Direct

I walk into a bar and I say,
"I'm looking for a man. I'm looking for a man who can teach me how to fuck. The kind of man who's eyes will water at the sight of himself fucking me. The kind of man who will make my eyes water. I'm looking for a man I will fear."
Yes, I really say this, and they really stare. Hey, I'm quite direct.
The lighting in this place is shit, and makes everyone look pale and unwell. I shift a little, from one foot to the other, eyes shooting bullets at anyone who dares laugh at my proposition, for it makes perfect sense to me.
A few are leering at me, but stay back and say nothing-they are not what I need, I don't like cowards. Some are smirking, labelling me a dirty, contaminated slut in their minds, whilst simultaneously imagining fucking my brains out on their stained mattresses. No, they are all wrong too. I can't bear hypocrites.
A lone figure catches my eye. He stands by the door and is watching me thoughtfully. His hair is black and his eyes are black and for a moment I am sure I have seen him somewhere before. But that would be impossible, seeing as I drove nearly seventy miles to this random place I have never been before, simply to pursue this idea of mine.
No, he just looks familiar, that is all.
He is attractive, beautiful even, and I hope he will say something.
And he does.
He says, "You're just what I need, I think", and he comes over to me and strokes me kindly on my head.
His voice is wonderful, straight out of the movies-1940's style, a deep, rich, well spoken voice and at once he has my attention.
"Come on then" he commands, and I am following him out of the bar, into the darkness of the night and to his car, an old banger that has seen better days. Somehow it suits him. We get inside and it smells musky and I start to cough.
He pats me on the back, helpfully, like a dad might, and I glow inside; it's all working out perfectly.
He drives like a pro, one handed, whilst he smokes with the other. The car goes surprisingly fast. We say nothing. He puts on a tape after a while - I recognise it at once and sink into it, into the delicious sounds of The Cure.
I watch him drive, feeling myself getting flustered.
"Do you find it easy?" I whisper, "Driving one handed?"
"Yes" he says simply
"It's a fetish of mine" I confess, "Please hold my wrist tightly with your free hand"
He obliges. He squeezes me tight. He continues to drive with competence, the biggest turn on in the world.
I melt into my seat, knowing he understands me. If he didn't he would have asked questions, looked puzzled. But there is none of that. Just sweet connection, the knowledge that there is much, much more to come, and my wrist suffocating in his hand.