To Be or Not to Be


I’m guessing you are working late, but maybe this email will inspire you to work faster.
I’ll be in the bar at the restaurant we talked about, enjoying a glass of wine, until 9pm.  If you can see your way to getting free in time, I’ll be waiting.  If not, maybe I’ll have to find someone else to take your place.  😉  Hope to see you there, lover.”
It’s 8:30 and he hasn’t shown.  I’ve been enjoying myself alone here, though, in a strange restaurant, in the bar no less, something I have only done once or twice in my life. I am sitting on a barstool at small round table at the center of the room, more or less.
I chose this seat with deliberation.  I chose to be here, whether or not the Fireman will be here, deliberately.  W knows why, I am sure.  He knows I do it for him, he knows that the entire time I am sitting here, playing the slut, pretending to think about the Fireman, it is him I am thinking of.  It is his approval, it is the thought of writing this and having him read it, of anticipating his reaction, that makes my panties soaked, sitting here in this bar alone.  Would I do it, if the Fireman doesn’t show?  Follow some stranger back to his hotel room, just to please W?  I could do it, this is a hotel bar, the men here (and one woman, also drinking alone) are probably all business travelers, as is my Fireman.
I am wearing a long black skirt with high slits up each leg, a snug, low-cut black blouse, rocking black eyeliner, red, red lipstick and fuck-me heels.  I feel sexy, and from the looks I have garnered, perched up here on my stool in the center of the room, I look it, too.  Either that or I look like a working girl.
I have been chatted up by two different gentlemen, a slightly unnerving, though not entirely unpleasant, experience to this habitual wallflower, though I realize that they very well may think I am a working girl, mightn’t they?  They don’t know I’ll give it away for free.  But then I realize it doesn’t matter what they think.  That they want me is the purpose, the reason I am here.
I flirt with the older of the two men as I wait, feeling more secure in his obvious interest than in the younger guy.  I never liked young pretty boys, and even ones my own age, as the younger guy is, make me uncomfortable.
The older guy is a pleasant man, a businessman in town for a few days, ex-military with the upright bearing that I so love about military men.  He has a direct gaze, eyes the color of his grey hair, trimmed with thick, black lashes, and though he has noted my cleavage and the length of leg exposed by the skirt, he is not lecherous about it, more like simply appreciative.
I wonder if he’d hold my wrists in one of his large, meaty hands as he fucked me.
I smile, and lean toward him, ask him about himself, touch him lightly on one wrist to emphasize a point.  He buys me my second glass of wine.
I begin to wonder what I will do when 9pm rolls around.  I realize I have been acting with deliberate forethought, in order to carry out either plan of action.  I have lied, telling this gentleman I am in town tonight only, that I have been to an award’s banquet, and that I may be meeting a friend here, if he is able to get away–from what, I leave unspoken.  He says it is a shame I am only here tonight, that he’d ask me out to dinner tomorrow night, if I was going to be here.  I smile and shrug regretfully.
The Fireman texts me at 8:50.  He’s still a half hour away from leaving, unfortunately.  I wouldn’t really find someone to replace him, would I?  I look over at the military man, thinking about it.  Thinking about W.  No, I text back, of course not. But I won’t wait any longer.  I have my SO coming home at 10:30, and I suddenly want the comfort and warmth of his arms around me.  I make tentative plans with the Fireman for the next time he is in town, when he promises to make his schedule work better.  I tell the military man that my friend just texted me to meet him elsewhere, thank him for the wine and company, and get up to go.  He gives me a look that I swear is more knowing than it should be, and hands me his card.  If we’re “ever in St. Louis at the same time again, or perhaps if I travel to his city, we could do dinner.”  I smile, and thank him again, and wonder if I’ll ever be in Dallas.

4 thoughts on “To Be or Not to Be

  1. Pingback: Sugasm #161

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