The Scene...

His Scene. My Scene...

The scene....

You enter Angles in Adams Morgan just before midnight.
Through the dim lights, the sound of screaming drunk frat guys and Journey on the jukebox, you walk to an empty wooden stool and sit down...casually glancing to your left, you notice Him, though before seeing Him, you feel Him
.
Your eyes focus in the dim lights, the bar candles flickering, the mellifluous voice of Stephen Perry…”Ain't always what it's supposed to be, Oh girl you stand by me, I'm forever yours...faithfully.” He's at least 6 feet tall, but shorter sitting down, boney girl arms, and from the eyes you see, a man of depth, a man of passion, a man whose probably had one too many Miller Lites. His brown hair adds the perfect accent to the dancing candle light and shimmers on his lime green leisure suit and yellow buffalo shirt.

It’s the eyes…they capture you with their depth. Instantly you know this man is one of power, purpose, raw sexual magnetism, of, dare I say, taste and being accustomed to the finer things in life. A man who probably knows how to do the hustle as well as the white man’s overbite.

Your casual glance leads your eyes to lap. The bunch of fabric at his crotch leads you to believe this is a guy that uses his penis pump every single day.

Your eyes meet, and despite his boney girl arms, you know his eyes are not those of a frail girly man, but one of mental focus, savage intensity, and strength. A man practiced in the finer arts of man on woman sensuality.

Slight smiles are exchanged and your heart skips a beat when you hear him say a simple “wanna do it in the bathroom?” through his eyes.

You know instinctively He is one of those who has power....the power to hire and fire at will, move objects with his mind, the power to snatch the remote from your hands and channel surf, never landing on a single channel, but cycling through all 150 channels over and over and over and over.

His voice flows across the table past you, as he orders a drink from the waitress. A firm voice this man has...definitely one who commands respect...and who knows how to be in charge. You look at him closer….he must be in his late 20s, but perhaps early 30s…not sure.

You know he is not one to simply charge at every woman He sees. To most he is just a friend, to some a confidant, and to a rare few; more.

A waitress places a drink before you. Puzzled you look up at her since you’d not ordered a thing. With a finger she points to Him. And as smile crosses your face you are momentarily distracted as he deftly slips a Rohypnol into your Appletini.



He gets letters:

"Well played!"