Holding On pt1

Semi-Erotic Fiction Based on True Events

Pixabay

It was a slow night, on a Wednesday at Pier 70 tavern. I didn’t have to work that day, so I went down earlier than I normally did. The band wasn’t very good, none of my friends were there and there were very few people, unusual for any night at the pier.

I sipped ice water, like I normally did and watched the band, who didn’t have much enthusiasm, and watched the people, and danced here and there with different guys. After each dance, I politely said thank you and went back to my seat at the end of the bar.

When the band took a break, I decided to go upstairs to see what was going on there. I fished into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out some quarters. I put one on the edge of the pool table to save my turn, and put another one in my favorite pinball machine, which was surprisingly unattended. I played pinball, hyper focusing on the game, banging my body against it trying to get the little silver ball to go where I wanted. About half way through my game, one of the pool playing regulars called my name saying I was up. Reluctantly, since I was winning this game, I gave it up, looking around to see if anyone wanted to take over for me and one guy did.

I went over to the closest pool table of the four in this section of the loft. In the center of the room was a short bar, with mostly guys sitting at it. I grabbed a cue and the chalk and started to chalk the tip, looking around for who I was to play. A guy didn’t know, sauntered over to me and said, “you’re playing me?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Do you want to break?”

“No, no, ladies first… you go ahead.” I heard the regular players groan, but no one said anything.

I placed the cue ball a little off center and hit a clean break, and sunk three balls. My opponent groaned.

One by one, I pointed to a pocket, named the number of the ball and easily placed each ball in the intended pocket. Finally down to just the 8 ball, I pointed to the far corner and shot the ball cleanly into the pocket.

The guy looked stunned and said, “I didn’t even get a chance to shoot.”

I just shrugged my shoulders and said, “Sorry…”

The next guy up nervously took up a cue stick. I racked the balls.

“Do you want to break?” I asked.

“No, go ahead”. This time everyone yelled, “no, don’t let her break!”

I turned and glared at them all and they just laughed.

I turned back and said, “Seriously, if you want to break, it’s fine with me.”

“Okay,” he said.

He seemed very nervous; his hands slipped and it was a weak break.

My turn and I sunk three balls. Someone suggested a bank shot, which I tried and missed. My opponent seemed relieved and a little less nervous. He sunk two balls and missed the third. I then cleared the table.

Opponent number three walked forward and seemed a little more confident than the last one and I knew he had been watching all this time. He immediately said he would break, and I backed away, with my hands up, to let him go. He sunk one ball and easily sunk three more balls. I smiled and nodded approvingly. He smiled back, and then missed his next shot. I sunk three balls and missed my next one. He tried to do a fancy bank shot and missed. I bent over to take my next shot and looked around at everyone now watching us. I glanced over at Fats, the best pool table in the place. He just laughed and gestured for me to go for it. So I again cleared the table. My opponent whistled and then laughed.

“Is there anyone she can’t beat?”

“Just Fats”, I said.

“And sometimes she even beats the pants off of me…”, said Fats, who came over and put his arm around me, “…isn’t that right, baby?”

“Sometimes….”

Someone else called out, “who’s next?”

“Not me,” I said, “I’m done.”

“Why?”

“I’m going home now.. but thanks, it was fun.”

I put my cue stick back in the rack, waved to everyone and headed down the back stairs. When I got back downstairs, I retrieved my purse from the back of the bar and headed for the door.

Just before I got to the end of the bar, Rodney grabbed me and pulled me to him, just like almost every night when I was trying to leave. It had become a dreaded ritual with him.

“Hey, Cindi, how about tonight, will you come home with me tonight?” he asked.

I pushed myself away from his grip and said, “No, Rod.. not tonight, not ever. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

I pulled away and spun around to head back towards the door only to find myself running into what felt like a brick wall. A brick wall with gorgeous golden green-brown eyes and long eyelashes. They took my breath away.

The face attached to these eyes were not bad, either. In fact, it was beautiful; strong chin, kind of a pouty lower lip, a dimple just below his cheek, long curly blond hair and those amazing eyes.

His hands caught me as I spiraled into him and he looked down into my eyes and just said, “Hi”….

“Hi”, I said back.

His eyes and expression got a little more serious…

“You can’t leave…”

“I can’t?”

“You haven’t danced with me yet. Please, just one dance.” And held up one finger for emphasis.

5 thoughts on “Holding On pt1

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