Flash Fiction: The Fourth Glass

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

It began with a glass of white wine, followed by two more. The bar had been her refuge for most of the party, and she had chosen one tucked into a corner, far from the path of her relatives. Partially obscured by a tall potted palm, she perched on a barstool, clutching the stem of the wineglass for support. The silk of her Halston dress had begun to itch, making the gold bangles at her wrist click together with an irritating sound.

After the third glass, there was a man to buy her a fourth. She didn’t recognize his sandy blond hair or the gray-blue eyes that crinkled at the corners, but she instinctively understood the expression on his face. He wore a nice suit but fidgeted with the collar, and after paying for their drinks, he held out his hand.

“Let’s take a walk.”

They didn’t go far. They found a ladies’ retiring room and lurched through the door in a tangle of hurried caresses and searching lips. One of his large hands cupped the back of her neck, nudging her chignon into disarray, as his other hand found its way underneath her skirt. She eagerly spread her legs and opened her mouth to his searching tongue.

With a quick shift he had turned her around to face the large mirror hanging above the vanity. She heard the sound of a belt being loosened and a zipper, and then he was inside her. A moan escaped, and she braced both hands against the glass as his body rocked against her ass. The glass fogged with her breath, fingerprints streaking the surface. As her orgasm edged closer, she rested her head on her arms and savored every brush of his hands against her skin, desperate to remember everything.

2 responses to “Flash Fiction: The Fourth Glass”

  1. Heather Cole says:

    Thank you, Ben! xoxo

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