The Encounter

(Not to be confused with this encounter.)

As the blonde wearing six-inch heels enters the bar, she seems so conscious of being watched and so committed to not noticing that she appears almost angry, like a model on a runway. Her leather mini clings to her hips, tight as a rubber. Sheer stockings cover long legs—legs that beg to be wrapped around a neck.

John closes his eyes and draws in a breath, savoring the moment.

What a knockout. Here’s a woman any man should be proud to display. Eye candy with whom he’ll score. A real blow-and-go he’ll never forget.

She scans the room, sweeping a bored gaze over everyone. Many men return her stare, some smile, perhaps hoping to engage her. But she dismisses them one by one, looking away, telling them, in essence, to get lost. She turns and glances at John.

For a moment they remain locked together in a visual embrace. John’s heart starts to race.

The blonde looks away.

Two can play that game. Drink in hand, John begins his own search of the bar.

A forty-something woman sitting alone winks, the rim of her glass against her overly reddened lips. Standing unsteadily now and grinning too eagerly, she motions with her eyes, telling John she’s available.

John averts his gaze to his watch, hoping to make it look as though he’s waiting for someone. She’d better not come over. Undoubtedly, she’s a divorce hit-and-run victim looking to stake her claim on someone new. Just what he doesn’t need. Hopefully, she’ll take the hint and fuck off.

With great pretense, as if he’s looking not at the woman, but beyond her in anticipation of someone entering through the door, John sneaks another look at the divorcee. She isn’t smiling now, but instead frowns at the blonde, who walks with a sexy swish of her hips toward John.

The blonde strokes her breasts with each step, putting on a show.

John glances to his left and right, then behind him. Everyone seems to be staring at her.

Good Lord, but her nipples are huge. Why the last time he saw nipples like that, his wife was pregnant.

John’s heart begins to race again while a cold sweat tickles his face. He needs to calm down and stop obsessing over the nipples. He’s supposed to look natural, like he’s every bit the player she is. He’ll have to remain cool to stay in her game.

“Is this seat taken?” The blonde’s voice buzzes low and breathy in front of him. She sits before John can answer.

“It is now,” John says to the blonde’s breasts, her nipples seeming to beg him to do something about the fact that they’re right there in his face. “Buy you a drink?” He inhales the woman’s scent. A prickly clamminess sensitizes his skin. If only he could take her right now. When did he last feel like this? Must be at least two years ago. Certainly not since before his last child was born.

“I’m up here,” the blonde says, snapping her fingers in front of John.

Their eyes meet—hers smiling, his wild.

“Sorry. I was just... I mean I was admiring...” He inhales deeply. Maybe she’ll let him start over?

“Vodka martini, please.” She licks her suckable lips and grins.

After flagging down the waiter, John touches his glass and raises two fingers.

“I saw you looking at that woman at the bar. She turn you on?” The blonde’s expression registers amused disapproval.

“What? Oh, that was nothing. She turn you on?” John holds his breath. Might as well seize control of the game and see how much of a player she is. Visions of the blonde and the divorcee locked in a naked embrace flash through John’s mind.

“You betcha.” As the blonde looks away, she seems to be trying not to laugh.

What’s so funny? This is seduction talk, after all. Foreplay masked as naughty conversation. Verbal cybersex, for God’s sake. Not laugh-at-John time.

“Oh yeah? I’d like to see that. The two of you... umm... I mean...” John brings his hands together in a way that suggests he’s praying for the right words.

The blonde laughs out loud now. “You don’t do this often, do you?” Her nipples jut even more against her blouse with each snicker.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go; they’re supposed to laugh together, not she at him. Surely he isn’t that out of practice, is he?

John concedes the moment with a deep breath and forced laugh. “You can tell?”

Flashing a haughty smile, the blonde points at his hand. “You forgot to take off your wedding band.”

“Oh.” John displays his best caught-in-the-act grin, then, after tugging at the ring, slips it into his pocket.

“Sorry. Can we start over?” He leans close.

The blonde teases him with a glance. “Only if you promise to fuck me soon.” Without warning, she pulls his mouth to hers. It isn’t a frenzied, world-rocking kiss, but is, instead, a slow dance of lips and tongue.

Under the table John’s hand moves toward the blonde. Does he dare?

He slips his fingers under her skirt, then yanks them away as if on fire. “You’re not wearing panties.” John’s face is flushed and he’s nearly panting.

The blonde chuckles. “Of course not. I never do.”

“What?” John’s penis leaps to life as he struggles to remain calm. The blonde might be going commando tonight, but he isn’t. Thank God he chose boxers instead of briefs. A lot less constraining.

“Oh, um, great!” John’s hand slides toward the blonde’s skirt again. Perhaps she has other surprises in store.

A buzzing begins along his temples. And against his hip.

Damn cell phone. This better be important.

“What? Is she okay?” John’s boxers suddenly become roomier.

“Problems?” The blonde’s wig moves as she scratches her head and cranes to listen.

“The sitter can’t get the kids to sleep.” John sighs. “Looks like our encounter’s screwed.”

“Yeah? Whatever. This wig is hot and my shoes are killing me. Let’s go home.”