If there was one thing Emily could change about her routine it was the locations. Everyone says it's all about location, location, location. They aren't wrong. Emily just wished she could do something about hers. The choice of the night was Benny's, a bar approximately two hours from her home. This was her first time visiting the place, but she's been to many a bar like it. Benny's was packed with the same type of people that always found themselves at cheap, dirty bars: hookers, motorcycle gangs, criminals, and those looking for one night stands. Well then there was Emily, well Mandy, at least that's what she was going by for the night.
Cigarette smoke loomed over the bar. It never faded or thickened. It was just always there, coloring the air, making everything seem grittier than it actually was. The smoke never failed to force it's way down everyone's throats. Some would exhale it right back out, not noticing the difference between the cigar and the second hand smoke. Others, like Emily, learned to deal with it. Sure, her life expectancy tanked every time she took a breath, but her hobby wasn't the safest thing either. Bedding strange men and killing them was always going to be a risky thing, but it had become a part of Emily's identity. Her life wouldn't be the same without it. There was something about how it made her feel. Most murderers on television or in books spent their time talking and raving on and on about the thrill. The thrill of the kill. The thrill of the hunt. For Emily, the thrill came afterwards - after the sex, after the kill, after the clean up. Afterwards, when Emily closed her eyes she felt him. She felt his touch on her body, everywhere. Every kiss he made, every inch of flesh that he touched, Emily felt hours, days, weeks, sometimes even months after the job had been done. It was like he was right there with her, all over again.
Emily never cared about how good the sex was in the moment. Clearly it was preferable that the sex be great or at the very least decent, but to Emily, it was all about the afterwards. Don't get her wrong. Sex with the intended victim was a perk, and in her experience, the better the sex, the better the afterwards. Once she went a couple of rounds with a guy before finally killing him. Steve really knew what he was doing, and Emily actually blushed at the sight of a closet or clothes hanger for a good week afterwards. He was one of her better ones, and everything about him and what she did to him was great. In all honesty, Emily enjoyed the entire process: meeting the guy, having sex, killing him, and the lingering effects. Steve, for instance, was charming and exciting from the moment she caught his eye across the room. The sex was great, and there was something about the way his blood felt trickling down her fingers. There wasn't a part that she disliked, well except for the location.
She always felt like she needed to take a shower after spending time at a bar, and Benny's proved to be no difference. Every time she moved her legs, she could hear it - the sound of her thighs peeling off the bar stool. Occasionally, she wore jeans, but she found she got better, faster results when wearing a skirt. Plus, short, skimpy skirts made her transformation from Emily into a random, one night stand loving girl like Mandy easier. Emily wore jeans often. She never wore skin tight, short, denim skirts like the one Mandy was wearing. And if the skirt didn't attract attention, the simple plunging tank top never failed. Emily learned it was always best to look nondescript when it came to the clothing. Sometimes she would mix it up with a brightly colored wig, but she never stood out too much with that. Benny's currently had two platinum blondes, a Ronald McDonald red head, and a girl with purple and blue streaks in her hair.
This was why, unfortunately, Emily's location never could change. Sure the actual bar changed. It had to. Emily wasn't stupid. The type of bar was the thing that never changed. Every bar reeked of smoke, and a headache inducing mixture of perfume and cologne.
Emily sighed before taking another sip of her drink. She could taste the smoke.
"Can I refresh your drink, darlin?" A warm voice whispered in her ear as a hand found its way to her back, teasing the hem of her shirt.
Showtime.
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