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A Mans Honest Response To A Womans Direct Approach In A Bar A Change Of Mind I was into my third pitcher of some off-brand Irish Red when the "too-tall-brunette" approached my table. She had that tell tale look of too many whiskey sours and not enough self- appreciation. She was well put together, having chosen a sateen dress the sank low enough down her chest to show the malnourishment in the visibility of her sternum and the slight swell of her small breasts as they disappeared behind the material. It was fairly short, stopping high on her thighs at the dangerous line of showing us all if she were wearing panties that night if she had some obstacle to step over. Brief eye contact and a complacent look told her she was welcome to continue her approach. She turned the chair so she'd be facing me directly without having to go through the trouble of turning her head to speak to me. She sat, giving the chair a little scoot forward as her legs crossed exposing more thigh than I deem tasteful. Especially considering her thighs weren't much bigger than my biceps. Her one saving grace came with her opening line. She was brundt, honest, not giving any note of struggle in her intended purpose in the club that night. "Do you wanna fuck me?" She said it with that slight head wobble of confident sarcasm with her final word turning into a sort of open mouth smirk before closing into a seductive smile. Her next move was expected, looking down briefly for aim before taking her straw into her mouth with her lips pursed much more than necessary in an attempt to appeal to my fantasies of fellatio as the cylindrical object slid in and out slowly during her sip. She was fixed on succeeding, and, if I were any other man, I'd have her stumbling behind me in her too high heels as I dragged her out to my vehicle to give her a sure answer to her question. Though, she wasn't prepared for my response. I dropped my head a bit, with a soft smile and a breathless half laugh. I then looked up with the same soft smile and an inquisitive squint as I pondered the best way to decline. "See... …and then things took a turn

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A Mans Honest Response To A Womans Direct Approach In A Bar

A Change Of Mind

I was into my third pitcher of some off-brand Irish Red

when the "too-tall-brunette" approached my table. She had that

tell tale look of too many whiskey sours and not enough self-

appreciation. She was well put together, having chosen a sateen

dress the sank low enough down her chest to show the

malnourishment in the visibility of her sternum and the slight

swell of her small breasts as they disappeared behind the material.

It was fairly short, stopping high on her thighs at the dangerous

line of showing us all if she were wearing panties that night if she

had some obstacle to step over. Brief eye contact and a complacent

look told her she was welcome to continue her approach. She

turned the chair so she'd be facing me directly without having to go

through the trouble of turning her head to speak to me. She sat,

giving the chair a little scoot forward as her legs crossed exposing

more thigh than I deem tasteful. Especially considering her thighs

weren't much bigger than my biceps. Her one saving grace came

with her opening line. She was brundt, honest, not giving any note

of struggle in her intended purpose in the club that night.
"Do you wanna fuck me?" She said it with that slight head wobble

of confident sarcasm with her final word turning into a sort of

open mouth smirk before closing into a seductive smile. Her next

move was expected, looking down briefly for aim before taking her

straw into her mouth with her lips pursed much more than

necessary in an attempt to appeal to my fantasies of fellatio as the

cylindrical object slid in and out slowly during her sip. She was

fixed on succeeding, and, if I were any other man, I'd have her

stumbling behind me in her too high heels as I dragged her out to

my vehicle to give her a sure answer to her question. Though, she

wasn't prepared for my response. I dropped my head a bit, with a

soft smile and a breathless half laugh. I then looked up with the

same soft smile and an inquisitive squint as I pondered the best

way to decline.
"See... The majority of men have these mental responses to the

sight of a female. They see a woman like the brunette by the bar.

Her hips are wide, suggesting the form of child bearing. Her

breasts are ample without being imposing. Her hair naturally

beautiful, lacking the obviously false bright highlights or the

dramatic sheen of way too many hair products. And her face... You

can see she isn't a fan of make-up, and she doesn't need it. The

sight is a natural beauty. In our minds, she's near perfect. All we

need to know is if she's capable of forming words into sentences

properly enough that we don't have to struggle to decipher her

meaning. And while many would say she's overweight, most of us

men, if we were being honest and able to overcome our hard-on for

adjusting to current social standards, would say that she is by far

the most attractive female in the room, and possibly in a ten mile

radius."
I continued looking at the plump brunette as I picked up

my glass for a long drink. It was almost as if I had forgotten too-tall

was even sitting there for a few seconds. Then, looking over, I knew

I'd made my point with her. She had those "are you serious" eyes,

and her previously on-display lips had tightened up like a drum. I

smirked a bit, having a sense of pride in my ability to tear down the

esteem of this girl who most fools would call a goddess. She looked

down and away, ensuring herself that she had not sparked my

interest. She stood, smoothing her dress, picked up her glass with

a jerk and walked away.
"Have a nice night" I offered a parting word that she ignored. My

eyes returned to the better looking brunette. I gave myself about a

half second before deciding I didn't need to talk to her, finished my

last glass and left the club.
The only reason I went to that club was to wind down

with some drinks. And these days, it was so infrequent, the

waitresses didn't even remember my name anymore. I suppose my

lifestyle and age were no longer that of the club hopping type.

Thankfully. Being 39 and a single father didn't leave much time for

a social life. I continued pondering these thoughts and recalling

barely the last time I had taken an offer like too-tall's as I pulled

into my driveway. Looking at my home, it's no mistake that long

hours and no friends can help to build quite the lavish life. My

house was much too large for myself and my daughter, but we

managed to fill the space with enough stuff to make it look like a

comfortable home and less like a warehouse. Since I dedicated

myself to work and raising my daughter, I've done everything in

my power to be sure she had everything she wants and needs.
Alicia, my daughter, was 8 years old when her mother

passed away. It was a car accident of her own fault. I guess it's not

such a great idea to drink a fifth of tequila before heading to pick

your child up from school. I'm thankful everyday that she never

made it to the babysitter's house. We were separated at the time,

though Alicia always spent more time with me, work allowing. She

preferred my company over the lethargic half attentionshe

received from her mother. After the wreck, I devoted every waking

minute to her. I showed her as much love and care as I could to

distract her from the fact that her mother was never coming back.

Surprisingly enough, she never seemed to mourn. Two years later

she actually told me, in her best "I'm-a-big-girl" performance, that

she didn't care that mommy was dead because mommy wasn't a

good person and never took care of herself. I nearly lost it.
I guess I managed to do my fatherly duty. She never

went without anything and knew I loved and cared for her. She

was always in the know about things when her age and bodily

changes cam about. I even went as far as to have the birds and

bees talk when she began having her period. I wasn't shy about it. I

didn't stumble over the words or try to beat around the bush.

Beyond all that, she was well educated, well rounded in morals and

behavior, and just a good girl. I was proud of her. And there we

were. Four years after her mother's death, we had become a well

adjusted family. Just the two of us.
It was actually just a week after her birthday when our

lives began to change. It was a normal day, she had come home

from school, done her homework, and was showering before

dinner. Like any other day. I was bringing a load of laundry to my

bedroom when I heard her yell for me. In her always playful

manner.
"Daaaad!!" Then a moment's pause too short for any response

before repeating. "Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad!"
I laughed and shook my head. "Yes, dear!" I was at my bedroom

door, just five feet away from the bathroom.
"I forgot to get a towel!! Bring me one!!" This wasn't uncommon.

She'd forget, I'd grab a towel from the linen closet at

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THE END