Vodka Martini

Just playing around with gender roles. 

She'd ordered a vodka martini to look good, to look classy, to look different from the other girls that she was sure David was seeing. She wanted to stand out from the crowd, be different, get the ball rolling. She'd heard the rumours, of course she had. She knew he was the office whore, a bit of a slut, a sleep around and he was apparently a selfish lover. He took what he wanted and then left, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake.

But Poppy was happy to take the risk; she thought the potential rewards were worth it. The first time she set eyes on his face she’d thought I want to wake up with you and now she was in with a chance.

She took a sip of her drink trying to look as dainty and as lady-like as possible. She tried not to pull a face as the strong alcohol repulsed her taste buds. She longed to have a pint of lager like David had, but that wouldn’t look good would it?

She smiled at the pretty face in front of her, listening to his stories but getting lost in his eyes. She nodded at all the right places not realising a gormless look had come across her lustful face.

David looked at the Bette Davis eyes opposite him. Bette Davis eyes, Betty Boop brain. He’d hoped this one would be different, she’d seemed switched on in work, full of zest, but now, here, one on one she was as shallow as the rest of them.  He couldn’t wait to get the night over and done with. He’d walk her home, give her a peck on the cheek and then feed her a line than told her she’d been friend zoned. He'd heard the rumours of course he had, but none of them were true. Yeah he’d dated a few of the women in work but he hadn’t slept with them, he could have, no doubt about it, he could have but he didn’t want to. Typical women, only after one thing, sex. But David wasn’t into that, he was looking for someone to settle down with, to start a family with not just a meaningless one night stand.

Poppy wondered what she’d done wrong, how she’d ended up in bed alone at the end of the evening that promised so much, but delivered so little. What was she going to tell the girls tomorrow? Could she tell them she’d been rejected by the work slut? How stupid would she look? No, she’d tell everyone he’d shagged her and left her and that she didn’t want to see the little pig again.