T he stench of vomit drifted into the atmosphere every time someone opened the door to the men’s restroom. Customers were so tipsy, they’d stopped complaining about the funk, but I was getting nauseous. Watching the clock, I anxiously awaited the cleaning dude’s arrival.
The janitor, a middle-aged man named Ben, finally arrived a few minutes before midnight. Ben was slightly bent over with missing teeth in the front. He scowled a lot, and every few minutes, he removed his hat and raked his fingernails across his balding scalp. Scratching and digging in his head, he frowned like he couldn’t quite get to the itch.
Slapping his hat on his head, Ben stood in the doorway of the restroom with his mouth turned down, solemnly observing the foul mess. Grunting in displeasure, he yanked his hat off again and scratched his head harder than before. He gathered the cleaning supplies and began to work slowly and methodically, taking an extremely long time to clean and disinfect the men’s room.
Chaos and confusion ensued as Ben slow-poked through the cleaning task. Men who were badly in need of reUev- ing themselves had the choice of either going outside to take a leak or using the ladies room, which had a perpemal, long line.
Drinking Red Bulls all night, I couldn’t hold my piss any longer nor could I abandon the bar and go outside. Being the big dog in charge, I pulled rank and jumped in the front of the line that had formed outside the ladies’ room. There were two stalls inside, and I hurried to the first one that became available. The chick using the stall next to me was releasing an endless stream of urine, the kind that gushes out violently after a night of heavy drinking.
She was still peeing after I’d finished relieving myself. I shook my dick off, zipped up my pants, and was standing at the sink washing my hands when she finally exited the stall. With all that heavy pissing, I expected to see a burly, unattractive biker chick. But she was cute and petite, wearing washed-out jeans and a halter top. Her honey-colored hair was curled in ringlets that hung down her back. She looked pleasandy surprised when she spotted me at the sink washing my hands.
“Hey, handsome, what are you doing in the little girls’ room?” she asked as she joined me at the double set of sinks.
“The men’s room isn’t operating at the moment.”
“Lucky me,” she said, smifing as she looked me over. “So, you’re the new guy, huh?”
“Yeah, my name’s Jaguar.”
“Betty,” she said, giving me a flirty look. After washing and drying her hands, she pulled a tube of lip gloss out of her purse. I had no reason to linger any longer, but watching a woman apply lip gloss is another act that gives me inexphcable, freakish pleasure. When she realized I was watching her, she stroked the wand against her lips slow and teasingly. Then she stared at my crotch and hcked her Hps, giving the impression that she was offering to give me some head.
I can’t blame my behavior on alcohol since I’d only been drinking Red Bull. But something innate—some primal urge took over my sense of decency and decorum, and the next thing I knew, I was unzipping my fly. Betty dropped to her knees and I began stuffing the swelling head of my dick between her luminous lips.
The slippery dick-glide those glossy lips provided was incredible. Overwhelmed by her skillful, head game, I grabbed handfuls of her hair while she gripped my ass, pulling me closer, encouraging me to shove my dick further down her throat.
I grunted and groaned while she made noisy sucking sounds. Our combined sound effects were loud and insane, and I got extra boisterous when I shot my load. I tried to muffle my moans and groans by clamping my lips together, but to no avail. Despite my attempt toward discretion, I lost my cool and shouted, “God-damn!” in a strangled voice that sounded like I was in the throes of a violent death. If that wasn’t bad enough, I yanked the
girl’s hair so hard, I pulled out tufts of her honey-colored, spiral-curls.
Betty rose from her knees and spit my jism in the sink, and I frowned in disapproval. I felt offended that she hadn’t swallowed my seed. I don’t know why it bothered me, but it did. I guess I can be a jerk sometimes. I’ve never been proud of the selfish and egotistical aspects of my personality. But it is what it is.
After my heart rate calmed down, I instantly became disgusted with myself for participating in a sordid, sex escapade during working hours. If I planned to continue earning wages. I’d have to garner some restraint and decline getting blowed inside my place of employment.
I felt bad for Betty, though. She didn’t get anything out of the impromptu quickie. I’m the type of man who likes to satisfy my partner, but in this extreme situation, reciprocity wasn’t an option.
“Uh, thanks,” I muttered, barely able to look Betty in the eye. She smiled at me and gave me a pat on the shoulder as if to say, “Good job.” And that’s when I noticed her wedding ring.
How fucked up is that? A married woman gave brain to a total stranger in a public restroom! Oh, well, I couldn’t undo the act. As I quickly exited the restroom, I glanced guiltily toward the pool tables, wondering if Blowjob Betty was married to a rowdy biker.
Fifteen minutes later, I noticed Betty tongue-kissing a guy who was wearing a backpack—a geeky guy who had ordered a bottle of cheap champagne right before
I’d gone into the ladies’ room. The guy seemed soft, not the type who was looking for a fight. It was a relief that I wouldn’t have to worry about getting knifed or shot, but I couldn’t help grimacing as I witnessed Betty and her husband engaged in a passionate kiss.
Blowjob Betty was a devious chick, defiberately feeding her unsuspecting husband the sediments of the cum-shot she’d received from me. When the kiss ended, they made a toast and their friends shouted, “Happy Anniversary!”
A little after one in the morning, things had finally started to slow down and I was able to sit for a moment and catch my breath. The door opened, and a sepia- toned goddess walked inside the establishment. She was wearing a pale blue dress with a thin black belt below her bosom. She carried a clutch bag and was wearing heels. Very elegant attire for a place like The Dive. She was so gorgeous, so regal, my jaw literally dropped. As I gawked at her, I searched my mind for my best pick-up line. As she approached the bar, I felt a strong pull that went beyond her extraordinary looks. And my increased heart rate wasn’t a result of the immeasurable amount of Red Bull that I’d been drinking all night.
Instead of walking like a mere mortal, she seemed to glide. With her head held high, she gave the impression of royalty. In contrast, her eyes were slightly lowered, holding a glimmer of bashfulness. She was powerful and
demure all at once, and whoever she was, I felt an inexplicable desire to make her mine. And not for a quick fling. Fm talking, let’s move in together—tonight. No! Fuck shacking up. Let’s get a marriage license and tie the knot!
The lady in blue had me completely captivated.
Fve done a lot of living in my twenty-seven years. Been around the block a couple of times. Women have always gravitated toward me and Fve had more than my share. Fve had relationships with females of various ethnicities, been in love with career women as well as hood chicks with several baby daddies, and Fve been involved with women who were old enough to be my mother. Fve experienced a lot, but Fve never been aware of a first encounter that was remotely similar to what was happening in this moment.
I glanced at her again. And in her eyes I saw something tender and inviting.
As much as I detested fucking with the blender, the beautiful mystery chick could get a fi-ozen drink or anything else she wanted. Straightening my shoulders and affixing a smile on my lips, I mentally prepared to put my heart and soul into any girly drink her heart desired.
But a group of rowdy college boys suddenly appeared out of nowhere, blocking my view as they ordered a round of tequila shots.
I set up the shot glasses and filled them with Patron, and when I finished pouring, I didn’t see my sepia angel.
In a panic, I scanned the bar room, and literally breathed
a sigh of relief when I spotted her blue dress. She was sitting at a table near the window. There were no waiters at the establishment, and customers were supposed to order from the bar and take their drinks back to their table, and so I decided to play the role of waiter.
Hoping she wasn’t waiting for a date to join her, I stepped from behind the bar and approached her table. I had no idea what I was going to say to her, and though I felt awkward and self-conscious, the swag in my walk suggested complete confidence.
“Can I get you a drink?” I asked, deliberately making my voice a little deeper than it actually was.
“I’d like white wine, please. Skinny Girl, if you have that brand.” She had the refined vocal quality of the upper crust.
“I’ll check and see. But, I doubt if we have it. I do know that we have Moscato.”
“Moscato is fine.”
“Be right back.”
I returned with a chilled glass of Moscato and placed it in front of her. She went inside her handbag, and I told her the drink was on me.
“Oh, you don’t have to.”
“No strings attached,” I assured with a smile. “Enjoy your drink.”
“Thanks,” she murmured.
I wanted to ask her name, but the fear of appearing desperate sent me heading back to my post behind the bar.