He Was It. So That Was That

As I approached Michael I knew I was his type of girl.
He wasn't some pretty boy. His shoulders were broad and his limbs were
chunky and strong looking. His fringe fell over his face and he looked
up at me like he could see every cheap thing I ever done.

If he had a girl, then she wasn't taking care of him right. I imagined
he masturbated as furiously as a teenaged boy. The thought of him
masturbating over me made my pussy hot.

I talked to him briefly. "Come outside with me for a cigarette."
"There's no need. You can smoke here, doll."
God damn. I took one from the proffered pack and he
struck a match.

He looked dirtier and more prolific than any
self-confessed 'player' in a bar, but too lazy to be
predatory. I watched his hand holding a cigarette
and thought about his fingers in my mouth and cunt.

I could tell he wanted to fuck me and he knew I'd
already decided to let him. I shifted from one foot to
the other impatiently in my tight jeans.

"Take me for a drink when you finish work."
"I don't knock off till after last orders."
God damn.

I understood he was enthralled by beautiful women,
thinking them infinitely precious but ultimately
worthless. So did I.

I told him, "It's a shame I didn't meet you yesterday."
"You're damn straight it is, honey," he said, flicking
his tab on the floor and crushing it beneath the
stacked heel of his snakeskin boot.

Before I left he turned nonchalantly toward me, "You
can kiss me now."
I kissed him. Waves of delirious darkness flowed over
and made me dizzy. He breathed on my neck and grabbed
me about the waist to steady me.

"Come home with me," I whispered.
"Not tonight, Beautiful."

I walked home, thinking about him. And when I got home
I lay on the bed with my hands in my panties and
thought about him some more. I knew I'd never need to
be kissed by anyone else ever again.

He was it. So that was that.