My Night With Just That Girl

Ally was a pretty girl with a sexy body. It was her legs and butt that really did it for me and for most other men. Her face was soft and her cheekbones were nicely sculpted its true but there was a rural look to her, something just off the farm riding in the back of a pick-up truck to the river to dig for worms. Her pouted, welcoming lips parted when she smiled to reveal large, bucked teeth parted down the middle by a considerable gap.

She didn’t have a sultry voice either. She came from a small town, not caring much for proper diction and probably was never forced to care much for it. She used interjections such as “like” and “eh” and “whatever” incessantly, cursed like a trucker, and laughed at the simplest and most obvious jokes. When she laughed her nose scrunched up into her forehead and her eyes squinted and her mouth opened obscenely wide as she brayed and squeaked. Even the dullest of dullards boasting more horsepower than brainpower could win her over with some inane quip, making her fodder for probably many a jock and gear-head in the hallways of high school.

It didn’t matter that her teeth were a bit off or that her manner was a touch ungainly. Her body was what made you stop and forget what you were doing. She would often joke about her breasts, or lack thereof. It was true she was quite small-chested, but one did not dwell on that for too long. She ate healthy and hit the gym regularly and her waist slid inward to a trim, flat stomach before sloping gently outward again to wide supple hips and an ass so round you could use it to calibrate scientific instruments. She knew what she had been blessed with as well, which made her even more dangerous. She wore skin-tight jeans, daisy dukes, stretch pants and skirts, all drawing excessive attention to the fine pair of Stair Master-crafted barge-poles keeping her shapely form vertical and swivelling enticingly this way and that. She was crude and not incredibly bright, but she was fun, care-free, and a natural flirt.

I met her for the first time through friends, years ago. She was always just that girl with the nice ass who’s dating that loser, or that girl with the nice legs who’s taking so and so out for a girl’s night to celebrate her birthday, or that girl in the tight pants who came to the party last Friday at Scott’s place – you know, the girl who knows Angela who works at the pizza place? Yeah, just “that girl” for most of the time. It wasn’t until later that I learned her name. Ally, as in Ally Cat.

Ally Cat moved to the big city some years after I did, and she looked me up. Got my number from mutual friends, and called me up one night. She said how she’d made the move and got herself an apartment and a job but that she doesn’t really know anybody here and do I want to get together and catch up. I remembered how her ass had looked back in the day and said yes. I invited her out to a comedy show on Thursday night with my room mate Kate and Kate’s new boyfriend.

Kate asked me what she’s like and I told her she’s cool, you’ll like her.

Thursday night came and I dressed up a little bit, not too much. We met Kate at the comedy club, grabbed a table by the stage and got some drinks. I ordered a beer, so did Kate’s boyfriend (think his name was Rudy or something like that), while Kate ordered an Old Fashioned and Ally ordered a Caesar with a celery salt rim. We did a bit of catching up before the first comedian came on. I talked about bar tending and managing a restaurant in the city and how I got the job in the first place. She talked about her new waitressing job and how it’s going to be weird adjusting to so many people and such a big place. I told her how hard it was to meet women in the city who are worth a damn and how tricky and disappointing the dating scene here can be. She told me about her last boyfriend and why they broke up, something about him being jealous all the time. As we talked she occasionally jutted her thick tongue out to lick the celery salt rim from her Collins glass before puckering her straw to sip her Clamato cocktail. I caught sight of Kate watching her do this and rolling her eyes in mild disgust.

We ordered chicken wings.

The first comedian came on. Two more followed, then the main guy closed. Throughout the show Ally made a spectacle of us a few times by laughing at premises instead of punch-lines. Once or twice she made a noise of exaggerated reaction like an ooooooh or an oh my god when all else was silent, causing heads to turn in our direction. She ate her chicken wings noisily, sucking meat from bone and then slurping sauce from each manicured finger before dipping them in the finger-bowl. As she carried through this action again and again the sound of her dozen or so metal bracelets clanged like scrap iron wind-chimes. I saw Kate’s patience wearing onion skin thin as the evening continued.

The show ended around ten o’clock and Kate said her and Rudy (or whatever) had to be getting along but that she’d see me later at the apartment. She pulled me in for a good-bye hug and said in my ear that she really hoped I would come home tonight and alone if I knew what was good for me. I told her not to worry and disengaged amiably. I shook hands with Rudy or whatever while Kate and Ally shared mock kisses and we parted ways.

Now what? Ally asked me as she checked her cell phone.

There’s this little place down here, really cool, I said and we headed down and knocked a few back. The whole while I tried to concentrate on her body and how good she smelled instead of looking at her horrible teeth or listening to the inane words that escaped through them. Every time she got up and walked away to use the little girl’s room to pee – as she put it every time – I watched her ass wiggle across the room and then caught about a half dozen other sets of eyes watching the exact same thing. A couple of times some guy standing nearby leaned in and said to me, Are you with her? and I said, Tonight I am, and he just breathed, She-yoot, and went about his business.

At one point she looked up from her phone and asked me if I wanted to go to a work party for the restaurant where she waitressed.They have one every few months, they’re supposed to be pretty fun, she said.

I thought for a second about going home alone like Kate said but I thought if I can just stick it out for a little while longer with Ally I could be going home with that fine ass. I said, Why not, and we headed down town.

The club was loud, the décor hurt my sense of taste and everyone at the party was someone I immediately decided I would rather not engage in conversation. Fortunately for me, the club’s décor included faux antique picture frames along the walls whereupon a stream of Elizabeth Berkley’s classic film Showgirls was being projected in its entirety. I stood at the bar ordering and drinking down watery vodka sodas for two bucks a glass and watched the film, sometimes scanning the open floor to peep Ally’s sexy form slink and slither as she danced, laughed and mingled with co-workers.

My eyes scanned the rest of the bar and spotted what must be the manager.  Ally’s new employer, I guess. The man was a human pig with a thick face and a neck that looked accustomed to leering up at strippers from exotic lounge seamy first rows.  “Sniffer’s Row” we used to call it. His suit hid his puffy frame and all around him clung younger, fitter men looking up to him and listening to his every wheeze and snort. They were no doubt his piggies in training, his senior team, assistant managers. These beta males of his being groomed for eventual advancement. I watched the pig man as Ally and another young, attractive lady came over and exchanged pleasantries with him. The girls lifted her glasses and he clinked his with theirs and they all laughed and smiled and the girls turned and re-joined the dance floor. I watched his eyes devour their small, fit bodies with hungry, loathsome lust. I pictured the poor girl, like many others before her, performing discreet sexual acts behind locked office doors in the hours after closing. I saw Ally feeling obliged to likewise perform fellatio on the pig man in order to fit in, to keep her job, to move up in the company and gain favour and please the piggish restaurant Hitler. Swine Fuhr. The longer I watched him the more I hated him, and was relieved when Ally eventually came over with a couple of newly-formed work friends and told me that the party was winding down and we should go somewhere else.

Out on the streets of down town on a Thursday night I was dismayed to discover that the girls did not have a plan. Not fully, at least. They knew that they could probably after party at Melanie’s place on the east side, but they would need to find drugs first and nobody knew where to score. As the girls all whipped out their cell phones to search for connections for E, K, coke, something, anything (all except Ally, who didn’t know anyone in the city but me, so she simply started asking random people on the street if they knew where to score some party favours), the reality of the situation finally broke through to me and I wondered for the first but not the last time if this was actually happening. I snapped back to reality as I saw Ally walking back to the group of us from up the street with a guy who looked two steps beyond rough, saying this guy had a connection and he wanted to know how much we wanted. The girls started discussing quantities and prices with the rough guy, who nodded and started texting on a phone. Then the girls announced they had to use the bathroom to pee and convinced the bouncers to let them back in to use the bathroom. The girls left in a chittering flurry and I was out on the street alone with the rough guy.

The guy offered me a smoke. I took it. He tried to make conversation. The whole time I had my eyes on the ground, slightly glazed over, lost in my own thoughts and trying to ignore his friendly attempts at bonding.

So the skinny one in the skirt, that’s your girl? he asked.

I guess so, I said.

She’s fine.

I know.

The ladies came back from inside the club with some dudes in tow. These guys are gonna party with us, Ally said and the bunch of us piled into cabs.

Hours later and I was gacked on speed and trying to even things out with shots of vodka. I was sitting on a couch in somebody’s (didn’t know whose) apartment on the east side of down town (probably) listening to awful dub step music and trying to tune out four annoying conversations at once. The words didn’t matter, it all just sounded like woodpeckers and record scratches after a while, white noise for the modern late-night survivor. I was just trying not to lose sight of Ally. She sat beside me most of the time, every now and then getting an offer to join this dude or that dude out on the terrace to look at the view or into the kitchen to get another drink or to help him find something in the bedroom. She went off with this dude or that dude for a short bit but I always found an excuse to interrupt whatever this or that dude had planned to do with her.

I know I’m an ass-hole, but only to other dudes. To me, I was looking after a friend’s safety.

But my patience was wearing thin. I was on the verge of getting tired even before climbing into the cab outside the club. Now with the music and the boring company and the strange drugs floating in my system I was getting strung out and felt like jacking it all in. The possibility of getting laid tonight was not worth all this stress and exhaustion.

What would that mean for Ally, though? To what cruel fate would I be abandoning her? True, these gents might have had nothing but the most honourable intentions for her and her equally drugged-up friends from the staff party, and they’d all have a nice time for a while until somebody sobered up enough to suggest that they call it a night. But the abundance of Smirnoff Ice coolers and Ed Hardy sparkle gear led me to doubt this. More likely, somebody there had a video camera on their phone and intended to use it to capture compromising images of lurid acts involving multiple positions and partners. Sweat-sticky flesh strewn across the apartment’s living area, bodies bent submissively over couches or kneeling penitent on the glass coffee table, or maybe nailed up sprawling against the door to the terrace with a cityscape back-drop. I could already see things taking shape inside my imagination. Horrible and pornographically grotesque things.

All of a sudden Ally was in my ear saying, This party’s boring, let’s take a bottle of wine and go to the beach.

I barely remembered leaving the apartment, whoever lived there, and the walk to the beach. I’ll admit by this point the hours of drinking and the drugs were punching large black gaps in my consciousness. I remembered clearly standing on the beach in the moonlight holding a bottle of pink wine we apparently stole. I remembered that on the beach with the breeze and the salt and the sand amid the laughing and talking and running around like children at recess it was then I finally got to kiss Ally. Her lips were soft, her mouth well-muscled. Her tongue was not timid and it speared me as if seeking the back of my skull. She moaned softly as I slid the hand not holding the wine bottle down her back and grabbed hold of her round ass. God, what a glorious ass I thought, it feels as good as I imagined, as good as it looks. We pulled our bodies close together as much for balance as from desire, and kissed under the moon on the beach.

She disengaged and her eyes met mine. She had a dreamy look, like she’d just gotten a shot of some dentist drug. Then her eyes looked back over my shoulder and went wide with fascinated excitement. Look she said. I turned and looked behind me. Down the beach a spell there were a series of huge driftwood logs lined up along the sand like rows of theatre seats. Behind one of these logs we could just see the rounded back of a female body bucking up and down, the occasional toss of long blonde hair, the odd appearance of a male arm. Oh my god Ally said, they’re doing it right on the beach!

Not exactly the most grown up way to word it but that was exactly what they were doing. It. Just what I was hoping to be doing by that point.  Long before that point actually. Ally and I watched the young, vital pair engrossed in their wild act of public carnality, she with a hand covering her mouth to stifle laughter, me with a hand still glued to her ass cheek. I was so close, I could almost taste it. I hoped the addition of this live sex act would only intensify her amorous mood.

Then the man came.

I didn’t see where he came from. Perhaps like us he had been watching the goings on for a while from some concealed place at the beach’s edge. I only became aware of his presence as he walked along the sand with a purposeful stride right up to the young couple, still oblivious to anything outside of each other. He was dressed in a black hooded jacket and the knife in his hand was serious. In one fluid motion he pushed the girl off of her partner, hidden from our sight behind the driftwood log, and stabbed down at him. Wasting not a moment, he turned his attention to the girl who had no time at all to scream before his knife found the side of her throat. The man in the black hood looked back down at the male partner, bent and stabbed three more times, then turned and did the same to the girl. Then he stood up and looked back and forth between both members of the until recently fornicating youths and seemingly satisfied walked back the way he had come to the beach’s edge.

Ally and I stood still as statues, silent for what seemed ages.  Then Ally’s head turned towards me. I looked over and my dumb-founded gaze met her face, which seemed alight with girlish excitement.

Let’s go and look at the bodies she said, and began running away from me across the sand to the rows of driftwood logs.

I stood holding the bottle of pink wine unable to move. I began thinking that maybe I should have listened to Katie’s advice.

Published by bernardsbarnes

Writer. Artist. Performer. A little boy dreaming of the stars.

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