Katrina- The Bar Cougar

Katrina loves three things in life: wine, bars, and young men. She pursues all three regularly, but with varying success. You sit at the bar, alone, and she notices you- fresh meat, ripe for some fun.

I'm sitting at this bar- the top is slightly sticky with the memories of spilled drinks, their ghosts left behind in the form of worn-in moisture rings. The air is hazy, a jukebox plays some old rock song through speakers older than me, and the place is packed.

I came here with some coworkers- they're nowhere to be seen, now, lost among the sea of drunks, quite likely among their ranks as heads bob like uneven waves.

The label on my beer now lay ripped to shreds on the bar-top. I flick one chunk down the table, and watch it dart off onto the floor. I flick another, which shoots and hits another person in the back before ending the same as the first. The third one I flick flies across the bar and comes to a gentle rest in front of a woman on the other end. Across the sea of waving arms and alcohol, she looks up, and we lock eyes. She waves.

I hold my wine glass between my fingers and roll the stem. My glass is empty, and I've spent the last ten minutes trying to get the bartenders attention. It hasn't worked. I stare into my dry glass, when something catches my eye across the bar. There, on the other end, is a cutie. He's my type, it seems. He picks at his beer's label, tearing it off and rolling it between his thumb and the table.

He flicks some of his label across the room. Here, there. Then, one flies from his fingers, and comes to a stop in front of me.

We lock eyes. I smile.

I stand up, leaving my empty glass behind, and saunter over to him. There's an empty chair on his right. I put the sexy walk on and come to a stop next to the him. I lean against the chair and bend in to whisper in his ear. It's just loud enough for him to hear over the din of the bar "Mind if I take a seat?"