I stubbed out a cigarette in the ashtray on her bedside table. I looked over at it. Three butts. One hers, two of mine. What the fuck? I never stayed for a second cigarette.
It's not like she was an incredible fuck or anything.
It started the same as it always does. I met her down at the Black Leopard, one of my regular hangouts. I hadn't seen her there before, so of course I started working the angles. I caught her eye from the bar, gave her the old smile and wink. She was wearing a classic black cocktail dress, a little jewelry. Very classy. No underwear, not as far as I could see, and I'm an expert at spotting panty lines. My kind of girl.
She was there with Christy. The bitch leaned close to her and whispered, shook her head, giving me the hairy eyeball. I'd fucked Christy, what, two weeks ago? Three? Something like that. I couldn't hear what Christy said, but it wasn't a compliment.
I kept my eye on them. The new girl kept looking over at me. I got my new wingman, Joe, to go over and ask Christy to dance. He's a nice guy, takes coaching well. As soon as she was out of the way, I went over and sat down with the new girl.
"Hi, I'm Mike." I said. "Your friend doesn't like me."
She told me her name. "Sunny." She glanced over to where Christy was shimmying under the lights. "She said you don't call back."
"Yeah, it's pretty rare," I admitted.
"A real Casanova, eh?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.
I shrugged. "Say what you like about Casanova, he never left a woman unsatisfied."
She bit her lip, and gave me an appraising glance. She was interested. I pulled her out onto the dance floor. She had some good moves, but they were a little out of date. She'd been out of the game for a while, I figured. Still, she wasn't afraid to shake her tits or wiggle her ass, and she didn't pull away when I started dancing close enough feel those wiggles through my slacks.
I moved around behind her, and put my hands on her hips. I could feel the heat rising from her body. I gave her a little kiss on the neck and said, "Let's go."
We took my car over to her place, a third floor walk-up in a quiet neighborhood. As soon as we were inside the door I pulled her into a kiss and kicked it shut.
"I was going to ask if you wanted a drink," she gasped.
"If I wanted a drink I'd have stayed at the bar," I growled.
"Mmmm, Yeah..." she breathed.
She pulled me into the bedroom. There was a crucifix on the wall over the king size bed. Opposite was a framed Sinead O'Connor poster. She kicked off her shoes, whipped off the dress, and jumped onto the sheets. "Okay, Giacomo," she said. "Do me good." Her voice was husky with anticipation.
I stripped down slowly. I've heard that women aren't visual, and that's bullshit. Most guys just don't have much to look at. She was looking, and from the expression on her face I could tell she was liking what she saw. I lay down next to her, propped up on one elbow, and trailed my fingers down her body. Throat, collarbone, breast, navel, belly, pussy. Her skin was soft but underneath there was some muscle. She kept in shape.
.... There is more of this story ...