Anton remained in his posture, leaning into the bar and into her personal space as he watched her sip at the drink again. His eyes flicked to her legs crossing, he marveled that the fabric, tight as it was, was flexible enough to accommodate the movement. He wondered briefly, given her obviously careful grooming, whether she was the type of woman to match underwear and bra in color and texture. Black lace with black lace or red satin with red satin and so on. He almost laughed out loud imaging the color of her panties, as it seemed she certainly wasn't the type to be wearing coral cotton or something sweet and plain like that.
In response to categorizing her as a woman, he lifted his right hand and ticked of his points starting with his thumb, "Leased luxury car type." Index was, "The kind whose local Starbucks barista, dry cleaners, and bar tender knows her by name." He emphasized 'bar tender' with an arched eyebrow, noting that this point was irrefutable. His third point--the middle finger--went on for a while, "Could be a secretary but the cigarette case and coat suggests the extravagance of some sort of executive. At least a junior exec if not c-suite. Although you seem young for that, but I wouldn't put you past a little nepotism." He wasn't afraid of offending her. If she couldn't take rough rhetorical play, he would hate to see how she responded to having even her hair tousled, not that he could imagine her letting him do such things. "Let's see...habitat is definitely sterile, florescent lit, over air-conditioned office buildings." That was ring finger. He glanced at her left hand, out of ideas so he threw out for good measure noting the absence of any ring, "Secretly desperate to get married...or for a boyfriend," for the pinky finger. The boyfriend bit was a baited hook to see if she would comment on her availability, without him having to ask explicitly and expose his interest more than he already had. Part of the verbal banter was a emotional shield, Anton felt inferior, bottom-rung, second-string. Surely any interest she showed in him was mostly to satisfy her ego. She'd finish a drink or two and leave with the satisfaction that her sanitary corporate veneer hadn't robbed her of her allure. Anton would play but wouldn't get his hopes up beyond a generous tip.
Anton completely skirted around her question about cute bar tenders. He didn't even acknowledge the thinly veiled come-on. He simply spread his hands, palms up in front of him in an exaggerated shrug. The gesture exacerbated the already loose left sleeve which unrolled a bit and became asymmetrical to the other. "You'd have to come back when the full staff is here to see for yourself."
In response to categorizing her as a woman, he lifted his right hand and ticked of his points starting with his thumb, "Leased luxury car type." Index was, "The kind whose local Starbucks barista, dry cleaners, and bar tender knows her by name." He emphasized 'bar tender' with an arched eyebrow, noting that this point was irrefutable. His third point--the middle finger--went on for a while, "Could be a secretary but the cigarette case and coat suggests the extravagance of some sort of executive. At least a junior exec if not c-suite. Although you seem young for that, but I wouldn't put you past a little nepotism." He wasn't afraid of offending her. If she couldn't take rough rhetorical play, he would hate to see how she responded to having even her hair tousled, not that he could imagine her letting him do such things. "Let's see...habitat is definitely sterile, florescent lit, over air-conditioned office buildings." That was ring finger. He glanced at her left hand, out of ideas so he threw out for good measure noting the absence of any ring, "Secretly desperate to get married...or for a boyfriend," for the pinky finger. The boyfriend bit was a baited hook to see if she would comment on her availability, without him having to ask explicitly and expose his interest more than he already had. Part of the verbal banter was a emotional shield, Anton felt inferior, bottom-rung, second-string. Surely any interest she showed in him was mostly to satisfy her ego. She'd finish a drink or two and leave with the satisfaction that her sanitary corporate veneer hadn't robbed her of her allure. Anton would play but wouldn't get his hopes up beyond a generous tip.
Anton completely skirted around her question about cute bar tenders. He didn't even acknowledge the thinly veiled come-on. He simply spread his hands, palms up in front of him in an exaggerated shrug. The gesture exacerbated the already loose left sleeve which unrolled a bit and became asymmetrical to the other. "You'd have to come back when the full staff is here to see for yourself."
Bitch, I'm limited edition.
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »
The Devil’s Toboggan - by saronym - 07-29-2015, 09:53 PM
The Devil’s Toboggan - by saronym - 07-29-2015, 10:52 PM
The Devil’s Toboggan - by saronym - 07-30-2015, 02:59 PM
The Devil’s Toboggan - by saronym - 07-30-2015, 05:38 PM
The Devil’s Toboggan - by saronym - 07-31-2015, 08:05 PM
The Devil’s Toboggan - by saronym - 08-01-2015, 12:23 AM
The Devil’s Toboggan - by saronym - 08-01-2015, 07:01 PM
The Devil’s Toboggan - by saronym - 08-05-2015, 11:08 PM
The Devil’s Toboggan - by saronym - 08-10-2015, 05:24 PM
RE: The Devil’s Toboggan - by megs - 09-12-2016, 06:06 PM
RE: The Devil’s Toboggan - by saronym - 10-24-2016, 02:21 PM
RE: The Devil’s Toboggan - by megs - 05-15-2017, 05:01 PM
The Devil’s Toboggan - by megs - 07-29-2015, 10:19 PM
The Devil’s Toboggan - by megs - 07-29-2015, 11:14 PM
The Devil’s Toboggan - by megs - 07-30-2015, 03:46 PM
The Devil’s Toboggan - by megs - 07-31-2015, 04:26 PM
The Devil’s Toboggan - by megs - 07-31-2015, 10:00 PM
The Devil’s Toboggan - by megs - 08-01-2015, 04:34 PM
The Devil’s Toboggan - by megs - 08-05-2015, 10:28 AM
The Devil’s Toboggan - by megs - 08-08-2015, 08:16 PM