. I can tell she is happy to see me. I can tell they are both happy to see me. To them, this surely looks and feels like blind luck lighting up their way. To me this seems like well calculated and carefully orchestrated serendipity. The ground up to this meeting has been methodically prepared in past occasions – by me and I'm now witnessing the labours of my craftiness.
“Where are you going?”, she asks minxishly while toying with a loose tuft of hair. Her friend is sporting an identical smile and even if she is not voicing her inner thoughts I know that I will be definitely answering a shared question.
“To the bar!”, I smile and turn my head towards the direction of the bar. “Where are you gals going?”
They both laugh and seem to be genuinely enjoying my unexpected appearance in their night-time itinerary.
“To the bar!”, they both sing in unison and simultaneously break out in laughter. The ladies seem quite energetic and thoroughly prepped up for where they are about to go. Two single women, just over their forties, dolled up and ready for action. The co-driver, Alexa leans again towards my presence. She is wearing a black long tube dress, held about by thin shoulder straps. The outline of her chest is clearly visible under the thin fabric of her overgarment. She is not wearing a bra. I know those breasts, and I can recall their taste in my mouth. Our shared antics aren't easy to forget. The overwhelming sensation of her curled lips around the head of my cock does not fade from memory easily. I remember sliver-white strands of sizzling hot cum, my cum, slithering down the corners of her cock-stuffed mouth, her head still furiously bobbing up and down in a frantic attempt to swallow my manhood alive and whole. My trousers immediately tighten up in hard reminiscing and I softly but quickly brush my tongue over my front teeth and lips. Alexa sees this and simultaneously flicks her eyelashes slowly up and down, and smiles at me. Her friend is watching me with the corner of her eye, smiling coyly being as flirtatious in silence as Alexa is in conversation.
Bitches! How about if I take you both? Both?
“Are you coming?”, Alexa sings from a distance to my ear. I wade through a quick mental projection of future revolutions to come.
I know I'll be coming alright. All over your fuckin' face that's for sure!
“I'm already there baby!”, I wink, straighten up and start the short walk back towards the bar, leading the coupé and my prospective escorts, luring them all into a trap exclusively set up just for their courtesy some haggard millennia
Read the first episode in the series, Undisclosed Paradise
Read the second episode in the series, Stored Taking