French, Sex and Other things
“Je veux enrouler tes jambes autour de ma tête et te porter comme une couronne." She said to me.
My cheeks turned red, like the cherry that waded in the bottom of my glass. Her words were exotic and foreign. I tried to recall my French lessons from 13 years ago, although my toxic brain only allotted me a few words. I replied with a smile, "Oui."
Yes, I thought, yes to it all.
The wooden stool creaked under my weight, my limbs like jello as I slid closer to her. My smile grew, my face hot. I felt comfortably suffocated by the heat of bodies radiating from the room. Music bumped through the speakers. I leaned against the bar, sucking the last of the drink through my straw, wondering if this woman knew how old I was, wondering if she was really paying attention to what I was saying, or if she was merely focused on the cleavage that peeked from my tight black button down.
So far she was rather successful at charming my clothes off. I felt her hand drift to my thigh, and then a squeeze. There was strength in her grip. I couldn't help but giggle. The bartender came back around, and I hollered to him over the music, "two more please, make them extra strong."
As if I even needed any more to be convinced. If she was under the impression that I had to be intoxicated to sleep with women, she was surely mistaken. As our conversation continued, she slid closer to me. Every so often I noticed her eyes trail down towards the buttons of my shirt. Eventually she leaned in towards the nape of my neck and whispered, "Je parie que je pourrais mâcher ces boutons de ta chemise en quelques secondes."
I smiled, shook my head and laughed. This woman was relentless. I was sure she was at least twenty years my senior, possibly even one of the oldest women in the bar. At that moment I couldn't have cared less. She was sexy, and the more she spoke the more I wanted her. The bartender returned with our drinks, ice cold pink and orange swirled together with a red straw, I met with my lips. It was cold and delicious, and I sucked it down readily.
The woman grinned and said, Je suis jaloux de cette paille, si près de tes lèvres", her voice as sweet as the pineapple elixir on her breath. That was all it took for me to surrender.
Her hands advanced onto my thighs. Looking at her in that green polo shirt with the popped collar that matched her eyes, I listened captivated as the slurred words fell out of her mouth, "Tu veux sortir d'ici?"
She smiled, took my hand and led me out of the bar.
"Oui, oui" I smiled and said.