She knew where she was going tonight. Lot 3, a local high-end bar that made no pretenses about being anything but a bar, offering both a six a.m. and six p.m. Happy Hour. It catered to both the wealthy hipster kid crowd as well as the chronic alcoholic crowd without bias. Lot 3 served strong drinks to men seeking temporary refuge from the stresses of their ordinary lives and fruity frothy drinks to lightweights seeking only to start their night of partying off with alcohol before moving on to other, more interesting mind-altering drugs. Her eyes adjusting to the intentionally dim interior, she scanned the room for her prey. There. There at the end of the bar, staring blankly at the polished wood and brass, sat a middle-aged man, unremarkable on first glance but more than remarkable on second. He was wearing a charcoal grey suit, clearly of the tailored variety, that hung perfectly on his frame, and his white French cuffs were held together with 14kt gold signet cufflinks. Small. Please, Joanne, love me! Make love to me!” “Molly?” Her voice trembled. “Joanne?” “Every single day since I saw you, I dreamed of you. I knew it would be wrong, but I couldn’t stop it. When you brought back my book…” More tears wetted her cheeks. My breath grew ragged while I clung to her words. This was a turning point, I felt it, and whatever decision she made, it would be final. “God,” she gasped, “you were so beautiful! So incredibly, wonderfully beautiful! You still are. How - how can I not love you?” She kissed me. Kissed me like there was no tomorrow, and I answered her kisses with the same fervor. Suddenly, she was naked too, and I think it was me who all but ripped the robe from her, but such details are hazy. We explored each other’s lips and tongues, then I got more daring and sucked lightly on that incredibly soft patch of skin over her collarbone. She, in turn, squeezed my bum cheek, and I gasped into her shoulder. I had never before felt something so incredible and.
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