There is something strongly sexy about a man in a wedding ring, undressing you with his eyes all the way from across the bar, and watching you squirm under his gaze.
The room is crowded, the noise has reached a crescendo and am thinking of making my exit, I look at the time and decide I can afford another drink. I signal the bartender as I look around for my girlfriend, who I notice is pinned at the wall in the back and is not putting up much of a fight… Oh well!
I pick up my drink and look up! He’s been at it for a while…the staring! I can tell. His eyes are too comfortable on my skin, lingering at my neck more than they should have; my mind tries to gauge what he’s thinking and my cheeks flush. Also the way his fingers are circling the mouth of the beer bottle, that’s a fantasy that has been going on for a while, definitely been checking me out. Of course I return the courtesy. He’s broad shouldered, his sweater fits him good, it’s not fitted but it’s not something he just threw on. His whole outfit looks well thought out. Well put together. Not someone who is second guessing with colors. That’s someone who knows his fashion.
I figure he’s married; no guy could dress that well and that casually without a woman’s help. Too old for it to be mum, and too well done for it to be the girlfriend. That leaves option three: the wife! He knows am checking him out, I can see his body tensing as he awaits my appraisal. I laugh under my breath. Men!
He visibly relaxes as he catches a whiff of a smile as I sip and meet his eyes! How is it that I know this tango, I wonder! His fingers resume the circling of the bottle, his eyes never leaving mine. Knowing full well he knows I know where his thoughts are. Two can play the game. I lean back in my seat, my hand on my thigh, slowly making circles with my fingers and simultaneously folding the hem of the dress back less than half an inch. But he gets it. He shifts and smiles. Looks down and picks up his beer, that’s when I see it! Even this far I can tell. I can feel my earlier excitement dying. A wedding band.
He sees where my eyes are; he looks at me waiting for a reaction. My mind is racing. I should leave. Its late, am tipsy and it’s getting smoggy…or is it my brain? I can’t tell. The stranger still looks at me, waiting! I can’t comprehend this conversation. No, I refuse to comprehend this conversation. This level of intimacy shouldn’t be done with him… Or here! I glance at him as I take another sip. It’s definitely smoky here, this can’t be me!
His eyes plead. Plead for what I wonder! His short hair hugging his scalp closely entices me, my fingers clench, imagining the smoothness of it…tracing the collarbone…waiting for his lips, a part begging for them and another begging to break it off before it happens. His fingers grip the bottle tighter, his knuckles shows. I take another sip.
I walk towards him, my eyes on his. I lick my lips as I pass him and pat his arm. I go to the bathroom and stare at my face on the bathroom mirror. What am I doing? I should stop. But I can’t. I want to feel this. I walk out and he’s waiting, like I knew he would be. I smile…he grabs me. His hands move over my waist as though terrified, he moves slow, taking his time, his eyes closed. I am lost. He feels better than I thought. Even his wedding band is electrifying. Not horrifying…electrifying. My skin seething under its caress. His breath is on my lips. He’s waiting for approval.
What am I thinking? Am so caught up I don’t see him approach.
‘Hi, can I buy you another drink?’
I look up. He’s standing right there. Adonis in the flesh. I could reach out right now and live out my fantasy. I could. I should. His jeans look smug!
‘Thanks! Sure…have a seat!’
He pulls up a chair and sits. He signals the bartender. I see it up-close…the wedding band! It hits me then, boundaries that can’t be crossed. Bar boundaries.
‘Would you feel better if I removed it?’ he wiggles the finger with the ring. I look up at him.
‘That would beat the point of you having it, wouldn’t it?’
I smile and pick up my bag. It’s raining outside.