Pussy Drink

“I’ve got a pair of magic tits.” That was the first thing she told me as soon as we sat down. “Yeah, you have no idea. These babies are magical. Wanna know how?” I hesitated as if I wouldn’t be interested, but who am I kidding. Yes, of course, I would like to know just how magical those knockers are. “Yes, do tell.” I responded silkily. “I go to Victoria’s Secret. Don’t get the wrong idea by the way. I walk in to buy some bras. The girl comes up to me and says 32D, right? No way I’m that size, but I look down and think why not. They’ve grown and I had a donut yesterday.” 

I sit across from this woman, listening to her babble about these magic tits of hers. Frankly, I just don’t care. I would much rather fuck her already. She has the kindergarten game all mixed up. It is show and tell, not tell and don’t show. I take a drink from my glass. “Are you even listening?” she asks with a puzzled face. Is she even paying attention to me? I swear she keeps rolling her eyes, throwing her hands up as if she were a juggler juggling flaming balls. 

“I’m listening to everything you say. You’re so gorgeous.” I remind her. “Uh, yeah, sure.” She seems irritated as if somehow I ruined the energy of the conversation. Conversation? No, this is stupid. Here I am, in downtown Boston, surrounded by socialites and businessmen, all having dinner with their mistresses. But not me, I’m having dinner with this girl. This girl and her magic tits. 

“And, so I laugh and walk into the fitting room to try on the bra. And guess what? It fits! I know, right? Yes, it fits! The problem was it was loose on my sides. So I asked for a size smaller.” I can’t believe I’m still listening to this. She’s so hot, though. Look at her—everyone else seems to be. Is that why I am attracted to her because others find her attractive? I’m not drunk enough to start thinking this way.

“Waiter, grab me another whiskey. No ice with a drop of water.” “Manly.” She responds as she takes a sip of her Pussy Drink. What a name. It’s made up of two parts vodka, one part Malibu, a splash of gin, pineapple and cranberry juice. It’s shaken, not stirred, poured into a tall glass, garnished with a cherry, and an umbrella. “She brings back a 34C and a 34B and guess what…” I immediately interrupt her. “They all fit!” “Oh my god, how did you know? Yes! They all fit!” “Of course they did, you’ve got the magic tits.” I smile devilishly at her. I lean back in my chair and undo my tie. Subtle signs of how I want the night to progress. She does nothing in return. I may as well be talking to a wall.

I look around the room. This truly is a beautiful place. Chuck Mangione is playing in the background. Huh, good song. “Are we ready to order?” The waiter comes in and I haven’t even gotten the chance to see the menu. “I’ll have whatever is on the menu without gluten, please.” She’s one of those. Of course, she would be. But she had a donut. So annoying. “Very well, our organic salad would be perfect.” the waiter suggests. “Yes, sounds yummy. Can I have croutons? Do they have gluten? Oh, I don’t care. Whatevs.” I take a big taste of my whiskey. Man, what am I doing here? Magic tits. Right. Focus. “And for the gentlemen, what will you be having?” The waiter asks me without seeing me. Of course not, his attention is somewhere else. “Yes, I’ll have the steak. Rare, bloody, with steamed vegetables. Thanks.” “Great choice, sir. Be right back with that.” He walks away uncomfortably. 

“I want another drink. Can you order it for me? I forgot what it’s called.” I stand, fix my tie, finish my whiskey. It’s a twelve, single malt, I know it is. I walk over to the barkeep and lean on the bar. “What are we having tonight, sir?” I exhale and lean forward, firmly, and in my deepest tone…”Pussy Drink.”

 

By Derrek G



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