Flasher Story

November 22, 1940

Green Mills Jazz Lounge, New Orleans

The drinks I had tonight were a potent mix of the finest of spirits. The ice cubes in my glass, sparkled like diamonds and clinked together as I made a solitary toast, time after time, to me. You hadn't noticed my hand lingering around under the linen table cloth pleasuring myself, lost in the boredom of your lengthy monotoned prose. With each laugh shared in the company of your law firm partners and their cloned lady friends, I glared deep into your eyes knowing, you wouldn't have me for me, you wanted someone else. I would have to change this hunger, curb this passion, to fit into your regimented existence. Maybe as a bottled blonde with pin curled hair and ruby red lips uttering your praises, maybe then you could accept me. Truth is, every time I stepped into my custom 1940 Thunderbird and ran my fingers down the black paint and chromed lines, I knew why I stayed. I was a kept woman, crying out for passion, fulfilling your every sexual whim so that I could wear these gems and buy the things most only dreamt of. A quick blow job in the coat room assured me your benevolence for the night. Your penetrating stare as I shared a story not previously approved by you, cuts me right back down to size again.

I leave the table, feeling lost, but finding him to compensate your lack of care for my satisfaction. A brick alley wall scratches my skin as he dives himself deeper into me and caresses my breasts adoringly. He has no name, only a purpose, keeping me sane through another night that you thought you owned.

A sultry jazz plays in the background as I lick his lips and taste my own sweetness. The combination of his dance like movements and forceful delivery drives me over the edge. Blood runs down my back and stains the fine silk dress you bought for me, but the fur you gave me will hide that from your view. Afterwards, I lay in the ladies lounge, catching my breath, watching the smoke rings caress the ceiling, preparing to walk back to a table of transparent fools.

"Were you cold dear, why do you have your coat?" you questioned, when I returned to your side for the evening.

"Seems I'm always cold these days, love" I say, smiling at the irony.

His guests did not smell the undeniable sweetness of sex that lingered around me, and he thought it was his, just as he thinks I am.

Maybe he's the one who is being kept.

I am a FLASHER!!!

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