Squeezing her way through the nightclub crowd, Michele made for the bar where she stepped nimbly into a space just vacated by a large Negro man.
“I must try one of those as well,” she mused to herself, watching his tight buttocks retreat.
Leaning across the bar to be heard, Michele ordered her poison. The service was fast, the vodka and tonic cold and the music hot. With all the accoutrements to suit the scene, she settled in to scope the room, enjoying the buzz of sexual energy.
It took only thirty minutes before an extra drink arrived in front of her. The bartender pointed to the big guy at the other end of the bar who tipped his glass and smiled. She accepted his offering with a reciprocal gesture. Her drink patron stood nearly a full head height above everyone else and was built like an Arnie Schwarzenegger double with a twist of Crocodile Dundee about him. Accentuated by his casual clothes, his face and manner had Aussie written all over them. After an initial assessment, Michele gave him only fleeting attention as she’d already chosen her mark for the night; the young bartender with the trim body, aquiline face, and gelled hair.
The night progressed, and another couple of drinks arrived compliments of the titan, who remained fixed as if supporting the other end of the bar. She acknowledged each drink with a gracious smile, which he returned with the unwavering stare of a wildcat, mouth curled waiting for its prey to make a move.
While the bartender showed initial interest in her flirtations, he disappeared at the end of his shift leaving her advances unrequited.
Nothing new there, she thought, God, what’s wrong with me? Feeling the familiar sense of rejection left over from years living with her husband, she sculled her drink and turned to leave.
But there he stood, her drinks benefactor, wearing an inscrutable expression as he blocked her exit. From a distance he’d looked a solid guy, however up close he must’ve been virtually a hundred kilos of pure muscle.
With a smile twitching his lips, he initiated the conversation. “You’re the horniest thing I’ve seen in years. Why are you chasing pencil dicks?”
His brash opening remarks pinned her to the spot and, as a half-smile flitted across her face, she took a closer look at this man with the roguish sense of humour. He wouldn’t be classed as typically handsome, but his sheer presence and blunt approach caused her skin to tingle. Impeding any escape, he flashed a wide, white smile, and waited for a response. His eyes, a vivid marine blue, twinkled with life experience and his collar-length soft brown hair framed his sun-tanned face. He encroached into her personal space, towering over her with the promise of a real man, and he smelt good. The scent of masculine musk mingled with the bittersweet overtones of a world-class aftershave triggered a positive response in her brain.
“Thanks for the drinks. That was very generous of you. And your name is . . .?”
“You can call me Mark. And you are?” His voice was like the breath of a friendly dragon, warm and playful.
“Michele.” Her initial obligation to be polite since he’d spent money buying her drinks had softened to casual interest. “Tell me a little about yourself, Mark.”
“Not much to tell really. I’d rather talk about you.”
“Either you’re very chivalrous or very secretive. I suspect it might be the latter. You don’t give too much away, do you?”
“Not only good looking but clever as well. What is it I can do to make you choose me instead of that gay bartender?”
Shit, she thought. After all she’d been through, she’d chosen a carbon copy of her ex-husband. Why hadn’t she’d seen it? But it wasn’t too late to save the night. “Well, I guess you can buy me another drink, Mark.”