I could tell she wanted to eat me but not by any of the obvious reasons a succubus would lead on. She never once gave the impression of some kind of demon that wanted to rip part from my spine and squeeze my spleen like a sponge spilling blood over her rare panda bear rug, and her large collection of lit candles.
I still remember that stare from across the bar. It was a classy joint, one where the mention of beer would get every man in a suit jacket to stare at you like you just bashed someone over the head with a rock. "Wine?" Was the first word out of my mouth as my buddies finally found a table not occupied by a kids trying to dress like their grandparents.
Now every time I say classy I mean it in the same sense where you make air quotes to exaggerate the meaning without sounding like a sarcastic jerk yet that's exactly how you look. My buddies had good intentions but after several disastrous attempts of finding me a girlfriend using several lame ploys, we came here, to