Waving down the barkeep for a refill on my appletini, I felt a package, a stranger's package press against my backside.
“Don’t turn around,” the deep voice commanded. I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. I took a sip of my appletini and rocked along with him as he ground up against me, swaying my hips to the music.
“You dance with strangers so freely?” he said as he wrapped his arms around my waist, still pulling me into him. My back arched so that my ass met his center.
“Only for you Jason,” I said, turning around and meeting the faux stranger’s eyes. “Long time no see.”
“Yes, It has been a long time,” he said as he placed his lips against my forehead.
"Well just a few weeks," I replied, looking into his deep almond bedroom-eyes. I turned to order another round of drinks.
“I’m buying,” Jason said as he passed the bartender his credit card to open a tab. Jason and I met about two years ago when he first moved to Las Vegas.
Six months ago he broke up with his longtime girlfriend of four years. Their relationship was pretty open. He fucked guys and she fucked girls. It was a relationship of convenience to keep up appearances. Both were lawyers for high powered firms and didn't want anyone finding out about their ultra-private lives. She basically dumped him for a younger, more successful ‘female’ lawyer.
“I saw you come in with that guy over there,” Jason said with an edge.
“Yeah, he begged me to come in with him. I think he just wanted to get in. Isn’t he cute in a newbie kind of way?”
Jason was the jealous type. We hooked pretty regularly, so regularly I stopped returning his calls. It started to get too relationship focused for me. I wasn’t ready for one, and Jason was still on the rebound. One thing he didn't like was me having sex with other guys. He thought I was his and only his. No matter how many times I tried to explain it, he couldn't understand where I was coming from. That, I didn't understand. Maybe he didn't want to understand. So I just stopped returning his calls, thinking he'd get the idea.
Jason grabbed his drink, downing it in one shot, slamming it on the counter and signaled for another. He was a man’s man. He didn’t play games and he played hard. You’d never know it by looking at him, but he’s 42 and built like a linebacker. I affectionately call him Daddy. He likes that, says it turns him on.
“Seems kind of young for your taste," he said, scowling.
“Yeah, but it’s good to try different parts of the chicken," I said, trying to turn his frown into a smile with my fingers. I was a little tipsy. Jason tried to keep a straight face but failed miserably.
“And what part of the chicken am I?” he asked as he downed his second drink.
“You’re the best part, the dark meat,”
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