Sinful desires{steamiest short stories}

It must be a slow night I think to myself as I take a quick glance around the near deserted bar. I look toward the only other occupants, three middle-aged men hell-bent on downing a couple pitchers of beer. It’s apparent they’re not in the first round either.

They laugh loudly, shout, and are totally absorbed in some primal male bonding ritual. They’re slapping each other’s shoulders and spouting the ribald humor that can only be appreciated in an inebriated state.

I wonder if a table of drunken women is as insufferable to listen to. What really irritates me though, is the fact not a single one of them has bothered to check me out.

Sure I’m not the svelte and glamorous babe I used to be, but surely I warrant at least a token leer or remark. I was a runway model just twenty pounds and fifteen years ago, and the extra weight has only enhanced my curves. Do men enjoy a bony ass?

Motioning the bartender for another screwdriver, I wonder what rock he crawled out from under. His scrawny arms are both covered with tattoos, and he’s missing one front tooth.

The slick backed hair only adds to the greasy sleaze-ball look. It’s bad enough he looks like a criminal of some sort, but he’s as amiable as a lump of granite. I’d have thought a downtown bar would have a more attentive and attractive bartender.

Maybe it’s just my mood. After all, it’s not everyday you get the opportunity to celebrate the final decree that frees you from an abysmal relationship, and then have your best friend bow out of the celebration at the last minute. I’ve never been more pissed at Jennifer.

I’m on my second sip of my drink when he walks in, an extremely handsome young man and dressed in an impressively fitted suit. I love a man in a suit, and my first thought is where were guys like that when I was twenty.

My second is that I’d have been too busy chasing some deadbeat jackass on a motorcycle to notice. Hindsight really is 20/20, and often the look in the rear view mirror can be rather unpleasant. I look straight ahead as he parks on a stool four down from me and orders a beer.

I happen to glance his way, and lo and behold he smiles. I smile back, just why I can’t say. I don’t want to smile. I want to pout. I want to scream and rant.

He looks like he might be late twenties, but that’s possibly a little optimistic.

He’s got one of those pretty-boy faces that never seem to age. The tousled mop of curly light brown hair just adds to the attractive package. Whatever his age, he’s certainly a hell of a lot younger than I am. I don’t consider myself old, but I’ve been on twenty-nine and holding for a while now.

One of these days I’ll just say fuck it and call it an even thirty, but not tonight.

“You come in here often?” he asks in my direction.

I’m a little surprised that he’s even noticed me, given that my sulking disposition is undoubtedly showing. I have to give him credit for the audacity of trying to start a conversation though.

His opening line is telling me to just say fuck it and blow him off. I want to yell “fuck off” at any man right now, but the mellowing effects of the alcohol beg otherwise. I shouldn’t be drinking.

Since I’m not sure I even want any company, I decide to just play it out to see where it goes. Besides, I could use a little fun.

“You need a lot more practice,” I reply, adding a little laugh.

“Excuse me?”

“You need more practice,” I reply, a bit louder this time.

“Practice?” and I note an odd, quizzical look across his face.

“With your opening lines”

“Oh… well apparently so,” and I see a broad grin beaming back at me. “But I really only meant the remark as a simple hi”

“A simple hi would’ve been better”

He seems to mull over that for a second or two before replying, “Can I start over?”

“Absolutely”

He smiles and looks directly at me as he says, “Hi”

“That was ok… but you should have added a little something to go with it”

I see he’s getting a little flustered, a tinge of red crossing the smooth clear features of his face. I like that. It suits my mood perfectly.

“Well would you mind if I moved a little closer so I wouldn’t have to nearly shout?”

“See… now that was perfect,” and I pat my hand on the barstool right beside me. He’s there in a flash.

“My names Alexander, Alexander Thorne,” and he extends his hand to me, “but friends just call me Alex”

“Hi, I’m Rita, but friends just call me Rita” I laugh as I return his handshake. He has beautiful hands.

“Well Rita, it’s a pleasure to meet you”

I guess I’ve made a new friend, and maybe I need one.

I’m suddenly feeling just a little guilty about the earlier barbs. I’m still in a rather foul mood, but I just can’t bring myself to be mean to this guy. He’s way too cute and I’m half drunk. I just can’t manage to be a bitch when I’ve been drinking.

“Well I must apologize for my unusual behavior Alex, but I’m just not in the best of moods right now”

“Oh, no apology necessary,” he laughs, “besides you’re right… I do need the practice”

I’m in the middle of a sip of my drink when he asks, “So what brings you here tonight?”

“That’s a really bad line too,” I laugh, “but I’ll forgive you this time”Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

It’s been a while since any guys made me laugh, even if it is with just a corny line.

He laughs and smiles at me. He’s got incredibly beautiful eyes, and thankfully a full set of teeth.

I really don’t know why, but I started a conversation with him. I suppose it’s simply a cry for some company, or recognition.

Of course a generous dose of alcohol tends to loosen my lips considerably, not to mention my inhibitions. The warm looks from his dazzling hazel eyes don’t hurt either.

Alex proves to be a pleasant conversationalist, once he gets over the rough spots, and I begin to truly enjoy our exchange. He’s even witty, and possesses a clever intelligent charm that I find most attractive. Not that I’m looking mind you.

He seems so innocent, and it’s so easy to pry information from him I just can’t believe it. Of course I indulge to the maximum. I adore a good snoop into other people’s lives, undoubtedly since mine’s so pathetically mundane at the moment.

He tells me of his new apartment, his cat, and his family back home.

He’s just recently relocated here, and starting out on his first serious job since college. I listen, thinking of my own beginnings as he rambles on about his dreams and aspirations. Was I ever this enthusiastic?

It’s somewhere between him telling me about college, and my fifth drink, when I notice that well over an hour has slipped by.

It’s been a long while since a man has held me so rapt in conversation. Most manage to disillusion or offend long before reaching this point. I’m impressed with Alex, and suddenly very hungry.

“I think I’ve had more than enough to drink Alex, and I’m going to have to get going”

“Yeah, me too. Besides, I’m starving,” he replies, “It was really nice talking with you Rita”

“It was nice to meet you too Alex. Maybe we’ll cross paths again sometime” “I hope so,” he replies, smiling as I rise to leave.

My mood has improved to the point where I’m seriously considering something really stupid. He beats me to the draw.

“Would you like to join me for dinner Rita?” he asks, “I’m not making some move on you or anything, I’d just like the company… I hate eating alone”

Do I look so dejected that he feels compelled to ask? I hope not.