Chapter 2 - Richie

When I walked into Smitty’s, I figured I’d kick back a few beers, fuck around with the locals some, maybe find someone to pass the night with, maybe not; didn’t really make much of a difference to me.   I really just needed the night to unwind, knowing that Jon had all sorts of shit lined up starting tomorrow afternoon.  If I didn’t get a little time to myself before I had to turn on that Bon Jovi guy, I’d be a freaking mess.

After the harsh brightness of outside, the room seemed dim, making me swear at myself for leaving my shades back at the hotel.  I should know better by now.  Once my eyes adjusted, I saw that the sunlight only went halfway into the room, and if I moved toward the bar, it wouldn’t be too bad.  The bar TV was tuned to the Sox game – I guess I could put up with that for the sake of a few drinks.  I started across the room, and had to do a double-take at what I saw at the bar – I thought the light was playing tricks on me.

Sitting there was a slender little bit of a woman, the only girl in the place actually, and she had long, curly hair down to her ass.  Long hair is a weakness of mine.  Seriously.  I will always give a second look to a gorgeous head of hair, to see if what’s under it tents my pants.  I like hair on a woman to be thick and long, curly and soft.  I love wrapping it around my wrist when I’m seducing a girl.  Something about it is just sexy and fuck, I don’t know, hot.  Plus, when she’s riding me, and it covers her tits like Lady fucking Godiva?  Man you can’t tell me that’s not the fucking best.

Usually, it’s blonde hair that’s my weakness, but after a succession of blondes that didn’t quite work out, and one brunette I wish I’d never met, in the back of my mind, I wanted different.

Jet black was definitely different. 

Her hair was so thick and shit; poofy I guess, that I couldn’t tell what she was wearing.  She could be bare-assed-naked on that stool, and from the back, you’d never be able to tell.  I saw the eyes of every other man in the place on the woman, but nobody made a move to sit next to her.  Either she’s gay or a ball-buster, I guess. 

Aw fuck, unless Smitty’s turned into a damned fruit bar when I wasn’t looking, and these assholes are the gay ones.

No, the big, burly ex-boxer behind the bar is the same as last time I was here, and he would never stand for that.  To each his own and all that, he says, but not in his joint, so yeah, she must be some sort of ice queen. 

Hmmm, there’s a challenge if I ever saw one.  Not to brag too much, but I’ve been told I’m irresistible.  I can’t remember the last time I was turned down.

I took a seat a few stools down from her, and she didn’t even slide her eyes my way.  She was busy sliding her tongue along the back of her hand, like a cat getting ready to groom.  Damn she has a long tongue, and I wonder if she could curl it all the way around my dick.  

I greeted Joe, who I hadn’t seen in a buncha years, but like any good bartender, he never forgot a face or a drink.  He hitched his chin at the bottle of Jack on the shelf, knowing my preference, but damn, watching this girl drink tequila was like watching some sort of soft-core porno, and I wanted to join in.   I watched her hand Joe her car keys, and I smiled.  She was looking to get fucked up.  I’d be more than happy to get fucked up with her.  Maybe I’d get lucky and just get to fuck her.

I called out to Joe that I’d have what the lady was having, and I swear to Christ, a little feral smile flashed across her face.  She crossed her mile-long legs, and fuck me if she didn’t have on black high-heeled shoes.  High fucking heels on a sweet pair of legs is my second favorite thing a woman can wear after nothing at all.  When this woman, Aimee, the bartender called her, when this Aimee turned around?  And I got a good look at her legs?  Man, I had to know what those legs felt like wrapped around me.  Waist or neck, didn’t make a difference.

“Put the gentleman’s drink on my tab, Joe; and another for me,” she said, giving me a smile that said, ‘I’m gonna make you scream, boy.’  Her voice was like smooth jazz; soothing and arousing at the same time.  I saw her giving me a slow once-over and damned if my dick didn’t spring a little more to attention.   Her eyes, I think they’re green I can’t really tell, twinkled in the dim lights.  Or maybe it was the tequila making them sparkle.

“That’s not necessary, darlin’,” I answered, giving her my best smile.  The one that my last girlfriend told me was full of mischief and desire.  Her words, not mine.  My raven-haired lovely narrowed those maybe-green eyes a little bit, and I knew this night was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

Joe poured us drinks; looks like the pretty lady was drinking a pretty liquor.  Patron is one of the best tequilas I’ve had the good fortune to drink, and I’ve had more than my share.  Aimee picked up her drink and slowly stalked toward me.  It was only two fucking barstools, but there was no other word.  She was gorgeous, dark pantheress, and I was her prey. 

“You?  Turning down a drink from a pretty lady?” she asked, settling onto the stool next to me. 

My eyes were drawn to her legs as her skirt rode up higher on her thigh.  I could just make out the edge of some sort of tat, and I very nearly slid my hand up her leg so I could see what it was. 

“That’s not your style, baby,” she said when I raised my eyebrows at her. 

What could I do but chuckle?  She definitely had my number.  “Well now,” I said, picking up my glass and saluting her with it.  “I suppose you’re right: I never was one to turn down a pretty lady.  Thanks, darlin’.”   I tapped my glass to hers.  “What should we drink to?”

She grabbed my free hand, and my dick surged.  She locked eyes with me and extended that perfect pretty little pink tongue.  She licked a strong, slow stroke over my star tat then licked her lips.  “To new friends,” she said, and sprinkled salt over the wet.

“I’ll drink to that,” I said to her.  Never taking my eyes off her, I licked the salt from my hand, and I swear to God, I think Aimee was going to cum right there.  I know the signs.  Her eyes fluttered a little, and she squirmed just a bit in her seat.  Oh yeah, tonight was going to be interesting.  I let the liquor slide down my throat, closing my eyes against the slight, familiar burn.  Fuck, that was good shit.  I opened my eyes to see her watching me hungrily.  She held up a wedge of lime, and raised an eyebrow at me.  What else could I do?  I leaned in, wrapped my hand around her wrist, and pulled her in.

I could feel the pulse in her wrist thumping when I closed my hand around it.  Unable to help myself, I stroked the underside of her wrist lightly with my thumb.  Her skin was soft, and as I stroked, I got a whiff of something flowery and girly.  I leaned toward her, and licked my lips a second before I took the lime into my mouth.  My damp lips grazed the edges of her fingers as I sucked the fruit from the rind. 

With her angled toward me, I had a nice view down the front of her dress.  Tanned breasts threatened to spill out of some lacy pink thing she wore under it.  “Nice,” I said to her, meaning more than just the shot.  She licked the lime’s rind after me, taking some of my flavor with the fruit’s, and dropped it in her glass.  Jesus that was hot.  “What’s your name, darlin’?” I asked her.  I wanted to see if she’d tell me, or if she was just playing games.

“Aimee,” she answered.  “Why?  Do names matter, Rich?”

I chuckled.  “Just like to be on an even playing field, darlin’,” I said, not really surprised that she knew who I was.  “You seem to know who I am.”

She shook her head, sending her curls flying.  They settled around her shoulders, covering her breasts.   Lady fucking Godiva.

“It’s not even close to an even playing field, baby,” she said.  “I do know who you are.  In fact, I know all about you,” she slid off her stool, her dress sliding up to reveal a tiny winged thing tattooed high on her thigh, and she cocked a hip at me.  “You want to get out of here and learn all about me?”