The bar

Charlotte has an orgasm in a bar. And on the street. And a whole lot more on my face.

I visit the bar. It’s not the same.

Sometimes I manage to convince myself I’m being rejected, even when I’m getting what I want.

The woman next to me at the bar.

A haiku about the moment of connection — or disconnection.

A gorgeous, inscrutable server….

Ten seats away, a woman I’d once made out with was surrounded by men — and jealousy surged through me with an intensity wildly disproportionate to reality. Turns out, she wasn’t even the right woman.

What am I writing? Wouldn’t you like to know….

A beautiful stranger and I share a connection at the bar, but she leaves with someone else. I’m envious, sort of, and I’m projecting, and I know it.

A beautiful, open, flirty bartender confesses to me that she’s never tasted her own – or any – pussy. I’m floored.