by Ava Moore
“You’re right. I bet he got veneers,” I joke, trying to ease the tension at the table. It works. Jess and Tanya laugh hard and even Cris flashes me a little smirk. She’s back on my side now. Thank. God.
Noticing our drinks are a little on the empty side and I’m a glass-full, even pouring over kind of girl, I try to flag down a server, any server at this point. It is absolutely packed in here and I’m certain the bar is over capacity. I stand up slightly in the booth and start waving my arms like a penguin trying to fly. Trust me, it’s not a pretty sight. On the positive side, my friends and nearly everyone else in the bar are all staring at the booth across from us, save for one server and me who notices my near display of interpretive dance. “Excuse me, sorry, can we get another round here?”
“Yeah and more shots!” Jess screams at the top of her lungs. It’s like watching a nun take off her habit and get wild. I love it. The petite server says nothing and walks away. I don’t know if it is a new system of customer service or if she is just busy, but in my opinion, her tip is slowly decreasing. Apparently this is the norm as I’m the only one caught off guard by the server’s rude demeanor. My friends, of course, are enamored with douchebag and his toys, watching their every move.
“It’s rude to stare ya know?” I tease to all of them, hoping to break them out of their trance so we can actually have a girls’ night that involves us talking and catching up.
They all giggle like creepy little schoolgirls. “We just want to see what happens next,” Cris says to me, like she is the representative for their little voyeurism fan club. I roll my eyes and down the remaining contents of my martini, just as what’s-her-nuts comes back with a full tray of booze. Maybe her tip might go back up after all. Her timing is impeccable or maybe she just got lucky. I seemingly am the only one who notices our newly replenished table and I dive right in for another, while the girls are still drooling over Mr. Oh-So-Wrong.
“What do you guys see in him anyways?” I’m genuinely curious. I guess I can see from an anatomical standpoint that the man is attractive; he has great hair, big lips, perfect straight teeth, and incredible blue eyes. I bet he has a ripped chest, chiseled abs and a juicy hard… Wait, it’s happening to me. I’m falling for his trap. I stop staring in his direction immediately and put the focus back on my friends, who are still swooning and drooling.
“Confidence.”
“Mystery.”
“A big penis.”
They all look at each other, smile wide and giggle some more. It’s like they had rehearsed their response to me because it was scarily executed to perfection, complete with the comedic timing. Oh, what the power of an attractive male will do to my friends and how quickly it depletes their brain cells.
During this time, the big man on campus and his busty friends have already downed some shots and are stacked up with bottle service. Maybe it’s just me, but after that much alcohol in such a short amount of time, my bladder would be begging for release. Sure enough, moments later, blonde numéro uno follows with my thought process, leaves to find the little girl’s room, and like clockwork, douchebag, who is now a bit more attractive in my books and his other play toy start going at it.
“Ooh!” all of my friends swoon over the events folding before their eyes while I’m just rolling my eyes.
He lightly caresses her cheek, tracing his finger from behind her ear, where he wraps her long blonde hair around it, to down to her chin, where he places his index finger and thumb around it to bring her face in closer to his.
All of the girls huddle around the table even closer to try to get a better look. The club is packed, don’t get me wrong, but we can still blatantly see what this guy is doing, so the fact that my friends are stretching their necks like giraffes to get a better view, well, I can’t help myself but to laugh at their desperation.
“You guys all know that staring is rude, right?” I feel like I am repeating myself and sure enough, I am. Just as the words come out of my mouth, I can’t help but look over as well. I mean, I’m not salivating over this sight like my friends are, at least I don’t think I am but don’t get me wrong; I am a little intrigued. If they do start fucking, you know I want a front row seat. I need as much fuel for my column as I can get, especially since I didn’t really have any new material to work with as of late. I’m going through a serious dry spell that is lasting a few months longer than I would have liked it to. It’s a sensitive topic for me.
I feel like I’m contradicting myself moment after moment. I’m getting really good at this tonight. This guy across from me is exactly what I hate in men, yet I can’t look away. I want a good man in my life – someone with morals, strong values and who is going to respect me for whom I am, not just because of my gender or because he is supposed to. Men like this one across from me, disgust me. In fact, I don’t even call them men. They are boys. I know what he is all about and I know that he is the kind of boy that I want to chop his manhood off of because he doesn’t know how to use it for good and not evil, but I can’t look away. No matter how hard I try to fight it, I can’t. My brain is shrieking at me to fight his allure, constantly reminding myself that I hate these kinds of men and that they always end up hurting me in the end, while my vagina is doing all of the thinking for both of us and winning. I never understood the appeal of the bad boy before, but I think I am finally getting it and I don’t know if I like it.
He kisses her passionately and envelopes her lips in his, massaging and caressing them with the luscious part of his bottom lip, mixed in with the more direct stimulation of his top lip. He looks like an experienced kisser – I’ll give him that. Although, I’m sure a man of his stature here in New York where he is like top prey in a sea of female predators, he gets his fair share of experience.
“I wish Greg would kiss me like that,” Cris whispers to herself, unbeknownst that we can all hear it. None of us choose to say a word though; maybe we all feel the same way. I mean, not that Greg kiss us like that, but you catch my drift.
Maybe that’s what it is about him that is so enticing. Maybe it’s the fact that sexuality is literally oozing out of his every pore, that you can’t help but feel something for him. Everything I taught myself about men and respect started flying out the window. What is happening to me? Time to slow down on the martinis. I want to turn a blind eye to him but I also want to find out what is going to happen next. My body is in the most intrinsic conflict it has been in since last night when I had to decide between lemon chicken and ginger beef. I turn away and try to look in the other direction but all I am greeted with is the sight of a highly intoxicated young girl being dragged out of the washroom by a bouncer with vomit running down her chest while her drunk friends chase after her. Great. That backfired. I have no choice but to look back or start playing games on my cell phone. I didn’t know which option is more disrespectful – playing on my phone with my friends or staring at people who are about to maybe fuck? Let’s go with door number one, for my safety, of course.
He starts trailing off and starts kissing her neck, moving slowly and savoring every moment. A man who takes his time; that is something that I admire, regardless of his douchiness. It feels like in a world where we are waiting with bated breath to even get a god damn text message reply within thirty seconds, if someone is willing to take their time, I give that the Trish Seal of Approval.
As he kisses her neck, he starts tracing his fingertips on his right hand down towards her breasts, moving his fingers ever so delicately along the curvatures, luxuriating in every motion. “Ew! What a perve!” Tanya exclaims.
My friends all sort of nod in agreement, but no one can take their eyes off of the situation. What is going to happen next? I can feel my body start to moisten at the thought. It’s too intense, driving me crazy and I have to look away. I try to busy myself with my phone, hoping it will distract me long enough until this torture is over. I feel like my body is going through this inner turmoil and I have to stop it. Maybe some Bejeweled wil
l help? It’s a quiet game with non-phallic shapes or any euphemisms for sex. Perfect.
“Trish, what are you doing? You have to watch this!” Jess swats at my phone, almost knocking it out of my hands. Great, so that plan totally backfired.
He doesn’t stop at playing with her breasts and his fingers continue on a journey beneath the table. Unfortunately or perhaps, fortunately, for my sanity, we are unable to see what happens next, or so we thought.
In my opinion, you can tell when a woman spreads her legs; her body language changes, and that is exactly what happens. Her height shifts in the leather rounded bench and she starts to sink into the leather. Not only that, but her lips part slightly and she lets go of the tension in her body. She starts to swallow harder and her eyelids start to shut tightly, more periodically. I think we all know what is happening but leave it up to one of the four stooges to say something out loud. “Oh my god! Is he finger fucking her?” Jess basically screams at the top of her lungs.
“Ssh!” I am quick to shut her up. “Don’t cause a scene now!”
Cris rolls her eyes. “Yeah, and they aren’t?”
We all can’t help but look over again, because I think we all secretly wish we were that girl. This man has unadulterated passion for her. He doesn’t care who is watching or what is happening around them. He wants her and that is enough for him. He is going to make her cum and he doesn’t care who sees. If he could have thrown her on the table and started pounding her until she begged for mercy, without getting caught, I’m sure it would have been his next move. Now, I’m not one for PDA but I have to admit to myself – this is pretty hot.
The pace starts to quicken under the table, as it is obvious with his arm motions, so I start wondering to myself, whether or not his fingers are inside of her or if he is just rubbing her clit. I think most men opt for penetration, mainly because it is going to feel good either way. You don’t have to always hit that g-spot in order to give a woman pleasure. Yes, you do if you want to make her cum but still, you are going to get a good reaction when you slid two fingers inside of her, regardless. The clitoris, on the other hand, that is trickier and for experienced lovers. All women are different so I wonder just how well he knows her body or if he is just that good.
My thoughts catch me off guard. Dear claiming to be wholesome Trish, what has gotten into you? I don’t know. Men like this, I hate, but he has me roped right in. Maybe it is because a man has never touched me before like he is touching her now. Maybe I yearn for a guy who is going to fuck me like a man and not tentatively hesitate with every move, worried he is going to hurt me. I’m a woman; I can take it. Push me against a wall, pull my hair, tear me apart and make me beg for you to stop. I want to scream. I want to yell. I want skin biting, sheet-clawing fucking. Someone is a little pent up.
By this time, it is obvious he is rubbing her clit with his fingers. The pace just makes sense. Now, it’s almost laughable at how blatant this sex act in public is; all of the subtly has gone out the window when he started moving his arm like this. Granted, all of the subtly disappeared ten minutes ago, but I’m not keeping score. I think I am just too enthralled in this exhibitionist performance happening before my eyes that nothing else matters. I’m in so deep that I don’t even notice my friends around me, who are all up on their feet with their belongings and alcohol in tow. “This is disgusting”, Cris says to the group and much to my surprise, my friends all agree. “Let’s move.”
I don’t want to say it out loud but I don’t want to leave. I want to watch them finish. I want to watch him make her cum. Something about his brass manner is pulling me in and I don’t know how to deflect it. Now, he began to look utterly irresistible to me. Now, I can’t help but wish his fingers were tracing all over my body and it were my legs his hand was between instead of hers. I wish now that it was me who was on the verge of cumming absolutely everywhere. He is so intoxicating and I feel like I am just another victim put under his spell. I wonder if my friends feel the same way but because they are married, they feel obligated not to allow it to turn them on, like they are committing some act of betrayal if they let it arouse them. I don’t think that should be the case. I think that you can work up an appetite anywhere, as long as you always go home for dinner.
My friends all start to pack up and try to locate a server to help them move across the bar, but I just continue to sit there, staring. I try to look away but it is like a car accident; I know I shouldn’t look, but I can’t help it. Now, I have transformed into one of those giraffes that they were moments before, stretching my neck to get a better view, only I want to believe I am a tad bit more subtle in my movements.
I continue to watch as the passionate pace increases and I focus on the emotion branded across her face. I swear, I saw her eyes roll back in her head. It looks like this is better than any drug and stronger than any drug. Whoever this guy is, he knows what he is doing and he knows how to do it oh so well.
Then, his eyes wander from focusing on her body to mine. I can see his gaze switch from admiring the pleasure felt by his victim, to across the bar, to my chest and up to my eyes. We lock eyes instantly and I freeze, like everything around me stands still and it is just he and I in the room. Now, he starts to move his fingers with more vigor and faster, not paying attention to her but instead, to me. His lips part, he tilts his head down and he stares at me, hard. It is almost like he is conveying every sensation that she is experiencing with his eyes. It’s insanity. I’m feeling so intimated by him but I just can’t look away. He continues to stare at me and then, his lips start to curl upwards, with such a coy look, as if he is saying “Don’t you with it were you that I was fucking senseless?”
I find myself oddly aroused by his cockiness. I used to feel like men like this were useless and I was all about traditional gentlemen, someone who would put his suit jacket down over a puddle for me to step on; not someone who would finger fuck the shit out of me at a bar for everyone to see. He continues to stare at me, as she gets closer and closer to orgasm. Now, I don’t know where to look. I’m conflicted, again. Do I want to stare at him to see if his gaze would waver, as his victim gets closer to climax? Or do I want to see how good it feels on her face to imagine me sitting there even more? I am torn, but helpless, because his eyes keep yanking me in.
Then, I get a good jab right to the arm, like Muhammad Ali has just kicked my ass, waking me out of my entranced state in mere seconds. “Trish! C’mon! We are moving!”
“What’s wrong?” I ask my friends, dumbfounded. I know exactly what is wrong, but I will never know why I asked it. Maybe those are the only two words I can construct together as a sentence as my brain tries returning back to a normal functioning level.
“What’s wrong? That guy is a pervert and we are moving,” Cris snarls at me. “C’mon.”
Maybe I like perverts? I think about saying it out loud but I don’t think that they are in laughing moods. I don’t want to offend them anymore. I know sex is a sensitive issue for all of them and perhaps, even though they are married and have someone in their lives, maybe they are going through a dry spell just like me.
I must look like I am rolling on ecstasy or something because I’m pretty sure my eyes are the size of saucers and I have drool coming out of my mouth. I’m so flustered and cocksure that my face is eight different shades of red that my arms start flailing in front of me and I end up knocking over my martini glass, all over the table in my befuddled state. “Shit! I’m sorry guys,” I reach for the teeny tiny cocktail napkins strewn across the table and do my best at patting down the liquid.
My friends all stop to look back at me, trying desperately not to get any spillage all over my dress. I start dodging the streams of alcohol and slide out of the booth trying to get to safety.” Trish, are you alright?” Cris asks, while Jess and Tanya both stare at me with baffled expressions on their faces.
I can barely speak I am so caught off guard. “I just…” I don’t even know what I am trying to say. All I c
an do is slide my way out of the booth and try to collect myself, even though any deep breaths I do take in just make me feel even wayward on my feet. “I just have to go to the bathroom.”
“I’ll come with you,” Cris suggests. “We will meet you ladies at the back of the bar.” She waves off Tanya and Jess and walks right over towards me, Mother Hen mode fully engaged.
I don’t want her to come with me but I don’t know how to tell her otherwise. I nod, reluctantly accepting her help and we make our way to the bathroom. I gesture for her to go ahead of me and she accepts, mainly for the purpose of me trying to steal another look to the booth across from us without her catching me. We encounter a rather large group of people and they prevent us from gaining any ground towards the bathroom, but Cris reaches behind her, grabs my hand and literally pulls me through the crowd as if I’m some kind of a rag doll. I am caught between looking forward as a means of safety and looking to my right to try to get a glimpse at this man who has me so mesmerized, I even forgot how to use my damn arms.
It’s no use though and I can’t get another look because Cris yanks on me so hard that she whips me in and out of the crowd all of the way towards the bathroom. We get close to the entrance, which of course is flooded with a sea of women and I pull back on her, as if I’m stopping a galloping steed from covering any more ground. “Hey, I’m fine. Let’s just go back.”
“What happened to you back there? I’ve never seen you look so off of your game?”
I do my best to avoid eye contact with Cris because I know when it comes to me, I am unable to lie to those who I care about the most. My eyes are more than the window to my soul, they are the truth. Those closest to me, especially Cris, know this fact and they sometimes use it against me. “I just think I’m drinking a little too fast tonight. I just need to slow it down.”
Cris nods, but I know she doesn’t buy a word coming out of my mouth. “It’s that guy, isn’t it? He was staring at you and making you feel uncomfortable. Want me to say something? I can go say something?” She looks like she is a teakettle that is ready to burst and is about to explode smoke from her ears. We all act the same way when one of us feels threatened or disturbed. We are all like sisters after all and you don’t allow any one to mess with your family.
