The Spark

She watches the men come and go. Every night she's stood by the toilets, waiting for them to go take a piss in the hopes that the more fragile among them will give in and fuck her. I'm sat at the bar drinking my fourth beer of the night—some Austrian special, tasting of copper and salt. It doesn't hit me like it used to. I guess I'm growing wise to it, or I'm a fulltime drunk and the misery outweighs the dizziness.

As I look at the football score on the cheap 90's TV, I hear a squeal that reminds me of a fox that used to lie outside my bedroom window when I was a kid—anointing me with the knowledge that animals fuck too. I turn back to the toilets and she's laughing and joking with some haggard old dude with a wild grey mop on his head and those deep tired eyes you get from years of working the night shift. She never normally goes for older guys but I've never had her down for having a specific type. His thick, working man hands rest on her shoulder—one of his fingers has woven inside the black lace bra strap on her left shoulder whilst his thumb massages her collarbone. She bites her lip and looks him dead in the eye as her hand reaches for the wood in his jeans.

"Sir, another beer please," say, watching her groom yet another easy lay.

She grabs his hand, looks around the room and leads him into the gent's. I'm the only sad fuck that's watching and probably the only one that really cares. I think about leaving. I think about staying and going over to her, finally getting my courage in check and allowing the jealousy to subside long enough for me to get inside her knickers—inside her. I wonder if she wears slender pink lace, with frills just above the bottom of her ass cheeks or whether she wears one of those thongs that fits in her beautiful crack—I've spent too much time sitting here wondering.

10 minutes later, they both appear—the guy looking more dishevelled that she does. He says goodbye, kisses her on her rosy cheek and disappears as if it never happened. She looks at her empty glass, brushes her weathered hair behind her ear and heads to the bar. I can see her coming and every inch of me seizes up. There is a certain confidence in her step that makes her approach even more appealing. She licks her dry lips and wipes the beads of sweat from her forehead and orders a drink.

"Hey, can I get a Vodka and Coke please—no ice?" she says to the barman.

I'm still staring—looking at her smooth skin up close and smelling a mixed scent of perfume and sex. She looks so different this near to me. I can see the colour of her eyes, the mascara that's slightly smudged and the top of her areola as it sits outside the confines of her bra, in a classy way and not a filthy, whorish way. She looks like she sounds—ravaged and wearily elegant. As she takes a guzzle of her drink, she looks over to me and smiles. It gives me palpitations; ever since I saw her in this pub over a month ago, I've been in awe of her—amazed by her. I've watched her walk into those toilets over thirty times with thirty different men, praying to be one of them but being too weak to approach her and here she is—sat next to me for the first time and I can't open my mouth to tell her how much I want to feel those soft, large breasts against my body and her tight little snatch around my erection.

The bell rings as the barman tugs on its rope—closing time. Before she gets down off her seat, I notice a small white stain on her skirt and can't help but stare at the skin on her inner thigh—little red patches cover them, indicating she's played host to many a man's thrusts and humps. She stands up and adjusts her skirt that has risen up since she's been sat on the high, awkward bar stool and turns to leave. It's going to be yet another night that I'm the creepy voyeur and not the star of her travelling show. I envision yet another night of internet porn and passing out due to the drink.

As she starts to move I feel a warm hand on mine. I drop my empty bottle of beer on the bar and the last third spills over it. She softly walks into my lap as I stay seated and she moves her lips towards my ear.

"Follow me."

I can smell semen and the last dregs of the vodka on her breath. My heart continues to pound as she leads me outside the pub and into the freezing night air. I start to feel pangs of excitement as the notion of us fucking fills my woozy-as-hell head. As the drunken chatter of other lost souls echo through the night, she pulls me down a quiet alley behind the pub. There's a fragile metal gate that leads into the car park for the chemists next door—she slows down and faces me, deciding that this is where it's going to happen. Her breath makes clouds around me as the cold holds us still in this empty alley way. I've waited for this moment for a while—I don't wait a minute longer.

My hands grab her waist and I pull her tightly towards me. I kiss her and taste a thousand men before me on her lips. Her wet, educated tongue fills my mouth and makes my stomach tingle. It swirls around my gums and carefully licks my lips. She undoes the zip on my jeans and reaches inside to find my cock restricted by the fabric of my boxer shorts. Her hand finds its way through the front and wraps itself tightly around it. Her cold palm is a pleasant surprise as she begins to stroke every inch of me. My mind is completely blank and I can't even think straight. She drops to her knees and guides my dick straight inside her warm mouth, covering it in hot saliva—sucking it, rolling her tongue over it like a snake constricts its prey. My hands bang on the gates as the force of her blowjob almost knocks me off my feet. I struggle to hold myself up as she goes at it like a gold medallist—if it was possible to win for such a pleasant event such as this. She grabs my balls and squeezes ever so gently as the moment almost approaches.

"I'm going to cum." I whisper through the moans of pleasure.

"Good," she says, as best she can with me in her mouth.

"Don't you want to feel something?" I ask. "Don't you want to fuck?"

She simply nods her head in a no gesture. My legs begin to buckle as the most explosive orgasm leaves my body. I almost drop to the floor; she's still sucking as I empty myself into her throat and my whole mind sees the northern lights. She slows down but remains attached to me—her movements getting slower and her mouth loosens its grip. Her nails are no longer dug into my thighs. She stands to her feet and wipes away cum from the corners of her mouth and the bottom of her chin. I pull up my trousers and cover up as the cold makes my acquaintance once more.

"Thank you Julie," I say, zipping up my flies and readjusting my junk.

"It's fine. Can we do this in the toilets next time, though? It's way too cold out here." She says, looking a little distracted and mildly annoyed.

"I just thought it would be different," I say. "Look, if you'd rather we found different ways to keep this relationship exciting, there are other options."

"No, there isn't Mark. This is it. I'll meet you at home, OK? One of the guys from earlier has a hotel room at that expensive lodge by the promenade. He's asked me to drop by and I kind of fancy it. Is that OK with you?"

"Yeah, whatever," I say, sounding weary and defeated. "Just be careful and wear protection."

"Of course. Take care, Mark. See you later."

I can't reply. I show a lazy smile and walk out the alley, ready to face another night alone.

It was never supposed to be this difficult. I always imagined that the spark would always be there and we'd always be two lovebirds—both engulfed in those same intense feelings of unabashed love that we had in the beginning. Maybe I should just cut my losses and find a new girl. Maybe I should just suck it up and work on it for another few years...

Being in love is so fucking hard.