A snippet of the first chapter of my upcoming eBook, Finding Tina.
“TO CAPTURE A PEACOCK”
Another intoxicating Monday night of delight watching the bartender lean over the bar pouring drinks, listening to us with feigned interest. She’s only there to make money.
Her fishnets have slipped down ever so slightly into her combat boots from working all night on her feet.
Wiggling hips slowly up in time with the song on the old juke, Tina pulls the tender weave up with her fingertips, slightly tearing it from hard-working nails. A soft brown tendril escapes, curled slightly from being tucked behind her right lobe. Lips curl into the smallest secret of smiles.
She’s blushing hotly, wondering who gifted her. Even under the low glow of the amber- colored lights, her cheeks are stained the most pleasurable shade of pink.
No one seems to notice it but me.
I barely stare holes into her over the rim of my glass. I barely smile.
The wallflower dancing on the edge of blossoming, bursting out of her shell; no war paint, no fashion, a natural beauty. It’s almost like she dresses down on purpose.
But the fishnets…those, are new.
Oh, oh. Yeah, I noticed.
I gifted them.
Tick tock, you cock block, slow down.
I want this night to last forever, want to relish my wild imaginations of her thighs straining against snug mesh leggings.
I love when it feels as if present time is drawling more slowly than Tina’s thick Southern dialect. The amber liquid pours thickly lazy as molasses from the bottle. Voices hush to watch her pour.
Her Venus bedhead tresses are haloed under the dim bar lighting. The laughter of her quiet smile tinkles softly suspended in the air as beautiful white-blue notes, drifting like cigar smoke, casting a spell over my senses.
Maybe it’s just the booze talking.
But nights like tonight, I’m losing my marbles with desire. I know I’m hooked on any highs of life I get my fat fingers around.
My cupid heart forges hammered dents in my chest wall and my eyes adore her seemingly bend time just for me as I stroke under the bar counter, unseen. I go through bar napkins like mad here once I start.
I hate this bar. Stinks full of vermin. I ain’t talkin’ rats.
Glance around. Enjoy the show.
We’re all getting the eyeful watching Tina bend over the bar. She’s a true peacock. A beautiful shade of brown, quiet, understated, lacking the brilliant plumes, but yet we see how beautiful she is on the inside.
Her soul shines like a hot candle flame, so purely tainted with goodness that we all burst into flames to get to her.
I have to admit, she’s intrigued me this past year, enough to madness.
She is my high.
I can’t come without her in my mind. She speaks in my head on replay, my muse.
Some days I long to rip her apart just to tape her quiet.
I love her.
I crave how I can hardly breathe when I’m near her, I hurt when she pulls my drink. Curse my own thirst for her when I am consumed past the point, glorify my vile retching in the alley.
I hate her.
I fight the urge to shove my hot engine so deeply up her tailpipe when I tail her home. Ram her over, and over again- until her little foreign steel crumpled ass squirts fluids, shudders, dies.
But I don’t give in. I drive past, carefully, casually.
I’m waiting for the right moment– to devour my angel until she’s bones, love her until I bury her.
Given the chance, I might.
Thoughts like that for me are dangerously delicious ones. How I’d do it. When, where.