Montana, 10:43 P.M. Saturday night. It was one of those nights. I knew it the minute I slipped on my black lace thong and felt my wet, hot pussy. Shit, I wasn’t just wearing Hanky Panky, I was craving it. By the time I made my entrance into Diablo’s, I was in full fuck-me drag and someone was about to get lucky.
I slid onto my favorite bar stool, perfectly positioned to observe the merchandise as it rolled by. Suddenly I felt a toe slide up my fishnet stocking. And when our eyes finally met, I was pretty sure this Puerto Rican princess would soon be slipping inside my satin sheets and spreading my perfumed thighs.
"How about we have an Obama contest? Whoever has the best stimulus package wins."
"Wins what?" I smiled. "I’m Meredith."
"Rosa. Nice to meet you."
And then HE walked by – an absolute John Mayer ringer and my total drop-dead favorite in the hunky male department. I was a goner—until he opened his mouth.
"Come here often?"
He didn’t just say that, did he? Do guys still say that shit?
He grabbed his crotch and stuck his tongue in my ear, "this package has your name on it, gorgeous."
"Does it now?"
"Yeah, really. Get ready for the ride of your life."
I think some pick-up record had just been broken. The guy had gone from Adonis, to boy toy—to loser in less than 30 seconds.
"I’m sorry," I answered, ever so sweetly, "but I think your package is defective. ...It’s missing a BRAIN."
I grabbed Rosa’s hand and headed for home.—L.R.
