The Devil In My Red Lipped Smile

I think things might be getting out of hand when he pulls out a gun.

I meet him at a bar, of course, where else did I go.
I’m wearing a tight red dress and I’m alone unless you count the devil in my red lipped smile.
I discover that whiskey is better neat. I discover that I look cheap.
The group of pasty boys, barely older than me, have bought me a drink, they then tell me this as I turn back to it.
I give a scarlet smile, I arch my back, I run red fingernails through cropped hair.
I swivel on my chair and I tell them to suck each others dicks.
I don’t have to see their dicks harden or their fists clench.
The shortest one. He kind of looks like a frog, all skinny legs and barrel body.
He steps up, he calls me a slut.
I tell him how original he is.
I ask him if his mother asks him to call her that when he’s eating her out.
Their dicks get harder, I’m sure of it, but his eyes roll back and I can see he suddenly wants to hit me. He wants to hit me hard.
And the thrill of pushing this little toad over the edge is too much for my devil, I cross my legs and I ask if he’s going to get his friends to help.
Or are they are just going to watch?
So the toad, he gets angrier I can see the back of his neck is getting red.
It is a noisy busy bar, and no one has noticed the altercation. If my luck is out, tonight, there’s always the chance that he might pick me up and take me outside. If no-one stopped him in here, there was no way I would find help out there. I’d seen people step over bleeding animals in this town.
I guess I was no better than that.
I guess I should cower. I should protect myself. I should smile sweetly and act like his cock is as big as he wishes it was. That I wasn’t a bitter old woman child. That I wasn’t looking for someone to make my face match my insides. That I wasn’t too gutless to do it to myself.

He steps closer and the toad, his breath is sour, he is about to whisper his finest threat.
When a smooth body slides between, and a deep masculine growl, asks if the lady is having a problem.
We all look up.
We all swoon.
He must be a cardboard cut out. A mail order hero. He is tall, dark and tattooed. His cheeks and forehead are so broad he looks like a lion. His lilt is of the Caribbean persuasion and he tells the boys in a conversational tone what will happen if they don’t slide away. I cross my legs, I can’t help from poking him. Just to see if he is real.
He turns and orders more drinks. Neat.
He tells me that he’s been paying attention.
He asks how old I am. I tell him twenty-five and he doesn’t blink.
He asks where I got my filthy mouth and accent from.
I tell him.
He whistles and says I’m a long way from home.
I say that’s no lie.
We go on like this.
But not for very long. It isn’t very long until we are in the car park, and he has me sat up on the hood of his car and he is sliding his fingers along my thighs, and laughing and asking why a little girl is wearing suspenders.
I squirm and tell him I’m a woman.
He laughs even more at that and kisses me hard. Harder than I’ve been kissed before. Then he pushes me back, he kneels before me, as if at an altar, and he worships me.
I fall back, flaming, flushed, out of my mind, finally at home, as I sense people hurrying past to their cars, making tsking noises and shaking their heads. This stranger between my legs is urgent and patient all at once, and he takes his time, as if we were in a fancy hotel, as if room service would just have to wait a while.
When I’m done, he kisses me, but softly, and I taste for the first time what I taste like. I wonder if I am sick because I like it.
We get into the car, he opens the door, and as he walks around to the drivers side, I wiggle my ass in anticipation, no matter where we’re going, I want in.
He gets in, he sucks his gut in, and he puts his hand in his pants. I smile wickedly, and lick my lips, but he does not pull out his dick.
I can’t remember if I inhaled.
Time goes pretty slowly as he reaches over and he shoves it in the glove compartment in front of me. I see the cold steel glistening at me as he closes it. I think it may have winked.
He grabs my hair and pulls me in for another kiss as he starts the engine, as he revs hard, and this time, the world spins, and I don’t taste as good on his lips.
We drive through crazy windy one way streets, streets that always look so foreign to me as I spend most of my travelling time in this city underground. I look out the window as ska blasts through the speakers, as he shouts along and holds my leg, I looked out the window and I wonder how badly the devil inside wants it. I wonder how far it wants to push this.
And when he stops to get some fuel, some condoms, some smokes, some scotch, I don’t stick around to find out. I open the passenger door and I step out.
I head into the lonely confusing night and I keep walking until the devil, she is all walked out.

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