The Pick-Up Kate Freed

It's the end of spring and just warm enough so that I don't need a jacket, not quite nearing the melting-sidewalk heat that will engulf the city in only a month's time. I am on my way to meet my coworker Alan at a gay bar near our office. Alan works with me part time, is maybe nineteen, and has a thing for men older than his father. We have taken to drinking together some evenings at establishments where, despite being a few years my junior, he likes to school me on romance. When I arrive, I find Alan sitting among a loud group of admirers. We exchange air kisses, and he tells the crowd to make room. As they do, I slide into the booth next to the only girl at the table. She stubs out a lipstick-covered cigarette and offers her hand. "I'm Carrie. From Alan's Spanish class." I shake, introduce myself, and light my own cigarette.

Sipping a margarita, Carrie looks like a pretty, fresh-scrubbed sorority sister. She has shoulder-length blond hair and the tube top and miniskirt that all the underage college girls trying to get into the local bars seem to favor this year. Despite my own lipstick, Carrie is so girly that I feel positively butch next to her. Realizing that Alan is deep in conversation with an admirer, we begin to chat. I find out that Carrie is twenty, from the Midwest, studies English, and has just broken up with her high school boyfriend. I offer my sympathies, commiserate over shitty relationships, and then ask her the question that has most piqued my interest: How does she get her top to stay up? She giggles and pulls it out an inch to show me the elastic band that is holding it in place over her breasts. I get a quick flash of flesh before she lets the material snap back.

We order another drink, and Carrie comments that Alan has disappeared into the bathroom with a new acquaintance. "Boys are so good at that," she sighs. "They just go for it. I'm always too nervous to do stuff like that." I'm not sure if she is trying to tell me something, but I decide to hedge my bets and suggest that, since Alan is obviously occupied, we might as well take off. Carrie looks at me for a second, adjusts her tube top, and says okay. We leave the bar, and she wonders where we should go. "My place," I suggest, half expecting to hear her now familiar laugh and a decisive no. But, to my surprise she says, "All right." I decide that this is an indication that I can kiss her. So, I lean her against the bar's fence, the night air surrounding us, and slide my tongue into her mouth. She kisses back, then stops. "How'd you know I'd be into that?" she asks coyly. "Just a good guess," I answer as I slide my hands down her butt where they easily find the end of her skirt and trail the edges of her underwear.

It actually is just a guess, as I do not make a habit of picking up girls in bars—especially not girls in tube tops who smell like vanilla and have recently broken up with their boyfriends. In fact, I have only ever been with girls who made the first move and seemed far more worldly and experienced than me. But Carrie appears available and open and I am feeling bolstered, so I say, "Come on. Let's get out of here." We walk through the streets, fingers linked, until we reach my apartment. I lead her inside, and as I am closing the door behind us she asks, "Do you pick up a lot of girls at bars?"

"No," I tell her. "You're the first."

"Uh, huh," she smirks. "I somehow doubt that." Her doubts are unfounded, but I decide not to press the issue. I am liking the novelty of being the seducer and want to play with it some more.

I decide not to worry about the formalities that usually accompany bringing a guest to your home for the first time and lead Carrie straight to my bedroom. "Lie down," I say, and motion towards my bed. She complies and looks at me expectantly. I sit next to her and put my mouth on hers, tasting cigarettes and fresh lip gloss that she has managed to apply on the walk over. "Take off your top," I tell her and lean back, propped on one elbow to watch her pull the tiny strip of material over her head. She isn't wearing anything underneath, and I see she has two heavy rings dangling from her nipples that for some reason I hadn't noticed earlier. "Not what you expected?" Carrie asks as I find my hand drawn towards her naked chest.

"Nope," I answer, suddenly wondering if this young ingénue is actually such an innocent after all. "But, I'm not complaining." I push her back again gently. My mouth finds her nipple and pulls on the ring. A few minutes later I have hiked up her skirt and slid her panties down to her ankles. They are white and cotton and I wonder how many people have caught a flash of them throughout the day under a skirt that I decide I would never have the courage to leave home in. With her underwear crumpled at the bottom of the bed, I see a small, perfectly groomed thatch of dark blond hair and the tops of her smooth thighs. I trail my fingers down between her legs, slowly opening her lips and edging up to her stiffening clit.

She reaches for my shirt and starts to pull it over my head, but I stop her, saying, "Maybe later." I let her settle back onto the bed and run my tongue down between her breasts, over her navel and to the top of her mons. I remove my mouth and lick my fingers until they are slick. Then I slowly slip my hand back between her legs and work my fingers into her pussy. I am not used to being such a top and preventing my partners from reciprocating, but I am getting off on my new role.

She begins to moan softly, and I take this as my cue to continue my tongues descent between her legs. I find her clit and begin to gently suck on her while rhythmically rocking my hand into her body. A few minutes later her breathing becomes more rapid, she begins to moan with greater intensity, and, sooner than I expect, I feel her stiffen and shake. I am a little stunned. My sorority girl pick-up has just come on my mouth and hand.

I remove myself and slide up next to her. She is still on her back, eyes closed, her breathing slowly returning to normal. I grin at her, kiss her face and eyes, and then flop back on the bed. Deciding I am happy to remain clothed for this encounter, I light us each a cigarette. It's still early, so I suggest we go grab another drink down the street. She gets dressed and we walk outside to the bar. We sip a few beers and make out in the corner of the half-empty room. After a few drinks we agree to go our separate ways; some things are best simply taken for what they are. So, I hail her a cab and return home, where I crawl into my rumpled bed and fall asleep wondering why I'd never tried to pick up a cute girl in a bar before and how long I'd have to wait before doing so again.