Fifteen Percent Is a Slap in the Face.

It was late and I was laying in bed drunk when she called
just as far gone as I was that time at her bar
when I'd left my number on a coaster next to her hefty tip
and a note I'd written in the bathroom acknowledging her advances.
The message was a blunt one offering to lay some pipe
since she'd made plumber jokes
in between the free shots she'd given me
in an attempt to loosen my tongue, so to speak.

Her speech slurred through the phone
but my equally ossified ears understood:
It was the end of her night out playing pool and
she wanted to cash in her chips and call in that favor
since her boyfriend had cheated on her the week before
and I was a good means of revenge, if nothing more.

It'd been a few weeks since I'd gotten any
a few months since I'd made the offer at the bar where she worked
a few too many strong cocktails that night to say No.

The anticipated awkwardness wasn't present when she showed.
Her tight blonde curls smelled of smoke and spiced rum.
It didn't take long for the clothes to come off
but I should've hit the lights first.
Bad tattoos and stretch marks marred her torso
her tired breasts sagging into her armpits
as she laid back on my bed, ready.

I knew it'd take awhile to finish with that kind of lousy inspiration
and it did.
I'd never had to work so hard to get off in my life
even after I'd turned out the lights.

After wiping the sweat from my face, rolling off, and cleaning up
I asked if she wanted to stay
not thinking she actually would.
(It was still that early phase of being newly single
where I didn't mind sleeping alone.)
She said she'd stay awhile but had to leave before sunrise
in order to be home when her five-year-old son woke up.
That was the first time I'd heard that excuse before
and suddenly felt bad for taking advantage of a mom
though she was probably the guiltier party in that respect
since she was the one who'd dialed.

We laid there for two more hours with the tension somehow fading
despite the terrible romp in the sack
and for the first time since the last that mattered
a female ran her fingers through my hair
and down the length of my body.
I'd almost forgotten how good that felt, even contrived intimacy
after a one-night stand. I was honestly upset to see her go
though I fell soundly asleep right after.

A friend of mine asked why that bar became taboo for us
and I finally gave in and told him about my moment of weakness.
When his laughter stopped I made him swear not to tell a soul
and swore to myself that if and when I ever go back to that joint
I'll leave an even bigger tip on the bar for her:
"Don't let your kid turn out like me."