continued from last entryThe next night I found myself sitting in the same parking lot of the same yupster bar, staring at the big black extended cab long bed truck. His truck.
�This is ridiculous,� I thought to myself. �You�re a grown woman. You�re attractive� moderately, anyway�. And this man�.this strange powerful man�.� Even my brain voice didn�t know how to qualify him. What was he exactly. Why did he make me feel about ten years old?
I checked my makeup and lipstick in the rear view and then I steeled my nerve and exited my car, wrapping my leather coat around me like a shield. I walked carefully, wearing dress flats which were not exactly sensible given the icy parking lot.
I walked into the bar and stood in the entryway for a minute until my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then I spotted him. He was starring directly at me, undoubtedly had seen me with his hunter�s gaze the moment I walked in. I did not allow recognition to pass over my face, instead walking carefully and purposefully to the bar. I ordered myself a martini, more for courage then anything, removed my coat and looked around the bar in the opposite direction than his table, trying to appear elusive.
I was wearing my power outfit, one that I knew looked good on me. A black cashmere cardigan, usually worn buttoned up to my throat, but I had casually unbuttoned just the top two buttons, exposing a little skin, and a pair of black trousers. It made me look sleeker, at least twenty pounds lighter. It did good things to the curves I had, accentuating my hourglass figure, and yet, the sweater was so soft, it seemed as though people couldn�t resist touching me when I wore it.
When the bartender delivered my martini, I took a delicate sip and then pretended to notice him. I smiled one of my hundred watt smiles and then walked slowly over to him. When I reached his table, I set my drink down, but kept my coat in my arms, awaiting an invitation.
�Hi there! How are you tonight?� I asked brightly.
�Good.� He said curtly, looking away. �Here to meet some of your friends again?�
�Nope.� I said. �Just thought I�d come out for a bit.�
�Doesn�t seem like your kind of place to hang out.� He said shortly, not looking at me.
�I could say the same thing about you.� I said, a little put off.
�Then why�d you come out?� He looked at me directly.
I was completely disarmed. All of the confidence I�d had was gone. �I-I-I You told me you�d be here�. I thought I�d see if you were��
He looked at me impatiently. �I get the feeling that you�re playing games with me. I don�t appreciate games. �
�I-I wasn�t.�
�Don�t lie to me. You wanted me to watch you up at the bar. You tried to play with me. I don�t like it.�
I said nothing, merely looking at him wide-eyed.
�If you�re going to be with me, be with me. Don�t make me tell you again.�
�Sorry.� I whispered, not sure that I really wanted to be there at all.
His face softened, his eyes running over my face. Immediately, my stomach fluttered.
�Sit.� He commanded, but with a gentle voice.
I hung my jacket over the back of the empty chair and sat, very rigidly, at the chair. I was willing to give him a chance.
�Tell me about your day.� He said with a low, throaty voice.
I told him about shopping with my college roommate. I relaxed a bit. I went into details about my purchases, the recipient, how I knew them. He asked questions, listened attentively, nodded. I found myself completely at ease, telling him things I normally would have reserved for my very best friends. He chuckled in the right places, smiled warmly at me as though I were the most interesting creature in the world.
�I must be boring you to death!� I said, smiling, gesticulating with my hand.
He caught my hand in his rough one and surrounded it with his other hand. �No,� He said softly. �I like to listen to you. If you were boring me, you wouldn�t still be here. I don�t tolerate boring people.�
I blushed and looked down, my hand trapped between his strong ones.
�Look at me.� He growled softly. �You are not to look down again. I like to see your pretty eyes.�
I looked up once more and he was staring at me with intensity. My breath caught in my throat. I tried to break the tension. �How do you DO that? The way you look at me�. I feel as though you can read my thoughts.�
�I can�. Not specifically, of course not, but I see you very clearly. I think we have a bond, you and I. I understand you very well.�
�What do you see?� I said, challenging him.
�I see a little girl in a woman�s body�. I see a little girl who wants to please but at the same time, wants to be sexual and alluring, but doesn�t feel as though she should be. �
I think I stopped breathing. I could only watch him, listen to him. How could he know? How could he know these things that I had never told anyone, not even my very best friends?
He continued. �You�re waiting�. Watching� for someone to make you, force you to be the bad girl so that you don�t feel guilty about it. You want someone to tell you that you�re innocent, a good girl, and take the blame for all of your bad sexual actions.�
Although a part of me wanted to deny it, wanted to tell him that he was wrong, the other part of me knew how true it was, how essential to my very core. I could barely find a voice to say �How do you know these things.�
�I can read you. You are open to me.�
I raised my eyebrow, attempting to look haughty. �I thought I was rather closed�. I only told you about my shopping trip and I hardly��
�It�s not what you said. It�s who you are. It�s ok. �
�It�s not ok. I don�t know where you came up with that� I am more than some Freudian textbook case��
He placed his forefinger against my lips, stopping me mid-sentence. �Shhhhhhhhhh.� I stopped, frozen, not breathing.
�Shhhhhhhh�. Tell me it isn�t true.� He whispered, moving his finger to trace around my lips.
I parted my lips to speak, but no words came. He moved his finger around my lips.
�You can�t tell me it isn�t true because it would be a lie� and you know that you cannot lie to me.�
Barely moving, I shook my head slightly.
�You really want someone to take control, don�t you, little girl?� He whispered.
I gulped. He smiled a little bit.
�You like it, don�t you� you like it when I call you my little girl� tell Daddy.� He continued calmly.
I nodded a very small nod. I felt as though a puppet on a string tied at my stomach, attached to him somehow. He circled his finger on my cheek, tucking an errant strand of hair behind my ear, then tracing down along my jawline.
�Good girl.� He said, nodding, approving. He touched the tip of my nose and then dropped his hand to the table. I exhaled, still staring at him.
�You need a refill.� He said, more a command than a question. �Another martini? Or would you prefer something else?�
I somehow found a voice to speak. �Diet�Diet Coke please.� After that little display, I figured I had enough vodka for one night.
He nodded. I watched him make his way up to the bar, waiting patiently for the bartender, pulling out his wallet, handing the bartender a five dollar bill, telling him to keep the change.
He walked back, placing my Diet Coke in front of me.
�How do you feel?� He asked, dipping his head, looking up at me quizzically.
�Flushed.� I said, placing a hand on my hot cheek, still burning where his fingers had marked a trail in skin.
�Probably the martini.� He said, although he had to know that it wasn�t. �You don�t look as though you are a drinker.�
�I�m not� not really.� I said. He was back to normal man status again.
To be continued
