It's been a while since I've been to this bar. The crowd seems to have gotten younger in my absence but while I have a few moments to myself I still enjoy people watching.
This place has nothing if not interesting people.
Like the gentleman who's been eyeing me for the past 2 or 3 minutes. He looks to be in his 50s and with a black suit, grey shirt, and black tie, he seems a little overdressed for
this crowd. Although the suit is nice enough, the addition of a thick gold chain, WAY too obvious gold pinky ring, and gold stud earrings gives him more of a "pimp" vibe. Or that uncle
who always shows up at the family reunion wearing shorts with his brand-new Stacy Adams. As I order my usual Fuzzy Navel from the bartender, I chuckle to myself thinking of the poor, unfortunate female he may decide to hit on.
It's me. I'm the poor, unfortunate female.
I take a swig of my drink and hope, futilely, that he will walk past me, or at least not take the empty bar stool beside me.
"Hello, young lady," he says while getting uncomfortably close. "Do you come here often?"
Really? I think to myself. That's your opening line?
"Not too often," I reply, hoping that if I keep things short and sweet he'll go away.
"My name is David," he says, as if I asked. "I was admiring your necklace, Is it an heirloom?"
Sure. I say to myself. I always wear family heirlooms to a local bar.
But before I can get my thoughts to my lips he reaches his hand and gently lifts my necklace as if to get a closer look. It's a sliver necklace with two hoops on the end that I got for $8
at Walmart 30 minutes before coming to the bar. There's not much to look at.
I'm taken aback by his boldness and reach out my hand to return my necklace to its rightful place on my chest.
"I'm new in town and I love to come to places like this to people watch. I'm pretty good at figuring people out after only a few minutes," he says confidently.
“OK,” I reply, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
See that lady over there,” he says while pointing to a gorgeous, buxom blonde across the bar from us.
“She never goes anywhere without her girlfriends. She wants to be the prettiest girl in the group and she doesn’t really know how to hold her liquor.”
I laugh slightly as I look her over. I’m familiar with the type. It wouldn’t take any special people skills to figure her out.
“And that guy over there,” he says, pointing to a young black guy with dreds who looks like he’s been nursing the same beer for about an hour. “He lives in the suburbs, probably plays lacrosse, but wants to hang out with his friends and get some street cred amongst his white peers.”
I laugh in spite of myself, which, unfortunately, makes him turn his attention back to me.
“And YOU,” he continues, as he looks me up and down like I’m a juicy steak, licking his lips. I’m pretty sure he’s going to tell me I look like a woman just waiting for a guy like him to buy her a drink. “You are a quiet, obedient Sub.”
I put my hand to my mouth to keep from spitting out my drink. I stare wildly at him trying to determine if he really said what I thought he said.
“Oh yeah,” he continues, still looking me up and down. “I had you pegged as soon as I saw you. I’ve been in the lifestyle for over 10 years now. I take care of my Subs. And I intend to add you to my collection.”
I am both incredulous and tickled that this Discount Dom is making a play at me with such a weak approach. He’s certainly no Dom, and definitely does not have a collection of Subs anywhere, unless they are on the Internet. This creep needs to be taught a lesson. He needs to be around a real Dominant.
And, as if on cue, Sir appears. LITERALLY appears out of nowhere. He takes his seat on the empty bar stool next to me, drink in hand, and gives the baby Dom a serious look.
“Baby,” I say sweetly. “This is David. David, this is Sir.” I slide my hand up Sir’s thigh and gently caress his crotch, then lean over for a long, wet kiss. When I pull away he gives me a subtle nod, permission to continue.
“You’re right, David. I AM a sub. But I am HIS sub,” I said nodding to Sir. After a slight pause I ask, “Got it?”
All of the baby Dom’s confidence was erased from his face as he stammered out what sounded like an apology. For a very brief moment it looked like he would try to mount some sort of challenge, but Sir’s steady glare made him think better of it.
Breaking the long, awkward silence, Sir finally says, menacingly, “You should leave now.”
David seemed almost relieved to have a reason to leave, and he stumbled out the door and down the sidewalk.
“What the fuck was that,” Sir asks after a moment.
“That was a predator,” I say. “And not a very good one.”
Sir gave a slight smile and ordered another drink. Then he turns to me and says, “It doesn’t matter. You know who you belong to.”
Absolutely, Sir, I think to myself. Absolutely.