She was horny, as well as slutty, wild, and crazy; that much was evident at first glance. Only two types of women dressed or acted like that in public: wild sluts without dignity and the unattainable. She was braless, her shirt seeming to be intentionally chosen to advertise the lack of brassiere. Nobody randomly picks a threadbare, distressed, tight T-shirt, so thin that you can count the freckles on her torso from several paces away and then forgets to wear a bra. Her tartan micro-miniskirt, so short that her ass cheeks peeked out with each body movement, drew one’s eyes to her shapely behind, sensual legs, and the treasure between them. The flimsy, black thong, even more see-through than her shirt, did little to hide her juicy mound.
Overly-bleached blonde hair, tousled into a chaotic tangle of loose, languid, curly strands, played about her features, giving her a “just fucked hard but still horny” look. Her bright eyes radiated mischief, glowing, blue spotlights offset by too heavy and dark eyeshadow. The woman’s black-lined, crimson lips, in a perpetual pout, seldom ceased spewing profane humor, curse words peppering her tipsy commentary. Still, he was mesmerized, interested, and aroused.
Women like that typically had a dominant wild side, their sexual enthusiasm rivaled only by their insanity. An unspoken truism of the universe is that crazy women are better in bed. His only question was whether her lunacy surpassed the sweetness of her sex. Alex liked crazy, just not the “afraid to go to sleep around her” variety. He hoped to find out which type she was soon enough.
Alex had no problems finding female companionship, be it for the night or the long term. He was witty, intelligent, and charming, plus he had a nice physique and wasn’t hard on feminine eyes. He’d also dated enough women to have the confidence and poise necessary to draw romantic attention. But she was an attention-whore, the type that constantly needed the warmth of the sexual spotlight. She basked in it, reveling in the long line of potential suitors, all of them vying to win her hand.
He knew the type; she’d let them ply her with drinks, cavorting about while she enjoyed being the center of wanton attention. She’d settle for a guy, take him home for a night of passion, then repeat the process. However, Alex had a thing for blonds and crazy fucks, and she seemed to be both. He was hoping that it would be his night.
Serendipity presented itself in the form of a trip to the bar. Alex ordered an Irish Coffee and was turning toward his seat when he saw her walking backward as she spoke to a group of friends.
“I have to piss,” she announced to her friends as she backpedaled.
All Alex needed to do was to Zag instead of Zig, and she literally tripped her way into his arms. His oversized coffee mug was in his left hand, and the woman tripped over his left foot as she backed into him. She toppled backward, limbs flailing as she tumbled, and Alex stopped her fall with his body, his strong, right arm shooting out to save her. Had it not been for her desperately grasping hand latching onto, then spilling, his drink, it would have been the perfect save. Almost half of his Irish Coffee spilled from the disturbed cup, spilling all over the woman.
“Got you,” Alex smiled down at her distraught face. She was actually quite beautiful beneath her whorish makeup, he thought. “Did you get burned?” he queried as he set her aright.
“No,” she sheepishly intoned, breathing slightly heavily from her near calamity. Oddly, she didn’t immediately disentangle herself from his rescuing arm; she relaxed into his grasp. “Why would I be burnt?”
“Bartender,” Alex loudly erupted, “Irish Coffee’s supposed to be hot!”
Knowing the type, Alex didn’t worry about being too brazen. He boldly reached out with one hand and wiped the residue of his spilled drink from her wispy shirt. She didn’t resist, and her flesh felt as hot as fire.
“I’m Alex,” he said with a crooked smile and a wink.
“Uh… Carla,” she smiled.
“Pleased to meet you, Uh, Carla. You owe me a drink.”
“Just Carla,” she guffawed. One of her hands reached out, playfully punching him on the bicep.
“I’m sitting over there,” Alex pointed, still smiling, “and I’m drinking an Irish Coffee before I head home for the night.”
“Home to your girlfriend?”
Alex knew that tone, inquisitive with a shadowy veneer of disinterest. He was also astute enough to know that, for women, the question, as directly posed, was not intended to get him talking about how amazing his girlfriend was, not that he had one. She was interested and checking to see if he was available.
“Perhaps home with a beautiful but clumsy blonde wearing a wet T-shirt,” he quipped.
It was a calculated gamble, but it paid off immediately.
“Irish Coffee, you said?”
Alex shot her a sultry wink, a lewd nod, pointing his eyes right at her nipples, and, then, a provocative smile. “And whatever you’re drinking for yourself, of course.”
“I see! You’re just like all the others. You just want to get me drunk and fuck me, don’t you?”
“Only one of those is correct,” he replied. Alex eyed her up and down, not averting his gaze nor pretending to feign disinterest. He clapped his hands together softly and rapidly. “Drinks, stat.”
Carla giggled at him, enamored, and scampered to the bar, shaking her ass in the hope that he’d notice how amazing her butt looked. He did; Alex just didn’t bother mentioning it. He seated himself, observing her. She definitely knew how to get attention. Alex was mildly surprised when she actually got his drink, a large glass of liquor in her other hand, and returned to where he sat.
“Here’s the deal,” she said, her face suddenly serious. “You don’t know me, but I’ll lay it out for you. I’m probably going to fuck you, but I’m not one-hundred percent sure yet. The thing is, no guy can handle me in bed. I’m too wild and perverted. I scare them away.”
Alex had been with too many women to automatically jump at the obvious bait. He realized that she was smarter, more self-aware, than most people. Most guys would immediately respond with some bravado-laden bullshit, telling her how they’re not other guys and how they could handle her like no other. Instead, Alex took that second bit of good fortune and parlayed it into conversational fodder.
“Why don’t you tell me all about why you’re poison while we drink, get to know one another, and decide if you want me.”
Hours flew by. Alex found Carla to be more than he’d initially appraised. She was a horny slut, not at all bothered by society’s judgment, but she was also so much more. He found her to be delightful and intelligent, although her outer shell was rough around the edges. She was just as crazy as he’d imagined, his initial summary far too tame to describe her idiosyncrasies and raw, wanton sexual aggression. Carla discovered that Alex, who she’d barely glanced at, before, was more than she’d hoped for. To her, he was powerful, sexy, desirable, and he didn’t seem put off by her craziness.
Her friends, other barflies, drifted in and out, at first. Once they figured out that she’d latched onto her prize for the night, they let her be. The various men who were hoping to impale her on their cocks also dropped by more frequently. One by one, they figured out that she was no longer interested in them. They went off in search of other conquests.
“I’m not a sex addict, but I’m addicted to sex. I can’t get enough,” Carla began. “I love everything about sex; the wilder and kinkier, the better. I’m also a pathological liar, sexually. I’ll say anything, claim anything, in the heat of the moment because it gets me off. Sometimes, it’s true, and sometimes, I’m fibbing.”
“Just sexually? You always tell the truth, otherwise?”
“I’d say yes to that, but I’d be lying.” Her smile let him know that he wouldn’t get a straight answer.
“Well,” Alex said, slapping a small stack of twenty-dollar bills on the table. “Tell me all about how you’re too wild for me. When the drink money is gone, I’m heading home, with or without you.”
“Challenge accepted,” she responded. “You might still want me after you hear. You seem different.”
Alex noted that her mindset had shifted. Carla was more than used to men saying or doing anything to earn her affection. She was too caught up in her own games to realize what she had done; she had begun attempting to win his attention.
“Well, to start, I dressed like this on purpose, so I can get a nice, hard cock pounding me to orgasm, later. I’m an exhibitionist. I’m also always horny. Fuck! Even just talking about it like this has me dripping wet, right now.”
Alex felt as if he’d hit the jackpot. Most women needed to be coaxed into opening up about their sexuality, and she opened by talking about how kinky she was.
“So, do you just like showing off your amazing, hot body, or do you like the added thrill of complete strangers joining in.”
“Oh, fuck, that’s hot,” she moaned. If Alex didn’t know better, he’d have sworn that she dropped her hand between her thighs and was touching herself. “Wait! Did you just say you think I’m hot? Oooh, mmm,” she moaned.
“You’re two of my favorite things,” he chortled, “sexy and slutty. I find the two, combined, is a lethal combination of hotness.”
“It’s your lucky night, then. I’m the biggest fucking slut you’ll ever meet, and nothing is taboo for me. Well, I don’t do non-consent, but anything else goes. I guess you could call me a trashy whore.”
“Trashy whore!”
She laughed. “I didn’t mean, literally.”
“Yes, you did. Your body responded with fire when I said it.” Alex knew he was in. It was, most definitively, his night. “Your nipples poked out even more when I said, ‘trashy whore.’”
“Stop it! You’re making me all wet, and my nipples are tingling.”
“Barkeep! Another round for me and my dirty slut, the kinky, trashy whore.”
She bit her lower lip, gnawing over the effect his words were having on her.
“Talking nasty and dirty is another of my kinks. It’s like we’re made for each other.”
Having established a rapport, solely based on talking about sex, the rest of the time went smoothly. Carla talked herself into a sexual stupor, obviously not lying about loving sex. The more she talked, the hornier she became, and Alex let her ramble on, prompting her from one sexual topic to the next.
Carla was finishing up one of her torrid tales. “So he’s fucking me up the ass while I’m berating his wife, pissing all over her tits while the woman fucks herself with that giant dildo. Then, I make him shoot his load deep inside my asshole, and the cunt begs me to let her suck it out of my ass.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Two, maybe three days ago. I told you that I’m down for anything.”
“Okay, last drinks. We’ll play a game. While we drink, I’ll think of something nasty and perverted. If you’ve done it, you have to finger yourself for ten seconds.”
“Here? Everyone can see.”
“You know you love it.”
“And I know that you know. I have a better idea.”
