Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Vacation Adventure

“I know what you need.” A disembodied voice whispers into my ear. A loud whisper over the crash and boom of the music playing. I turn around on my bar stool to find a tall, slim man in his late 40’s. He has an angular, oddly handsome face, clear, green eyes and dark hair. And an impish grin that tells me he’s come to play.

“Do you? And how is it you know that?” I ask.

“Something about the way you were leaning forward on the stool. Something about the way you walked to the Ladies room before, and then back. I have good radar.”

“For what?” I ask again. Wondering what in hell this man is talking about, but feeling a little excited that maybe he does know what I need.

“So, when did you arrive?” he asks, an obvious stall.


“What have you been doing? Clearly you’ve been to the beach with that stunning tan.”

“Thank you.” I say with a smile. I’m enjoying his cool delivery. “Lying on the beach, a little shopping, a little gambling in the casino, although I must be very unlucky because all I do is lose.”

“Meet anyone?” And now I think we’re steering back to the topic we’re really both interested in.

“No. A little flirting, that’s about it.” I say.

“But, I’m sure you’ve thought about it. With so many men here.” the word men obviously meant to be quoted. “All these Spring breakers, twenty something’s, I’m sure they’ve caught your eye.”

This last is delivered with a twinkle in his eye. He’s leading me somewhere, but I don’t know where. He wants me to admit to something. Maybe, I think, that’s his fetish. Older women and younger men. Him not being in the latter category any longer. Maybe he wants to watch and thinks he can arrange a little show.

“Well” I give a little laugh “I can’t say I haven’t struck up conversation with some cute boys. But, I do have some morals and am trying to stick to my rule.”

“Which is?”

“That I won’t be with someone who I could have given birth to. So, these Spring Break guys are out of bounds. But, I can flirt.” I say this and turn for a sip of my martini.

“And fantasize.” He says this as a statement of fact. I choke a little on my drink. He’s trying to make his point, but I’m missing it. He goes on. “I’m sure you’ve pictured yourself wrapped around one of these sweet skinned, stamina filled young men. They can go on and on and you want that.” Again, a declaration of my desires. His green eyes are looking into me and I find my pulse is racing a bit. My breath comes a little too fast and I’m hoping to hell I’m not becoming pink in the cheeks. Because he is, of course, right.

I finally decide to call his bluff. “What are you getting at?” I ask with a smile and a laugh. I’m accusing him of something, but since I’m not sure what it is, I think I should treat this as a joke.

“That you’re a naughty girl, under all that cool reserve. Under that dirty martini and clingy dress. You may have your rule, but I’m sure if the right boy came along, you’d break it in a flash. You’ve broken it before.” Again, this said as a statement. And, while a part of me wonders how he would know that, I realize it wouldn’t be hard to figure out that I wouldn’t have to have a rule if I hadn’t already broken it.

And then it comes. Delivered in almost a whisper, his mouth so close to my ear I can feel his warm breath gently moving the hair around my face.

“Maybe you make your rules so you can break them. So you can be that naughty girl. You know, deep down, what you really need, what you really want, is to be punished.”


“You shouldn’t be allowed to continue on with these fantasies of young men.” He pauses, waiting to see if I have any response to that, but I’m flustered. How could this man possibly know what I long for from simply watching me across the bar? Is my need so transparent, I wonder. And worry. But, I’m also not just a little excited. I can feel between my legs the tingle and the dampness of how this is affecting me. “As it happens”, he says, “I have some experience in administering punishment to women such as yourself.”

I croak out, “What kind of woman is that?”

With the little smile he’s worn throughout this entire interaction, not exactly warm, more just amused, and with his eyes not leaving mine, he says, “A slut.”

I gasp and my eyes close in a blink for the briefest moment. A current runs through me from my head to my cunt. A wave of excitement and arousal so strong, I know he knows it. He can’t not know how he’s just affected me.

As I try in my stupor to, rather unsuccessfully, compose myself, I find he’s called the bartender over and is settling up my tab. I still can’t speak, but spend some time straightening out the skirt of my dress and pushing my hair behind my ear. All the while trying to catch my breath, which is somehow caught inexorably in my esophagus. He turns and still with the smile on his lips very gently, but also firmly, puts his hand under my bent elbow and leads me off the bar stool. I know what’s happening, and even as a voice in my head is screaming at me to speak, to stop, to run, I follow his lead. With shaking knees, shallow breath, and so wet I’m afraid I've marked the back of my dress, I allow myself to be led towards the elevators.

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