I watched her walk in with a subtle sideways glance, her skin tight, shiny red latex hugging every inch of her fit form. There were transparent pieces to the outfit, though I couldn’t figure out why; everything about her was already on display. Some of the other chatter from the bar quieted momentarily as men forgot what they were discussing mid-stream, pausing to size her up as their latest conquest. I had arrived an hour earlier and started pounding back shots of single malt whiskey. You see, she was my blind date.

As she walked purposefully towards me, confidence obvious in her gait, the other men in the bar turned back to whatever it was they had been doing, seeing this one was already spoken for. It was a primitive and repulsive trait we all shared, the ability to evaluate within our first two seconds of seeing a female whether or not we wanted to sleep with her. She sat down, smiling, and introduced herself. To this day I can’t remember her name.

We engaged in the usual small talk, minus the awkwardness, and it became apparent quickly we were at ease not only with ourselves but with each other. We covered the usual range of topics – job, desires, home system, relationships, family, etc, etc, and while I lied about being a capsuleer, I was surprised at how truthful I had been in revealing the rest. Just the same, I knew this date wasn’t going anywhere, but since I was still drinking, and really had nowhere else to be, and the fact she was at least pleasant company, I was in no hurry to end the evening.

We laughed. We flirted. We had fun. The hours passed us by effortlessly.

“You seem like a nice guy.” she said, as the evening wound into the night. “How come you’re still single?”

I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I suppose my standards are too high.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Well,” I replied … “Take the women in this bar for example … wouldn’t fuck her … wouldn’t fuck her … wouldn’t fuck her.”

She looked shocked. I said, “What’s wrong? Surprised by my honesty?”

She said, “That, and the fact that you pointed at me … three times.”

Needless to say I spent the rest of my night alone with a few bottles of the finest whiskey I’d had in a long while.