I smile in front of the mirror, applying my lip gloss. I fluff up my hair, making it nice and bouncy. Recently dyed red. While blondes might have more fun, redheads catch their attention faster. And that is all I want today, attention. However I get it, it doesn’t matter, as long as I do. I take a bump, rubbing my nose before going through my clothes. I think about a blouse, but then I frown. I want exposure. So instead, I take the crop top. No bra, no need for that, hoping the air might be cool enough to help draw the eyes. Then a black skirt, very short and loose. I don’t need anything under that either. I don’t want anyone mistaking me for respectable, not tonight. I take another bump, smiling at the slut in the mirror, sitting down to throw on some heels and then I head out.

While waiting for the bus, I light a cigarette, breathing it in deeply and blowing it out my nose. I should quit but I don’t care. It’s a guilty pleasure, though almost everything that pleases me makes me feel guilty. A couple guys glance at me as they walk by. I savor their looks, a drug, just a minor hit. When the bus pulls up, I toss the cigarette and get on. It’s a long ride and when an older man sits next to me, I don’t pull away. He’s not attractive, far older than I generally like, but he’s here and I’m all he’s thinking about. Despite being 20, I look younger and I know that look in his eyes. He’s trying to figure out my age, and I know what number he’s hoping it is. He doesn’t ask, just politely chats with me. I smile like an innocent good girl, despite my dress. When his hand touches my thigh, I don’t pull away. My legs part a bit. He takes the hint.

I look straight ahead mostly as his hand slips up my short skirt. I grin as I hear him gasp when he touches bare skin, hairless, just the way his kind like. He unzips and without even being asked, I reach over. Still looking ahead as I stroke his cock at the back of the bus. He’s bad at fingering but I’m already soaked, enjoying the crude sensations as his rough fingers slip in and out. My hand is expert, skilled beyond my years. My wet palm slides along the top of his head, then I firmly pump him, alternating between fast and slow, firm and soft. I turn a bit to give his fingers easier access. Smiling, making just the softest of moans for his ears. He rolls his head back as I feel that familiar pulse in my hands. I cup his head as heat spurts on my skin. I look at him and smile as I lick my hand clean and then get up, moving to a different seat. I’ve made his night and I feel so sexy right now, so wanted. I know he’s looking at me still, longing, as this night will be his number one fantasy for the rest of his life.

Eventually, the bus pulls up to the bar. It’s on the opposite side of town from me and my work. It at least reduces the chance I’ll run into anyone I know. Though if I did, I would still act the same. A part of me hates hiding my true self, wearing the mask of respectability. That fits some people, but not me. I’m an animal pretending to be human and tonight that mask is being tossed aside. I don’t need the pretense, tonight is about the hunt and I’m the prey. I’ve always been the prey.

I walk in, glancing around the place. It’s a run-down bar, not a place for the winners of life. That’s fine by me because I’m a loser, like the rest of them here. I might be prettier and younger than most of them, but I belong here all the same. Several watch me as I sit at the bar, with looks of lust and predation. A couple guys come over, chatting with me, trying to flatter me. They’re trying entirely too hard. They’re older than me by far, probably in their late 30’s or 40’s. Hard-working blue-collar men who probably drink a bit too much, bellies a bit too big, but otherwise in decent shape. Skin weathered by working in the sun. They smell of cigars and cheap beer, so aromatic. It reminds me of my dad. I smile, touching their shoulders, putting my hand on their knees when I laugh at one of their clumsy jokes. They notice the contact, their eyes locking, nodding knowingly. They buy me several drinks, which I down quickly. I act perhaps a bit drunker than I am and laugh a bit too hard. It’s an act but they don’t notice or don’t care. The men I want never do.

We get up to play some pool. I’m actually good at it but I somehow never win. They drape their arms on my shoulders and rub my back. One of them gets bold and puts his hand on my ass as I make a shot. I playfully slap at his hand as I touch my lip with my tongue. Then I stumble, too drunk to stand anymore. I tell them I probably had too much to drink and need to go home. Their arms are strong and warm around my waist as they help me out. I tell them I’ll wait for the bus, but they demand that they drive me home. I happily accept of course. While one drives, I drink with the other in the back. I’m “sloshed” now, too drunk to notice his hands all over me, rubbing my thighs and chest. I kiss him and he returns it, making out sloppily in the back. I’m fingered for the second time of the night, pushing his hand away after a couple minutes. I tell him I’m too drunk, I just need to get to my apartment. I need their help of course. He’s frustrated but polite. So far at least.