I heard the buzz of the crowd as I stepped into the noisy club. The lights were flashing like strobes, illuminating a crowd that was probably fifty percent human and fifty percent ecstasy. It was always like that on Saturday night when the college kids downed their favorite club drug and rolled until dawn. I wasn’t chasing a high—well not that kind of high. I wanted sex and I wasn’t going to wait until the pick of the litter was gone and the hot girls were in bed with someone else. I wanted the best.

“Would you like your usual, Mr. Martin?”  The bartender behind the counter leaned over for confirmation, even though he knew the answer would always be the same.

“You got it, Steve.”  I tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the counter and my single-malt Scotch was in front of me before he should have had time to pour it. Money could buy anything, even service that was faster than physics.

With the single-malt on my tongue, I scanned the crowd and looked for the right girl. She would stick out like a sore thumb in the crowd of college vagabonds and I would know her when I saw her. She would be the friend, there with someone she thought was prettier than her, or the new girl in town that wandered into the wrong club and couldn’t get to the exit through the sea of dancing idiots. She would be my prey. I would stalk her, take her, and claim her pussy before she really knew what the fuck happened.

“Hey there, handsome.”  An alcohol soaked voice leaned into me. “My friends and I saw you come in. Do you want to come hang out with us?”

I looked at the woman next to me. She was obviously drunk, so drunk that her words were slurred. Her hair was blonde and as fake as her surgically enhanced tits. Her push-up bra lifted them so much they almost popped out of her dress. She could be fun. She would suck my cock and probably let me fuck her in the ass, but it would matter less to her than it mattered to me. I used to go home with easy girls like her, but I no longer had the patience for girls like her. I looked at her friends and they smiled, waving towards me. They were all just like her—so much like her that it looked like someone cloned her and just started changing hair colors.

“Sorry, I’m waiting on someone.”  I held up my hand and tapped my wedding band.

“I don’t care if you’re married.”  She smiled and reached for my hand.

“I do.”  I pulled my hand away at the last second. “Sorry.”

Have you ever heard of a man wearing a fake wedding band to keep women away?  I picked up that trick after having it used on me a couple of times. It was just a tool at my disposal. I usually slipped it off and tossed it on the ground before I made my move. I had dozens of them at home in a drawer. I used to put them in my pocket, but I had one fall out right before I got my cock sucked once and learned my lesson. Occasionally, I kept it on and told the story of a tragic divorce and an inability to remove it. That wasn’t a complete lie, even if my marriage had ended nearly five years earlier.

The blonde that tried to seduce me finally gave up and headed back to her group of fem-bots.

“Another drink.”  I stared at the crowd and sighed when I pushed my glass towards Steve.

“Right away, Mr. Martin.”  I didn’t wait to see if he broke his previous record. I really didn’t care. I had enough booze in me for one evening but I needed to be holding something besides an empty glass.

And there she was.

She lingered at the back of a group of twenty-somethings. She only smiled when someone was looking at her. The instant they looked away, her face retreated to the natural discomfort she was in. She had dark brown hair falling down her shoulders and around her arms. Her dress was so skin tight she constantly shifted and tugged at it. She didn’t buy that dress. She didn’t own that dress. Someone in the group had convinced her to go out with them and loaned it to her. When the waiter brought shots, everyone downed them enthusiastically except her. She took a sip and then held it down by her waist. When the moment allowed, she sat it on a nearby table and walked away.

I had to have her.

She was a good girl. She didn’t know what it was like to ride the cock carousel with a different partner in her bed every time she put liquor to her lips. If I had a fetish, she was exactly what turned me on. I picked up my drink and walked towards her. Her tits were so natural and perfect. They were big enough for me to squeeze, but not big enough to knock her teeth out when I made the bed quake. Her ass might as well have been drawn on her perfect form. An artist would have struggled to draw or sculpt one so perfect without having her right there to serve as the model. When I got closer, I tilted my head to avoid eye contact with her friends. I had to charm her before they tried to talk her out of it.

“Hi, I’m Max—short for Maxwell, but please don’t call me that.”  I extended my hand and she nearly jumped out of her sky-high heels when she realized I was speaking to her.

“Uh. Oh.”  She turned towards me and blinked a couple of times. “I’m Abby. Are you looking for one of my friends?”

“No.”  I flashed her the million-dollar smile—well, I guess it was a billion-dollar smile if you wanted to put a price on it. “I came over here to talk to you.”