- Humor & Satire
- Being Mr. Nice Guy
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When she came over, I tried. I really tried.
This story was written for the 750 Word Project 2024. The story between the line and the asterisk closure has exactly 750 words according to Google Docs and Lit's story editor, while Word inexplicably say its 751. Go figure. The intent is to be short and to the point, leaving a lot to the imagination. Hope you enjoy!
© SouthernCrossfire - 2024. All rights reserved.
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She was a knockout and I wanted her.
I watched as she approached the bar, loving the way her dress fit her, the way she moved. She was a wet dream waiting to happen, and I was the dreamer. Then she came my way, and my dream grew.
When she sat down, I saw the sadness in her eyes, which were fixed on her hands, studying them intently rather than searching the bar for anyone, either in particular or in general.
The bartender started toward her but I signaled and she nodded just before the woman looked up, her gaze on me.
"Hi, ma'am, I'm Dustin. May I buy you a drink?"
She frowned and there was fire in her reply. "Am I old enough to be a ma'am, too?"
In truth, she appeared to be close to my age, probably early to mid-forties, so I gave a little nod. "My parents taught me that any woman one doesn't know, of whatever age, deserves that respect...at least until she does something to prove otherwise."
"Sorry, rough day. Didn't mean to bite your head off. I'm Jill."
"Oh, I think it's still in place, thanks," I replied with a chuckle. "It's nice to meet you, Jill. What would you like?"
She ordered a whiskey sour. "A really rough day."
"Sorry to hear that," I said, moving to the stool beside her. "Want to talk about it? Or maybe something else to forget it?"
There was that hard look again as she looked me over, glancing now at my hands. "Are you married?"
"No, not for several years. My wife decided she needed something on the side, with me still footing the bill. I divorced her when I found out."
"Cheaters. God I hate them." It was on the tip of her tongue, but then it spilled out in a torrent. "I went home early today and found my cheating asshole of a husband in bed with a woman from down the street. Her husband works at home so she came over to our house. To our bed. Ugh!"
"I'm sorry. Where are you going from here? Divorce? Reconciling?"
"I have no idea," she said, fighting tears.
Over the next hour or so, she poured out her heart, with me telling her just enough about my troubles to keep her going. During that time, my initial thought of picking her up, taking her home, and having mad, meaningless sex with her faded as I felt more and more like the friend she desperately needed.
Evidently, she didn't get the memo.
"Dustin," she said, "you asked earlier about where I was going from here. Your place. That's where I'm going. Now."
Her hand ran up my thigh as she said it and then she reached out and kissed me, soft, sweet, and so enticing. I hesitated at first but then went with it, closing my eyes as we lost ourselves in that brief union. We parted just seconds later, looking into each other's eyes.
She'd had two drinks—or was it three? The kiss was heated, needy even. In addition, she was fairly petite so I wasn't sure how much was Jill doing the speaking and acting and just how much was the booze doing it for her.
"Jill, no. Let me take you home."
"No! Gregory, the asshole, will be there. Your place. Please?"
I agreed, not sure if she'd make it or if I'd have to carry her the four blocks.
Somehow, she made it, so I offered her another chance to go into my guest room and sleep it off but she started removing my shirt and my pants and her clothes weren't far behind.
She was even more beautiful than I'd expected.
We were kissing.
Touching.
Caressing.
Loving.
I briefly felt bad about not being the nice guy she really needed, of taking advantage of her, but then she was rolling a condom in place and sliding her heat down on me. Slow at first, restraint was soon gone as we pounded together, going for an incredible ride, over and over, harder and harder, until we reached Nirvana.
As we lay there afterward, I smiled, holding her naked against me. I'd tried to be a nice guy, to help her, but tonight she'd needed a bad boy more and I'd filled the role.
Twice.
Thinking of all that had happened, I decided I'd try to be a nice guy again in the morning.
Maybe I'd make her breakfast or something.
***
- COMMENTS
JuanSeiszFitzHallabout 2 months agoVery nice and sweet, S.C. But, Humor & Satire? Because of 'Twice'? I gave this a 5* anyway.
Comentarista82about 2 months agoYou did a superb job penning the story, and your story structure provided enough clues for people to be able to fill in the blanks; I can see where you tried to compose a story in a way where somebody might think something different.. but if you carefully read, there's only a couple of solid conclusions you can really make.. and you can make a whole lot more if you just look up some simple stuff on blood alcohol level, how much a petite woman should weigh, and about how long they took and what her level of impairment would have been.
***
It was pretty obvious that they spent approximately one and a half hours at the bar, since the story stipulates over the next hour or so: usually when I've listened to a woman's very personal sob story, it's been at least an hour and a half. From the fact your story posits she was not having trouble with balance, and she was not slurring her words, her blood alcohol level was clearly under .08. So for that to be true, she definitely consumed no more than two drinks, which would have put her blood alcohol level at about .06 or .07, and with the way you describe her, petite in the industry is defined as any woman 5 ft 3 in tall, with the ideal weight being 115 lb, plus or minus 11 lb. So even if we assume this woman was 126 lb and consuming whiskey sours, her blood alcohol level would have still been no higher than 07 after 1.5 hours for two drinks. Additionally, for them to have coupled twice, that would have taken another roughly more than an hour, meaning that for certain the second time she had sobered up enough to know exactly what she was doing and not really be impaired enough to say "well, the alcohol made me do it." So if somebody wanted to really be nitpicking, they would complain about trying to say the not knowing if it was her or the alcohol talking was just a badly botched misdirection attempt; there's no way by the science and the math this woman was impaired enough to not know what she was doing. It is also clear that he was not taking advantage of her, because a paragraph or so above that, where he kissed her, it was obvious he stated he was just going with the flow. If this guy was truly being a jerk and trying to take advantage of her, he would have said stuff like "oh hey, well yeah your husband was such a jerk to you, and I know how to show you a good time." You know.. something like that. In fact, he in his own mind- - as you revealed to us the readers - - was thinking of himself more as a friend she needed; it was obvious by her statement when she decided to go home with him that she was not having trouble evaluating the situation, which would have implied her BAL being higher than .08, so he was definitely the nice guy, and he was just in the right place at the right time. I suppose people could argue the toss of well, he took her home.. but the fact is he wasn't trying to manipulate her. So I suppose somebody could have that as a gripe, but I'm just going to say that yeah he was a nice guy; she appreciated the fact that he saw her as a woman and wanted to help her through a rough patch; therefore, she made the very largely-lucid decision to enjoy him, and let him enjoy her a second time. So for all these reasons, I am definitely rating this a 5.
JimDiamondabout 2 months agoGreat short story! And what about the next morning? I must admit it did bring back more than one nice memory. Being a nice guy and easy to talk to apparently does bear sweet fruit occasionally. That first happened when a soft love song aimed at a particular pretty member of a group of wives in a bar had an unexpected impact. They were all out deciding what to do after all sharing similar stories from their pilot husbands about the other husbands' sexual antics on a "Med Cruise". Turns out ALL of them were when the ladies combined the stories. The other wives challenged her to do something about it. She cornered me in the hallway to the restrooms and after a messy kiss, she breathlessly told me she would see me when the place closed. She later shared the story with her friends and actually "loaned" me to a couple. I am not sure if I would have been the shared revenge for all of them, but a couple did before the damned military shipped a young enlisted man away and interrupted my off-base singing carrier in Jacksonille Florida. Yes, thanks for the five star memory once again.
