The Perfect Ending for a Good Week-End - 2

This is the 2nd part of my Perfect Ending for a Good Week-End post.



Sorry folks for leaving you hanging. I'm so swamped lately my head is going to explode.

But I promised to finish the recollection of my week-end and hold my promise I will.


So after this Saturday of hard labor, only broken here and then to please myself, and to finally end up crazy frustrated and bummed because my friends didn't show up and I was too exhausted to go out, I just spent the rest of the night studying. I had papers to mark and papers to write, and I crammed like a Carl Lewis.

I was done my 5AM and slept like a big fat racoon until noon, at which point I watched TV for the day.

Fascinating, isn't it? Well, mind you, I had fun, and that's all I care about.

But then came the evening and I was decided to go crazy, in many ways. So I got dressed to kill: stilettos, dark tights, black mini-skirt, pink and black short-dress on top, black mascara, black eyeliner, straightened hair with brown hair-extensions to get mixed-bangs, shiny gloss on one cheek, deeo-pink lip-gloss, the whole nine yards kids!
It took me an hour to get ready but when I was done I was pretty satisfied with myself.

Then I headed straight for the kill, as I was in no mood for games. Or at least not futile ones. I had to make up for my wrecked Saturday. I went to one of my favourite clubs. Not that much a super-party night-club. It's more a very classy (and pricey) lounge place, with several floors, and where the bottom floor is actually know for its dating atmosphere. It opens on a patio with fountains, dim lighting and there are several bars.


There I went and hunted bravely. I went alone, so it's always a bit tricky. If you're not in the mood to make openings, you end up alone like the sucker that you are. Of course I will have (and yes, I consider myself lucky and thank the Lord that I am attractive! Must be a bummer when no one ever asks you out or courts you...) some guys and girls coming up to me occasionally, but if you have a clear idea of what you WANT, well you're probably not getting it if you wait. Then if you are alone and too aggressive, you definitely come out as the bar's slut. Not that there's anything wrong with it! But there are several kinds. If you are the teenage bar slut, you just look like an easy but very annoying prey, who tries WAY too hard. If you are over 30, you look like the even easier prey, but with more attitude and who will give you lip for anything, so maybe in the end predators would go for the annoying one. If you're in-between... then we're talking. Except... then why are you alone. Something is fishy, and the wolves know it.

It's all about the flirting. Silent or noisy. How you smoothly join conversations, or boldly invade them to own them and scare away the sick birds of the flock. How you quietly face an opponent and mouth what you'd do to them or pretend to laugh at something you thought was a joke - when it actually meant "I wanna stick my dick in your ass!"

I like that part. Usually, in this place, I go for the main bar of the ground floor, when I'm alone. I jsut lean over the bar while I order and get to talk to whoever is close to me. Works better with a cleavage, girls. Catches the attention right away. Or for a longer but more secure approach, I order a first drink, then don't touch it and pretend to be busy looking around until I lock "inadvertently" on a target on the opposite side of the bar. Then the silent flirting begins. Eyeing, head-tilting, shy smile, mysterious smile, restrained laughter, rolling eyes, mouthing small-talk, and finally playing "the what? what? WHATTTT? I cannn't hear you..." and here they come.

Of course it depends on the target. You will of course sense it. That works fine on shy and mormal guys and gals, and depending on their social skills you'll have to play it softer. If it's the aggressive type of opponent, you have to play it rougher - usually, I've come to realize that actually mimicking sucking a guy's cock (to a girl or a guy! it surprisingly works for both... in different ways!) is a good ice-breaker. I'm not kidding you!
And you directly scare off the ones who waste your time.

That night it worked like a charm. It was a fairly tall, European looking guy. I thought something like Belgian or French. Tall, but not extra tall. Well-dressed, but not posh or pretentious. Casual manners, not embarrassed by protocol, but with aptitude and enough confidence. Not in his usual bar, but feeling at home. Not groomed like a gay-hairdresser, but obviously careful about his appearance - not going for enhancing his looks, but to want to make a good, durable impression (the best!).
I sat on the other side of the bar, locked in, and jumped back a little as I "realized" we were looking at each other. "Sorry" I mouthed. "Didn't mean to stare, I was drifting!".
He waved a mixture of apology ("naw, it was me!") and non-chalant forgiveness ("so what if you were looking? No harm done, and maybe"). He looked away, looked again ("so what if you were looking anyway, huh").

Looked away.
Waited.
Looked again. I smiled, acknowledging his attraction.

"-what's your name?", I mouth?
"-T..."
"-huh??"
-"T-I-M. Tim.", he spelled and mouthed back, slower.
"-ohhhhh. Cool."
pause
he nods.
I spell "K-C", ostensibly, and writing in the end with small motions of my arm, while I keep staring at him, my chin and neck resting a little on the inner side of my arm, as if I were a bit shy.
"-K-C??"
"-huhuh."
"-cool... [realizes I said that]... cute"
I smile a little, look away, a little embarrassed - really, actually. This was a very fun flirt.

I look again, I notice his eyes moved a little and he had eyed my whole torso for the first time. Gentleman, but not blind. Or player enough to show that he notices good things. Good.

"Come over here", I mouth, tilting my head. "Let's talk, I'm alone."

Tim hesitates. He gets slowly off his seat, but looks left and right, not yet going around the bar. Checking for friends? An ex-gf? Or just shy. I think Tim is just a bit shy.

I wave him a come on, curling my index and pretend to look somewhere else, so he thinks I don't notice his hesitation anymore. Giving him a gentle push.

A hand gently touches my shoulder. Really? Touchy? I thought shy-Tim would go for just a verbal approach.

Dammit. It's not TIM! It's another guy. I panic just a bit and look around for Tim. Then realize I am an idiot and might actually have it easier right now, and shouldn't burn an occasion without considering it. The guy is unfortunately not as good looking. Not as well-dressed. His touch was nice though. Not too firm.
But he's no Tim. Shy-Tim had something special. Something that said "I look like closed book, thin book, but I've the depth of an encyclopedia entirely written in verse."

I salute and reply without thinking to nameless-pretender-number-1 and look around for Tim. No a Tim in sight. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!!

"Hey Cayce, " I hear in my back, now from the other side, sighing with relief "Am I interrupting?"

Cute. He thinks of asking if he's interrupting instead of being bold. Or he's natural. It's nice either way. Not intruding. But not giving up. Tim definitely looks like my prize for the day.

I wait a second, smile while signaling at nimrod to remain silent, and turn around again. "Noooo, of course not Tim. Where have you been? Come on sit with me!".

Tim seems nervous but controlled, and very pleased. I sense a guy who feared a joke. Someone using him like a toy, who would have waved him off once he's in range. I feel a bit sad for him, it must have happened. And I did that a few times, when I was the young-slut type.

"Thanks! Can I get you anything?"
"Surprise me!"

I realize too late that was a bit mean to Tim. It's a trap. But I'm used to using that, because I do like the surprise. But he's fucked, as he has no way of really knowing what I want, and my clothing is a bit too blend to suggest anything special, and my current drink is just a gin martini suggesting I have either watched too many movies, or have tastes that can range from the one of the usual alcoholic to the fun and drunk student in mood for a cheap beer or a dry shot.

"Hmmm. Tricky... I'll take a shot. You don't look too much like a cocktail girl. I bet you drink them for parties, but that it really isn't your kick. I go for a bloody mary!"

WTF??? A bloody-mary? Ohhhhh Tim, what are you doing to me man? It all started so well, and now you're being... wait... Is he pulling my leg? Naw, or Tim really changed in-between. No, he's not joking. Then what?
Then Tim has personality. He's right, a bloody mary fits. It's a good mix, in this setting, it's classy enough, and it's out of the ordinary. Like we are, right here, right now. Touche, Tim. You got me there.
I nod and smile.

Nimrod hangs on tight to his pole. Damn. Almost forgot him. He's saluting Tim now. Tim answers politely but ignores him, from what I feel is partly a strong desire to show him and me he couldn't care less, and partly a natural reaction to people in bars. The ignore- and wave-off by default tactic. Tim is a sleeper, a quiet.

"Does your friend want anything as well? I'm sorry, what's your name?"
Pushing your luck Tim, you might look too much like a push-over, though a classy one. Sometimes, grow a pair and wave-off the competition. I'm telling you.
But Tim turns around without waiting for an answer, ordering our drinks. He has something, that guy. A very naturaly quality, a blend of quality and adventure, with a good base of respect.

"Uh, yeah, I'll have what you two are having, " smurfes Nimrod.
Of course you are, sunshine. No get out, leave kc alone, she's got a bone to gnaw.
"Listen... ... ... Nevermind, I don't your name! Is there anything you wanted? My friend Tim and I were actually in the middle of a conversation."
Tim looks back over his shoulder, staring at me, looking concerned. His eyes say "you want me to get him off of you?". YES!

Tim leans strongly against the bar and pushes firmly but not violently other dudes in the sligthly packed premises, drops the notes on the bar while waving at the barman that it's the cash and at his seat on the other side, and comes right back. Everything with grace. Swift.

"Was nice to meet you, <Nimrod's name that Tim got at some point but I really never did...>. Cheers, mate" and he just touches me behind my shoulder, gently pushing me. I feel like he's lifting off my chair. No force, no real pressure, just a caress, but not meant at all in a sexual way. It's protective, heart-warming. Tim is golden, ladies. As I get off, he keeps an eye on the barman, signals in front of me to come with him while keeping his hand behind me after having grabbed my purse, and opening the crowd with his other arm.

"-Thanks", I sigh when we're on the other side. "He was annoying."
"-Sorry, I wasn't sure what to do..."
"-No no, don't worry. I didn't mean to be rude, but I feel a bit edgy with pushy guys."
"-Understandable. The place is like a pool of sharks!"
I genuinely smile. Tim is not an idiot, not blind, and not one of them, that's for sure. He's wondering what we're really playing at here, but he's in it anyway.
"-Let's move out", I say, grabbing our drinks. As we go, I notice that Tim always is perfectly positioned. In good distance to open the way without having to look like he's forcing to get ahead, but ensuring no one can touch us. And he looks back once to make sure Nimrod is not coming back for a rematch.


We talked a bit outside, sipping the marys. After a while - a good 1h of talking, actually, we are completely relaxed and exchange small war stories, tell each other what we do in New York, what the deal is, why we're here alone. I offer to move to another floor, a more loungy one. Tim says he likes that one. Lounges seem too posh, too "prepared", though quieter. Yes quieter, Tim, that's were we can talk and ...
... and...
... and...
...
what the hell just happened? Is he really just kissing me right now? Like that? Shy-Tim?
As I talked, he had just leaned over, reaching for my cheek and very smoothly touching it with his lips to immediately switching to kissing me, very softly, on the lips, his right hand reaching for the side of my neck.
Surprise and goose-bumps...

At this point, I felt a very intriguing mix of feelings grabbing my guts.
Maybe I shouldn't prey off Tim. Maybe he's going to prey on me. Maybe Tim is a lot better than I am at the dance and the manipulation. Or maybe he really is natural, in which case I'm in even more trouble. Tim is too good a guy, and at the time I'm thinking, OK, maybe it's a one night stand I have to loose.

But these lips, God... They're magical. Yet I'm not horny. I've been playing this little dance in this bar with him and Nimrod for nearly 3 hours now, and I'm not feeling like the horny bitch I often feel like. I don't want to jump on Tim, I want to just let myself fall in his arms.


Read on to part 3 of my perfect week-end!