Mystery Woman

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A one-shot rated teen for swearing and implied sexual activity. Not enough for a mature rating, in my opinion.
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"But you left me, left me there alone."

He's really not the kind of guy to have a one night stand when he's drunk. If he's entirely honest with himself he barely pays attention to the opposite sex. He's too busy drinking. He doesn't drink many spirits, his tipple of choice had always been whiskey for as long as he could remember. Not cheap whiskey either. The same brand too.

He doesn't know what draws his attention to the woman beside him at the bar. She's younger than him, about ten years, fifteen at a push. Curves in all the right places, breasts enhanced by the red dress she's wearing. Long brown hair, the distinctive smell of Chanel and a small rose tattoo on her shoulder. He's never one to approach the opposite sex but theres just something attractive about the stranger at the bar and he finds himself wanting to know more.

"Can I buy you a drink?" He asks. She turns round to meet the strangers eye. She has large brown eyes that he can't help but lose himself in. Her red lipstick colour coordinates her dress. She smiles warmly and nods, "a glass of rosè would be appreciated, thanks."

So that's what he orders. A glass of rose and another whiskey for himself. He slides the glass along the bar in her direction and she accepts it with a smile. "Thanks."

There's a pause. Dylan doesn't do small talk even when pissed.

"What's your name?"

She smiles, her brown eyes shining in the light of the bar. She shakes her head, "names aren't important darling."

It makes him more attracted to the female. They don't talk much over their glasses of alcohol but they do share another drink together before the female whispers in his ear, "shall we go somewhere a little more quiet?"

He nods and unsteadily stands from the bar stool. The female follows him as they both leave the club and stagger outside. The amount of alcohol they'd consumed now becoming apparent in the obvious in the crisp night sky.

"Do I not get to know your name?"

The female laughs. She'd give him ten out of ten for perseverance. Once again she shakes her head and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Darling like I said earlier, names aren't important."

He's aware she's got a slight southern accent. He takes her back to his. Something which he's never done in the whole time he's been an alcoholic.

"I'm sure I've got a bottle of whiskey somewhere."

She wonders what possesses a man of his age to live on a houseboat. She watches him stumble around the kitchen before he pulls out a bottle of whiskey. She unzips her dress and allows it to fall to the floor, standing in his lounge in just her underwear.

Dylan turns around and almost drops the bottle of whiskey in surprise at the females forward actions. He runs his eyes down her body. She's wearing black lace. He swallows hard as she steps towards him.

"You didn't bring me here for a drink," she whispers in his ear as her hands begin to undo the buttons on his shirt. He's frozen on the spot mainly because the last woman he was intimate with was his ex-wife.

She bites her lower lip in arousal as she pushes the shirt from Dylan's shoulders. He meets her lips with his own before grabbing her breasts hard over her bra. She moans and he reaches round to unclip the bra. She continues to moan as he pays attention to her breasts before she moves her hands down his chest towards his belt.

She wastes no time in undoing his belt before backing herself into the kitchen table. As their eyes meet again she whispers, "fuck me."

He doesn't need telling again. It's rough, passionate and desperate. Both of them wanting the other. They leave each other covered in scratches and bruises in their passion and desire for one another. They fall asleep in a tangle of the bedsheets, their bodies together, happily content to have had a distraction.

When Dylan awakes the next morning, the space that was occupied last night is empty. For a split second he believes he's dreamt the whole thing before he looks down and spots the lipstick marks on his torso. He smiles slightly to himself wondering if he'd ever meet her again.

Unfortunately for Dylan, he never did see her again.

Nor did he ever find out her name.