April 08, 2008
Originally published May 17, 2003
I walked in, sat down on a stool at the bar and ordered a drink. A haze of ciagrette smoke floated lazily amid the neon lights. I thanked God that I wasn't in New York City. I fished a deck of Marlboros out of my shirt pocket and lit one, tossing a couple of smoke rings into the mist. The bartender slid an ashtray my way.
She was a good-looking woman, but I could tell that she had been around. "Buy me a drink, soldier?" she asked, as she sidled up to me and poured herself onto the stool next to mine.
The low-cut dress left little to the imagination about her breasts, and when she crossed her legs to show me thighs all the way to THERE, I knew that I was dealing with a formidable foe.
"I'm not a soldier," I said, keeping my cool. "But I'll buy this whole goddam bar if you'll go home with me and fuck my brains out tonight."
I offered her a cigarette. She took it, placed it between her red-lipsticked lips and drew daintily as I applied some fire. She blew smoke rings that matched mine when she exhaled.
"What do I get out of it, big boy?" she asked.
I threw $175 dollars in cash, three credit cards and a Food-Lion discount coupon on the bar. "All of this and more," I said, giving her the sexiest look I could muster.
"You have a booger hanging out of your nose," she whispered.
I used a bar napkin to handle that problem and was disgusted by what I saw. "I've got a chronic sinius infection," I explained.
She smiled, rubbed her red-nailed fingers on my leg and said, "That's okay. Are you infected anywhere else?"
Then, I woke up.
All content © Rob Smith