The Cynic 01

The Cynic Chapter 01

First, let me tell you a little bit about myself. My name is Nick, I’m 31 years old, muscular with short blonde hair. I’m unmarried with girlfriends on and off.
A few years ago, I inherited some money which allowed me to life a life in moderate luxury, without working – at least for now.

The story I’m about to tell began 18 months back where I met Linda.
I was at a large cocktail party at some friends mansion. I was standing by myself looking around the room filled with happy people drinking, dancing chatting – having a good time.
But soon, my eyes fell on two girls that looked somewhat out of place. They were both much younger than the rest of the crowd, and they moved uneasy, as if they didn’t know exactly how to behave.
I kept an eye on them, and soon saw two other girls of similar age, one chatting with another guest, the other looking around rather nervously.
Several times the four girls met up, exchanged a few words and split up. One of them came up to the bar where I was standing, and ordered a drink.

“A Margarita, please” the young voice said – asking more than ordering. The bartender looked at her kind of suspiciously and hesitated.
Just before he could say something, I repeated her order “You heard her, a Margarita”. Snubbed, the bartender looked at me for a second, then served her the Margarita.

She looked up at me – I didn’t meet her gaze. She looked away, took the drink, “nhha” she grunted, and was off into the crowd. I waited for a half a minute before I turned around, slowly.
I didn’t focus anywhere, but found her out of the corner of my eye. She and her friend was observing me – I spoke a few words to the guy next to me, feigning disinterest. This, I later found, was her thing.

It didn’t take long, and she was back, ordering another drink. I fixed her up again, and this time she stayed. She asked me my name, and other small talk stuff.
I answered in shore sentences or with nods, barely looking at her. Out of the corner of my eye, I got a very good idea, though.
She wasn’t very tall – a head and a half shorter than me. She was incredibly tight, curvy with nice young firm breasts. She had straight raven black hair to the small of her back and a tan that was a few degrees darker than what could be called tasteful.
She obviously kept herself in excellent shape and was very aware of her femininity, however vulgar. Her clothes was painted on, and showed plenty of skin, with a dark, tight top with all the cleavage possible, and tight, low-cut pants that showed her thong and her tight, heart-shaped ass.

She kept asking questions, where I lived, what kind of music I liked, what car I drove etc. etc. I kept feigning disinterest, which seemed to only make her more interested in me.

“Porsche” I replied to the question about what car I had.