In the Key of Pink

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Black Boots 61 by Ayanami No03Catching the signal from one of her friends, Angela brushed her skirt, took a deep breath and walked towards where he was sitting. Her heart thumped hard as the heels of her black thigh boots clicked across the wooden floor.

Why did the music have to go quiet now?

Her eyes travelled over him…his short brown hair, white shirt and black tie…and she wondered what he hid beneath the table. With the broadness of his shoulders, she imagined it to be big.

The longneck bottle on the table lifted to his lips as his eyes still had not found her.

Or was he pretending not to notice?

Watching him suck on that tip made her shiver. She already wanted to suck on his tip and ride him. The opening chords of Pink Floyd’s One Slip now drowned out her heels. Angela stopped, this was an unusual tune here at mid-afternoon. Expectations of the new Katy Perry, Lady Gaga or an R&B diva…not David Gilmour and the boys doing retro tunes from 1987. Angela had lost her virginity to Clive Dawkins in the back of his puke-green pickup truck with this tune playing. It had been during the first snow storm of 1987, making it easy to remember when Pink Floyd had released it. A giggle slipped from her lips. Her journey continued anew as she picked her path through the maze of tables. Her eyes turned back to the bar where her friend, red-haired Alice, still sat.

Alice nodded her encouragement. Go get him.

His eyes, big and blue, noticed her. Straightening his posture, he looked away pretending not to see.

“Hi, how are you today?” Angela asked and offered a hand to shake.

He accepted. “I’m good, thanks, you?”

“Great, I’m Angela.”

“Charlie,” he offered.

“Can I sit?”

“Please.” He sipped his beer again.

“Gentlemen!” A booming voice came over the speakers. “Please welcome to the Grey-Bruce Main Stage, the lovely Cassandra!”

A blonde stepped out onto the stage.

“You come here often?” she asked while settling into the chair beside him. At least during the day-shift the music volume kept at such a level she did not have to scream over it to talk.

“No, just here for a few days of work.

“Not from here?”

“Nope. Will be heading home tomorrow.” The thumb on his left hand played with the wedding band around his ring finger.

“Where’s home?”

He offered a polite smile which, according to Alice, meant he did not want to talk. “San Antonio.”

“All the way from Texas, wow. Then maybe we should have some fun?”

His eyes widened as he slipped them over her.

Her brunette curls fell past her bare shoulders and black PVC bra held her breasts in check. Below the waist, she only wore a denim mini-skirt with no panties and the black boots.

“I’d like that.”

She smiled. “Come with me, then.” They stood and she led him from the table towards the opening to the VIP lounge beside the bar. Her left hand stayed along the wall to keep her nerves from throwing off balance.

Angela winked at Alice as she walked past…Alice had told her not to expect success on the first few attempts to bring a guy to the back.

Alice’s freckled face showed happy shock watching her go by. “Have fun,” she whispered.

The furthest plush booth was empty. “Have a seat.”

He did.

Pulling the curtain across the opening, she knelt in front of him. “It is twenty dollars a song…”

“We should wait until the next song,” he said.

“No worries,” Angela said grinning. Her hands drifted up the thighs of his black slacks and found his bulge growing. “We won’t count this bit.” Fingers found his zipper and tugged.

Blue eyes widened again, but he did not resist.

Just as the song ended, Angela slipped the rock-hard cock out of his pants and kissed the tip. The new song, another composition of Pink Floyd called Learning to Fly, was greeted by her wrapping lips around that cock.

“Private dance, my ass,” he whispered.

With a smile, her teeth gripped the tip between them.

“Fuck, yes.”

Releasing his cock, she said, “We’ll be fucking soon enough…”

Seven hours later…

Angela put the last plate into the dishwasher.

The twin boys snored upstairs after she had read them a bedtime story. They loved Wolves in the Walls by Neil Gaiman so much that she had now read it to them weekly for almost a year now.

A click caught her attention from the front hall. Rustling sounds and the creak of approaching footsteps followed.

Angela grinned. She went to the sink and rinsed out the cloth she used to clean the counter.

His arms wrapped around her. “Sorry I missed dinner.”

Turning, she looked up into his big blue eyes. “Hi, Charlie. How was San Antonio?

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