On the Prowl: an excerpt

She pushed the doors open with a force to equal the self-induced orgasm she experienced in the car. The heat crept up her legs again as she noticed the regulars were eyeing her body. She smiled and chuckled to herself choosing the empty barstool between a man and a woman engaged in friendly banter.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation,” she said, sounding almost sincere in her apology. She turned to face the woman ensuring that her whole back was to the man. “What you drinkin’,” she asked.

“Um, I am… um, rum and coke,” the woman said, surprised and somewhat embarrassed.

“We’ll have one on me. My way of saying sorry. I just needed to sit. These heels are killing me. The price we pay to look pretty.” She signaled to the bartender and placed her order after he walked over to her. “Two rum and Cokes.”

“I understand. Thanks for the drink.” The woman smiled, and then looked down at her half-empty glass before guzzling it as a new one arrived.

“Is there a pool table here? I could use a game.”

“I’ll shoot you for her,” his voice was deep and lined with a chuckle. It was just what she wanted, his attention, and she turned slowly to look at him.

“Really now, that’s a game I could get into.” He was a tall man of about six-one, broad shoulders and a goatee with a full mustache. His short hairstyle seemed out of place for someone who had the allure of a biker, but it came across mysterious and a bit sexy. He wasn’t what she was looking for. His voice seemed too timid and sweet. But the base in his voice sent a chill down her spine and even as she spoke, she could feel herself attach to him.

“Oh, so I got your attention.” He was intrigued by her, and his eyes showed it. He gave her the once over, starting with her feet and working his eyes up slowly over her long legs and finally making their way to her plump bosom that peeked from behind her halter topped dress. “But if you really are interested, let’s head to the back and get the game going.”

She turned away from him and brushed the woman on her arm. “How do you feel about that, hon? Do you mind if we play for you? Or would you rather just make a decision now?” She stared deeply into her face, waiting for her answer.

“Um….”

“Now, what kind of fun would that be? I think we need to play.” He made the decision and picked up his mug of beer and headed towards the billiards room.

She grabbed the hand of her would-be prize and sashayed behind him, downing her drink before she did. “I’ll have another,” she shouted back at the bartender.

The pool room was rather nice with four antique wooden tables, which smelled as if they’d been recently polished. Even the black felt that stretched across the tables appeared to have been recently brushed, something that was completely unusual for a local dive bar. It reminded her of the old-fashioned pool hall, she saw in movies like The Hustler, with its stained-glass lamps hanging from the ceiling, and leather pockets that cradled the balls in much the same way that her hands would soon cradle his. Or so she hoped.

She ran her fingers across the stiff soft felt and eyed the room for the cues. Finding the sticks hanging from the wall in the far corner, she chose a medium-weighted cue and caressed the thickest part of the shaft with intensity. She licked her lips and turned to face the woman who was standing less than 5 inches away watching her like a lost puppy.

“I’m ready.” She was matter-of-fact in her statement, showing no trace of emotion and exuding an impressive amount of confidence. “So what is it, ­ winner takes all or the best two out of three?”

“Ladies ‘ choice,” he replied, trying to sound polite.

“Is one of us supposed to be a lady?” She stared directly in the eyes and waited for him to answer, which he did not.

“How about you decide hon.”

“Hmmm, winner take all? I guess.” Her voice was low and laced with bewilderment and awe.

“Rack ’em. I’ll break.”

“Wow, you’re a take-charge kind of gal, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I just haven’t found a take-charge kind of man yet. Now rack ’em and stop with the talking.”

image credit: Gary Scott

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Kay Denise

Kay is from The Bronx, but is currently living her life's dream in Arizona. Writing is what breaths life into her world and when she does not do it, she feels off kilter. She is on a mission to finish and publish a compilation of short stories before the end of the year. She's well on her way, yet is often her own worse enemy.