It’s Thursday night, and time to play as per every Thursday for the last three months. Tonight we are meeting at a dark and smoky Jazz Bar, around the corner from his place. I’m finally ready to leave, I’m late as I was having trouble with what to wear. A short black skirt, a form fitting white blouse buttoned to just that right spot, where you see the voluptuous swell of hills and the start of a deep valley. You know just enough to show the black lace edge of my bra. And of course killer high heeled pointed shoes.
As I enter the bar I’m hit with everything all at once, my senses are assaulted. From the dark smoky alcohol filled air that affects my eyes, nose, and lungs. To the beat of the music which I feel throbbing in my pussy. To the whine of the guitar which threatens to tear out my soul. I look around and find him in the corner. I head to the bar and get two shots, vodka straight up. The liquid fire sliding down my throat is a reminder of the fire I’ll be feeling between my lower lips in a few minutes.
I order a third vodka, on the rocks. I turn to survey the bar again, leaving him until last. Our eyes meet and lock as I take my drink to a table near his. Luck is on my side, this corner is deserted, I sit facing him. We just there staring at each other sipping our drinks.