I sat hunched forward on the bar stool, staring through my cup. The moments where I think of nothing are the most fulfilling. But there’s always someone that ruins that. Always some bobbing head that pops up from the depths of hell. That night was no different, and a little demon approached me.
Her clothes were different than when I entered. Maybe it was someone different, but I wasn’t that drunk. Yet. She tapped my shoulder, and asked me what I’m doing all alone.
“Wondering if artificial intelligence should be traumatized.” I said, tapping the rim of my cup, still staring through it.
“Funny.” she said, flicking her hair back, “Seriously, why are you alone?”
“I figure drinking should be a solitary sport.” I said, downing my bitter whiskey, still doubting I swallowed something unsavory. Maybe someone’s chipped tooth. Or a rotten chunk of skin. I turned towards her, and she was definitely the same girl I saw when I walked in.
“Did you change your clothes or something?” I asked.
“How did you know?” she smiled.
She had a cat-like smile. The kind that curls on the sides but stays the same somewhere in the middle. Her lips were small enough for it to be reasonable.
“I checked you out when I walked in.” I said, pointing at my drink and looking at the bartender.
“Consider me honored.” she said, looking at a group of girls on a table adjacent to the bar. I didn’t give them much attention.
We talked about this and that for an hour or so. The way people who just met tend to do. She turned out to be a journalist. A few drinks later we moved off the bar, and ended up on a couch in the darker area of the bar. She was wearing black pants, and my hands ran on them comfortably.
Our heads kept going closer, and closer, and the way she’d talk about me made me feel like I was the most charming man in a twenty block vicinity. I let her know she’s the sexiest girl in the bar, not that that was far from the truth, but the bar was practically empty by then. She liked it anyway, and we kissed for a while, sometimes interrupting each other with dirty conversation.
She grabbed me by the hand, and lead me to the toilets. We kissed in the hallway in front of the doors for a minute, and I wondered to myself what would be the more ethical choice. Women’s bathroom, or men’s bathroom. I don’t remember which one we chose, but I stumbled in like a moron, and closed up the stall.
I felt her hand running up my leg.
“Daddy’s cock.” She said.
Freud knows what went through my mind that moment. I can count twenty guys, maybe three girls, that would’ve loved to be in that situation right then and there. She kissed me harder, and kept talking, but I was somewhere else. All I could see was my father with an electric cable in his hand, kicking my brother in his face.
Was it a memory or my creativity gone rampant, I can’t say. My brother on the floor screaming and begging while my father landed blow after blow replayed it self. There I was. Running up, trying to stop my father, and getting a piece of the action instead. The problem here, is reality and fiction go hand in hand. My father is a tough bastard. Now in his seventies, I guarantee you can take me and my brothers still.
I started sweating, and feeling like the world was shaking around me. She kept kissing my neck, and touching me. I pushed her off, and walked out of the bathroom. The bartender took his money, and I laid on a car outside, and smoked a cigarette.
She followed quickly.
“What the hell?” she yelled, and slapped me.
In the heat of the moment, all I could muster to do was slap her right back. It smacked loudly. Echoed through the damn street. She turned, and looked at me with a twisted smile.
“Before you say anything.” I said, pushing her back. “No more ‘daddy’ business.”
For the sake of my integrity, and the relative timid nature of this story, I won’t go on further explaining what happened after. Mostly because anal sex in a bar bathroom stall is by all means a disgusting scene to be part of, and even more disturbing to explain in detail.
Had there been a moral to this story, I think it would’ve made itself clear before. Maybe, don’t have sex with strangers in bathroom stalls. It’s uncomfortable. And they might call you daddy. And I’m just not looking for that kind of responsibility right now.