The Spanish Mantis

She had a Spanish accent. Like the women in the movies. He decided that he liked it. He liked it a lot, in fact. It made him wonder what it was like to make love to a Spanish woman. He had never done that before. He tried to imagine what it would be like. He tried to imagine her moans and screams. Always with that accent. Was it possible to scream with an accent? He certainly hoped so.
Her skin was dark, giving her that foreign kind of appearance. Her eyes were large and dark, and spoke in harmony with her plump coffee coloured lips. Those voluptuous lips. He stared at them in a hypnotized fashion as she spoke. With every passing word he wanted nothing more than to have those lips touching him, it didn’t even matter where, really, just as long as they were there.
It must be possible to scream with an accent. Yes, if one tried hard enough. He certainly hoped he’d get a chance to find out.
The way she sat, holding her head up with a hand entwined in her dark hair, made her look sick and depressed. He like that, too, for some reason. Maybe because it made her seem submissive. He like the thought of that. He always wanted to tie a woman down and toy with her. He’d never done that, either.
Her hair was blocking any view he might have had at her cleavage. It fell to nearly her waist in wild, untamed waves. It gave him the feeling that sex with her would be a wild, untamed affair as well. Like animals in a jungle. He could go for some of that tonight.
“Yes. So what is your name, fella?” She produced a pack of Winstons from her purse as she spoke.
“Sam,” he said. She had lit a cigarette and nodded, exhaling the initial drag.
“That’s quite the boring name, isn’t it?” She said after a pause, smoke billowing from between those lips.
He was taken by surprise. “Well, I guess--well then what’s YOUR name?”
She chuckled. “Well it’s not Sam.”
He laughed, but trailed off abruptly as he realized she wasn’t even smiling. He grinned in what he felt was a charming manner. “So what is it, sweetheart?”
“Definitely not Sweetheart.”
He gave her an imploring look that asked her to continue. When she said nothing more, he tried again. “Well?”
“What?”
“Your name.”
“I find that rather irrelevant.” The ice in her glass rattled as she slowly finished the remainder of her drink.
“How can you find it irrelevant?” He pressed on.
She looked about to ask the bartender for another drink, but appeared to think better of it. She took a long hit off her cigarette and watched the tendrils of smoke curl out from her nose and mouth. She looked back to him.
“You know, Jude, today--”
“My name is Sam.”
“I see. Today someone died.”
“People die every day, don’t they?” He fidgeted with his glass. His chances of getting laid looked to be getting slimmer.
“I mean, someone I knew died today. This morning. Or maybe last night.”
“I’m sorry. We could talk about it in private if you’d like--”
“You know that a lot of female insects, after mating, kill the male?”
“That’s...fascinating. But I learned that in elementary school.”
“Don’t we all...don’t we all...” She leaned forward and snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray. He was granted a delicious view down her top before she leaned back to her former position. “He died after we made love last night,” she continued.
He reached out and touched her arm. “I’m sorry. What did he die of?”
She shrugged off his hand and stood up, grabbing her purse. “I don’t know. Bodily contact, I guess,” and walked briskly out of the bar.