Contemporary UK Story: Inhibited - Part 2

Inhibited

By Tang

Part 2

For a moment Lisa was completely disorientated and she worried that she would fall from her bar stool.  She grasped for her drink and took deep gulps.  What had just happened?  She looked up and saw herself reflected behind the bar: her hair in a scrunchy, wearing a check shirt that was probably a bit too masculine for her and still with her parka on.  She looked down at her hands and their nails with no polish.  She shifted in her seat and realised she was in the baggy jeans she had put on to walk here.  For some reason Lisa felt a strong sense of déjà vu.  Looking across the pub she saw the back of a young woman; her hair pulled back into a harsh pony tail.  She had on a cropped leather biker-style jacket, figure-hugging wet-look leggings and sharp-heeled ankle boots.  Did Lisa know her?  Maybe looking that stylish she was someone connected to Beatrice, perhaps a sister or a cousin or something.

“Haven’t you thought that she might look distant because her mind is preoccupied with sexual thoughts?”

Lisa turned abruptly at the sound of the man’s voice.  She had not even been aware of him sitting down beside her.

“Yes, I imagine that is probably the case, looking at how she is dressed; how she is moving.  I guess she’ll be eager to get back home after this.”  Lisa found herself saying; for some reason she felt she could get a sense of what the young woman’s whole demeanour was signalling.

“I’m glad you said that.”  The man said.  “I don’t like people disagreeing with me when I am right.  Sometimes I feel compelled to show them they’re wrong.”

Rather dimly Lisa processed what the stranger was saying.  She glanced at him and there seemed something familiar about him.  Had she seen him around town?  Whoever he was, she realised his statement had been pretty arrogant.  He had drunk the last of his drink and stood up from the stool.  Lisa wanted to say something before he got away.

“You’re very confident of yourself.”

“I have the right to be.”

“So what makes you special?”

“Because I choose to be.”

“And the rest of us?  Why can’t I be just as confident; just as special?”

“Because you are too afraid to take a dare.”

The man gave a nod and walked away.  Lisa wanted to ask him how he felt he could read her so well.  However, she realised that his words had unnerved her and, anyway, she did not want to make a scene here.  As she thought back over what had happened she was a little afraid that he had been able to make her think she had experienced a fortnight of a relationship with him and packed it into a matter of seconds.  Such an ability seemed impossible, but she worried that even if it had been exaggerated in her memory this was not a man to get the wrong side of.  The alternative, that she had suffered some kind of seizure, was more frightening still.  She imagined she was just tired and her mind had wandered.

Lisa wanted something to prove that it had not been an utter illusion.  That made her need to see the young woman who had just gone by; for some reason she had been very familiar.  Perhaps she was someone Lisa had known vaguely at university or had encountered through work.  Anyway, Lisa felt that if she could see that she had not imagined it all, it would help her keep grip of reality.  She slid from her stool and went through into the snug pretending to head to the toilet.  She saw a young man sat by the window and given the leather jacket slung over the back of the chair she recognised that he must be the woman’s boyfriend.  He looked terribly like the man who had sat beside her; though here he might be that man’s cousin or brother by a different mother.  However, as she gazed at him she saw that his clothes were different; similar in style but dark blues and browns rather than blacks.

For an instant Lisa had a sudden urge to sit down opposite him.  Yet, in seconds, that seemed to be ridiculous.  Lisa wondered what had gotten into her.  How had some woman coming in, and a strange man sounding off, have affected her so much?  She carried on to the toilet for real and went to splash water on her face.  The pub was an old one, the cubicles had brick partitions and heavy wooden doors.  All the same, Lisa quickly became aware of panting coming from one of the cubicles and then the boots being thrust against the door.

“Yesss … yesss … yesss.”  Came breathlessly but steadily from inside.

It was clear that the man at the bar had been right, the young woman was so sexed up that she had been compelled to come in here and jill herself.  Blushing furiously with embarrassment Lisa felt paralysed.  Then she heard footsteps and, in a panic, rushed into the cubicle at the end.  She stood with the door closed, holding her breath, mortified at what she was witnessing and feeling incredibly sordid as if she had willingly become a voyeur.  The door to the bar opened and moments later she heard a tap on the woman’s cubicle door.

“Lisa … babe, it’s me.”

Lisa realised the boyfriend had come to see to his woman.  Her name was not that uncommon but something in the way the man said it jarred with Lisa.  The bolt was shot back and Lisa made out the man going in.  In moments there was the sound of them kissing, groping; clearly enjoying sex in semi-public.  She had no idea what to do.  She realised she was quivering, feeling that sex in a toilet was so wrong but strangely envious that the woman could get so much pleasure from whatever she had been up to that day. 

Lisa finally flushed the toilet in her cubicle triggering giggles from the couple.  Then she sprinted from the cubicle and back in the pub.  She kept on going through the side door and out into the car park.  Lisa’s head was spinning and she realised she had walked out on the lunch she had ordered.  However, she knew she was not going to come back to this place.  She walked on briskly, eventually getting a sandwich from a petrol station.  Back at her flat she closed the front door and locked it, wanting to shut out the world.  It was clear that it was all a bit too much for her; she would not bother going for a Sunday lunch again, no matter how innocuous the pub might appear at first glance.