Conversations at the Munch

He frowned and watched her walk away. He checked his watch, three women in five minutes, probably a record. He thought about going home, looked at the heavy rain still falling outside, and walked over to a group of people talking instead. He stood there for another five minutes, laughing at jokes he didn’t understand, opening his mouth then closing it, then stomped towards the door.

He was sitting his half-full glass down on an empty table near the door when it burst open and she ran in, holding her purse over her head and skidding to a blind halt in front of him. “Ack,” she ran a hand through her hair, and her wet purse thumped into his chest. “Hold this for a second.” He reflexively let go of his glass and clutched the purse while she dug tissues out of it and dried her glasses. “Fucking bullshit rain weather, parking here always sucks.” She put them back on, and blinked at him then grinned. “Sorry, thought you were someone else.”

She gently lifted the purse out of his hands, and slung it back over her shoulder. “First time here?”

He looked from the door back to her, and shrugged. “Not really, I’ve been here a few times. Was just on my way out…” He stopped and swallowed hard. “Unless you’d like to sit down?”

She flicked water off her fingertips, and nodded. “Sounds good, I owe you something for assaulting you with a soggy purse.” She pulled out a chair and flopped down, then looked at him again as he stiffly sat down by his glass. “Yeah, I’ve seen you here a few times, now that I think about it. You usually leave early, I think.”

He grimaced and nodded. “Yeah. Women don’t seem interested in meeting new submissives at these things very much.”

“Oh.” She nodded and pursed her lips as she signaled to a waitress. “You’re one of those guys.”

“One of those guys? What the hell does that mean?”

She ordered a cocktail and nodded again. “Definitely. You’re one of those guys who think this is a singles bar, and if you just stay around long enough you can leave with a drunk woman for a one night stand, and she’ll tie you up and suck your dick and call you a bitch and wear a lot of latex while she commands you to eat her cunt.” She looked at him through her glasses. “Am I right?”

He took a drink to avoid answering, then held his hands up. “Well, that’s what I want out of a relationship, I’m sorry if I haven’t met the right person yet, but I’m not going to give up and settle.”

She shrugged, and looked over to the bar where the waitress was waiting for her drink. “It’s no skin off my ass, but you’re probably not going to find that here. You should go to a pro-domme, or find a vanilla woman willing to do that for you every once in awhile.”

He took another drink, setting his glass down with a harsh clunk. “I don’t believe that, everyone says if I just be myself and wait–”

“Terrible advice.” She cut him off with a wave of her hand and shook her head, then fished a credit card out of her purse. “Start a tab?” She swapped the waitress the card for her drink, and took a careful sip. “People who want to know how to meet people go to people who have success meeting people. Those people, who are successful, tell the unsuccessful people to be themselves, because those people are neck deep in pussy or cock, sometimes both, just by being themselves.” She took another sip, and raised an eyebrow at his frown. “The problem is, no one adds the all important caveat that being yourself only works if you’re the sort of person that people want to meet anyway.” She sighed, sat down her drink, and leaned forward. “If you’ve been being yourself (and really, who else are you going to be) for a long time, and you haven’t met anyone, maybe it’s time you considered changing who you are, or at least how you act.” She shrugged and leaned back.

He swirled the ice in his glass, and slowly unclenched his jaw. “I don’t think I should have to change.”

She shrugged again, and smiled. “So don’t. But being a partner, not just a top or bottom, usually means changing for someone. The only common denominator in all your failed relationships is you.”

“So just who the hell should I be then?” He over-enunciated the words, throwing them at her. “If I change who I am, would you go out with me?”

“Probably not.” She sighed and gathered her things. “You’re not very bright, but my oh my you are pretty.” She gave him an apologetic grin and a shrug. “Drama was fun in my early-twenties, now I just don’t have the patience for it.” She took another drink, giving him a careful look. “And you are a recipe for drama if I ever saw one.” She walked around the far side of the table and towards some friends.

He stood up and started towards the door with his fists clenched, then turned around. “Hey.”

She stopped, held back a sigh, and turned around.

“Thanks. I’ll think about it. What you said.”

She made a grave salute with her glass, and nodded. “Offer to buy her a drink, if you really want to meet a femdom. Don’t be pushy, always be polite, and desperation is never sexy when you first meet someone. And expect it to take awhile.”

He nodded back, turned around and left.

Preview: He kept trying to laugh, and failing, as pain and her presence disrupted his thoughts.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

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