Archetypes

By Katitude © 2006

She sat alone at the end of the bar, finishing her dinner and beer. The bar had been quiet when she first came in, but three baseball teams had arrived and now the place was jammed with norms.

Fucking perfect, she thought. She could feel the glances her way, and every time she glanced in the mirror at the back of the bar, all she saw were the quick furtive movements of people who are trying not to get caught staring.

She didn't have long to wait for the inevitable question.

"You're not from around here, are you."

At least this one had the sense to phrase it as a statement. With her long black hair, riot grrrl makeup and tattoos, it was pretty fucking apparent that she was not from this town stuck in the backwaters of middle America.

She resisted the strong urge to roll her eyes as she turned on her stool to face him. A hundred sarcastic replies flew to her lips. In the end, she just sighed and said "No."

She had seen him when he'd come in with his baseball team - he was the kind of guy you noticed. He was the perfect Prince Charming archetype for a nation raised on the Disney Corporation™ version of life. He was tall, tanned and handsome in a clean-shaven, clean-cut, all-American way. Men wanted to be like him, to echo his confidence and strength. Women longed to be rescued by him with every fiber of their Barbie™ pink Cinderella™ princess beings.

She had mentally categorized him: another pretty boy; so not my type.

But she was bored, and after a few days of the drive / find motel / sleep cycle she was just a little hungry for some conversation.

She bought him a beer, then another; but refused to let him buy her one -she didn't roll that way. She could see he was intrigued. She could also see the untanned line on the third finger of his left hand, the line that meant Broken, Damaged, Recently.

The conversation started out generally enough, following the typical banal patterns closely enough that she was tempted to just get up and leave.

"Where you from?"
"Where are you going?"
"My, that's a long trip to take by yourself."

Blah, blah, blah... so boring. But the dirty looks that the women in the bar kept shooting at her when they thought she wasn't looking amused her enough to keep him talking.

So she stayed, and led him along, so skillfully that he thought he was the one leading the dance.

It amazed her just how much he divulged to her - he was recently divorced but hoping for a reconciliation with his straying wife. They had a young child, who was weathering the change well all things considered. How he had always been faithful, even though he'd had offers... lots of offers. She made the usual murmurs while thinking, "Honestly... do I even remotely resemble someone who cares?"

Apparently she did, as he stayed and talked to her the whole evening. He tried to flirt with her, but it entertained her to see his frustration when she didn't fall for his charms like so many had. She made him work for it, and he'd not worked that hard for a long time. He understood that she was dangerous and knew dangerous things, but he wanted that one walk on the wild side. Dammit, he thought, he deserved it after all he'd been through lately.

One by one, the baseball teams left, taking the wives, girlfriends and hangers-on with them. Soon, they were the only ones left and the staff was becoming increasingly noisy in their clean up.

She smiled at him.

"It looks like it's time to leave. Been nice talking to you," she said as she got up and pulled on her battered leather jacket.

He looked puzzled and asked, "Well...?"

"Well what?" She looked at him with a studied blank look.

He scrambled. "Um, your motel is a mile away. It's dark, and it's not the greatest of neighbourhoods. Let me walk you back."

She almost laughed out loud at that one - like she needed protection. She should have declined, but like a cat with a mouse, she was having far too much fun stringing this one along to give up quite yet.

She gave a sly smile, nodded and headed for the door, making him rush to gather his things. By the time he caught up with her she was already halfway across the bar's parking lot.

"You could have waited for me!" It was almost petulant. If there was one thing she couldn't abide, it was petulance in an adult.

"I could have. But I didn't want to." This response was definitely cooler than he liked.

"Oh. So it's always about what you want, is it?" The petulance was turning a bit angry.

She stopped dead which made him turn to her. She reached up quickly and grabbed his earlobe, giving it a hard twist and pulling him close. She pulled him down until he was almost on his knees. She looked down at him coldly, and put all the force of her will into one word: "Yes."

Their eyes locked, and it almost looked like he was going to challenge her.

"Do you have a problem with that?" she demanded.

A long pause, then he quietly said, "No."

"Good."

She released him, and strode away, leaving him scrambling after her once more. They walked the mile to her motel in silence. When they got to the door, she turned to him.

"Thank you for walking me back. It was unnecessary, but gallant nonetheless."

"You definitely look like you could take care of yourself (so glad you noticed, she thought sarcastically), but I needed to make sure you got here."

She smiled slightly and raised a hand in farewell as she turned to go inside. He reached out and grabbed her forearm, pulling her towards him for a kiss.

It was a nice kiss. He probably went through high school being called a good kisser. A very nice kiss. But she didn't much like nice, and she bit his lip hard when she felt him relax into her.

She had to give him credit, he didn't say ow or pull away, just a groan and a slight flinch. She broke the kiss first and pulled away. He reached for her arm again, and she stepped just out of his reach. All he said was, "I want you."

"You won't like how I play. I mean it. You really won't like it."

"I know. But I want to see how far I can take it."

That angered her. He really didn't get it - it was still all about him. "What do I look like?? A goddamn teacher? Your fucking personal trainer?"

All he said was one word, and in the right tone: "Please?"

It was so tempting. For a moment she entertained the idea of it, pictured him bound and spread out before her and thought of all the deliciously bad things she could do to him before he said the safe word.

She knew she could ruin him, could show him that right combination of pleasure and pain that would spoil him for vanilla. She wondered briefly, what would be his fantasy, his weakness? She'd put her money on anal, and the thought of fucking him, of making him her bitch, made her cunt throb.

So tempting.

But alas, she too had been raised on Disney™ and was herself an archetype. She had learned the hard way that the Wicked Witch could never fuck with Prince Charming's Happily Ever After. It just wasn't done.

So she merely smiled and moved closer to the door. He could tell he had lost, but could only stand there in disbelief. Someone had denied him? HIM?!? He could not remember the last time that had happened. Goddamn it!!

By the time he had collected himself enough to try another tack, she had already gone through the door. As the door's lock clicked behind her she could hear him yell, "You fucking BITCH!"

All things considered, it was a good thing he couldn't see her wide, triumphant smile.

Katitude is a writer from Toronto, Canada.