more writings

This was a piece that I had written earlier this year, I'm not sure if this is the final draft of it or not. Enjoy.

Omnission: Under The Influence

Tamar was lonely; on the crux of thirty, she had just found her first gray hair in her hairbrush. Her latest relationship with a man she had met on an online dating service had been ended painfully over the phone. Her once glamorous figure had been relegated, after losing her gym membership resulting from delinquent payments, to drooping here and sagging there. Her life was in utter shambles.

 For a woman of 150 lbs at a stature of 5’4” Tamar was quite a stunner. her camisole draped upon her large chest and revealing the muffin-top made by her skinny jeans, giving her the appearance of a lumpy sausage. Her auburn hair had been pulled sharply into twin pigtails. She was just finishing up her 3^rd cocktail at her usual haunt, The Twisted Fister. At this point in the evening her words would begin to slur and her inhibitions would crumble behind the lenses of her “Beer Goggles”.

The drink made her confident. She could do anything or anyone, Tamar turned her gaze; fixated to the man sitting beside her. His belly circled out in front of him, bloated with beer, like some hairy beach ball. His face had a dark and devious quality, only exacerbated by his voracious eyes, which constantly shifted towards Tamar’s low-cut top. Though she certainly was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a beauty queen, she certainly could have done better than this man. But, as fate would have it, her self-esteem was low, and subsequently, so were her standards. “What are you drinking?” the brooding man said to Tamar. Tamar was clearly in no state to be drinking but she accepted the offer anyway. “Kamikaze” she said gingerly.

Three drinks later and the man were still ordering more, his advances upon Tamar becoming more and more physical. Sliding a hand between the crease of her legs, asking her if she would go home with him, and ever staring at her pendulous breasts.  Tamar appeared beyond the point of caring, she no longer had the foresight to consider the outcome of her actions. Through the haze of colorful drinks she managed to discern his face from the rest, and mumbled a barely coherent “Yes.”

The man stood, drained his glass and paid the tab, then proceeded to adjust his unabashed erection. In one hand he held the keys to his car, parked on the far end of the parking lot, and in the other, the ass of the oblivious Tamar, drunken into a brain-dead stupor. 

They left the bar that night, Tamar and this corpulent bear of a man whom she had only just met. Her feelings of inadequacy looming heavily upon her so much that she gave herself to whomever asked. The only thing she wanted in return was to feel wanted, and be given fancy drinks.