The Woman at the Bar

Gorgeous women can be found everywhere, but the woman I spotted at the bar is blessed with exceptional beauty. She is a real person and my description of her is accurate. My longing for her is also very real. She inspired this story.

Last Saturday night, I walked into one of my favorite Mexican restaurants. It was early evening and the bar was crowded. The bar countertop has a short section perpendicular to a much longer stretch of bar, where I sat at the far end on the last open barstool. Behind the short section, an entertainer sang and played his guitar. I ordered my usual, a 32 ounce Pacifico draft, and turned on my barstool to get a better view of the entertainer. It was then I saw her. She was sitting at the short section of the bar, directly in my line of sight to the entertainer. I was instantly in awe, struck by her incredible beauty. She completely captured my focus and I could not stop looking at her. Who are you? My spirit lover?

I guessed she was in her mid-thirties, approaching that age when women are at the peak of beauty. Her hair was curly, long and jet-black. Most of her hair hung free down her back, while some was thrown over her left shoulder. Chandelier earrings hung from her earlobes. She would have passed for a Latina, except her skin was Caucasian white. Admittedly, I have a thing for Latin women, many of whom are extremely gorgeous, but I was not disappointed. Her jet-black hair contrasting sharply against her pale skin was sexy and seductive. Off and on throughout the night, she unconsciously combed the hair over her shoulder with her fingers. This simple act further aroused my senses, negating any thoughts I harbored for turning away. I was held captive and could only stare. Why do you so unmercifully incite my passion?

She was undoubtedly accustomed to men staring and dressed to be seen. She wore an aqua colored, traditional Mexican gown with bare shoulders and the sleeves pushed halfway down her upper arm. The bodice was heavily decorated and layered, making it impossible to see the outline of her breasts pressed against the fluffy material. Fortunately, the gown was cut sufficiently low to expose a torturously small amount of cleavage, teasing me, while imploring me to see much more. And I did see more each time she leaned forward. This was her gift to me, which she granted frequently throughout my time spent admiring her. The improved visual assured me her breasts were neither too big nor too small; rather, they were proportioned to fit her body perfectly and just right for suckling. I envisioned my tongue slowly circling first one, then the other nipple before taking it fully into my mouth. Will you allow me to suckle your perfect breasts?

She was with a female friend or, perhaps, a lover; either way, they were unmistakably close. They talked, laughed, drank, and touched each other often, wholeheartedly enjoying each other's company. She gestured lively as she spoke and seemed to dominate much of the conversation. Her companion, however, was not a wallflower and seemed to thrive off her energy, as their conversation moved back and forth with ease. She was clearly a vibrant woman, a woman with gusto, living life to the fullest. Such a woman is bound to have many lovers and I desperately desired to be one. Yet, I desired much more than lustful gratification. Will you allow me to penetrate fully? Mind, body and soul?

I ordered a second mug of Pacifico and pretended to look through her to the entertainer. She was not fooled, but I refused to turn away. Throughout the evening, she looked my way and gave me a knowing smirk before returning her attention to her companion. With time, her mood softened and the smirks transitioned to tiny smiles. Once, she even tipped her beer bottle at me; I smiled and returned the gesture with my mug. Finally, a minor victory was acknowledged; I had earned a small slice of acceptance. Must a man demonstrate such tenacity before opening your legs to him?

The barkeep put another bottle of Corona in front of her. She deftly pushed the lime into the bottle with one finger and raised the brew to her mouth. She teasingly ran a circle around the top of the bottle with her tongue before engulfing it with full, eager lips. She unashamedly fellated the bottle before consuming its liquid. Is this the way you drink your lovers' semen? Will you fellate me?

She once conceived a child, a daughter. I know this, because I overheard her say something about her daughter to her friend. A married woman usually wears a ring on her left ring finger and I noticed her finger was bare now. Was she married or in a monogamous relationship when the child was conceived? If not, I wondered whether the girl's bio-dad was carefully chosen by her or by Mother Nature. A woman with many lovers would likely be impregnated by a man whose sperm was the survivor of the fittest, the best and strongest of the swimmers competing for her egg. This would explain why her daughter will undoubtedly grow up to become a vibrant woman with gusto like her mother, and why her daughter will blossom into a woman with even greater beauty. Evolution will most certainly manifest this. Did you fuck to give life? Or did you fuck to fuck? Will you fuck me?

I finished off my second mug of Pacifico and conceded to myself that I must leave. For the first time since sitting at the bar, I took my eyes off of her. I paid the tab and left the restaurant, glancing her way a final time. Will I see you again? Is this goodnight or goodbye?

Adios, my spirit lover, adios.