“Amaretto sour.” *Why am I even ordering a drink? Just to have something to hold, seem like I belong here.*
“Can I have one of those tiny straws, too, please?” *Another thing to hold. Silly putty.*
“You got it. Waiting for someone?”
“Sorry, what?” *Shit, something about waiting? Ugh, I get that you’re being nice dude, but if you can’t see my nervous, shaking hands or if you haven’t noticed me constantly looking towards the lobby…*
“Are you waiting for someone? You’re too dressed up to be here alone.”
*Be nice, Mads, be nice.*
“Yes. Waiting for someone.” *Thank you for this extremely simple, yet somehow still botched drink Mr. Barkeep, now let me panic in peace while some of this ice melts.*
“Tell me about him.”
“Um.” *Well now I am conflicted. I could talk about him all day…and I’ve never been able to.*
“He’s…” *How do I condense this? Why am I overthinking it? Just say a generic sentence, he is just being polite, he isn’t asking for a dissertation.*
“Really nice.” *That’s…too generic. That is Wal*Mart brand generic. That is poorly designed packaging, bottom shelf generic. What is wrong with you?*
“Uh huh. Not very nice of him to keep you waiting.”
“What if I like being kept waiting?” *You have no idea. Why do I feel so defensive? Why am I still sitting at the bar? Why aren’t any booths available?*
“Really? And why on earth would you want that?”
“To be kept waiting?” *Easy girl… no reason to get flustered.*
“Yeah. Seems like something you do if you’re not really into the girl. If I had plans with a woman like you, I wouldn’t be able to be late! Hell, I’d probably be early!”
“Uh huh. You’d be… eager.” *Why am I making this weird?*
“Yeah, I guess I would be. I wouldn’t want you to wait for me.”
“That’s the point though, isn’t it?” *You poor, sweet, summer child.*
“I….I don’t follow.”
“You would wait for me. Eagerly. Desperately. You’d hold your breath every time the elevator door buzzed. That is what I am doing. Waiting, in needful anticipation. Knowing … that he knows …that I am sat in this hotel bar, wearing a too-tight dress, uncomfortable heels, and lingerie that would make Victoria spill her secrets… all for him. Knowing that I will stay here, by myself, babysitting a poorly made, 2-ingredient drink, until he comes down that elevator, walks in here and takes my hand, without asking, and directs me where he wants me to go. Knowing that he is in complete control of his desire for me, while I am utterly, pathetically, out of control in mine for him. Yeah…I don’t mind waiting. I prefer it.” *Something about anticipation and desire and the requirement for one before the other…*
*Oh, judgmental eyebrows and nothing to say? How very insightful. Well then, let me continue.*
“If you can’t understand what about all of that turns me on to no end, then I sincerely hope any women you manage to take home with you would describe their favourite ice cream as soft serve vanilla in a sugar cone with no sprinkles.” *Maybe that was too harsh. Meh. Fuck it.*
* DING *
*The elevator…. oh fucking hell. He’s gorgeous. I can’t breathe with this on.*
“Is that your man, then?”
“No… but I am his.”
– – – – – – – – – – –
I get that this isn’t super erotica-esque, but I am not sure where else to post. I have been trying to write more freely, without tons of details or descriptions, and these internal/external dialog-only pieces seem to help with that.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/q6trj2/kept_waiting_mf_not_spicy
You say this isn’t spicy, but it got to me, especially at the end. Mm, well done…