Prompt #72 from Cheri Loughlin’s list of 300 erotic prompts.
It was a Friday evening and, because I was rather introverted with a close group of friends whose big idea of fun was walking through museums or discussing the latest big seller, I was alone at a local bar, sighing into my apple martini rather than laughing it up like the table of drunk women next to me.
Why am I here again? I asked myself for the hundredth time.
Because you want to get laid! I answered myself.
Okay, okay, I know that sounds bad but it wasn’t like I went around looking for the first cute and (hopefully) single guy I saw! I have class! I have limits! But I also have a currently raging sex drive and haven’t felt a cock—a real cock—between my legs in some time.
My favorite battery-powered toy was good for some things, but it couldn’t hold me close or whisper dirty things in my ears. And that’s what I really craved this evening.
“Here,” the bartender said putting down not a fresh martini but what looked like a tumbler of rum with a maraschino cherry in the glass.
How’d he know my favorite drink?
“Courtesy of the guy in the flannel shirt.” The bartender pointed to a dark haired, flannel and jean clad man seated towards the middle of the bar counter.
The guy had his back to me but something about him seemed familiar.
I know that shirt! Hell, I think I bought that shirt!
Smiling a thanks to the bartender who jogged back to behind the counter I crossed the short distance between my table and the counter tugging on the flannel shirt to get the guy’s attention.
I knew he felt the tug but I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t turn around. Rolling my eyes I said, “Care to explain to me why someone who left me for a man is buying me a drink?”
Before I could process what was happening, Brad, a former boyfriend, slid off the bar stool, grabbed me by my upper arm, and pulled me after him forcing me into the seat I’d recently left.
Sitting across from me at the table for two he hissed an angry “I am not gay, Olivia!”
Whatever. “You did break up with me to date some scrawny tech nerd, though!” I reminded Brad.
“Hey, what he lacked in upper body strength he more than made up for in—”
“Don’t!” I interrupted him with an extended palm in his direction. “Please don’t finish that sentence,” I wrinkled my nose.
“It’s good to see you, Olivia,” Brad murmured reaching for the hand I’d held up.
Oh. That feels nice. Too nice. Ugh! Of all nights to run into him again!
“It’s nice to see you, too, Brad,” I admitted softly. I whimpered when Brad used his thumb to massage my palm. That simple, light touch always did things to me. It sent shockwaves through me that reached deep down into the already needy area between my legs.
“How long has it been?” Brad asked.
“I dunno, maybe five or six weeks?” I assumed he was asking how long it had been since I’d last seen him.
Brad chuckled. “I know when I last saw you, Olivia.” He rolled his eyes at me. “I meant when was the last time since you had, you know, sex?”
If anyone else had asked me that I’d have either stood up and slapped them hard for daring to be so nosy, but with Brad, I only blushed and ducked my head.
Did I say that sex with Brad was that good? Because it was. He was just so patient and caring and knew exactly what to touch or rub or say to turn me into a pile of needy mush! …Not that he’d need to do all that much to get me there right now, I had to admit.
Ugh!
“So, um, what are you doing here?” I asked, hoping he’d go along with my change in topic.
“I can smell it, Olivia.” Brad dropped my hand and stood up towering over me. Reaching for my wrist which he lightly grabbed he leaned down until his mouth was just inches from my ear. “I can smell your cunt, Olivia. What do you say we forget about the past and just focus on the here and now?”
I knew tomorrow I’d be drowning in regrets and doubts and self pity, but for tonight?
“Your place or mine?”
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