...:: Nightlife ::... by sitrik

Her name was Polly.

She sat at a table near the bar, back toward the wall, disinterestedly watching the man sitting across from her.
His arms moved constantly as he talked; rolling, jerking, cutting. One of those guys that wouldn't be able to talk if his hands were tied.
When he glanced at her, a practiced look of interest would be on her face, as though it had been there the whole time. When he wasn't paying attention, the interest fell like a curtain, leaving something faintly spooky.
The man seemed to come to the end of his anecdote, his hands expectantly suspended above the table.
She laughed, sounding completely natural, unforced.
The man's chest swelled in triumph, his hands falling to the table to come to rest comfortably folded in front of an empty shot glass.
Polly, still chuckling musically, reached out to lay a hand on his arm. The motion appeared, to him at least, to be completely spontaneous.
Like most of Polly's actions, however, this was a calculated act. And, like always, successful.
The man's other hand immediately moved to cover Polly's, his breath becoming a bit short. He perceived that Polly was responding positively to him. His hand felt cool on hers, and he appeared flushed, but relaxed.
Polly was stunning. She was the best parts of every model in every magazine adolescent boys froth over. She wore the obligatory "little dress" in dark wine red. The dress had no sleeves, but ran to a mandarin collar at her neck. An oval cutout showed just enough cleavage to be provocative. The velvety sanguine fabric fell to a scant fraction below mid-thigh. The pale skin of her legs and arms, perfectly smooth, seemed to go on forever. Her black sandals, open at the toe and high of heel, were laced up the ankle in a Roman style. She sat demurely, ankles crossed and knees touching. The A-line cut of her nearly black hair framed a cherubic face. High delicate cheekbones; ears divinely formed, a hoop and a pair of studs in each side; straight, lightly pointed nose; brows and lashes that looked professionally cared for; lips, clad in red of a darker shade than the dress, perfectly full. Her striking green eyes, emeralds set in alabaster, looked hungrily, greedily at her suitor.
As soon as his eyes met hers, he stood, breath becoming even shorter as he interpreted her lustful look to be a match for his own longing. Their hands still touched, and his shiny black shoes flashed the club's laser lights in all directions as he rounded the table to gallantly assist Polly to her feet. He dressed much like all the other men in this trendy, expensive club. Neatly pressed button-down, blue tonight, fastened at the collar; designer label black pants, also crisply pressed; the silver buckle of his black tooled leather belt reflecting spikes of neon-like colors. His face was unremarkable, dark goatee growing in sparsely, telling his age. He wore a hoop in each ear. He had dark rings under his slate blue eyes, the result of mood drugs, alcohol, and sleep deprivation. In short, he conformed to the point of being part of the scenery.
Polly, demurely accepting his assistance, rose from her chair. His eyes followed her hands as she ran her fingers through her hair, stirring a faint lilac scent. She placed and errant strand of hair behind her ear then smoothed her dress over the swell of her perfect breasts, her stomach, her hips. She watched him watching her, his eyes lingering here, there. That odd predatory look seemed to shine in her eyes. When she had "fixed" her appearance, she reached for his hand, her own lightly brushing past the slight protrusion at the zipper of his trousers in a smooth, practiced motion. His hand, now sweaty, once again in her cool one, she pulled him to follow after her. She could feel his eyes follow the sway of her hips, like insects crawling across bare skin.
He made inane attempts at wit as they snaked their way through the throng of undulations and gyrations toward the doors above which hung in glowing green the word "EXIT", floating in the haze from fog machines and cigarette smoke.
Pushing through the doors to the outside, the relative quiet was nearly palpable after the deafening pulse of the Techno Fusion music inside. The line of those waiting to enter the club was to their left, the queue itself a party of sorts. Laughter and talking became more noticeable as the exit doors closed with an audible click. A thickly muscled black man in a yellow shirt which read "SECURITY" in black letters stood, arms folded, beside the doors. He politely ushered them past a black velvet cordon-rope.
The goateed man inquired of Polly where she'd like to go, to which she just shrugged her shoulders. She nodded when he suggested they take his car.
She studied him as they moved away from the lights toward the parking lot. He was quite muscular, broad shouldered and narrow in the waist. His pants fit snugly around his buttocks and legs. She was positive that women found him attractive, likely very attractive. Her breath shortened in anticipation, her look becoming so predatory as to be almost savage.
He spoke incessantly as they strolled hand-in-hand to his car, she a slight step behind. His comments were intended to impress her; his "cool" job, his "nice" apartment, his "sweet" car. Polly made all the right responses in all the right places, her intonation perfectly conveying excitement, her body language driving him to higher lusts. Her eyes, veiled in shadow and night, told that this, too, was practiced. She made all the appropriate sounds of appreciation when they arrived at his parking slot. He drove a new sports car which likely cost twice what he made in a year. The metallic sparkles in the silver paint glittered like prismatic stars.
He walked her to the passenger door of the vehicle, bent, unlocked and opened it for her. She made as if to get in, but paused. Turning, the lustful light in her eyes somewhat controlled, she pulled his head to hers. She pressed her breasts against his chest, feeling his breath shorten, pulse quicken. Her lips touched his, lightly at first, then with more fervor. He returned the kiss with a brutal passion, their tongues twisting and forceful. His mouth tasted of mint and alcohol, hers of cinnamon. She allowed the kiss to linger just long enough, his hand just beginning to caress her buttocks, and she abruptly sat.
Her hand again brushed his trouser front. She smiled, desired effect achieved.
He stood dazed for several seconds before closing her door and walking around the car to the driver's side, where she had unlocked his door. He sat, letting out a shaky breath. Then, sliding the key into the ignition, a symbol of sorts, he smiled also.
Polly let out a throaty giggle as he started the car.
His smile deepened.
She touched his hand on the shift lever as he backed them out of the parking stall. When they had begun their forward motion, she placed his hand on her leg at the spot where her dress ended.
He seemed to stop breathing, his heart pounding in his ears once. Twice. Ten times.
She moved her hips, shifting her leg under his touch. He began to rub lightly, climbing higher by fractions. A noticeable prominence thrust up beneath the steering wheel.
Polly watched him, a chilling look on her face now. Orange diffused glow from the dashboard lights made garish shadows on both faces. He stared straight ahead, seemingly unable to look to either side, his attention focused on the road ahead and the sensation of his hand creeping up Polly's leg. She stared at him, her look eerily far away and yet laced with the immediacy of a starving person. Occasionally, she shifted her hips, uttering a throaty sound of encouragement...
His attention was so focused he didn't notice that she was... changing. First, it was just her hair. It seemed to flow into a shorter style, straight yet similar to his. Then her face and head changed as well. Her brow shifted, becoming more prominent, eyebrows fuller. Her ears became larger, piercings shifting from their several holes until all her various studs and hoops were in a single hole on either side. Her cheeks widened, nose becoming bolder. Her eye color shifted from green to blue. Minute stubble appeared across her chin and upper lip, growing visibly. Her neck widened at the same time as her shoulders broadened. Slim arms became larger, muscle definition prominent.
The slight tearing sound the Mandarin collar and armholes on her dress made as the fabric gave way to the force of the change was swallowed by the Trance song playing on the stereo.
Her chest flattened, broadened, abdominal muscles straining the already abused burgundy fabric. Another slight tear as the seam near the zipper under her right arm gave way. Her hands, studiously not touching him, became thicker, a bit more calloused.
The changes then began in her lower half.
The man, still too involved in driving and groping, had not yet noticed. His hand was now within a few scant inches of her crotch, which was by now not at all what he was so intent on finding.
Her legs lengthened, became fuller and more muscular. The straps on her shoes popped as her feet grew too large for the Roman wrappings and they broke.
Polly's stillness had become glaringly obvious to him, even through his obscuring cloud of lust. His hand had stopped moving on Polly's leg. They now flew pell-mell down the freeway, speed limits ignored in his erotic zeal. On a straight away, he chanced to throw a glance toward Polly.
In a frozen, disconnected instant, he noted the slightly less well-groomed image of himself sitting next to him wearing a wine red dress, which was pushed up far enough to reveal that he was not wearing any underwear and was apparently extremely excited.
He wrenched the wheel to his left, attempting to steer the careening car away from the nightmare image in his passenger seat.
Tires protested, then another icebound moment. This time, he was more confused by what he saw out of his windscreen. Headlights flashed on tall grass growing downward above his head, a guardrail peculiarly hanging above him. His stomach floated into his throat, a weightless sensation.
He didn't chance another glance at the passenger side.
The moment melted into more physical sensations than he had ever felt. An odd scraping sound, then white-hot pain across his waist and chest as his weight hit the confines of his seatbelt, then a deafening bang-whoosh and he was slammed in the face by a searingly hot white mass. He tasted blood. It sounded as though he were in a giant soda can that was being crushed by thunder. He heard the tinkle of breaking glass, then felt a popping near his legs and suddenly could not move them. Then, pain so fierce he blacked out.
He woke feeling cold. He'd only been asleep for a second.
A loud buzzing knifed through his head. Slowly, he realized it was a horn. Groping blindly for a blanket, he considered getting out of bed to see who was honking.
A voice brought pain. Numbing, dazing pain. It was that girl!
His car!
They'd crashed. He thought he remembered a nightmare of himself sitting next to him, wearing her dress and a huge erection, staring at him with a maniacal glare in her/his eyes. He must have hallucinated. She knelt next to him on his right, still herself. Pain slowly ebbed as the cold of shock seeped back into him. He glanced around, only his eyes moving. He was sure he'd die. Pieces of his car were everywhere.
He looked back at her... Polly. She was so gorgeous, unscathed, unhurt. And she'd been with him. Would be with him at the end. His breathing became shallow and tears filled his eyes. He searched for words as she made soothing noises.
Breathing became more and more difficult, a gurgling rasping sound. He began to taste blood. His eyes, already going dim, searched hers, pleading, professing a love he had never felt. Blinking away tears, he shifted his gaze and glimpsed her shoulder.
The fabric of her dress was torn.
Just like... it had been... before...
Polly continued to shush him when his eyes grew sharper, larger, and he began to struggle weakly. She knelt on his right! She was untouched by the accident that was killing him! Terror seized him. She brushed a stray hair away from his forehead. Her hand smelled faintly of lilac.
Trying to pull away, he coughed, choked, inhaled a wheezing, gurgling breath. His adrenal burst faded as quickly as it had begun.
Practice.
Another liquid inhalation, then, ahh...
The last breath.
His life dwindling away, she bent to kiss him, her tongue again invading his mouth. Blood overpowered both mint and alcohol, its metallic tang harsh on her palate. As he let out his final exhalation, chest falling for the final time, she inhaled deeply.
A flush stole across her chest and face, her eyes squeezed shut. An orgasmic shudder wracked her body, and she threw her head back, exposing her right breast. As she shuddered, she did not appear to breathe. A final fitful thrash and she lowered her head, exhaled, and then breathed in short bursts as though she'd just run a mile.
Satisfied, satiated, she rose to her feet, eyes still closed. Her hand came up to her face, thumb brushing a drop of blood at the corner of her mouth. She shuddered one last time as she sucked at the fluid. Opening her eyes, she saw his head and torso jutting out of the window of the mangled silver car.
Bending, she picked up her broken shoes, turned, and walked toward the twelve foot high concrete sound barrier by the roadside. Without glancing back, she jumped, scrambled once nearly halfway up, caught the edge, and vaulted over the top of the wall, disappearing into the darkness on the other side.

Her name was Polly.

She sat alone at a table in the center of the bar, apparently lost in the whine and twang of the newest Country hit just ending its play on an antiquated jukebox. A single imported beer sat in front of her, only half gone. She glanced around the room in the quiet between songs, looking for someone, anyone...
A portly man in a tall cowboy hat approached, carrying two open bottles of a cheap domestic beer. At the table, he made a lame comment about sitting.
A practiced smile appeared on her face as though it had always been there, and she nodded. He sat, placing a beer in front of her...