Two men sit at a nightclub table. It’s very early in the evening. One is somewhere in his mid thirties and the other is older: perhaps approaching fifty. They are talking of trivial things. Both have noticed the beautiful barmaid who is bustling about, setting out nightclub supplies in preparations for the club’s busy time. The two men share a common thought.
“She is some smoking hot!” The younger man said and he saw his companion nod.
“She is certainly a sexy looking young woman,” the older smiles wryly, “but to test her temperature, I’d need to intimately touch her private flesh.”
“You can only wish Grampa.” The younger man scoffed.
“Right now,” the grampa noted, “that is all you can do too.”
They continued an idle chat until they had finished their drinks. Then as if she had felt the empty glasses by some esoteric means of being oddly in tune with nightclub supplies, the smoking hot girl arrived with her tray.
“What can I bring you?” She rested her elbow on the nightclub furniture.
“Deciding how to answer that is difficult,” the younger man turned his suave knob to highest, “when all I think about is my hand sliding into the front of your panties.”
“Do you suppose that creepy come on line stands even a remote chance of working?’ The barmaid wondered aloud.
“Not anymore.” He retorted.
“So now your mind will be freely able to decide on what drink to order.”
“I don’t want anything anymore.” The young man left the nightclub in a huff.
“And do you still want anything?” She swiveled back to the table.
“I’m desirous of a number of things.” He said. “One of those would’ve been to see my drinking buddy leave you a nice tip before deserting me to suffer the lonely fate of drinking alone. Another,” he handed her his glass, “is having one more of these.”
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment