Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Speaking of mankillers

Closing Time
by KM
(An excerpt)

Holy fuck. Our ship had arrived. He was dressed in civilian clothes, but he had the look of a Navy man. There would be no tap tugging for this sailor. His face was wet with raindrops, his skin reddened from the unseasonably cool wind. What this boy needed was his ration of rum.

“Captain, Oh Captain,” I whispered.

The young stud wore faded 501s and an old leather jacket. He tugged down the zipper as he walked in and looked around. He pulled off his jacket and hung it on the hook next to the door. He straightened the hem of his tight black t-shirt, put his hands in his pockets, and walked slowly up to the bar.

“Glad somebody’s still awake in this town.”

“Hi there handsome,” I smiled. “What’s your pleasure this fine wet night?”

“You have Guinness on cask?”

“Sure do.”

“Pint of Guinness and a shot of Bushmills.”

I felt weak in the knees.

“On the double,” I said, sparks flying off my bare ass. I turned to pull a glass from the shelf, forgetting about the Siamese twin attached to my thigh. I lurched forward, nearly falling on my face.

Sailor boy leaned slightly over the bar and glanced down, his face spreading into a wide grin.

A pair of long, bare legs, the ankles strapped into gold heels, were clearly visible stretched out below the bar.

“Well, looks like I’m not too late for happy hour.”

Cinnamon untangled herself from my boot stood up, seriously blushing. She silently collected herself, batting her lashes at our sailor while adjusting a hair pin.

“Oh, but you are too late sweetness,” she said without skipping a beat. “Much too late. Happy hour ended at six. Fortunately for you, fucking ecstatic hour started five minutes ago….and drinks, darts and pool are on the house.”

I shot her a look, but there was no stopping her now. She turned the door sign, flipped the lights and unplugged all of the neon except for “Bada Bing!” Red ropes of light buzzed across the room.

I handed our man in white his pint and shot. “What’s your name sailor?”

He slammed the whiskey and sipped at his beer, licking foam from his upper lip. “My name’s Damian, but what makes you think I’m a sailor?”

“Well,” I winked, “you look seaworthy.”

“That I am. But I’m not Navy. I own a dive shop and volunteer with Coast Guard rescue.”

Cinnamon didn’t waste any time. “Billy Bob and I were just talking about shooting some pool. Care to join us?”

“You’re on.”

In the half-light we chalked our sticks, the sexual tension building.

Damian racked the balls and took the first shot, his hard, lean face and high cheekbones starkly outlined in the shadows. The electrical storm between my legs was making me high. When it was my turn to shoot, Cinnamon made her move, licking the base of my bare ass cheeks when I bent over. “Thanks Cinnamon,” I said coolly. “It always helps me concentrate when you do that.”


Jeremy Edwards said...

“On the double,” I said, sparks flying off my bare ass.

I can see 'em!!

Happy hour ended at six. Fortunately for you, fucking ecstatic hour started five minutes ago…


I feel very lucky to be on the inside of that locked barroom door.

Kirsten Monroe said...

Jeremy! Howdy! Glad you made it in out of the rain before the door shut for some crazy after-hours fun.

max said...

as Ralph Kramden might say "hummana, hummana!!!"

Kirsten Monroe said...

Hey Max,

Thanks for dropping by!

Ralph might also say, "Hold it. Hooolllddd it. Wait a minute. WAIT A MINUTE... WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?"

Jeremy Edwards said...

Take it easy, Ralph. Kirsten was just teaching us to do the mambo.