Caitlyn Pt. 01

It was a dark and stormy night. Look, I know it's a cliche. And a really bad one too. But it honestly was. There wasn't a lot going on in the pool hall, just the jukebox playing some Memphis Blues. Overall the bar looked worn-down and filled with character. Picture the worn out bar you have in your head. Yep. This is it.

Bar faithful Justin sat in the corner. He was nearly done with his first longneck of the night. His 9-5 persona was nothing like the guy you'd see right now. A stockbroker by trade, his release on a Saturday night was the social environment. He needs to not be in his stuffy shirt and tie, making the rich richer. He needs to be somebody else, adorned with his solid gray t-shirt, jeans and his work boots.

As he sat in the corner, a mysterious woman walked in. Riding her motorcycle for the first time, she had on her jeans, boots, dark riding jacket and a shiny silver helmet. Appearing soaked and drenched, she started off by taking her jacket and putting it on on the entrance hook to the bar. Upon taking off her helmet she turned around. She shook out her burgundy hair with the same energy Princess Leah did in "Return of the Jedi." He did not know that was a thing for him until that moment and she triggered that emotion. Scoping her out, she had on riding jeans that were made for accentuating her every curve. She had on a pair of glasses he thought were very sexy. Usually kept this one pretty close to the vest, but a woman wearing glasses during his formative years he acquainted with intelligence and his primal mind was aroused by intelligence.

She took a stool at the bar, asked for whatever was on tap and began to slowly nurse her beer. Justin, immediately intrigued by her, weighed the option of speaking with her. She turned around and glanced his way. It was just long enough for her to get his attention and vice versa. Partially convinced that she was inviting him to the stool with her eyes, he slid next to her. The conversation flowed easily; his secret power is that he knows a little bit about everything and had no problem being able to converse with anybody about anything. This was Cliff Claven from cheers but charming.

She delighted in their conversation. She walked into the bar, not necessarily seeking it; however, she was happy for the companionship. Had she wanted to drink alone she had an apartment whereby she could have done that. Most of the time finding good companionship, even platonic, was the act of kissing a lot of frogs. It wasn't necessarily a prince she was looking for, but he was good at conversation, had fun eyes to look at and did she love a good beard.

"Look, um... " he stammered.

"Caitlyn. My name is Caitlyn."

"Thank you," he responded. "It's a quiet night and it looks like nobody is at the pool table. Would you care to join me?"

As a gentleman, he lifted her off the stool which was very unnecessary for her, but she kinda liked it anyway. She did not expect a gentleman amid such circumstances.

He racked the pool table and handed her a cue. She liked how much he took charge. In the outside world she was a strong independent woman who took no shit from anybody. Tonight, she just wanted to be a girl.

During pool, the two of them played very well together. In this quiet night, it was almost as if the Multiverse was vacant and only a friendly bartender was there to interrupt their solitude. An excellent pool player, she leaned into being the helpless one for the night. Not that she needed it; it was just more fun. Also, when he was close enough, she felt the bulge in her ass right where his cock would be. This is when she first realized the ending of the night would not transpire in the bar.

He continued to give her pointers and tips on things she already knew, but she stood back a little bit and let him speak. She liked his voice, and she liked the care he gave. It was nice to feel just like a girl for once.

After a few games, he smiled at her and suggested, "How about we make this interesting? Winner gets to choose the song and the jukebox. And if I win, allow me to have this dance." His charm was effective. Not that she played her hardest, but was enjoying the closeness and the slow build, and with the most intentional miss in the history of pool, she missed, watching him sink the eight ball in the side pocket.

Slyly she smiled. "I guess you owe me a dance now, big boy. What song will it be?"

"My wish for tonight." Carefully he searched for his favorite and the familiar riffs of David Bowie's "Heroes" filled the bar.

Enchanted, she smiled at the moment. He reached his arms around and held her close. He smelled of a nice cologne. She rested her head on his chest as he smelled the shampoo of her hair. As the third verse played, "And the guns, shot above our heads (over our heads)," he lifted her up by the chin and their lips met when Bowie belted out, "And we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall)."

This was the moment they fell in love.