In some respects I’m an aging party girl who still can’t decide what she wants to be when she grows up—a cross between Samantha and Bridget Jones. Some nights that can be a little pathetic, but when the energy is right, it’s downright exhilarating. Being a fun-loving, free spirited blonde with a knock-out smile makes for great stories, and a pretty active sex life, but I suspect that most men do not see this kind of woman as someone they want to be with forever. Maybe they’ll give it a week or two, but that’s about it.
I’ve been the girlfriend, the friend-with-benefits, benefits-only, and one night stand. I would not be entirely surprised if the term Cougar has been used to describe me once or twice. And while I must say, I’ve never been kicked out of bed for eating crackers; I’ve also never been anyone’s fiancée, nor someone’s wife.
This lack o’ diamond ring doesn’t trouble me too much–besides, I’m learning all sorts of new vocabulary words. . . .
Cassie and I, always being on the lookout for a cocktail while being on a budget, went for some drinks and free appetizers at a pub in my neighborhood. The place got pretty busy seeing that there was free food, and we ended up talking to two guys—Jake and Harris.
Now, I see Jake there pretty much every time I step foot into the place, which means he’s at this particular pub no less than three days a week. Besides, it can’t be coincidence that we go out on the same nights. I fully suspect he’s a fixture at the place day in and day out.
Harris, on the other hand, is not a regular. He’s a damn good looking pilot for some airline that sounds too expensive to actually fly on. Telling us that he’s new in town, and away a lot, Harris seems as though he genuinely wants to meet some new friends. Jake pretty much wants to get laid. Both seem like reasonable goals to me.
Cassie is stunning, almost too thin, and has long wavy blonde hair. She’s also one of the friendliest people I know—especially with a few cocktails in her. Because she’s lived in this town for a very long time, she also seems to know everyone. That suits me just fine. I actually prefer being the sidekick to very beautiful women. I find the best looking men in the room scare me a little, so getting to flirt with the leftovers keeps me in my comfort zone.
We mingle with all sorts of men who come sniffing around our barstools. Except when we have to pee, we perch up there as if they are our thrones. Men have to come to us. And they do. In droves.
Everything seemed on the up and up for the majority of the night. I’m a pretty heavy drinker, but I was taking it easy seeing that I had been out for ten consecutive nights. Because I was basically sober, I noticed how much the people around us drank. Even to a girl who typically buys two bottles of wine for a quiet night in, it was impressive. I understand how that can happen at a local joint, though. Seeing that you’re walking home and don’t have to worry about driving, you tend to indulge in one, or two, or three more cocktails than you would if you had to get behind a steering wheel and figure out where to put the keys.
Cassie wore a black knit sleeveless top that hugged every inch of her torso with a denim skirt stitched together with daisies. Super cute and flirty, the holes between the petals of the daisies allow for a lot of leg. And that’s when I figure out that Jake and Harris have hit their limit with alcohol in terms of polite conversation.
“So, do you think that daisy is higher on your thigh, or that one is?” Jake slurs while poking his finger through the space where fabric gives way to skin inches below Cassie’s crotch.
“Oh, I think this one is definitely higher,” Harris chimes in with his own finger grazing her inner thigh. Cassie sits back obviously amused as each man pokes and prods his finger through her delicately held together skirt. Seeing that my clothing didn’t have any interesting features, I became obsessively interested in the baseball game hoping my pout wasn’t too transparent.
After the pokefest had run its course, my magic invisible cape fell away and Jake motioned me over to his barstool with a really lame wink that looks more like he has something caught in his eye. “Want to come over to my place and have a threesome?” he asks this as if he is inviting me over to play checkers with his Grandma. I have to say, even though I had personally witnessed this man drink well over a dozen glasses of cheap white wine, I was still taken aback. Cassie was off talking to someone else, so I had to take care of this hot mess on my own.
“I don’t think so. Not tonight,” I respond while trying desperately to get Cassie’s attention.
“I’m just not good looking enough,” Jake fishes, too drunk to be coy but not drunk enough to realize it. He’s actually not that bad. His nose is a bit distracting, but I like his salt and peppered dark hair and his build.
“Actually, I think it’s more your approach,” I have no interest in being with this guy, but I like the attention. “Besides, if I wasn’t growing out my pubes for a bikini wax, I may have even taken you up on it.”
“Ok,” Jake pauses, and I think we are done with this line of conversation, “How about a quad-fuck-ta?”
Considering how the night has shifted, I shouldn’t have been surprised. What else could this man say after being completely shot down? “Harris here will join us, and we can have a quad-fuck-ta.” Presumably not hearing what we were talking about, Harris turns around and smiles perfectly on cue.
Once I finally get a hold of Cassie, we pay our bill and head home. Happily, I have Harris’s phone number tucked away in my purse.