She's Nothing But Trouble

Another creative effort here, lest anyone think Rambler is headed for trouble.

Usually around 2:30 or so I get the email or the phone call. That little girl voice attached to those dark eyes and sexy legs will ask ever so innocently if I want to get a coffee with her.

I say yes. I always say yes. I could be up to my eyeballs in work and have deadlines staring me in the face, but for a chance to stare into those eyes and envision throwing her down, forcing my hand between her legs while she thrusts against me I will shrug and go to Starbucks and buy her a honey latte. That's a true test of lust, when you'll order someone a drink so obnoxious as a honey latte. Of course, I want to pour that latte on her stockings and then suck the flavor out.

She knows I'm hooked. Knows I can't resist what I can't have. She dresses like she came out of central casting circa 1940. You know that underneath that cutesy act is a little dirty girl. I want to taste her so bad.

She was a bit of a drunk. Old me would have just taken to her bar, gotten some gin into her and gotten her panties off of her. But now I can't do that shit. I'm working with a handicap basically. She's hot, but she's not counting days hot.

So I've got to try to get inside her the old fashioned way. Wit and charm. My wit and charm is as good as any one's, in fact it's a little better. Still, I'm easier to swallow if the girl has a load on.

One day our flirty conversation suddenly shifted gears as we left the Starbucks and she started bitching about her ex-boyfriend, the one who had dumped her in the shower. I never got past the "in the shower" part to hear the rest of the story. She often about being torn between wanting him dead and wanting to get back together with him. I knew which side of that debate I was on.

I said five words to her that would started this spiral that brought me to this little room.

"How would you do it?"

She looked at me, looked down at her shoes and said, "do what?"

"Kill him," how would you do it.

"I don't really want to do it."

"Oh I know, but I'm sure you have fantasies." See that's the trick. Get girls talking about their fantasies and you never know what will come out.

"I can't," she cooed.

"Come on," I said in that sort of mischievous way I have of coaxing good girls into bad things.

"Well..."

"Yeah?" Christ, I better slow this down or she'll here my heart beating through my chest. I'd seen and heard a lot in my day, but nothing prepared me for what came next.

"I'd like to snuff him out."

"Yeah, I know that, but how."

"No, that's what I mean. Like a snuff film. He loved getting head from me and if I could figure out how to do it, I'd blow his brains just before he came. That would be punishment enough for dumping me."

"Jeez, couldn't you just ring his doorbell and run?"

"You asked."

I suddenly realized that the whole time she was saying that the sing-song little girl voice that had me so wrapped around her finger was gone. She was much colder now, and all that did was turn me on more. I imagined that head from her might just be worth dying for.

"OK, while I've got to get back to my office. Want to leave together?"

"Yeah, we can take the train after work." Even though she lived downtown and I lived uptown, I always came up with some reason why I was headed downtown every evening. Because of this, I'd been spending a lot more time at Perry Street. It's a great room, but it's crazy there, which considering where I was at right now made sense.

"OK, I'll see you later," she said, getting off on the twelfth floor.

"Yeah, definitely," I muttered as the door shut. I went back to my office, closed the doors, closed the blinds and started to envision seeing her later.

TO BE CONTINUED?