The girl with the thousand-yard stare
One evening after work I dropped into my favorite Gentlemen’s Club in downtown Miami, sporting a nice shirt and tie. ( I don’t recall the occasion, but I do recall being about the only one in the place so dressed) It’s simply a fact that women notice a well-dressed man, and in a gentleman’s club in particular, it’s the gentlemen who look the part that get the attention….
I was looking for the Italian with the loud whisper not long after our encounter, and, not seeing her I spotted a beautiful trim, and light skinned black woman with long straight hair who reminded me of a she-panther as she eyed me from across the bar…..She’d just given a dance on stage and was making the rounds for tips, and as she walked up and said, ”Can I get a tip for my dance?” I said in response, “I missed your dance, but here’s a tip anyway, and I’ll be sure to see the next one”. She took my $5 with a smile, and after finishing her rounds, came and sat down next to me for some small talk. I immediately bought her a drink, and as we spoke there seemed to be a little more than physical attraction at work.
Even so, I was definitely feeling the rush, and so when she suggested the VIP room, I was all in. We went back into a dimly lighted room with a curtain covering the entrance and I sat down in a mirrored corner on a small loveseat, and as she disrobed I admired her trim yet taut figure.
Soon as I looked her up and down admiringly, she went down on her knees between my legs, unzipping my fly and pulling my pants and underwear down forcefully, like the hungry she-panther she was, and went straight for Mr. Bobo. So began a splendid session of cock worship, with her telling me how handsome I looked in between mouthfuls, and soon whilst giving Mr. Bobo her full attention with hand, mouth and tongue in a rapid, piston like motion, I came in her mouth.
After a satisfying interval, she came up for air, and paused for a moment before spitting out the sample to the side of the couch on a napkin she’d apparently kept handy for that purpose.
As she got up and dressed, she took a swallow of beer, wiped off her mouth and looked in the mirror, touching up her lipstick after leaving more than a little on my dipstick, bless her. She primped a little more for a moment, and then she picked up her tiny purse, pulled out a pen and a small piece of paper and wrote out her phone number for me. “ I don’t give out my phone number to just anyone, I really want to hear from you” She said looking into my eyes, and in a soft, feminine voice as she handed me the number, kissed me on the lips, and then grabbed my hand as we walked back out to the bar.
I sat back into the same chair I’d been in before, and to my (pleasant) surprise, she sat down next to me again. I noticed a far-away look in her eyes as she began telling me about her life, and how she was supporting her mother and younger siblings.
She was quick to point out that she had a nice house and drove a new Jaguar, and it didn’t seem to be a play for sympathy at all, yet I got the strong impression that “the life” had taken it’s toll on her as she spoke; why she chose me and that moment to bare her heart to, I can’t say, but she seemed to get introspective very quickly, and I can only guess that she just needed someone to talk to at that moment, and so I just listened, and let her speak.
As she did, I remember thinking that a nice house, a shiny jag and lots of sex were no substitute for having some love in your life; That’s probably even more true for a woman than it is for a man.
And so, nothing much came of it; we were just 2 ships passing in the night, so to speak, never to meet again. I’ll never forget the aimlessness of her expression as she spoke, not looking at me, but at nothing at all with a 1,000 yard stare, very much like a war veteran recalling sad memories; something I’d seen a time or two before whilst serving in the Marine Reserves long ago.
Or, maybe she just needed to talk, and for someone to listen for a moment; maybe she’d had a drink or two too many, which certainly loosens one’s tongue, in my experience.
When a couple of days later I called her, there seemed a different vibe to our conversation. After it ended, I got the feeling I’d gotten the wrong impression when she gave me her number; Silly me, I had taken it personally, and after asking her out on a conventional date, she’d seemed uninterested; I soon realized that she’d given me her number for business, not pleasure.
The crashing sound of shattered illusions was jarring indeed, but I should have known. Even so, I remember her still, and to this day whenever I see a lonely look on a stranger’s face, I think of her.
