All he wanted. . . response

Last week I posted the response to all she wanted. Do you remember that?

What did she want? She wanted to fall in love.

Then I turned around and posted the prompt: All he wanted. . .
What did he want?

That's an excellent question and this is how I decided. At work one day, now mind you, I work with mostly men, so this was interesting. I posed the question to my male co-workers.

I said, "Without thinking I want you to finish this sentence." I gave them the prompt.

Not all of them would do it without thinking. You have to understand that I work with software engineers so they automatically overthink many things. When I received quick and straightforward answers it was unanimous.

All he wanted. . .was sex. HA!

I took that theme and wrote this as my response to the writing prompt. What do ya think?


All he wanted. . .

All he wanted was sex. Should he feel sorry for that? Why? He did not need or want a lot of useless talking which usually turned out to be utter bullshit anyway, so why bother. Jack jerked open the door and walked into the bar with only one thing on his mind – getting laid. The smell of alcohol smacked him in the face as he let the wooden door slam shut behind him and sauntered into the dimly lit joint.

Jack was in search of a woman who wanted to get vertical with him, no strings attached. Just a one nightstand and in return he promised to rock her world or her bed for several hours.

The issue for him, Jack thought as he sidled up to the bar, would be in identifying the right female partner.

“What’ll you have?”

“Guinness,” Jack told the beefy bartender with the barbed wire tattoo on his bicep.

“Coming right up.”

While the bartender built the Guinness, Jack leaned against the bar, his elbows resting on the smooth mahogany. He eyed the patrons through the large mirror hanging behind bar. He popped a few peanuts in his mouth as he scanned the room until his gaze hooked on and stopped at a pair of legs. Long, lean legs with shapely calves led up to where a dark skirt bunched around solid, sexy thighs. Geez, he was instantly hard.

Jack shifted to relieve the pressure against the zipper of his pants and let his gaze travel up the leggy woman. Oooeee! Legs were not the woman’s only feature. The snug skirt hugged the shapely and purely feminine curves of her tight ass. His eyes continued up past a slender waist, perky breasts that were more than a mouthful, but not more than a handful – at least not too much for his hands to handle.

“One Guinness coming up.”

Jack glanced over at the bartender who slid the frosty mug down the smooth wood and caught the glass in his hand. “Thanks.”

As he lifted the mug to his lips, his gaze returned to the mirror. With the glass a breath away from his lips, his hand paused when her eyes met his in the reflection of the mirror. She smiled at him in a way that made his breath catch and told him that she was fully aware of him. All sensuality and come-hither. Jack swallowed, his mouth suddenly reminding him of a desert. His gaze locked on hers, Jack finished bringing the beer to his lips and drank long and deep.

Her tongue slipped out from between full lips and slid across them in a suggestive, make no mistakes about it, I give good head motion, Jack almost choked. Instead, beer sloshed down his chin. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his brown eyes watched her very green eyes spark and light in flirtation.

Oh, yeah, she wanted him.

Heat flushed his cheeks and his little soldier popped tall and saluted in agreement with his assessment when she began sliding her hand up and down the pool stick in a stroking motion. Jack swallowed the lump of lust and decided she could stroke his stick any day or night.

Tugging his gaze from hers, he set his mug and what was left of his beer on the bar, pulled a twenty out of his pocket and tossed it next to the glass, then spun on his heel and without a second glance at anyone else in the room, headed straight for the woman. Gliding up to her, Jack wrapped one arm around her waist, bent his head, and whispered in her ear.

“I may not be Fred Flintstone but I bet I can make your bed rock.”