Raven and Steel

By Amy Goodson

(This story contains mature content)

A raven-haired woman with burgundy lips sits at a bar, alone. Her irises are like glass, and her eyelids are lined with “midnight” liquid latex. She makes eye contact with the bartender, “Amaretto sour, please.” She waits patiently while her drink is made, stretching and taking slow mindful breaths, in attempt to begin the decompression which the drink, and this bar, are meant to assist with. The bartender sets the drink down in front of her; they both smile. “Thanks.” “My pleasure.” That’s what the best bartenders say. She plucks the cherry enthusiastically from the top of the glass with her matte black stiletto manicure, using a bit of suction to pop it into her mouth, and proceeds to play with the stem, chewing on it slightly at first, and then stirring her drink with it, casually.

“Mind if I sit here?” She looks up to see a steel-haired man, openly carrying a pistol on his hip. His jeans are worn, but clean; she can tell he went home (or wherever) to clean himself up after a long hard day’s work, before making an appearance here. He has that weathered look of a man, from a lifetime of hard-work, likely outside from the leathery redness of his neck and with his hands, she assumes, given their cracked skin and stained fingernails.

“Not at all.” He sidles up to the stool beside her. There is something dangerous, yet sexy, about this man; she can’t quite put her finger on it.

The steel-haired man sighs, and waves at the bartender, politely. “Whiskey and coke, please.” His smile is kind – he raises his glass, giving the bartender a grateful nod. He takes a great big gulp, and lets out a satisfied “Ahhh...” As he places his drink down in front of him, he turns toward the raven-haired woman, openly.

“Tough day?” She looks genuinely concerned.

“Meh...” He shrugs.

“You drink like you just crawled out of a desert...”

“What can I say?” He takes another gulp. “Ahhhh...I’m a thirsty guy.”

She’s amused. “Hmm...shots?”

“Lady’s choice?”

“Dan.” The bartender looks over at her. “Two red-headed sluts for me and my friend here, when you get a chance?” Dan nods, hopping to. “Thanks man, no rush.”

“Ooo...things are getting interesting.”

“Oh, you think so, huh? Hah.”

They clink glasses, tap them on the bar, and down their shots, observing each other for a moment. He speaks first.

“Do you live around here?”

“Rather presumptuous.”

He’s amused. “Hmm...let’s see...you are sort of from here, but not...?”

She’s intrigued. “Fair enough...take one to know one?”

“Maybe...you’ll see.”

“Oh, will I?”

“Well, that depends...can I take you somewhere? There’s something I want to show you; if you’ll let me.”

She looks at the gun, and then at him...cautiously.

“Well...I wouldn’t normally think that sounded like a good idea, but... alright.”

He takes her back to his dank motel room. Everything is dark and dingy.

If the lightbulbs are working at all, they are flickering, and half the lamps have no shades on them.

“Nice place ya got here,” she says irreverently, plopping herself onto the dusty outdated sofa. He smirks, “Amaretto, right?” He hands her a drink. “Mmmmm!” She takes a long slow sip. He glides up next to her on the sofa. Even if there is something disturbing hanging in the atmosphere, she seems oddly at home with it. She starts to say something, and he puts his lips directly on hers, with gentle assertion, wraps his hand around her drink and guides it to the coffee table. As she melts back into the sofa, he slides his fingers between hers, stretching both her arms over her head, and holds them there. He presses his body into hers. She moans for more. He reaches under her skirt. She grabs the gun.

“Ah-ah-aah...do you even know how to handle one of these?” he teases playfully, laying his hand over hers with that same gentle assertion as before, stopping her from pulling it out of the holster. She smiles, letting out a slight giggle. “Well...no, actually...” She starts to sit up and he begins to lean back as they toggle from one end of the couch to the other, ending with the raven-haired woman on top. “...maybe you could show me sometime.”

“My pleasure.” He kisses her again, and draws her body close to his with a thrust of his arms. He explores the skin of her neck with his lips and tongue, breathing in her scent. Her hair is wild and intoxicating. He stands, hoisting her up to his waist with her legs wrapped around him, and makes his way over to the bed, tossing her slightly onto it. She opens herself to him; slowly, he rolls down her stockings one leg at a time and slips off her black lace panties. He flips her around and unzips her black leather mini skirt, shimmying it down her legs, and giving her plump round ass a proper slap.

“Ooo!” She giggles, gets up on her knees, and removes her blouse and the black lace bra that matches her panties, before dropping to all fours. “Do that again.”

The steel-haired man and the raven-haired woman are lying in bed, smoking; one of them is holding a joint and one a cigarette; they trade back and forth. She smiles at him. “Thanks for the lesson.” He gives her a smooch on the forehead. “Anytime.”