Feminine Wiles

Pink tongue licking burgandy lips
the hard beat of music and voices
cigarette smoke, perfume, beer
a pale cleavage framed in black
long legs slick in nylon
snug in a short skirt
penciled eyebrows arch invitingly

My hand on his jeaned thigh
nails tracing the inside seams
my stool is tight against his
I lean into him
arm around his neck
fingers playing with his hair
breasts teasing his arm

My lips close to his ear
breath on his cheek
as I whisper a dirty little fantasy
into his ear
it started as flirting
now it is a game
of tolerance

There is a power in this ability
to make a man
sweat, shift, clench his hands
and groan in frustration
heavy with uninhibited blood
he takes my hand "Can we go now?"
lips curve "Yes."
I win again.