Just Another Face Read Count : 23
Category : Adult
Sub Category : Erotic
A short story about a one night stand, told in the perspective of the opposite sex. I walked into that pathetic excuse of a bar that evening with the intentions of getting laid. Like any other night, I was hoping to pick up an easy chick, and take her back to my place. Boy was I wrong about this one. I’d been there less than twenty minutes, and was about ready to make a move on any one of the desperate looking chicks there, when she walked in. And was a tiny little thing, dressed in black skin-tight jeans, black stilettos, a jean jacket, and was wearing red lipstick. Even with all that on, she couldn’t have been more than a buck-five. She ran her hand through her waist- length hair as she passed by me and took a seat to my left. I tried to profile her as she was sitting there, typing away at her phone, looking unamused. She was pretty enough, but had a total bitch-face. She looked like one of those stuck up office girls who run on Starbucks. Maybe it was the boozed-laced thoughts talking, but looking into her eyes, I could see she was sad, broken, and vulnerable. Part of me just wanted to fuck her, but the other part wanted to know what happened to her that made her this way. Making my way to her, I was actually pretty nervous to see how things would play out. “Excuse me miss, care for a drink?” She looked up at me and gave me a half smile. “Sure, I’ve never been one to refuse a drink.” My first mistake was pegging her as the kind of girl who drinks all those girly fruity drinks. I was surprised when she asked for some whiskey. After 7 or 8 shots and much small talk, we made our way out the door. “Why don’t we go back to my place for a few more drinks sugar?” “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not one to go home with a stranger.” Fuck, I knew this bitch wasn’t going to let me screw her. “But they sure as hell can come home with me” she said with a smile, and lust in her eyes. Next thing I know we’re at her place downing three-quarters of a bottle of bourbon. Damn, this chick can really drink. In her room I notice a desk with piles of open notebooks, a laptop, and a vintage Remington. “You a writer or something?” “Or something.” she replies. Her voice all of a sudden got strong. “What is this, twenty-one questions? I drop it. She grabs my hand, looks up at me, and stares at me for what seems like an eternity. I can feel her eyes burning a hole in me. “Make me believe you love me” she says and then kisses me. Damn I knew this chick was fucked up. She’s probably gonna end up being one of those sentimental ones who get all attached. Looks like fast and easy is out the door. There was something magical in watching her undress, she looked like an angel standing there with the moonlight coming in from the window and illuminating her body. Fuck, how many drinks did I have? Man, this girl really knew what she was doing in bed. She made me feel like I was in my 20’s again. God, her moans are going to haunt me in my sleep tonight. I wonder how old she is? Gotta be over age, but definitely under twenty- five. We were there in bed for a while after; the smell of sex, sweat, and booze was thick all around us. She lay there glowing in the moonlight. She looked at me, squeezed my hand, and gave me another half smile before getting up a lighting a Camel. She handed me the cigarette, and I took a long drag as I watched her make her way to the restroom. She came back out in a long white t-shirt and handed me a drink. I sat there watching her as she lit another cigarette. What’s this chicks story? “There’s a cab waiting for you downstairs when you’re ready” she said. “What!?!?!?” “Thanks for the drinks” she said. “That’s it??, I never even got your name.” “Exactly, it’s easier this way” now all we’ll ever be to each other is just another face.” The booze started getting to me, and I couldn’t make sense of all of this. I just knew I felt cheated out of something. Did this chick just play me at my own game? On the car-ride home, the thought of her already started to feel like a distant memory. Memories... the one thing she couldn’t cheat me out of.