Page 2 of Intoxicated
Or not. That server keeps making eyes at me from across the room, and she has a mighty fine look. Shit, it’s no good that I’m swimming in a pool of beautiful women tonight. It’s been five weeks since I last got laid, and I was too drunk to remember it. Merely looking at my intended target sends a rush of heat to my loins and tells my heart to go for it. My heart is a stupid bastard. Ask anyone in my family.
Fuck me, ask my grandmother!
Shit. Behold this poor sap over here. Some middle-management tech bro, old enough to be employed during Dot Com Boom but still young enough to garner sexual attention, waltzes up to the circular bar and sits a few stools away from Cher, who immediately glances in his direction. I see the same things as her. No wedding ring. Tucked-in shirt, but the top two buttons are unbuttoned because he’srelaxing.(And wants to show off his fine collection of chest hairs to all the ladies in the room.) I can’t smell his cologne, but I bet my bottom dollar that it’s sandalwood. His hairline hasn’t started receding yet, but he’s got those worn lines on his face that suggest he’s been around long enough to have some funds. A single guy making as much money as he does? Even with Portland rents the way they are right now, he could afford getaways and shopping sprees for a new girlfriend.
Let me guess, Cher. That’s exactly what you want.
She pulls the lemon wedge off her old-fashioned glass and squeezes a little juice onto the tip of her tongue. The way her head rears back, spine curving and thighs pushing out of her skirt, has me glad that I’m not too buzzed. Trust me, if I had no idea who she was or what kind of woman she could be, I’d be shouldering Mr. Tech out of the way and seducing Ms. Lieberman into my Portland loft. She looks like the kind of woman who wants it hard every time.
Hm? How can I tell? Trust me, why don’t you.
Trust me when I say I know these kinds of women well. You might call me aCunt Whisperer,but that’s not a name I’ve adopted for myself. That’s what my secretary tells everyone he wants for my business. I prefer to not use such words, but you get the picture. I understand the personality. I also understand the body part.
Cher replaces her lemon wedge so precisely that you can’t tell she’s moved it. When she slides off her stool, it’s with the intoxicating movements of a Muse. The Grecian kind. My God. I knew she was gorgeous from her photos, but in motion? Cher should be a model. Or an actress.
She should be in my bed. Ahem.
In due time, however. Tonight might be Mr. Tech’s chance to bed and wed a woman of this seductive caliber. I’ve been getting sloppy seconds ever since I started this career. You think I mind it? For the right women, it’s more of a point of pride than if they were totally available.
Seducing a woman who was just seeing someone else is as good as saying,“I’m so desirable that such women can’t say no to me. Sorry, bud. Grass was greener over here. Enjoy your ex, Palmela.”
The server brings me my Sazerac. She lingers behind, asking if I need anything else. Her hand is on the back of my chair. Her hips cock in my direction. I give her what I want – a long, appreciative glance up her body. Yes, she would do as well. Would probably be enough fun to satisfy me for the weekend. She also looks the type who wants it a certain way.
What can I say? Certain women are drawn to me, because they sense that I deliver the goods.
We’ll see how things go with Ms. Lieberman, who has made her move on the new guy. I take a sip of my drink. The absinthe is stronger than the cognac. Or perhaps that’s my sweet tooth reacting to the sugar. Either way, my pursed lips are primed for kissing. Or sucking a girl to orgasm. Whether I’m supposed to destroy her afterward? Let’s see how lucky this guy is and check back in later.
