Having a Drink

We met on-line in a chat room. You seemed to be the worst speller I had ever met, until I noticed that you really weren't. It was just an act; your "white trash" act and it amused me to see you put it into play with others in the chat room, trying to convince them you were something that you were not. After a bit I let you know that I knew and you were surprised I had figured it out. Surprised and pleased. I created a private room, invited you in and we got to know one another.

Slowly we let down our guard, letting each other in on who we really were and what we really liked and what we really craved. We both said our tastes were "exotic" and then defined what that meant, how exotic they really were. We found a part we could play in each other's needs; there were niches we could fill.

Night after night we came back, created our private world, crawled inside, locked the door and got naked with one another. Naked in our desires, our cravings, our appetites. The effort was exhilarating, liberating and to a point, satisfying.

We met on-line in a chat room, but we had never met in person until tonight.

You found me sitting at a booth where I said I would be, two beer mugs on the table, mine half empty. You sat. You were heavier than you had said, but your eyes and smile were amazing. You fucking glowed and given our talks, I knew the glow was the manifestation of your twisted desires. You and I shared the secrets the others missed; we were too smart for the room, the room full of losers.

I was older than I said, but you liked the beard and the fire in my eyes.

"Shall we begin what we discussed?" I asked.

"Here? I, I don't know."

My face flashed anger and I grabbed your hand, squeezing it hard. Under my breath I rasped, "Here and now bitch." But then I smiled brightly and chuckled, "Here and now."

I pointed to your glass, "Drink up my sweet. I got that glass special, just for you."

You picked up the heavy glass mug of amber liquid and in bringing it to your face you got a good whiff of its acrid aroma. "Oh my god," you whispered and locked eyes with me.

And now your heart is pounding so hard I swear I can hear it from across the booth. I see fear in your eyes, but not fear of me; it's fear of yourself. Yes, you like to put on an act, to hide who you really are. But you and I both know; between us there is no deception. Your hand is shaking but you slowly get it under control. As I watch you closely, the flame of desire returns to your eyes until they are a seething cauldron once again.

"Thank you. Thank you for thinking of me."

Then you pick up your mug and take a long hard drink.