It’s after 2 a.m. and the night is as young as this sexy sixth year senior at the local university who always flirted with me but tonight she seemed to have an increased fondness.

Little black dress edition of her hard week of studying, working & now time for her release in every seductive smile she gave me.

As her lip gloss wet & working on her second shot of Patron, gave her a little bit of solace.

This was her sham; she was as much really smiling, as she was hiding her pain.

She raised her glass flute signaling me to pour more sips of pink rose-colored champagne.

And she sang, her favorite song as if she had not heard the chorus in years, pointing at her so-called friends that she gossiped with and saying affectionately “you’s a bad bitch.”

Their friendship was a sham but her look was flawless, as she sipped again, made a face of pain from the sting of alcohol. Gave me a look that confirmed what she told me earlier, “I’m leaving with you tonight., big daddy.”

Her inebriated state of utopia, gave her the courage of a soldier, whispering in my ear her loose inhibitions and if temptation had a vessel, this beautiful mistress of my VIP table was it.

As she dipped her hips and ass to mimic the flow of the champagne in her glass, disregarding the foolishness spewing from the guy who VIP table she lived in last weekend.

“Doesn’t he know this is my favorite song?” She asked her friends.

So, from one fellow to another, we both respect the game, a friendly duel, no time to confirm winners when its them who are doing the choosing.

Let her glide back to my table, whisper in my ear as if she was French, slipping her tongue every now and then in between syllables.

Such a sham, and it pains me to say I indulged in her attention.

As the last song of the night, fills my wet ears, as I remember what she told me. Right after the last time she said, “Daddy!”

Her description of what she had planned to do to my body was expressed with her speech a little slurred but the image I envisioned was far from blurry.

We scurried out the VIP, through the dance floor she dashed, and told her friends she was leaving…….3 minutes before the lights came on, somehow smuggled this last bottle of rosé in her Louis Vouitton….

I couldn’t wait for valet, to hurry up with my whip. My grandma always said I was a handsome little devil, and she was sensational.

Pulling her panties down, while riding shotgun, she sling-shot her “I love pink” out the window and took another sip of champagne.

She gave me necessary talk of everything I didn’t want to hear but as long as she kept it sexy, I didn’t mind.

She said, “I’m so stressed with school” and that I gave her relief. She took a swallow from the bottle and told me about how she hated her boyfriend and that his insecurity beat the life out of her with the “bitch” and “you ain’t shit” he spewed.

But tonight, I made things different; my sham had her forget the pain from the verbal abuse.

So I turned up the volume a bit.

She let that bottle of champagne hit them lips, and as she caught her breath told me about the abortion she regret getting and her so-called friends who let her ride drunk with me a gentleman stranger began drunk texting her “bitch, just call me in the morning, I’m out sliding.”

I’m sure they were just having fun but I started to perceive it as a sham, pains me to think that way, so let me sip some champagne for a distraction.

Let me turn this volume up a bit.

As I’m trying to drown out this young woman’s confessions, she’s trying to drown out her misery, run from this lie she’s living as we finally reach the Residence Inn.

Just run up these stairs, let me run my fingers through her sweated out permed hair and up your little black dress. I swear I could’ve absorbed all the consumed alcohol and lusting with my finger tips….wet!

She wanted me to slow down a little bit, so she said “Boy, you a mess”. Locked the door after closing, but the strength in her legs was expiring.

She climbed down from those six-inch heels and she said, “Daddy, let me dance for you.”

I mean she never knew her father, so maybe she was a bit confused but she continued as she maneuvered out of her little black dress like her hot ass was dancing to just keep cool.

“Daddy, I missed you” like I said she had to have it confused because she continued “Don’t, you think I’m pretty, Daddy? Why don’t you love me.”…..she cried as most daughters do when they come to grips that their daddy never showed that they loved them….

the bottle was empty, her eyes were full of water, but her drunken sham was just her sober pain flowing even when the champagne had seized pouring…

that’s that damn champagne.

2 thoughts on “Champagne”

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