Cigar Bar


Taking the first step inside, she squares her shoulders and lets her hips follow the tip of her boot, the motion shifting her body easily over the threshold.  A touch on her back, he encourages her forward, allowing her to enter and make the statement he has crafted.

A nod to the small group near the back and a brief acknowledgement to the few stool-sitters to the right, he silently searches the room and accepts credit for her presence this evening before steering her gently by the elbow to the small table near the rear exit to the elevators.

The bartender has already made note of the entry; he knows who comes and goes, ably sizes up the public relationship based on what he’s seen before and casually busies himself in wiping up the back half so he can watch in the mirror a little longer.

Sitting at the tiny table her legs cross and uncross as she shifts her bottom from side to side and releases one pale arm from her jacket and then the other, shrugging it into his hands before snugly tucking her elbows to her side and resting her long fingers on the edge of the table. With a twist of her body, she looks over her shoulder, catches his eye and smiles comfortably and then laughs uncomfortably as he dips down to grace her with a kiss, then grazes her shoulder with his lips and then whispers in her ear, one more time, what he plans to do to her, with her, later.



She makes a gin and tonic, a double with a twist of lime, before reaching down to slip the straps of her slingbacks from her heels;  rising, stretching, without thinking, into that arched position she often found assumed her vertebrae on Thursday evenings in the lounge.




#for Reticent Mental Property, cigar bar in NYC.

5 thoughts on “Cigar Bar

  1. One of my favorite places is a cigar bar in Indy right next to the monument downtown. Blood red carpet, mahogany walls, and leather. Cocktail girls in minis. “Nikki Blanes” I wonder if it still there.


    • Yes, Mr. May, the atmosphere sets a sultry tone, the depth of the color matches the speed of stopped time… a place where one sinks slowly into the seat and when settled, assumes the calm and the hush of the room and is transformed into the decor itself.


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