I could never forget the night I took control of my own destiny and went
after the sexiest man in the bar.
Well, you probably wouldn't think he was sexy. He was tall and thin, and at least thirty years my senior. There was no reason, really, for me to think he was sexy at all, but there he was, two spots down from me at the bar, totally turning me on. I took a deep breath and a shot and, with a wink at my friend, went over to talk to him.
"Hey," I said, making this up as I went along. "You here alone?"
He looked at me with one eyebrow cocked, and then leaned away from the bar. He never once took his eyes off me, but I didn't feel like he was checking me out. His hand reached into his jacket and he pulled out a badge.
I should have figured out that the guy next to him, the one who looked like a drug dealer, was his partner. "We're not buying tonight, honey," he said, looking very intimidating.
Damn, did I look that hoochie that night? "I'm, ah, not that kind of girl, officers. Sorry to bother you." I started to walk away, feeling really god- awful, but then I felt a hand on my wrist.
It turned out to belong to the one I had wanted to talk to. "Sorry. Sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean to offend you. Can I buy you a drink?"
I nodded and we went over to a table. Over this one's shoulder I saw his partner roll his eyes at us and it made me smile. The waiter came over. "What can I get for you?"
"What sounds good to you?" I responded quickly. The cop ordered a beer for himself and a scotch on the rocks "for the lady."
"Listen, I didn't mean to imply that you look like a hooker." Tactful guy, this one was.
"No, it's okay. You guys have to be on your guard. You're not . are you working now? On duty?"
"Ah, no. Just got off."
There was a beat while we both thought of what else to say. "You got a name?"
"Munch. John Munch."
"Is that like, Bond, James Bond?" I asked with a laugh. "I'm Cara Jones." We shook hands and he smiled at me. "What unit do you work with?"
"Special victims. Do you know the force?"
"I watch TV, that's about it. Police drama makes good background for painting."
"You . paint?" he asked, in a tone that I now realize was practically drooling.
"Not as well as I'd like, but yeah." I smiled, scooting closer to him as the waiter delivered our drinks. "It's all just minor in comparison to what I've been studying," I said, taking a sip. I kept my eyes on him while I sucked on an ice cube. He didn't touch his beer. "What do you do when you're not . being a cop?"
"I ." He stopped and looked at his partner, who had his back turned to us, clearly not paying any attention. "I've been into the history channel lately."
I laughed out loud. "Are you serious?"
He laughed with me, but said, "Yeah."
I crossed my legs beneath the table, trying to keep my skirt from riding up. It was not easy, and I had to hold it down with one hand. His eyes followed my hand to my thighs. "Is that the only thing that interests you? The history channel?"
"I like existential philosophy," he said. It would have been lame had I not known he was lucky to put together a full sentence. His eyes were still on my thighs. I smiled, took another sip of my scotch, and put my hand on his knee. I leaned in, slowly, wondering why the hell I was doing this, and whispered:
"Take me home and ravish me."
I swear that his eyes got about three times their natural size behind those nerdy glasses of his. "I don't think I can do that."
"Oh," I said, looking at him. I took my hand back.
"No! Not like that! I just don't think that that's appropriate. You're kind of . young for me."
I told him the year I was born and he started to get out of the booth. "John," I called him, putting my hand on his. "Please. I've never done this before. You just kind of called to me."
He met my eyes over the table, leaning over it. It was imposing, intimidating, but something made me stare back. "My place or yours?" he finally said.
We took a taxi since his partner had driven there. The partner, whom John explained to be named Fin, had frowned at us when John had told him what was going on. I half expected him to stop us.
But no: we arrived at John's apartment some twenty minutes later. He led me up the stairs by one hand, and it struck me as a bit odd that we had never so much as kissed and yet here I was, begging to be taken up to his room. I waited patiently while he fumbled with the keys and I wondered vaguely if he were as nervous as I was.
He shot me a smile when one key fit and the door swung open. I looked at him now critically in the light of the hallway: he was tall, as I have said before, his slenderness only accentuated by the plain black suit he was wearing, which was broken by a thin silver tie. His hair was black too, now silvered by time, and even in this evening dark sunglasses obscured his eyes. He let me pass into the room first and he shut the door behind us.
The apartment was simple, elegant, and Spartan. I was impressed immediately by how immaculate everything was. "I thought you'd have a dog," I said. "I had you pegged for a dog person."
"I am," he replied, cocking his eyebrows in slightly drunken jocularity. "But they don't do well fixing their own dinners." He took my coat and hung it in a closet behind the door, and soon his joined it. At last he lost the shades and I could see his eyes: they were brown, dark like coffee with wide black pupils. "Can I get you a drink?"
"We've probably both had enough," I said, turning away from him to let him do what he wanted. I ran my finger along the back of the black leather sofa and down the armrest where it ran into a bookcase. I crouched down to read the spines: indeed, he did seem to like existential philosophy. I had never really read much of it myself, but I could see a guy like him being deeply interested in something so abstract. There was also a section on conspiracy theory, including a few I would have thought belonged over in comedy, and many art anthologies. Dalí seemed to be a favorite.
The room had the distinct look of a man who had lived alone for forty years and had no real need to impress or concede to anyone, reflecting instead his own personal desires and passions. I took it all in while I waited for him to pour his scotch. "And what do you do, Cara?" he asked me.
"I'm in school right now, my first year of grad school. I'm pretty new to New York."
"I'm pretty new to the area myself." He gestured for me to sit and then joined me. "I was born in Connecticut and lived in Baltimore till about five years ago."
"I'm from Detroit," I said, wondering if this were all a ploy for more information about me.
"I know," he said, setting his glass down on the coffee table. "I can hear it in your voice." He touched my hair, and then he kissed me. He was older than my father, and I knew it, and his skin was thin and a little wrinkled, but he clearly knew what he was doing. He had experience, and he knew how to be a man. "Are you sure about this?"
More sure than I have ever been in my life up until this moment, I thought and nodded, just before he pulled me into another intoxicating kiss. I slid his suit coat off his shoulders and loosened his tie. Something inside me still wondered why I was doing this, why this man should be so thrilling, but I silenced that last bit of doubt when he knocked the strap of my dress off my shoulder and let his lips drop to there, and below.
Well, you probably wouldn't think he was sexy. He was tall and thin, and at least thirty years my senior. There was no reason, really, for me to think he was sexy at all, but there he was, two spots down from me at the bar, totally turning me on. I took a deep breath and a shot and, with a wink at my friend, went over to talk to him.
"Hey," I said, making this up as I went along. "You here alone?"
He looked at me with one eyebrow cocked, and then leaned away from the bar. He never once took his eyes off me, but I didn't feel like he was checking me out. His hand reached into his jacket and he pulled out a badge.
I should have figured out that the guy next to him, the one who looked like a drug dealer, was his partner. "We're not buying tonight, honey," he said, looking very intimidating.
Damn, did I look that hoochie that night? "I'm, ah, not that kind of girl, officers. Sorry to bother you." I started to walk away, feeling really god- awful, but then I felt a hand on my wrist.
It turned out to belong to the one I had wanted to talk to. "Sorry. Sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean to offend you. Can I buy you a drink?"
I nodded and we went over to a table. Over this one's shoulder I saw his partner roll his eyes at us and it made me smile. The waiter came over. "What can I get for you?"
"What sounds good to you?" I responded quickly. The cop ordered a beer for himself and a scotch on the rocks "for the lady."
"Listen, I didn't mean to imply that you look like a hooker." Tactful guy, this one was.
"No, it's okay. You guys have to be on your guard. You're not . are you working now? On duty?"
"Ah, no. Just got off."
There was a beat while we both thought of what else to say. "You got a name?"
"Munch. John Munch."
"Is that like, Bond, James Bond?" I asked with a laugh. "I'm Cara Jones." We shook hands and he smiled at me. "What unit do you work with?"
"Special victims. Do you know the force?"
"I watch TV, that's about it. Police drama makes good background for painting."
"You . paint?" he asked, in a tone that I now realize was practically drooling.
"Not as well as I'd like, but yeah." I smiled, scooting closer to him as the waiter delivered our drinks. "It's all just minor in comparison to what I've been studying," I said, taking a sip. I kept my eyes on him while I sucked on an ice cube. He didn't touch his beer. "What do you do when you're not . being a cop?"
"I ." He stopped and looked at his partner, who had his back turned to us, clearly not paying any attention. "I've been into the history channel lately."
I laughed out loud. "Are you serious?"
He laughed with me, but said, "Yeah."
I crossed my legs beneath the table, trying to keep my skirt from riding up. It was not easy, and I had to hold it down with one hand. His eyes followed my hand to my thighs. "Is that the only thing that interests you? The history channel?"
"I like existential philosophy," he said. It would have been lame had I not known he was lucky to put together a full sentence. His eyes were still on my thighs. I smiled, took another sip of my scotch, and put my hand on his knee. I leaned in, slowly, wondering why the hell I was doing this, and whispered:
"Take me home and ravish me."
I swear that his eyes got about three times their natural size behind those nerdy glasses of his. "I don't think I can do that."
"Oh," I said, looking at him. I took my hand back.
"No! Not like that! I just don't think that that's appropriate. You're kind of . young for me."
I told him the year I was born and he started to get out of the booth. "John," I called him, putting my hand on his. "Please. I've never done this before. You just kind of called to me."
He met my eyes over the table, leaning over it. It was imposing, intimidating, but something made me stare back. "My place or yours?" he finally said.
We took a taxi since his partner had driven there. The partner, whom John explained to be named Fin, had frowned at us when John had told him what was going on. I half expected him to stop us.
But no: we arrived at John's apartment some twenty minutes later. He led me up the stairs by one hand, and it struck me as a bit odd that we had never so much as kissed and yet here I was, begging to be taken up to his room. I waited patiently while he fumbled with the keys and I wondered vaguely if he were as nervous as I was.
He shot me a smile when one key fit and the door swung open. I looked at him now critically in the light of the hallway: he was tall, as I have said before, his slenderness only accentuated by the plain black suit he was wearing, which was broken by a thin silver tie. His hair was black too, now silvered by time, and even in this evening dark sunglasses obscured his eyes. He let me pass into the room first and he shut the door behind us.
The apartment was simple, elegant, and Spartan. I was impressed immediately by how immaculate everything was. "I thought you'd have a dog," I said. "I had you pegged for a dog person."
"I am," he replied, cocking his eyebrows in slightly drunken jocularity. "But they don't do well fixing their own dinners." He took my coat and hung it in a closet behind the door, and soon his joined it. At last he lost the shades and I could see his eyes: they were brown, dark like coffee with wide black pupils. "Can I get you a drink?"
"We've probably both had enough," I said, turning away from him to let him do what he wanted. I ran my finger along the back of the black leather sofa and down the armrest where it ran into a bookcase. I crouched down to read the spines: indeed, he did seem to like existential philosophy. I had never really read much of it myself, but I could see a guy like him being deeply interested in something so abstract. There was also a section on conspiracy theory, including a few I would have thought belonged over in comedy, and many art anthologies. Dalí seemed to be a favorite.
The room had the distinct look of a man who had lived alone for forty years and had no real need to impress or concede to anyone, reflecting instead his own personal desires and passions. I took it all in while I waited for him to pour his scotch. "And what do you do, Cara?" he asked me.
"I'm in school right now, my first year of grad school. I'm pretty new to New York."
"I'm pretty new to the area myself." He gestured for me to sit and then joined me. "I was born in Connecticut and lived in Baltimore till about five years ago."
"I'm from Detroit," I said, wondering if this were all a ploy for more information about me.
"I know," he said, setting his glass down on the coffee table. "I can hear it in your voice." He touched my hair, and then he kissed me. He was older than my father, and I knew it, and his skin was thin and a little wrinkled, but he clearly knew what he was doing. He had experience, and he knew how to be a man. "Are you sure about this?"
More sure than I have ever been in my life up until this moment, I thought and nodded, just before he pulled me into another intoxicating kiss. I slid his suit coat off his shoulders and loosened his tie. Something inside me still wondered why I was doing this, why this man should be so thrilling, but I silenced that last bit of doubt when he knocked the strap of my dress off my shoulder and let his lips drop to there, and below.