Translated from my original story on Bulgarian, published 3 years ago. To read it click here:
…I’ve been down so long, that down don’t worry me…
22:09. Club “Capri.” Another Friday night. The usual tune. Glasses and bottles clacking, voices buzzing, subtle cigarette puffs. Billie Holliday’s “Stormy Blues”.
Iva is sitting at the bar, on the fourth high chair from left to right, in a dark blue tight-fitting dress, legs crossed, drinking her third vodka martini for the night. But not with a green olive. With a black one.
This clarification is unnecessary – Iva spends most of her evenings at this bar and the bartender knows her taste. Literally.
She also knows pretty well how this banal night will turn. A kind, tipsy gentleman will show up shortly and will offer her kindly a drink. She will accept. He will try to melt the ice with an old joke and a new laugh. She will slide a forced smile. He will try to impress her with a description of his prestigious job, interesting hobbies, fast car and/or fat wallet. May be couple of words about art for prestige. All these time and effort to fill space with one sole purpose. To get off.
As he speaks all these words and deforms his mouth in all these smiles, he imagines how she takes his warm blushing cock in her hands, and then swallows it in the pink holes living on her fragile white flesh. How “the girl from the bar” gasps, breathes heavily and moans softly, twisting her body like a cat, bird or a swordfish. And finally – how he sprays white, translucent, viscous fluid in the condom, on her trembling body or pretty face.
“She looks like such a dirty slut…” he thinks, and tells her “You are so pretty.”
Iva is experienced enough and fully aware of the rules of the game. She played it dozens of times, scrolling levels, returning in the beginning, earning bonus points … And yet, she still plays it, not so much because she likes it, but because after the fourth drink she stops caring.
She sucks dry the last drop of semen from his obsolete, sodden in booze, complusive perfume, tobacco and sweat male body. He thanks her quietly and admits that she’s great. She doesn’t answer. He tries to turn his gratitude into a kiss. She pulls away and smiles softly, then lays mute next to him and pretends being tired and sleepy. When she hears his low snoring, Iva gets up carefully, gets dressed, takes her bag, opens the door, goes out and plunges into the night.
The only sound she leaves behind is her high-heels click-clack down the gloomy streets. But it fades away soon.
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_t1xnnrUkGU&w=420&h=315]