The Erotic Stories of Halford Bronx - Season K/SE/09 - Double Trouble (Part Two)
I walk back to the bar my feet seem to slightly carry me off the ground. I am being enveloped by a sense of achievement, even though nothing tangible has yet to clearly transpire. It seems that the smile laden car was able to ferry over something more than faint promises and silken hosiery clad legs. I know for sure that I've got one cat in the bag. What's left to be seen is whether the other one will also fit in nicely. If matters come to worse, the bag and it's restrained feline inhabitants can always end up deep in the river but I'm not one that usually lays to waste a perfectly good present and future prospect. I'm already enveloped in saucy fantasies and the patrons seem quite taken aback by the sight of my confident purposeful stride. Right now the bar is mine, and every single soul present is my subordinate. I walk straight through the crowd and hinge myself onto an empty barstool, expertly kept vacant by my late arriving friend. In front of me, a brand new cocktail ordered for yours truly by my trusty associates. I take a sip and accept a hand-rolled cigarette. The bartenders skim from corner to corner, throw ice cubes from a distance at each other, which they expertly catch into silver shakers, bottles swirl and their colourful contents are emptied into tall crystal glasses. Hands fly over my shoulders, long drinks are ferried back and forth, credit cards are swiped onto transaction machines, pouring music thumps my head into contentment, bodies break out into tiny private dances behind me. I keep my back turned to the crowd and my gaze fixated on the multicoloured nightmare that constitutes the bottle decorated feature wall behind the bar. I have already forgotten about my chance encounter, the ladies, and their flirtatious engagement. My mind is clear, quiet and happy. Another glass flies into my airspace and voraciously clashes with mine.
“Cheers fuckface!”
“You are a total asshole, you know that don't you?”
“That would be you, sir, I'm just a plain ordinary asshole!”
I don't bother to reply, I just take another sip and blow my smoke towards the prettiest waitress. Underneath our shiny polished exterior, we are all tantalised animals scrounging around mud heaps, waiting, preparing for our righteous kill. I am being used inasmuch I am using others. Everything is fair and just within the claustrophobic mess of urban jungles. The concept of sin is nothing but a guilt-tripping travesty. We are all liars, cheats, and deceivers even though we never admit it to ourselves. A shrink once told me that I exhibit all the traits of a sociopath. I paid that fucker his due and never again set foot in his office, or any similar other for the matter. Later on, I found out that he was convicted of shooting his wife with a hunting rifle, while she was taking a shower. I wasn't surprised, after all, the people most suitable to carry a diagnosis where the ones primarily afflicted with the disease itself. I had no pity nor sympathy for him or anyone else of similar disposition. However you call or qualify the way I'm ordaining my life, you've got to admit one single thing – I am a disseminator of pure pleasure, not of pain.
“What's the plan for tonight?”, my friend leans in, a manic overdrawn smile carved wide on his freshly shaven face.
I turn towards him and wink without saying another word. He draws back and looks at me inquisitively.
“Already?”
A true social warrior is a man of few words. I know he is circling around me like a vulture, waiting for a piece of torn out flesh to roll out of my bloody mouth onto the ground. He can have my leftovers for sure, but tonight I'm devising a wholesomely holistic private plan. I swing around on my seat for the first time in almost half an hour. The bar is tightly packed. Without letting out more than I should I scan the whole of my perimeter and soon enough I'm able to locate my willing victim, Alesia who is leaning against the back wall near the entrance, her face illuminated by her comm. I can't see where her friend, Constance is but she shouldn't be far away. There is a guy standing next to Alesia who is obviously engaged in a furtive attempt of wooing her. She is wide aware of his intentions, of course, as every woman with a basic understanding of social interaction dynamics is. She is certainly no stranger to any of these covert games I can definitely attest. I can see her smiling, toying with her hair, and even if her gaze does not swing away from her comm she is definitely enthralled by whichever offering this lonely desperado is presently cooking up for her.
The time is nigh. I finish my drink, stub out my cigarette and climb slowly down from the barstool. My mate grabs my arm.
“Where the hell are you going?”
As soon as both my feet come into contact with the dirty sticky floor, the dynamics in the room shift and sway. All attention is on me now. I know it, they know it, she knows it, only my friend still seems oblivious towards everything. Calmly I swing my arm, disengage and dive into the crowd. For a moment I lose sight of her but I tentatively continue to carve a path through the crowd. I bore my way between two dancing bodies, separating them, breaking up their stride, ushering them into confusion. Constance suddenly appears in front of me, drink in hand, burning cigarette in the other.
“Hey, handsome! Where you are up to?”
I grab her arm with one hand, take her cigarette, place it in my mouth and start swinging my body along the music, keeping constant eye contact. She throws her head back and laughs in surprise. I pull her closer, towards me and envelope her body with my dance moves. She takes to it like a duck to water and tries to fish the cigarette from my hand. Playfully I avoid her advances while firmly squeezing my body onto hers. I can feel her pulse and I can see growing excitement brewing in her eyes.
My arm shoots forward and curls around her neck. I pull her head towards me and whisper in her eager ear.
“Take me!”
She pulls back in pretend surprise, pulls her hand over her mouth and giggles. Her drink is gone, her cigarette is gone, her hands are mostly empty. I carefully take them into mine and lower them to her sides. She is calm, obedient and offers no resistance. As if in slow motion I commence the longest trek towards her open inviting lips.
Alesia appears from out of nowhere just as I'm about to commence my ritual. Her eyes are ablaze. I acknowledge her interruption and immediately break away. She looks at us both, without speaking. Constance seems to be troubled by her presence. A tried and true tactic. Divide and conquer. Always works wonders. I'm still holding Constance's hand in mine. Tension rises and I command my facial muscles into forming what is colloquially known as a “shit-eating grin” which I then shoot forward towards Alesia.
I can feel that she would very much like to slap me right now but I won't be giving her this kind of pleasure. I tuck away at Constance's hand, issuing a nonverbal command. Alesia sees this and immediately lunges forward.
“Where are you going?”, she yells at me over the din of loud music. I laugh and without responding pull Constance behind me towards the exit. Once outside she stops me dead in my tracks. Last minute resistance.
“I … I....i can't!”, she says and tries to disengage. Carefully, I apply a little bit more pressure in my grasp. The moment comes and goes and we are both left standing there looking straight into each other's eyes. The door suddenly flings open, Alesia storms out of the bar and comes straight towards us.
A true Mexican stand-off.
I won't be leaving them time to think, react, contemplate and consider.
“We are going. Are you coming?”
Without waiting for her response I pull a now completely docile Constance behind me towards where my car is parked.
“Hey!”, she shouts from a near distance.
Slowly, I turn around without releasing my grasp on Constance.
“What?”
For a moment she hesitates. I can see her pride boiling up behind her eyes.
“Our car is over there”, she nods with her chin towards where their ride is parked.
“Cool”, I say and stretch over my empty hand. “I'm driving”
Reluctantly, she hands me over the keys.
“You're a fucking bastard!”
“That's why you fucking love me!”, I wink, grab the keys from her shaky hand and storm 
Read the second episode in the series, Stored Taking
Read the third episode in the series, Double Trouble Pt1
Following