After the bars closed (571 hits)
Category: RomanceRating: 1.4 on 15 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Hookhand (View user info) at 2007-02-05 13:31:57 EST
After about 45 minutes of pleading and a 20 dollar tip he came out from behind the bar, shaking his head. Wiping his hands on a greasy towel (what I thought was the filthiest corner of a rag soaked with God knows what; why even bother wiping your hands when all you're doing is smearing unknown, vile bodily liquids on your hands?) he produced the remote control from the television and, still shaking his head clicked the large button at the top until the channel changed to Cartoon Network. CN was showing back to back Family Guy all night. He wouldn't turn the sound up, but I'd seen this episode before. It's the one where Quagmire says "giggity."
"As long as you don't bother the other patrons" he'd said, aiming a thumb at the crowd of frat boys and overweight weekend warriors. 95% of the 112 patrons the sign above the bar (conspicuosly above the bar, as required by law) indicated were allowed in were crowded in 10% of the bar; eyes on the one big-screen television.
"Fuck the fucking superbowl" I muttered under my breath, aiming my words mostly into the black mug of Lion Stout I'd been nursing all night. I had one small corner of the bar all to myself- I wanted it that way. I was trying to forget about a girl. The second best way I know how to do that is drink by yourself. It was working, until the best way to forget about a girl walked over.
"Hi my name is" and she said her name. I didn't look up. "What are you watching?" I didn't look up. "Want some company?"
I tilted my head and finally looked at her. I was glad I did. She was the kind of girl I'd try to pick up at a place like this. Not your typical K-Mart blonde sorostitute that plagued a frat boy hangout like this one, she was the kind of pretty that hid behind thick-rimmed glasses (Stylish, thick-rimmed glasses, not "Linkin Park is like teh best band evarz" thick-rimmed glasses) and her hair up in a bun. She looked like she'd just come from the Business library. Here I was with 2 days' growth in my laundry day shirt and my dirty MSU hockey hat and she wanted to talk.
Preferring to slide out the chair opposite me with the feet I'd been resting on it to uttering a response I unfolded my arms and introduced myself. She smiled when she saw my mood improve. Maybe 3 more seconds of scowling and not answering and she would have called it off and picked up some frat boy watching the game. Maybe not.
The bartender walked over carrying a mug if Lion stout and a Cosmopolitan. I was starting to think he had a condition that required him to shake his head constantly. First he doesn't like that I asked him to turn off the game, now he doesn't like that the only good-looking piece of ass in the place is buying me a drink because every other guy in the place can't keep their eyes off of Grossman's 96th consecutive interception.
Now it's her that has the strange condition. Apparently this girl can't take a sip of a Cosmopolitan without looking at me with an eyebrow raised. I'm pretty sure that means "Come over here and fuck me." I'm pretty sure I don't want to. I'm not here to pick anyone up. I'm here to fucking forget about what the last girl I met in a bar did to me 3 days before our one year anniversary. I try my best to write "Not fucking interested" all over my face. I inwardly hope she's the kind of girl who takes "NO" for an answer.
So why does she wrap both of her arms around my right bicep in the cab and put her head on my shoulder? I don't move. I don't want her to get the wrong idea. We're just splitting a cab. It will swing by her campus apartment on the way to take me out to Lansing proper and drop me off so I can jerk off to the Fredrick's of Hollywood catalogue under my bed and think about the last piece of ass to ruin my life so I can drag my ass to Civil Procedure in the morning. That's the plan.
It's tough to stick to the plan when, instead of getting out of the cab like she's supposed to, paying the driver for her share like she's supposed to and staying out of my life like she's supposed to, she sticks one finger through my belt loop and tugs. I lift my ass off the seat and she manages to haul me three quarters of the way to the door of the cab. It's fucking freezing. I don't want to get out of the cab. The cab is warm. She isn't letting go of my fucking belt loop. Is it worth losing a belt loop to get this bitch out of my life? "These are my favorite jeans" I rationalize. I get out of the cab. She looks at me and tilts her head toward the cabbie. I roll my eyes, produce my wallet and pay him off. He's a white guy, mid 20s, probably a student like me. I'm probably the first guy tonight who didn't ask him to pull over to the side of the road so he could hurl. He looks grateful. I hand him another bill.
On the walk up to her place I realize I gave the guy a 40% tip. Something about how hard my cock gets when a woman hauls me out of a cab by my belt loop makes it hard to do math on the spot. I figure I just made some cabbie's night.
"Wake up so you can drive me to class." I open one, bloodshot eye. Is she fucking serious? I'm not in the habit of letting people talk to me like.. Oh, she's smiling. She's also holding a plate. I can't see what's on it, so I sit up. "If there are pancakes on that plate, I'll not only drive you to class, I'll take that quiz you were bitching about last night for you." My abs BURN as I sit up in bed. Waffles. Close, but no cigar. Guess she's going to have to take that quiz herself. I can't remember why the back of my head hurts until I piece together a rudimentary timeline of the night before. My head hurts because as soon as she closed the door behind me and before I could say "I'll stay for one drink, but I have to go," she put her hand on my chest and shoved, HARD. I tipped backward into the door and my head hit the peephole. She was on me like a cat, one hand still on my chest, the other moving to the conspicuous bulge in the front of my jeans (always down the left pant leg. Every time. It has to be some sort of genetic thing) and her mouth pushing into mine. Her breath smells like peaches, I finally decide. I subsequently decide that instead of trying to decide what her breath smells like (Pomegranates? Mango? Capers? (kidding)) I should probably kiss her back.
I remember her with her hands behind her, bracing herself against the kitchen counter, legs wrapped around my ass, pulling me deep inside her. She didn't seem to weigh anything. Maybe I get retard strength when I've been drinking. I don't know how she got the slacks from that business suit off and kept those high heeled boots on. I don't remember either of us disrobing at all. I don't remember how we got from the kitchen to the bedroom. I don't remember drinking Sambvca, but the slick film on the roof of my mouth conclusively tastes of black licorice. I decide to get up and follow her to the kitchen. Those may not be pancakes, but right now I'm so hungry I couldn't care less. I wonder how many calories I burned last night.
My legs ache as I pad to the kitchen. The bottoms of my jeans are still wet and they are cold on my bare feet. I'd like to put my shirt back on but she looks better in it anyway. I silently pat myself on the back for wearing a shirt that barely reaches my belt that night, because with her long, dancer's torso the shirt doesn't cover all of her ass, and I have something to watch as I follow her down the hall.
She pulls out the chair at the table for me without even looking up. I'm suddenly gripped with sheer panic. I can't be this comfortable around someone I fucked after meeting her at the bar. You don't eat waffles with a bar fly. You fuck them and climb out the window while they're asleep. I back up 3 steps until I bash into the doorway and she looks up. "Look, don't think this means I need to see you again, Jason. Just eat your fucking waffles before they get cold."
The cab ride back to my place gives me time to think while I absentmindedly scratch the inside of my arm. What the fuck does she means she doesn't need to see me again? My memory of the night before is a little shaky, but I can verify at least 3 orgasms the night before. ( "6" she'd said at breakfast, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes and tucking it back behind her ear. I must have asked last night. How drunk do you have to be to ask a girl how many times she came? She must have known that all she needed to say was "6" and I'd know what she meant). Some girls have it easy. Some girls you can attack their naughty bits with a jackhammer and they can't get their rocks off. Some girls, you breathe on their navel funny and they lose it. Some girls can come 6 times in a night with a guy they picked up in a bar because he was watching cartoons.
So why the cold shoulder? And that's when I catch my reflection in the cab's rear view mirror. There is a weird black smudge on my forehead where I'd been rubbing it. I look down at my fingertips. Ink. I start checking my pockets for a pen that broke open, something. Then I roll back my left sleeve and check out the inside of my arm where I'd been scratching. 517 760 6251.
User Reviews
Submitted by Hookhand (user info) at 2007-02-07 11:59:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
There's no way that is a real phone number
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2007-02-06 14:35:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Whoever is at that number is denying they slept with some guy they met watching Family Guy at a bar.
Submitted by Hookhand (user info) at 2007-02-06 14:09:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I don't know, is it her number?
Actually, don't call it. It's the area code for where I live and the last 7 digits of my number.
Submitted by LittleMonster (user info) at 2007-02-06 05:19:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Happy Days
Submitted by hot_pocket (user info) at 2007-02-06 00:23:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
...so is that really her number?
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2007-02-05 23:54:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
yep
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-05 21:51:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
.
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-02-05 21:51:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by madddonkey255 (user info) at 2007-02-05 18:29:39 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 for MSU Hockey
Submitted by justagirl27 (user info) at 2007-02-05 16:00:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-02-05 15:51:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
an 0.5 should do it
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-02-05 15:50:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
kinda all over the place
Submitted by Amontillado (user info) at 2007-02-05 15:49:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I watched that family guy marathon...
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2007-02-05 15:45:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Too wordy, and I'm not complaining about the length, if anything this should have been longer. Fairly good story though.
Submitted by The_Drake (user info) at 2007-02-05 15:34:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Well written, but a bit anti-climactic. (unless you count the orgasms....which I wasn't."