Whistlestop

Whistlestop is one of my favorite hangouts. Especially on a Wednesday night. That seems to be when all the first timers come out. Couples looking to party. Some of them are timid, some are brazen; they all have one thing in common. They're looking to bring another guy into their bed. Tanned and clean-cut, I do pretty well for myself as both the ladies and the men seem to go for me. It's a gift and I use it to full advantage.

The music at the Whistlestop isn't too loud to talk over, except on Saturday nights when the dance floor is crowded and hookups are made without conversation. The beer is cold and on tap. The happy hour munchies are decent, the bar food better. I'm wearing a tight white t-shirt and tighter jeans, showing off the six-pack, sitting at the bar and checking out the couples already here. No one's really taking my fancy until I've been there over an hour and this couple walks in, hand in hand and obviously in love enough that for a moment I wonder if they're in the wrong place. They're checking the single guys out though, so I make eye contact, hoping for a little introductory conversation.

She's dark and tall, as tall as he is, dressed in a bright red turtleneck and a black leather mini, showing off legs that just go and go. His blond hair picks up the lights from the dance floor, long and lean, compact hips already picking up the rhythm of the music, sliding casually against her. It's her eyes that catch mine first, curious and sparkling, intense. Nice.

I smile, letting my gaze encompass them both, let her know that I think her guy is as good-looking as she is. She takes the first step, not tugging him, but leading him towards me, painted lips curving in a grin that manages to be wicked and wanton without being bitchy or cold.

God, you can't help but grin back when a woman smiles at you like that, you know? And I do. Oh yes, I do. There's something about the way they walk together that suggests the sex is going to be amazing. They're moving together, but in tandem rather than identically.

I sit up and hold out my hand as they approach. "Hi. I'm Jim."

"Sara." Her hand is warm, firm, voice low and sure. "This is my David."