It was the day that us single people dread: Valentine's Day. I was alone at the bar ordering a martini with a side of regret. He was beside me alone ordering a steak. We struck up a conversation as two people do in dire desperation and sexual frustration.

Before I knew it, he was telling me he was a piano player at the Four Seasons (a warning sign I chose to ignore.) He also told me Woody Allen had a jazz night there and I could go if I wanted (again, blinded by a stifled libido). I’m a lady with a penchant for nerdy Jewish directors and men that can do anything with their hands. I was soooo there.

I endured four months of pure mediocrity with this dude. Dinner at Cut, ballet at Walt Disney Concert Hall, me watching him play (over and over and over). And for some bizarre reason he seemed very uninterested in anything more then a slap and tickle. Had we transitioned into the friend zone? Had I not seen so much as a warning, a flicker of trouble ahead?

After he dropped me off one night from another mediocre dating ritual, I got to thinking: Why was this man taking me out on casual dates and never pushing for anything more than than a half-assed run for first base? I’m all for playing it cool, but four months?! He always insisted on paying and was a perfect gentleman, but after months of heavy petting and nothing - we're talking nada - something’s got to give.

One cold evening, I decided to heat things up and went to his house, uninvited, wearing nothing but 5-inch heels and a trench coat. I couldn’t think of a more enticing way to seduce a man. When I showed up he seemed put off and surprised by my initiative. He started playing his piano (typical) and I listened with boredom in my eyes, lust in my heart and sex on the brain. I started slowly with cooing glances, a leg rub, a seductive stare. He wouldn’t budge. I didn’t get it.

After he played his piano for an hour he joined me on the couch for a glass of wine. It was now or never so I dropped the coat to the floor and I threw myself naked across his lap.

He seemed like he didn’t know what to do - like a schoolboy touching his first tit. I rustled around like a snake; he seemed confused and disinterested. He got up. I moaned, making up my own fantasies, and he just stared at me, naked on his couch. After a few minutes I was tired of trying and stood up.

I don’t know why I did this - maybe it was out of frustration or maybe it was a last ditch effort - but I pulled down his pants, grabbed his semi-hard cock and said in a very polite manner, “I’m doing this because I knew you wouldn’t.”

He stood there stunned. Then his shock turned to anger and he told me to get the fuck out. I put my trench coat on and didn’t look back as I ran across the marble floor, my heels clinking under me. I couldn’t believe his nerve. A beautiful naked filly on his couch ready to be rode and he didn’t take the reigns. I gave him the keys but he didn’t know how to drive me. But on the way home all I could do was laugh. Not a funny ha ha laugh or a giggle, a sinister menacing laugh like I got the best of him. I didn't fuck him, but in the end I screwed him.

Story by Nikki Wantz.