She brought me a glass of water and said nothing. Just swung to my end of the bar and turned right around. A casual aloofness. It wasn’t disdain, it was a sense of familiarity. Like old friends who are content to enjoy each other’s quiet company.
She’s seen my type before, the frazzled grad student who just needs a fucking drink at 2pm on a Monday so he can finally make some progress on his dissertation.
And if she wanted my attention, she surely got it. She was wearing a pair of black Doc Martins, with white frilly socks juxtaposed against golden skin. Halfway up her trim thighs, a cherry red dress interrupted her natural contours, but just so. It hugged her in all the right places. Revealed a petite frame with a surprising curve at the waist and a satisfying bulge where her ass graced the fabric. An unhealthy distance between her thighs. Probably coke induced. (Is that judgmental?)
I put my things down and whipped out my computer. Before I knew it, she was in front of me once more. This was the first real look I got of her. She certainly passed inspection. She had full lips, maybe fake, but honestly who gives a shit. I wanted to know what they felt like. Natural blonde waves cascaded down a slim face from a middle part. She had aggressively shaped eyebrows, and thick (also-fake) lashes. They looked like they could withstand a significant blast. Maybe that's why she got em?
She was everything I wanted from a bartender in this moment. Experienced at her craft, not too pushy, and well in-tune with her sexuality.
I ordered a beer. Drank a lot of it. Wrote as many words as I could. Made pleasant smalltalk with her. Got the check. Left a big tip—the service industry is hard. Prepared to leave.
That is, until she stopped me and said, “Hey. Give me your phone. I want you to have my number.”
Quickly, my hand was reaching into the back right pocket of my Levi’s. I said, “Oh. I’m actually married!”
But my arm still delivered my phone. She’s either really bold or simply missed the platinum wedding band. Sure, its been scratched over the years, but it still shines well enough.
“I saw. But…well, you never know,” she said as a sly little smile smeared across her ruby lips. They matched the dress.
I hadn’t been expecting this, but at this point it seemed too late. Any attempt at escape would be way more awkward than just moving on quickly. Besides, it's just a phone number. It isn’t cheating. I could just delete the contact once I got home.
She handed it back.
“Well, thanks, Cassidy?” I replied. I couldn’t hide my own joy. I looked like a little kid getting a cheek kiss from one of the older girls in the neighborhood.
“Yeah. See you sometime, I hope.”
I could have deleted her contact. But I didn’t.
Instead, I stared at her contact twice a day arguing with myself about the boundaries of cheating. I mean, we could be friends. Guys should be able to be friends with girls. Who cares if she made a move at the beginning. That doesn't mean we cant form something platonic. That doesn’t mean we’re cheating.
A week later I mustered the courage. “Hey. Its alex from the bar last week. scared I wouldn’t reach out? Lol ”
Send. A couple minutes.
“Not surprised. I believed in you :)”
“So whats with giving ur number to a married guy? Lol bold strategy”
“idk. Just kinda thought ur cute :)”
“My marital status doesn’t bother you??”
“not at all”
Ball’s in my court now. The burden to reply is on me. And I think I might actually be flirting with this girl. She seems to be flirting back. Well, flirting is a bit scandalous in a marriage, but it definitely isn’t cheating.
The problem is that I’m afraid I’m trapped on a slippery slope here. Because every opportunity to escalate, I have taken. So, what happens next is entirely my call.
I could just stop texting. Ghost her. Nothing really happened. I was just curious. That makes sense. I could explain that.
Or.
I could let her know that my wife is out of town and that I’ll likely never have another chance to fuck her goddamn brains out. But, you know, more gracefully than that.
“So… your timing is great…” This could end poorly for me. I am making a bad decision.
She replied, “ohh? :)”
“mhmm. I’m basically not married this weekend…” My wife is out of town. Fucking scumbbag.
“I never cared if you were lol” Why did that sentence just pump precum from my ever-growing cock?
“You wanna come over in a bit?”
Well, it all hinges on her reply. I’m clearly not capable of stopping myself. She gets to choose if I cheat or not.
“What for?”
Goddamn it. She served it right back. Ok, Alex, make the decision. Don’t pay attention to the glistening rod in your shorts. Ignore it. Go to bed.
“One way to find out.” I dropped a pin.
“Coming soon”
We decided we’d watch a movie together. Innocent, enough, but only if I can get my cock to relent. Anything you do with another girl while being hard is immediately suspect. She also insisted we head to my bed. You know, the one I share with my wife. Red flags abound.
But those lips, I'm spellbound. Bamboozled.
Moments later, there she was. Laying next to me. Little spoon. Her cheeks wrapping my shaft through her sweatpants as she gently pushed against me. She’d do a little grind every now and then.
I’d let me hand creep a little further from her hips and a little closer to her pussy. Her skin was warm, hot even.
She’d bump. I’d reach.
I found my hand just under the waistband of those grey sweatpants. The tips of my middle two fingers resting on a neat little silk bow adorning the top of what I was guessing were soft cotton panties. She moaned a little. I tucked my fingers under her panties.
I could feel the prickled texture of a shave flanking a mound of course hair. The fact that she had a landing strip, for some reason, made me certain that I was about to act up. A jolt of precum erupted.
She began grinding more vigorously. Breathing hard.
A whispered, “I need you to do it, I need my pussy touched” sliced into my ears. My hand plunged under the cotton, my lips glued to her neck.
“Fuck” she breathily moaned.
She was soaking. A viscous collection of girl cum was surrounding my fingers on all sides. She’d soaked her panties through.
Now, I found her clit and began rubbing. Harder by the second. She was plenty lubricated to withstand some firm handling.
A girl like her craved abuse. And that's what she'd get.
[END PART 1]
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from Gonewild Stories https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ucohye/m_new_favorite_bartender_part_1/
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