When Michael saw the girl sitting quietly in the corner, he knew he was going to make love to her. He never knew quite how he could be so sure, but he was always right.
Don't get the wrong idea. He wasn't a prolific fucker, a bedsmith of great renown or an unreasonably endowed extrovert. No, his conquests were of a more pedestrian nature, in both number and style. He was an observant and attentive lover, a stroker of the ego as much as the genital. A student of the art perhaps.
He had been in his share of long term relationships, some shorter arrangements that didn't quite work out, and an ashamedly drunken fumbling session with an equally drunken partner, not at all certain the next day whether they had managed to fornicate or not. Add the experimental three way failure (blame could squarely be laid on the other man's ego, according to Michael), and you only have the teenage loss of virginity with a battleweary whore to finish the list. The ongoing calendar of solo efforts was exempt, of course.
He looked fairly normal as well. Average height, weight and attractiveness. Something in his eyes though. An undeniable sparkle behind the pupils. A depth beyond measurement. A secret of which even he wasn't aware.
Anyway, back to the girl. Thin, shortish, sprawled on the sofa. Long black hair covered her shoulders, her white tee shirt accentuating her small pert breasts. A black skirt covered her almost to the knees, long black boots from just below. From that description you could think she was a tramp, but you haven't seen her smile. She was just comfortable with her looks, with the company, with the world. The smile was magical, and seemed to be aimed directly at Michael. As it was. Oh, and she had the sparkle too. And the secret. No, she didn't know either.
"Excuse me, could I get you a drink?" Not a line exactly. He just wanted a chance to hear her voice.
"Oh, okay, that would be great. I'm far too comfortable here to get one myself. Name's Donna, by the way." Sexy. Relaxed. Hell of a voice, in fact. Did I say sexy?
"Hi Donna. What is that? Beer? I'm Michael. Mike. Call me Mike."
"Hiya Mike. Listen, how 'bout you get the beer, and then sit here with me. I'm trying to keep a stalker at bay, and you would fit nicely on the couch."
"Actually, I'm the stalker, but as you invited me, I'll be right back."
"Okay. You seem friendly, for a stalker."
"It's a professional disguise. Hold on." And he swung around a couple of entwined drunks pretending to dance, grabbed a couple of beers from the bar, and returned to where Donna was sitting. She had unsprawled herself a little, and left enough room for Michael to sit down.
Handing her one of the beers, Mike got another dose of the smile, and returned one of his own.
"You know, I got the strangest feeling when I saw you on the sofa here Donna."
"You did? What sort of feeling?"
"It was as though I'd already met you, but I'm fairly sure I haven't." That could have been a line, but it wasn't.
"Actually, I felt much the same. Are you sure we haven't?"
Launching into a swapfest of jobs, homes, clubs and sports, they established that it was unlikely that they had met, but also that they had an impressive number of peripherally similar interests, and also managed to slip in the stuff about how they were both currently single. Neither knew how relieved the other was to hear that.
"Mike, how about we go somewhere else so we can talk properly. This sofa is comfortable, but the smoke is getting to me. I'm not really much of a party girl, I'm afraid."
"Fine with me. I know where we can find an all-night café, and I can still drive."
"Oh, coffee. Now that sounds good. Lead the way."
"You need to pick anything up from here first?"
"Nope. I'll just say goodbye to the hostess, and see you out front?"
"Yeah, okay. Don't dawdle. That stalker might catch up with you, and I'd have to go for coffee alone."
"Promise. See you in a minute or two."
Michael wandered out into the warm night, wondering where this was leading. He certainly hadn't expected to be taking anyone away from the party, even if just to the café. Waiting peacefully on the deck, he replayed the conversation with Donna in his mind. This was going well. Very well. And the sparkle behind his eyes would have been very apparent if anyone had been looking.
"Okay Mike. Hannah confirmed your stalker status, and tells me you're mostly harmless, but not to let you have too many coffees. Let's go."
"Harmless? How dare she. We'll have to have words."
"Yeah alright, but not now. Let's get out of here."
"Your wish, and all that. It's that red Toyota there."
"Cool. I always wanted a red car."
"I have no idea. It just seems decadent somehow. Maybe I'll just have to keep you instead..."
"Bold words from someone who isn't aware of all my vices."
"I like vices. So much more fun than virtues. You want to confess now, or get the coffee?"
"Coffee first. Guilt is good for the tastebuds."
And they drove to the café, chatting about nothing all the while, picking up pieces of truth from each other the way people do when they first meet. By the time they arrived, that initial wall of caution had all but crumbled.
There were only another half dozen customers in the café, quietly sipping good coffee, some of them munching late snacks. The chatter of friendly voices hummed without overpowering the classy jazz on the stereo, and Mike and Donna relaxed and destroyed a couple of hours inconsequentially. Eventually though, the talk turned serious. Well, sort of.
"Look Mike, I'm an impulsive wench, as you probably realise by now. You seem like a really nice guy. I've had your harmlessness verified by a mutual friend, I like your voice, your car, and your eyes. Stalker or no, you make me comfortable. I've got a proposition for you."
"I'm not harmless, honest, but tell me more."
"I'd like to take you home with me. I live by myself, apart from my cats, and I'm not in the mood to sleep alone. But you have to promise me something first."
"Well, if this doesn't work out, can we still be friends? I don't want to lose you just because you don't like the way I fuck."
"Oh. I thought you were going to suggest I come around and sleep on the couch. I promise, so long as you do too. I'm not such a catch, you know."
"We'll see about that. Listen, now that both of our expectations have been sufficiently lowered, I'm horny as hell. Let's go, shall we?"
Mike left a sizable tip on the table, and they headed for the car, arm in arm.
Arriving at her apartment, Donna insisted that Mike use the bathroom before her, and headed to the kitchen to fill some wineglasses. When he returned, she handed him the glasses, pointed to the bedroom, and disappeared, calling to him behind her back.
"Just pop those beside the bed hon, and hop in. I'll see you there."
Mike did as he was told, and was naked in the bed, wine glass in hand, when Donna reappeared, clean, perfumed, and naked as a jaybird.
"Not terribly modest, are you?"
"I'm like a switch. I either trust you or not. Given that, why sneak around in a robe?"
"It wasn't a complaint, I assure you."
"That's alright then." And she slipped into the bed beside him, and took the glass from his hand. "Drink that later. We've got work to do."
Reaching his hands out to her, Mike could have sworn he saw something glitter in her eyes. A sort of electrical flash, like a reflection of lightning, but coming from the inside. She felt incredibly soft and warm, as a woman should, and they moulded together as though designed as a matching set.
Stroking his hands down her spine, Mike was gratified to feel her whole body shiver, and squeeze even closer to him.