"You smell so good," he said as he nuzzled my neck, lifted me off the floor and sat me down the countertop.

I gasp as the cold tiles touched my legs, and he took it as a cue to run his rough hand up my thighs. I put my hand on top of his to stop it from raising my skirt any further, but he squeezed my thighs probably thinking I'm getting into this.

I look up and he licks my neck. I fight the urge to push him off of me.

As he tries to feel me up in this dingy, dark bathroom, I'm trying hard not to barf from the stench of unflushed week-old piss and the feel of the sticky floor under my shoes.

I don't even know his name. Actually, I don't care what his name is. He's just another guy, in another bar who gave me the look most men do. They all do that, they all look at me like they know me, like they want to do things to me. I think I might have looked at them the same way. 

So I feel guilty for letting them think that and then not give them what they want. So here I am with another guy in another bar.

I look at the flickering light above us and I'm mezmerized by the spot it creates when I shut my eyes. I focus on that light and shut my eyes again. Open, shut. It's like a game. 

I look down at the guy who's now trying to unbutton his jeans, I didn't even realize he's got he's finger between my legs. I'm not even a bit wet.

This is gonna hurt.

He suddenly stops when we hear someone slamming their hands on the door, "this is a public restroom. Not a place for what the hell you're trying to do in there."

I chuckle as I pull my skirt down. The guy smirks as he says, "want to finish me off first?"

I look down on what he's now holding with his hand and scoff, "not a chance, buddy."

He walks over to me and grabs my ass, "want to get out of here? My place is close by."

I give his cheek a light tap, "I'm actually kinda tired, maybe next time."

Sure as hell isn't going to be a next time, but he doesn't know that.

He scoffs as he pulls his pants back up, "should've believed my friends. You're a fucking tease."

I check myself in the mirror and looked at his face. Sure he's a bit familiar, but I can't tell from where.

I turn around, "do I know you?"

He gives me a onceover and says, "if you'd spend more time looking at faces than cocks, you'd probably know where you've seen me from."

He fixes his hair, "I don't even know what the fuss is all about. You're not that hot."

He leaves and I'm left standing there didn't even minding the insult, but more curious as to who would talk about me. Probably some guys from school? I don't know.

I don't even care.

I sigh and pick up my stuff off the floor. 

I walk past the employee who was probably the one who knocked on the restroom door and I sit at the bar. The bartender shakes his head at me as I scout the crowd again for someone who will make me feel something, other than this emptiness.