My nature is overtly sexual. I am constantly on the prowl like a tigress, exuding sexuality from my pores. Even when I'm obviously not feeling "in the mood," my pheromones betray me and attract people to me regardless of what I'm wearing or how I'm feeling.

Last night was no exception.

It was my girlfriend's birthday and we met at one of my favorite hole in the wall bars in downtown. I agreed to go because a high school acquaintance bartends there, which means not only quick service but also mostly cheap to free drinks. Her friends were all there, people I had never met and continue to have no desire to see ever again. While I'm a social creature, I find conversing with groups of people I have little to nothing in common with tedious and annoying.

I found nothing different about last night. After seducing my pear martini, I began to talk to the man sitting on my right. He looked familiar to me, but I couldn't place where I knew him from. He seemed shy, quiet and introverted and, after his second Miller Lite, told me he had recently started working at the Humane Society. He was only out of the Army a few months and was having trouble readjusting to world outside of death and total control.

We talked about his experiences and my own as an Army wife. I found him rather adorable and naive for an ex-soldier of 23. He bought my drinks and stared at my chest, which I consider a common courtesy.

Later that evening, we ended up at the gay bar (as usual). My ex-girlfriend met me there, recently out of Airborne training and excited to catch up. We have a very volatile relationship, there are a lot of loose-ends and rampant feelings (which makes me uncomfortable), but we sat and talked. There were a few awkward pauses and brushes of hands on legs, necks and hair, but by the time my current girlfriend got there all was well.

We all danced in the cage, my skirt hiked up well past my knees while grinding myself between two beautiful women on full display. The soldier joined the game and, while I must admit that his extremely rock hard chest was unbelievably sexy, was promptly kicked out of the cage. He sat on the sidelines and watched, I suppose, but there was to be absolutely no touching. I like being watched, so it worked out well. I like having my drinks bought for me even more and he was very quick to provide for me in that capacity, a trumped up cabana boy.

I ended the night on a high note, my girlfriend whispering she loved me into my ear (although she was drunk and I mainly just blew it off - I'm not one for emotions or emotional conversation) and headed home high on endorphins. All in all, it was a lovely evening.

I hope to do it again soon.

I have this rather backwards tendency of both thinking too highly of myself while also maintaining a fairly persistent state of low self-esteem. I tend to think of this as "faux" esteem - I talk myself up pretty good but, when it really comes down to it, I may act certain ways but don't necessarily believe them myself.

One of my favorite facets of myself, however, is my ability to be a muse. I tend to force creative juices from people, both literally and figuratively.

Last night, I was extremely proud of myself. You see, it's been months since Bear and I have had any sort of satisfying intercourse.

But listening to him growl as he bit into my flesh, feeling how hard and solid he was as he slammed into me from behind... and knowing my acceptance of who and what he is has led to how comfortable we both can be is astounding.

It's the best drug there is.