Gwendoline powerfully swung open the doors to the beefeater: bar and grill. She viewed the ‘talent’ in the room with the ruthless eyes of a predator. She was a lioness and this was her natural hunting ground. She noticed him almost immediately, his pulsating wiry red hair and slender, kyphosed frame were like a beacon of erotica, calling to her. She seductively galloped across the floor, past the mixed grill & veg, each step carrying her closer to her oblivious prey. As Gwen reached the bar, Edwin the barkeep instinctively brought her the usual. A chilled glass of Lambrusco, her golden ambrosia. Invigorated with the confidence that only a cheap wine can bring, she marched over to him. Bystanders quickly moved from her wanton path of desire, narrowly avoiding being barged by her wild swinging elbows. She had been with men before but she knew that this was different. Her pulse was racing; her skin was clammy and moist. A cold chill of fear or maybe a rogue bead of sweat glistened down her slab like back; confirming what she already knew, that she was nervous.
Gwen knew then that he would be her prize scalp.
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