I follow John into the men’s room. It’s crowded. My heartbeat speeds up—a combination of nerves and red bull. I’ve never fucked in a bar bathroom before, and I can’t believe I suggested it. Part of me wants to turn around and leave. Another part of me is loving how it feels to be the focal point of the room, the thing that doesn’t belong.
There are two stalls, both occupied. The floors are clean and they have big, tan tiles. I look over my shoulder and spot myself in the mirror. I like how my ass fills out my short yellow dress, and I especially like my naked back and black choker, my hair tied up to reveal as much skin as possible. Were I in a different mood, I might call a girl dressed like this a slut.
Honestly I’d call her a slut in the mood I’m in right now, too, only I’d mean it as a compliment.