Our Girl

That white jump suit cause her friends say “babe that suits you”

She’s no coat to cover skin or cover up the temporary self esteem boost she’s covered in.

She’s 20 menthol fags in her matching clutch bag because the smoking area makes for a good escape plan.

After a week at work to pay some bills and buy those heels it’s just a couple of drinks with friends because hind sight reminds her of how good that feels.

Loud music now provides commentary to plans more sinister than hers.

As stumbling drunk predators move in herds.

Her mates around but seems more interested in that guy they had that earlier conversation about.

And he seems decent so her friends been more distant of recent.

And now arrives his pal and Our Girl would like to leave now.

That thought is quickly dismissed as in 2017 it’s standard for a female to feel normal being made to feel as uncomfortable as this, when she’s pissed.

This guys eyes with no permission wander before he makes a comment about her breast and thigh size his eyes keep moving slow.

Her thoughts flash back to hanging up that coat, she should have known.

While his gaze stays her can stray with a look aimed sideways.

Short of telling him to fuck off she’s doing what she can until her skin crawls at the arrival of his hand.

It’s time for that clutch bag escape plan.

He follows.

Upon an empty stall she’s perched.

Those sexy shoes make her feet her to hide her heart ache but it’s ok, they look good for instagrams sake.

The predator stumbles to the bird he’s caged, wry smile for the challenge she’s waged.

She allows him close though, her knees either side of his torso.

She gains control by stroking his ego.

She teases and moves like what’s described in those Rihanna tunes she was just dancing to.

She must do this as rejecting him could turn his commentary instantly derogatory, right?

Well fuck it, it and the first or last time it’s happened.

Tonight. [Here’s the audio if it doesn’t read right.]