A happier Anniversary

His hand eased onto my leg just above the knee and slid slowly up the fishnet patterning of my stockings, onto the darker top, gently dragging the hem of my dress up, and a tingle of excitement surged through me as it settled onto the bare thigh above. I turned to look him in the eyes and a wicked grin spread across my face.

I had sat apart from the happy couples in the pub, alone – at a table by myself contemplating the night I met the man who put the band of gold around my finger. It was only two years today and I had smiled as I twirled the latticed ring around.

I wore the same clothes I had worn that night; A short black dress with dark red stipes cutting across the belly and chest. I sat an angle to allow the same display of leg he had seen that night – the same heaving cleavage speaking it’s own language to the men in the room.

As I passed the time sipping vodka and orange juice the occasional guy had come over to ask me if I wanted a drink, or to tell me his name, but I politely declined their advances. I knew the type of man I wanted next to me tonight, knew that I would feel a sudden need for naughtiness and a pleasant warmth between my thighs when he appeared, if he appeared.

Tonight wasn’t a night I wanted to get to know a guy, to chat about Kandinsky’s blue rider period, or discuss my favourite movies, maybe exchange numbers and arrange a date. Tonight I wanted a man who would put his hands on me and tell me straight out that he wants to fuck me in every position known to man, and maybe a few that aren’t.

It’s not that I lack a romantic inclination. Common wisdom holds that you get properly aquainted first, build some romance, if only the start, and then the sex will seem right and proper. But I know it can work equally well the other way round, and sometimes just forgetting romance altogether and having an eye only on sex is the best route to satisfy the carnal urge and lead to something more.

The moment he entered the bar I knew. His eyes roamed the room and found me, then took a slow route up my legs, hips, brests and face. I met his gaze across the room and smiled a telling smile, then turned to sip my drink.

He was alone as my husband had been the night I met him. Dressed in a red t-shirt with indecipherable writing on it and black jeans. I didn’t notice his shoes, it’s a fallacy that girls judge a man on his footwear, but I could hear the sound of steel capped heels as he came over to my table. Discretely I slipped the ring off my finger and dropped it into my bag.

‘Vodka and orange?’ he asked.
I smiled and nodded, eventhough I had half of my current drink still in the glass. He didn’t have movie star good looks or pretty-boy perfect hair, but he did have that slightly dishevelled ‘ready to go’ look that told me he was looking for exactly the same as me tonight, a ‘bit of rough’.

It took him maybe five minutes to get served but it felt like an eternity of wonderful sexual anticipation.

When he returned he put the drink down in front of me and sat down, not opposite, but dragged a chair round to be right next to me. He had brought himself a Jack daniels and coke with no ice, I could smell the sweetness of it as he took a drink and introduced himself. Tonight his name didn’t matter to me but I reciproctated.

‘I’m katie’ I said as I watched his eyes again flicker over my thighs and breasts and back to my face.

‘So,’ he said ‘do you.. erm.. come her often katie?’

I laughed, properly laughed out loud, but knew he wouldn’t be offended, there was no mockery in it.