I put on a black body-contouring dress and line my eyes in the deepest shade of onyx they make. I can't help but think of the possible inhabitants of such a place on a night such as this. The approaching holidays always make people act a little funnier; stranger, or maybe it's just the amount of liquor they all consume around this time of the year, dealing with their fucked-up families and the crushing loneliness.
It's fucking cold. The night wind is unrelenting and whips inbetween the cookie-cutter houses as I scurry to the car. I search around the radio stations until I find the atmospheric song I am looking for. Something smokey, and silky to feed the night. I drive around the block several times looking for parking, to the point where I contemplate just going back home. But a spot opens up, as if to make my decision for me.
The guy at the door checking i.d.'s is always so fucking surly. I'm hard-pressed to call him a bouncer, as he is pretty scrawny under that billowy beard and leather jacket, and I think the only thing that guy has ever bounced is his rent check. No amount of polite banter ever softens his icy exterior, so I don't bother this time.
I snake my way in, through the constricted crowd, peering around for an open seat, of which there appear to be none. I make my way instead to the jukebox to get my selections in the queue. Plus it helps me look less freakishly alone. There is some little nagging feeling in the back of my mind, or perhaps in the pit of my stomach. Hell, maybe it is a foolish hope. I try to shake it, as I peruse the albums, though most are memorized by now. I feed my crumpled bills into the machine and press the desired buttons.
The place is packed with oddballs; they keep bristling me as they walk past. Though the jukebox bisects the bar, it's hard to see the back half of the place. I swear amid the musty winter coat and skanky beer smell, there is the sweet aroma of a masculine deodorant or cologne. It instantly transports me to a much cozier night; full of heat and intrigue. But it fades just as quickly as it came. I'm left in the olfactory grip of old wood and stale cigarettes.
I spot an open bar stool against the back wall. I take what I can get at this point. I fight and push my way to the seat. I sit facing toward the crowd of mongrels and yuppies there on a lark. I quietly and rapidly resent every mother fucker in the place for not being him. What the hell was I really up to anyway? Who was I really expecting to find? Some ray of hope in the bleak madness that envelopes my every thought. Fuck. I start chewing my bottom lip nervously, as my eyes dart around the barroom. A largish bald man in a puffy down jacket is taking up most of my sight line. He is talking to a smallish Indian guy in tight corduroy man-leggings. Everyone is having a mediocre time, while pretending to have a great time. Eventually Midwestern Big Pun and his friend push their way to a recently vacated booth, allowing me some breathing room.
As the human semi-truck and his miniature side-kick mosey their way to stake their claim, I spot a blonde tuft of hair above the crowd, not five feet from me, sitting at the bar. I instinctively know who it is; partly terrified, partly relieved. What the fuck to do now? Shit. He is here with some plain, dirty blonde cast-off from the Bachelor or something. I kind of want to go throw a drink in his face for being such an unrelenting asshole. Saying hi would just be fucking stupid. It has to be all or nothing. He will see me eventually and that will be even worse. So I should do what I really want to fucking do...
Perhaps it's the God-awful fight with my ex-husband echoing in my head, or perhaps it's the seedy atmosphere of the bar, or even more, maybe it is that lingering scent memory that drives me over to him. I only make it a few steps before he notices me, but it is too late by then. I've already decided; the course has been set. I breeze right between him and his sorry excuse for a date. I don't even speak while his cupie doll balks behind me. I just stand there and let him absorb the hard reality.
But I can't resist the magnetic pull to be near him. I find myself being drawn into him. Fuck it. As I lean in to kiss him, I feel his powerful arm wrap around my waist and squeeze me into him. His lips are honeyed with bourbon and that wonderful scent of his cologne invades my senses. My hands grope his back as my nails lightly scratch the fabric of his t-shirt. I can feel his hardening erection against my abdomen.
I'm sure by now, the crowd is taking notice. And I can't imagine what his stupefied date must think! I can't help but laugh, cruelly to myself, at the ease of which I usurped her date. We can't stop pawing at each other, like the feral animals we are. At some point, I think the girl tries piping in, but time and space have become meaningless in our embrace. I don't know how long we stood there making out, but it seemed endless. I break free from his snare, just long enough to breath, "I fucking want you. Every fucking part of you," into his ear. I make my way down his earlobe to his neck, kissing my way back to his waiting mouth. The date finally gets fed up and grabs her coat to leave. She mutters something along the lines of, "I can't believe this shit. Never call me again," or some such and storms out, I assume anyway as we are still grinding each other at the bar.
He reaches into his pocket to fish some money out of his jeans; never breaking stride. He throws it onto the soggy bartop and we reluctantly detach so he can throw his coat on. He positions me in front of his massive bulge I've seemed to have created, so we can get the fuck out there somewhat unmolested. He wraps one strong hand tightly around my hip bone while his other arm extends around my waist. We walk in this strange manner as if one bantam shred of light between will somehow break the spell the night has cast between us. I can feel the burning gaze of the fellow patrons, some burning with hate and disgust, while others sear with desire and envy. I feel nothing but white-hot excitement and just a touch of arrogance.
We finally break our way into the cool, autumn air. He spins me around to face him and he grabs the back of my head to bring me into him for more unabashed making out. His apartment is only a few blocks from the bar, but I know we won't be able to hold out that long. I lead him to my car just down the street and hand him my keys. He pulls open the passenger door and closes it behind me. He gets in and I'm already mauling him. He fumbles the key into the ignition and pulls the SUV into the nearest alleyway as I suck and kiss his neck and what his v-neck tee exposes of his chest. I rub his granite cock through his jeans, but further arousal is redundant at this point. I just like feeling its might under my delicate hands. He starts to moan inadvertently. My fingers find their way to his belt buckle and deftly unclasp it with one hand, while the other can't help but grab his incredible, broad biceps. I undo the button on his jeans and slowly, torturously, cajole his copper zipper down.
I've only imagined what his cock looked like, as I insistently denied my desire time and again. I gently ease my hand into his boxers to feel the rigid, smooth flesh that lie beneath. I caress it lightly with my fingertips; savor in its delicacy before freeing it. It's rather triumphant in its fully realized state. Perfect; almost regal in its eight inch length. I begin to kiss the base of this plunder I had stole; softly and sweetly. Letting my mouth run across its entire length before dragging my tongue along the underside of his cock making my way luxuriously to the tip. I pause at the head to tease and kiss him just a bit more before I fully envelope him. But I can't wait any longer and he is audibly in agreement as I wrap my mouth around the entirety of his head, swallowing more and more of him until I gag at the base of his shaft. I keep working my wet mouth around his cock while I twist and stroke my Byzantine fingers around the lower portion of the shaft; thumb grazing his balls with each downstroke.
I know he won't be able to hold out if I continue on, and I want desperately to fuck that big, shiny cock, so I coax him to crawl in the back seat after ripping off his coat and jeans, while I slip out of my jacket and slide my soaked panties down my slender legs.
He positions himself in the middle of the bench seat, with his weighty dick at full attention in his massive hand. I practically hop into the back seat, my dress hiked up to my waist and my riding boots still on. Neither of us wastes time as I straddle his lap, while peeling his t-shirt off his sweaty back. The windows have fogged up completely by this point and neither one of us is inhibited by the thought of getting caught. He unzips my barely-there dress and pulls it over my head. I raise myself slightly to guide his cock into my waiting pussy. It's dripping with excitement, but it's still tight at first. I slowly lower myself onto his erection, easing him into me. We both moan low, as if in relief for the delayed satisfaction we were finally about to indulge in. "You feel so good on my rock-hard cock, you fucking minx." This sends an electric pulse down my spine. We start kissing furiously once again. I rock my hips into him, picking up speed with each bounce, my long tobacco tresses jumping and flying. He rhythmically meets each grind with the thrust of his cock. He feels so amazing inside of me, like he was meant to be there. Like he was molded just for me. He starts sucking that one secret spot on my neck that drives me wild. I can't help but grind into him faster as I cry out in pleasure. I open my eyes just long enough to see him boring into my body with his oceanic gaze. He licks my nipples as I run my fingers through his hair, pushing his face closer into my tits; my head thrown back in unadulterated lust. His breathing becomes heavier as his thrusts quicken. He's right on my g-spot now, I can feel the climax building. The more he moans, the hotter I get. I keep bouncing on his thick cock until I know I'm going to come. I pull him even deeper inside of me as I whisper to him, "Baby, you're going to make me fucking come on your big cock. Fuck. I'm coming, baby..." As I trail off into indecipherable babble and guttural moans; I can feel his dick pulsating inside me as I clamp down in orgasm. In the next second, he yells out, Fuck, baby. I'm coming!" as his cock unloads his hot come inside my wanton pussy.
We just sit there for a moment, panting uncontrollably. The heat from our bodies has created a jungle-like climate and we are both rife with sweat. I nestle my face into the space between his jaw and shoulder, kissing him lightly, and enjoying the feeling of his cock still nestled snugly inside of me. He wraps a powerful arm around my waist, never minding the searing heat between us. His other arm bent and pressed against the back of the seat, my arm against his; our hands intertwined. It feels like a gossamer-threaded dream. Neither one of us ever wanting to let go of the rapidly fleeting moment. Fistfuls of passion, lust, and spark, diffusing; oozing out into the piceous night. As hard as we try to contain the power by holding each other so tightly and so close, it still manages to evaporate, leaving only the condensation of a stark reality. The most I can muster is, "Never let go of my hand."
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