Stag Night

By Jeanne Davies

She stood there frocked in innocence, with long stilettoed legs.

The predators watched her turn her graceful neck, head tilted to listen to the song. The light caught in her vanilla hair, and her purity drew us in. Sad globes adorned with long lashes flickered, unaware that we watched. Every man there wished he could strip her naked and keep her to himself.

Suddenly she sprang into an evocative dance, shifting from side to side. The turmoil of her moves amplified the intense craving of her audience.

I didn’t pursue her but called my dog, un-cocked my gun, and wandered home.