For the rest of the night I stooped against the bar with his legs around my thigh. He squirmed into my leg with slight little grinds and cum-gobbled smiles. The further I steeped myself in Medusa--a drink--the more liberties he took--stroking my back, facing me less than an inch, making me feel like a sexxxyass bitch. He asked me, "How can I convince you to take off all your clothes? To come to my place?" I couldn't deny the sexual response of my body skewered with tonics and lime as I almost keeled over to kiss.

I never went anywhere with him. I just basked in the glory of sexual aggression. I just wanted the strokes, the smells, and the eyes on my ass. To be the ephemeral object of a whore. To be the sexiest bitch of the moment.