Do you want to do this or not? The woman asked. She was young. She was one of those women where you couldn't guess their age. You couldn't say that she was old because she didn't look like it. And you couldn't say that she was young because it would be an understatement. She wore a black dress that looked like it could have been part of her skin. Her breasts are full and her face is painted. She just doesn't look like a child, but not yet a woman. Plus you don't ever want to guess a woman's age in front of them. Depending on the person, if you were to guess an age that may be older than they actually are, this could be offensive. But if you were to guess a younger age, this could embarrass them because expected something else.
Yeah, I mean, I've never done this sort of thing before. I answer back. I put my hands together so she wouldn't, by some chance, take them in hers and feel that they were clammy. Of course I'm nervous and there was no doubting that. My glass sat, not on a coaster, but on top of a stack of outdated women's magazines. I had never felt compelled to drink unless there were times that called for me to do so. Let's say social events where everyone is drinking some sort of alcohol, but in this case, it's something that gets my mind off how nervous I am. My hands shook as I lifted the glass from the table. The ice rattled against the inside and I felt relaxed after I heard it. I took a sip and replaced it. The drink burned my throat and warmed my chest as it went down.
There's no rush honey. This is all about you. She says smoothly. You stay here and I'll go refill your glass. Do you want the same?
Yeah that'll will be fine.
Still sitting on the couch, she bends over to pick up my glass. She bends in a way to deliberately put her cleavage in my line of view and walked away into the kitchen. I watched her. I watched her feathered hair bounce with each step and her hips rock back and forth.

With her out of the room I began to breathe easier. My chest loosened and my body cooled. The clothes I had been wearing were uncomfortable. All the clothes that I wore to work were uncomfortable. I thought to myself that I should have gone home and changed before going out. That thought was soon put out of my mind because I realized that if I were to go home I would have to explain where 'out' happened to be. Any other time I would tell my wife that I was going out with some friends at work, but I couldn't do that. That would be lying and I usually can't tell a lie. My words get twisted and she would know that I would be doing something that I wouldn't normally do. Most people would love to have someone that actually believed every word they said when they were lying. But it didn't matter that much anyway. I know that I can't tell her the truth. So I just didn't go home.

She came back into the room and held out a full glass of whiskey and four ice cubes, the same way the drink was prepared the first time. I sipped the drink and watched her do the same through the distorted view of the bottom of the glass. She set her drink to the table while he kept mine in my hand. All was silent but the hum of the refrigerator. I looked around the room. A digital recreation of Van Gogh's Starry Night hung upon one of the walls. And against another wall were numerous shelves with books pilled upon them. I walked over toward the shelves and leafed through a copy of a collection of short stories by Oscar Wilde.

Murder is always a mistake. One should never do anything that one cannot talk about after dinner. I say taking a sip from the glass.

Oscar Wilde, right? She says.

You like to read I see. He takes a book from the shelf and quickly skims through it. I think that's one of the funniest things I've ever heard. I think he's very overrated, but that was one of those things that always stuck with me.

Yeah, well when I'm not out on the street I like to read. My life gets pretty boring if you can believe it.

I couldn't say whether or not your life is boring or not, but I can guarantee that my life is no amusement park. I put the book in the space from where it came and sat back to the couch.

Don't say that. You look like you have a decent job and possibly even a wife and a couple of kids at home. You have something to look for everyday. All I see are greasy old men with their skin sagging and breath filled with booze. That's my day every day. You look different though. You're still young. She takes her hand and places it upon my cheek. My heart quickens and my face grows hot.

I never thought of my life like that. Yes I did have a beautiful wife and two amazing kids. But it's different. It's something else entirely. The key word being 'young.'� Not just young. It's too young. I'm too young to have an established, or lets say a completed life and a decent income. Working minimum wage at Blockbuster was one of the best times of my life. I liked living at home where home cooked meals where made daily. I liked hanging out with my friends and fucking any girl that wanted to. Most of those things I'm able to do know even being married, but that's not the point.

She took the glass from my hand and put it to the glass coffee table. Putting it back on top of those soggy issues of Cosmopolitan and pulling my face towards her and putting her lips on mine. When she kissed, she kissed with her eyes closed. She ran her hand across my crotch and across that imitation leather belt I had been wearing, unbuckling it with ease. She released her grip from around my head and stood with he back toward me. She lifted her long, dark hair and unzipped her dress while looking over her shoulder. My throat grew dry as my jaw grew closer to my chest. She slipped out of the dress as if she was shedding her skin. She wore no underwear and I didn't care to think why.

She pulled me to the floor, wrapping her legs around my waist and she said this time's for free. She unzipped my pants and grabbed a hold of me. Wait, what the fuck is that? She stopped.

Nothing. Just give me a second. Everything is happening real fast. I rolled over on top of her and began to kiss her violently. I pressed harder and I could feel her teeth click against mine. And that warm, metallic taste that I had been waiting for began to flow.

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