The old one walked the two blocks to the Tavern. He entered through the side door and took a seat at a high table, his back to the wall and close to the door.
He caught the attention of the bar maid who was tending to the regulars who were sitting at the bar. She was in her own world, protected from them by the bar and supported by the back bar, she was the queen, and her name was Denise.
Now Denise is a beautiful girl, she stands a little over five and a half feet tall; she has the finest silkiest long black hair, the fiercest brown eyes, and the most erotic lips and smile. One look from her would quiet even the most dangerous man or beast.
Denise had a body that most women would die for, and just about all men lust after, she had an ample amount of breast, and they were the right size to fill not only a man’s hand, but also his head as well with the thoughts of fancy.
Her waist was thin; her belly would have intrigued Botticelli and caused Rubens to forsake all others and lust after her and her alone.
However, her derriere caused men’s heads to turn and caused their brains to go blank. Men would lose their composure, and cause the animal within to emerge from the recesses of their minds. They beat their breasts as if they themselves were animals. Verbal taunts would spontaneously erupt from their lips driven by some hidden primal urge.
Denise strolled to one end of the bar she shook, wiggled, and threw her hips from side to side. The patrons at the bar whooped, and hollered; they whistled and made comments alluding to whatever fantasy they were thinking of or enjoying. And Denise, Oh – Denise, she just cackled and laughed and worked her Derriere even harder. She taunted, she teased, she displayed her perfect Derriere, and even though her Derriere was covered in a pair of tight black shorts, the men, all the patrons sitting at the bar lost all sense of control.
They propositioned her, begged her, and offered their life’s savings just to run their hands across her Derriere. She just laughed and thanked them and poured more drinks to sate those savage beasts.
Then for the peace de-resistance, Denise with all her charms loosened her belt and reached behind her, pulled the waistband of her shorts down to reveal the tattoo on the small of her back and the top of her black thong. She pulled her shorts back up then buttoned them, she brazenly looked over her shoulder at the patrons, and smiled, but it was her eyes, those sexy brown eyes, they said it all “don’t you wish you could.”
She blew a kiss to the patrons, and pulled a tall draft, and as soon as it began, it ended; men were breathless, all desiring and fantasizing about the perfect derriere.
The old one finished his dinner, blotted the last of the steak juice from his beard and he too – fantasized and his thoughts turned to fancy.
He told Denise one day soon he would write about her, and later he did, as he wrote he began to breathe easier as he cleared the thoughts one by one from his brain to the paper.
The old one returned to the Tavern many times and he too would fill his head again with thoughts of fancy while he watched Denise parade her desirable derriere back and forth behind the bar.
The old one stopped visiting the Tavern the day Denise failed to show up for her shift. The old one inquired about her, her replacement told him, Denise had picked up her paycheck, she told her that she had a restless spirit and she was moving on.