He slouches on the bus top next to me. He thinks he's got it all planned out. I let him think that, use this same routine and you'll get them slobbering all over you waiting for the click of a finger to dive into your gold mine. Claim your pussy, tell the guys at work about it the next night, tell them I was a perfect ten even though we're both more than aware I'm little above a seven. But I've got something
those perfect ten's don't. I play my stories out, I give them a west end show of their own without them even knowing. Lonely widow looking for her new found lover, slutty ex porn star craving some dick and a quick fix, freshly turned lesbian so profoundly taken by this man and his oh so lovely alpha male style. I can be anything you want me to be, and I don't do it for them, I do it for fun. This is a hunt and I am the alpha fucking female. There is empowerment to ruling over these fuckers and watching the snot nosed weak child they really are beg for more. This one is different though.
As a woman we are judged for sleeping around but fuck, I love it. I love that dominance I secretly have. I can let a man take me up the ass while he calls me his bitch but we know really I'm the one who holds up higher, his balls are in my hands, metaphorically.
I don't say anything. He hates it. I can see him thouroughing his brow, I know he's desperately trying to think of something to say. I don't want to be too cruel on this one, I've forgotten his name already, something spanish I think. I look over at him and smile. Hollow eyes, masses of hair and a somewhat chiseled face. He's not half bad. I did decent compared to the drunken white mess from last night. He lasted a couple minutes. Glad he was the weak type, had him eating me out for hours and he knew, fucking knew, not to complain. The nerve to ask for my number afterwards though.
It just clocked me that he hasn't replied, he nodded and gave me sad eyes, loosened his grip on his bus ticket and looked at the road. Dramatic effect. I know this game. I don't like that I didn't see it coming. I need to know his name else this can crumble. I will not give this one control and if he knows I don't care he'll think he can take over the situation and guide me to his bed. You're thinking 'well come on isn't that what you want?' well wheres the fun in it then? Wheres the build up? I love tension. I love playing back and fourth and I won't be beaten at my own game. God I need a drink. Something that burns the back of my throat.
I search for my pack of cigarettes. Let him see I'm not begging to know 'whats the matter'. Find my Marlboro. Three left. Fuck sake. I shouldn't of let Marlon have half earlier today. What was I thinking, quitting? The fuck is wrong with me today.
It finds itself securely between my lips, puckered currently not just for balance of this precious nicotine but because I want him to notice. Look at the goods. Always had good lips.
He notices alright, there's a flame in my face lighting the end of this death stick. A zippo lighter, silver by the looks of it, fake I can tell from the engraving though. He expects me to look at him as he does this. I do, by choice. He looks me in the eyes and lights my cigarette. I stare back.
This man knows exactly what I'm doing. He's guilty of it too. How? Because I see him. I know this guy. Kind of. We've passed in clubs, ordered at the same bar tables. He tried to pick up a few friends of mine and succeeded, them crying to me about it the next day and onward about him not giving them that call back or multiple stories about him having this horrible life, what was it now, Vietnam survivor? Ex fireman? He even pulls the same dead spouse bullshit I do.
Does he know that much about me though? I highly fuckin' doubt it. I should be paranoid, in fact no, I should be enraged that this has all gone fucked up but what I am, right now? I'm comforted. He knows. That's what's wonderful. Someone gets it.
'Let's drop the act for once and just talk.' Loudest thought in my head right now. It's refreshing, but it's not on game and that's why I'm here. It just doesn't feel as fun though. It's so much better when they haven't a clue, even the next day. I'm an awful bitch I'll admit that, I get a kick out of it some how. Guess I just get lonely, but not too lonely. Not enough to make something more out of it. Just fucking and crying is enough for me. When they cry it's quite cute. I play the mother figure for about an hour and they're bawling, soaking up soon to be thrown out sheets. You'd be shocked how many Mommy issues guys have nowadays.
It's the daddy issues guys you wanna watch. They make monsters out of themselves, can hit you up pretty bad if you rub them the wrong way after sex. Best to let that sort sleep, they're only good for a hard, long fuck though. Anything else is bullshit after that.
Let's stick to talking.
I don't respond with a smirk or a doggy-dinner bowl stare. I suck on my cigarette and look straight ahead again.
'so you fucked Alice last night huh?' exhaling smoke with my words. He grins, I see it in my peripherals.
'Yeah. She looked like a dead rat in the street lights, looked better in the club, but I'm not fussy.'
I laugh 'Can't say I am either.' If that were an insult, I blasted it back, just a vague and open questioned.
'How did you know about that?' deep voice, monotone slightly.
'I've seen you around just as you know you've seen me, I was standing with Alice
for about five minutes last night before she went trailing after you.'
Yeah, and called me for an hour the next fucking morning crying, spluttering ''I've been
used'' as if I'd know what to say in reply.
'Oh right' uninterested voice 'the dress you wore yesterday was prettier.'
Ha. I like this guy.
'Yeah, smells like sweat and shame now though' blunt as always. He grins again and looks at me, I tilt my head in his direction, eyes closed blissfully and take a long, hard drag, exhaling through my nose, my eyes slowly open, rolling to his face. He's smiling, now. Not a toothy grin, a sly smile, an 'I've got you right where I want you' smile. Oh heavens above, if only he knew what a bastard I am! I await his move, his turn, his request to call me back to his apartment, I want to see him get crushed from my rejection. I want to see it sting his fucking ego. Not for my friends, couldn't give a shit about that, but for the bullshit I have to put up with afterwards. Oh, here it comes, he's very gently wetting his lips before speaking, full soft lips, peachy, they part gently and I await the monotone velvet once more.
'You're too young to be a cougar.'