by Karina Sharp
I look beyond her to learn more of the company she’s keeping, and I see that she is standing next to another woman with golden hair that’s straighter and a bit shorter than Marta’s. She is also very attractive with long legs and perfectly proportioned facial features, but lacks the same ample bosom and curved hips as my fantasy woman.
I am embroiled in an inner battle, trying to decide whether or not I should disturb them, but before I realize it, my body is pre-empting my thoughts and moving me toward her. I wonder if she will even remember me since she probably chats with many people before and after shows.
I walk up behind her, but within her peripheral vision as to not startle her by being directly behind her. Not quite knowing what to say, “Well hello there,” spurts out of my mouth.
She looks up and around, searching for the source of the greeting. When her eyes settle in on mine, I see recognition spread across her face. She smiles bigger and more beautifully than I remember.
“Well, hello, yourself,” she says in her voice that warms my heart.
I bend my head down closer to her since it’s loud in here and she’s several inches shorter than me. I take advantage of the closeness and inhale her scent of flowers and fruit and her, which drives me wild.
“Am I interrupting?”
She looks up at me with ease and excitement in her eyes. “Of course not!”
Feeling the need to explain my presence, I say, “I was at the bar grabbing a beer, and I thought it was you I saw over here. Being the big fan of yours that I am, I thought I might come say ‘Hi.’”
She watches my hand as I nervously run it over my hair. I don’t really know why I do it since it’s been years since I’ve had a haircut where my hair has been longer than an inch or two, but nervous habits die hard.
“That’s so sweet of you!” she gushes. “Sit down. Stay awhile.” She gestures to the chair to her right.
As I sit, I look over to her blonde friend who is shifting her eyes back and forth between Marta and me. Putting out my hand, I introduce myself to her. “Hi, I’m Mick.”
Her eyes grow wider, she smiles as if she knows something I don’t, and introduces herself. “I’m Macy. Nice to meet you, Mick.”
“Mick and Macy,” Marta interrupts, “That sounds like the perfect title to a sitcom. ‘Mick and Macy fight crime and fight the urge to deliver dialog other than awful one-liners,’” she says, lowering her voice as if she were a voice-over on a commercial.
I laugh as I find her impression delightful. I add, “Mick, Macy, and Marta. M & M & M.”
Macy furrows her brow, looking to Marta in confusion. “Who-”
Marta interrupts Macy by leaning in and whispering something which, judging by the look on Macy’s face, must be amusing. Macy smiles wide and sits up a little straighter. Being the logical man that I am, and having spent a good amount of time interviewing people in my day, I can tell Marta just informed her friend Macy about her stage name. I make it my goal to find out her real name tonight, but continue to play along with the stage name.
“So, how long have you known my friend Marta here?” Macy asks. She leans over the table, and if I were to move my gaze down just a little, I would be able to see down her dress to her cleavage, but I remain on my best behavior. Macy looks at me with a devious grin. I match her body position, keeping my eyes locked on hers.
“We go waaay back.”
Macy raises a suspicious eyebrow, moves her eyes over to Marta, then back to me as she smirks. “I bet you do.”
Marta, having been silent but smiling this whole time, speaks. “Soooo…what brings you to this fine establishment, Mick?”
With ease, I disconnect my gaze from Macy’s and return it to Marta’s deep, green eyes.
“Have you not been receiving my letters? I’m stalking you.”
Marta smiles at me. Without missing a beat, she has a rebuttal.
“I must have missed that memo. Well, you’re not a very good stalker if I haven’t received your letters containing cryptic messages made from letters clipped from magazines.”
I sit up, angling my body more toward the hot brunette to my left.
“My apologies. I am new to this stalking thing.” I shake my head as if in shame.
Marta shakes her head slowly, feigning disappointment, and presses her lips together. “Perhaps you should find a new line of work.”
“There goes my plan for a good nest egg,” I say in quick succession.
Remembering the original question, I answer, “Actually one of my buddies is transferring off of the island next week, so we are out celebrating and bidding him farewell.”
Marta steals a sip from her glass sitting on the table. “That’s awesome. Don’t let me keep you from them.”
I look over to the guys who are looking back at me with questioning looks on their faces and wave them off. “Oh, they’ll be fine without me for a little bit. Plus, I’m one less person to buy for when someone buys a round. Speaking of, can I get you ladies a drink?”
Marta answers quickly, but sweetly. “Sure, I’ll have a Jager bomb and she’ll have a Jack and Coke.”
I rise out of my chair to go to the bar. “Consider it done.”
Marta touches the back of my arm. Her hand is actually quite cold, but the sensation of her touch is warm and exhilarating, just as it was last weekend.
“Hey, tell your buddies to come over here,” she says as she moves her hand away to her drink. “The more the merrier, I always say.”
I feel both relieved and happy that she wants me to spend more time with her, but I wonder if she’s just being polite. I don’t let myself dwell on that for long though. Even if her motivation is out of politeness, I welcome any extra time to stare at her body and hear her voice.
I come back from the bar, drinks in hand, and already my friends have swarmed who are easily the two hottest girls in the place. I guess it didn’t take long for them to further investigate who I was sitting with and attempt to answer their questions. Marta seems unaffected by all of them, exchanging pleasantries and giving warm smiles to my friends, but not with the same strength as she was before.
Placing the drinks down on the table, I see one of my buddies staring straight at Marta’s cleavage. The sight of this makes me feel the build-up of what I can only interpret as jealousy mixed with some protectiveness. I know it’s hard for any man not to look at woman’s chest, especially one as hot as Marta, but I feel like she deserves better than to just be the object of someone’s wandering eyes. She is someone to be revered and appreciated. I’ve never had a jealous bone in my body, yet for some reason, I am a little bothered by other men looking at Marta in that way. A passing thought enters my head saying that someone who protects her should be me, but that makes no sense to me since I’ve only uttered a handful of sentences to her.
Interrupting the ogling session, I sit to disrupt the line of sight from my buddy to Marta’s chest and get her attention.
“You two have developed quite a fan club.”
I see the same smile I was aching to come to back to widen across the face of the woman whom I’ve been inexplicably longing for, and I just want to pull her into my arms and see if her lips taste as sweet as they sound. I know that would be a bit forward, thus I opt instead to continue to imagine the taste and settle on just enjoying the sound.
“Jack and Coke for you,” I say, reaching beyond Marta to hand the appropriate glass to Macy. I look back to Marta. “And a Jager bomb for you?” I offer the other glass to her.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she responds, taking the glass from my hand. “Cheers,” she says in appreciation as we clink our glasses together.
Seeing her juicy lips on the glass causes my brain to go into overdrive, with my previous thoughts about her lips becoming more explicit. I think of placing her mouth on mine and tasting every bit of it- exploring each inch slowly and completely.
“You look amazing tonight, but I’m sure you already know that.” I let slip out o
f my mouth.
Blushing a little she dismisses the compliment, looks toward her lap, and responds, “Oh. Yeah... I’ve had this dress for a while and needed a place to wear it. Tonight is the perfect occasion.”
I look at the dress again and appreciate how it hugs her so nicely. “Ah. Well, it looks great on you.”
“That’s sweet of you to say.” She looks down to her drink as she stirs it with her straw. “So you speak Spanish?”
I place my beer on the table and look to her.
“Yes I do.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she recalls as she gestures duh. “We talked about that. Any other languages?”
Trying to sound passive, I say simply, “Italian and French.”
Her eyes widen some and she seems intrigued. “Really? That’s very interesting. So, you have all of the romantic languages down, huh?” She nudges my arm.
I try not to bring a lot of attention to the fact that I’ve lived so many places, causing me to take up several other languages.
I shrug. “I guess so.”
Marta looks into my eyes and gives me a sweet smile.
“Comment allez, vous, Mick?”
Somewhat surprised, I ask, “Parlez-vous Francais?”
“Oui.” She adds, “But not all that well. Again...the whole southern thing.”
I tap her cheek playfully with my finger. “C’est mignon.”
She chuckles and hunches her shoulders slightly in an adorable, shy way.
“That’s sweet of you to say that it’s cute, but my French teachers think otherwise.”
“I will have to respectfully disagree with them. Who are they? I will tell them to their face.” I look around the room searching for people who aren’t there.
“Ha! Unless you enjoy traveling through small Texas towns with maybe five stoplights, then I’m afraid you will not really have a chance. But that’s okay. I like your opinion better, so we’ll just stick with that one.” Marta takes another swallow of her drink and begins stirring it with her straw again.
Her use of we causes my heart to stir a little. I also want to hear her say other things highlighting stuff we could do. I wish I could learn everything there is to know about her right now.
In my search for my clues about Marta, I ask, “Texas, huh? What brings you to Hawaii?”
She opens her mouth to answer, but before she does, she claps her hands in excitement. “Is this Kajagoogoo? Holy moly cow, I LOVE this song! It is one of my most favorite 80’s songs in the history of 80’s songs!”
I bask in her energy and excitement. I know she has to be a good ten years younger than me, so I don’t really know why or how she has such an appreciation for 80’s music.
“’Too Shy,’” I say, as if giving her the answer to a trivia question.
Looking confused, she asks, “What?”
“’Too Shy’ is the name of the song…by Kajagoogoo.”
I’m a little embarrassed that I know this song, but she seems to appreciate my guilty pleasure that is 80’s music.
Her mouth opens wide, and she breathes in an excited breath. “You know it? I KNEW I liked you!” Marta pops up out of her chair in the blink of an eye. “Let’s go dance!”
She grabs my hand and leads me to the dance floor before I can protest. Although, I know I wouldn’t have put up much of a fight- if I put one up at all. Despite my fears of looking awkward and my inability to keep up with her, the feelings of dancing with and being near her are amazing. This is unlike any euphoria I could have imagined, and definitely unlike any feeling I’ve ever felt dancing with another woman.
Marta continues to dance with our group, including her friend Macy, but always seems to return to me, which of course I don’t mind. Each time she steps away from me, my body aches until she returns. When she returns, it’s as though my world has been recalibrated and realigned.
While she dances with her back against my chest, I can’t resist the urge to wrap my hands around her waist. When I put my arms around her slim waist, she doesn’t seem to mind. She brings her body in closer, allowing me to enjoy the contours of her back and ass. I can feel my pants beginning to bulge, so I attempt to stifle it, hoping she doesn’t notice. She rolls her hips in ways even a contortionist couldn’t, and it has to be the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen.
With her back against me, I can see the tattoo underneath her hair that I spotted when she was on stage. I take my index finger and trace down the tattoo. She must notice that I do because she turns her head to look back at me with desire in her eyes, which doesn’t help what’s going on in my pants.
“What’s that a tattoo of?” I ask, trying to speak over the booming music.
“Daisies,” she says close to my ear.
That must be her favorite flower or something.
“Do they have any special meaning?”
“Nope. I just like daisies. That’s my favorite flower, and I love bright colors, so they seemed to go well together.” She continues to move her body and sway her hips as she talks.
I don’t have any tattoos myself, but I think they look perfect on her. For the second time, I imagine kissing all the way down from that trail of daisies to the small of her back. Her revelation also makes me wonder if she has any other tattoos or secrets she’s hiding in places I can’t see.
“That’s cool,” is all I manage to reply.
“I wish I had a much cooler story about them, like each one represents a foreign land I’ve traveled to or some sort of significant event in my life, but nope. I just loves me some daisies.”
I need to ask more questions and quit trying to imagine what else she has under that dress.
“How do you know Macy?”
She absently responds, “We work together.”
She seems to be more interested in the music and the beat than giving a lengthier answer to my question.
Just as I am about to ask her where she works, Macy and one of my buddies hands us shot glasses and interrupts.
“Time for shots!”
“Woohoo!” Marta throws her hands up into the air.
She hands me a shot glass, and there’s a collective and sloppy “Cheers!” declared from the group.
After we swallow the chilled liquid that is far too fruity for my liking, Marta looks to me with a teasing smile. “Wanna dance?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer.
Yet again, before I can even open my mouth, she’s pulling me by my hand to the dance floor. I look down at our hands and think that I don’t really want to let it go. I am determined to stretch this time with her out as long as possible. Watching her dance on a stage doesn’t hold a candle to being next to her with her grinding her hips and ass against me. We pause every now and then to cool off or get a drink. I can’t help but notice that from this point forward, she takes me, as opposed to anyone else, back to the dance floor after each break.
*****
Arielle
After many more rounds of shots, some I opted out of, and much more dancing, I know last call is fast approaching. I need some fresh air before I attempt to find Macy and make it to her car without stumbling. I feel exhausted from dancing, but I also do not want the time with my dance partner to end, so I decide it’s a good idea to take him outside with me.
I give Mick my best come hither look, and I lead him off of the dance floor.
When we get to the side of the bar and away from the loudest area of the place, I manage to make some conversation.
“Why are you not drinking?” I ask, my voice a little slurred.
Mick holds up his hands as if he’s innocent and looks around. “I have been all night.”
I huff a drunken and playful breath. “You aren’t right now.”
He taps his index finger to his nose and looks so cute doing it. “That’s because I have to make sure my group gets home safe. I’m not looking to pick up a friend from the drunk tank.”
“You are very wise, Mi-CK,” I say, with emphasis on the
K.
I stumble and look over to Macy still going strong on the dance floor with her plethora of more than willing male partners.
Realizing my ride is Macy, reality strikes me as does nervous rambling.
“I think my ride forgot to make the same considerations. Or maybe it is I who didn’t. I don’t know, really. But, I’m not gonna lie, Mick. I am drunk, but not as a skunk because they stink. Have you ever smelled a skunk? One Thanksgiving our dog had a run-in with a skunk and lost. Our house was a funky mixture of turkey, pumpkin pie, tomato juice, and skunk. It’s hot in here. And me thinks I need some fresh air... Walk with me, please, oh please.”
“When you put it that way…”
I flutter my eyelashes pretending to be coy for good measure.
“How can a gentleman refuse? I am nothing if not a perfect gentleman.”
I step back and give him an obvious once-over with my eyes, which was supposed to be facetious, but my eyes linger and burn with intensity more than I planned. “Perfect gentleman, indeed. Your mother raised you right,” I wave my index finger up and down.
His eyes gloss over and drop toward the floor as his jaw grows more rigid. “Yes she did.”
Realizing I unwittingly touched a nerve, and feeling like the master of diversion in my tipsy state, I hook my arm in his as we walk to the patio and say, “Micky boy, I think you’re the tops!”
Mick keeps my arm hooked in his and mirrors my tone with a smile. “Marta kid, I think you’re swell.”
We laugh together, and I think at that moment, I am one great flirt. I am amazed and enthralled with how comfortable two technical strangers can be with one another.
How is it that I love everything about someone I know nothing about?
We step out onto the patio of the bar, and I immediately allow my lungs to expand with the night air. It feels so invigorating, especially after being in a cramped space with spilled drinks and sweaty people.
