mature xxx

It was a quiet place, on the edge of the college campus, in an old building that had seen better days, with slightly slanted floors and an inevitable draft that seemed to disappear only on the hottest of summer days. It had been a speakeasy during Prohibition and the first owner made the not-so-successful transition to neighborhood bar, but through the years the locals had drifted out to the suburbs.

The college kids, for the most part, found more attraction in the lights and excitement on campus or downtown, to the east. The old wooden bar itself was an old relic, polished by elbows and bar rags and bearing a scar or two in tribute to more colorful times. The lighting during the day was soft, sunlight fighting its way through old scratched windows with once-fashionable signage and during bad weather or at night by flickering fluorescents on the high ceiling. The floor was an easy-to-maintain institutional tile of a dark red color, never looking clean when polished nor exceptionally dirty when not. The barstools were a mix of the old shiny red leather with brass tacks and a few more recent replacements in black and chrome.

A succession of owners, bartenders, and customers had changed things little in the appearance of the place, as it never generated enough income to warrant renovation nor deteriorated enough to warrant closure. It was a “shot and a beer joint” in the local parlance, with no blenders or fancy equipment, and except for the owner’s penchant for making his special Bloody Mary (with beer chaser, of course), the most complicated drink was a martini or maybe a Manhattan, a request for either still being met with some annoyance.

It had avoided the fern craze of the eighties and, with its small bathrooms and inadequate ventilation, the crack cocaine epidemic that began in the nineties. An occasional hooker or two would stop in, but always on break, as they were welcome to drink (usually Crown Royal) but not to work. There wasn’t much hope, given the sparse clientele, of making much money anyway.

Mike was the latest owner, a former bartender at the place who’d developed an affection for the atmosphere and people of the neighborhood, and quite frankly found it cheaper and easier to drink from behind the bar than in front of it. Mike was a former seminarian, and his training and skills came in handy, both for hearing confessions and dispensing advice. He was a genuinely nice guy who had a repertoire of genuinely bad jokes. He’d be behind the bar all the time if he could have subsisted on the diet of stale chips, peanuts, and beef jerky that graced the back bar. But he was a man who loved his food, and that’s where I came in.

I’d been stopping on occasion each night after my classes, dropping in for a beer, which often led to another, then someone would buy a round, then Mike would return the favor. As a college student on very limited income, I was always a bit embarrassed that I couldn’t quite keep up, but nobody seemed to mind. One night, Mike mentioned that he was looking for a bartender to cover for him at dinner time, and well, what the heck, it didn’t look like a very challenging job and fit nicely with my schedule. The semester would be ending in a couple of weeks anyway and I’d go back to my day classes. So I went downtown, paid for my bartender’s license, and showed up at 3:00 PM the next day in the mandatory white shirt and tie to begin my apprenticeship.

Mike showed me how to work the cash register, pointed out an ancient book of Angostura Bitters drink recipes (which coincidentally called for a dash of Angostura in almost every recipe), watched me pour a few drinks and then headed out. He returned in about an hour and relieved me, pointing out a few things I’d screwed up (who came up with the idea that all the singles had to be George up and facing to the right?) and paying me, in cash, a total of five dollars. “Small bar, small wages!” he said with a smile. I wasn’t sure why but… well, nice guy, easy job, five bucks was okay.

Had we a few more customers, I might have had a few tips, but the regulars (all three of them) seemed unwilling to part with their cash unless it was going directly into the till. Initially hard on me, asking for exotic drinks and laughing as I looked them up, they eventually began including me in their drink rounds – a compliment that I declined only once and for which I suffered significant verbal abuse.

We continued like this for a few weeks, and Mike’s dinners became longer and longer, until eventually he was showing me how to close the bar and gave me a key. I found the work easy and enjoyable, learning the names and drinks of the regulars, improving greatly on Mike’s jokes, and starting to gain some confidence.

Now I was a part-time student, working my way through college on the nine year plan, and I was taking a lot of interesting courses, including philosophy, theology, and political sociology. Discussions in the classroom invariable carried over to the bar, where Mike and I would share our views and attempt to enlighten each other, neither significantly changed by our arguments. True, I usually thought up great responses to Mike’s platforms long after the bar had closed but I’d return to the classroom familiar with the opposition views and prepared to argue a bit more effectively.

Between work and my studies, I’d little time for a social life, and my girlfriend of four years had gone to Boston for college, from where she’d send me first weekly, then monthly letters, the details unfamiliar to me and the affectionate words lessening with time. We’d dated throughout much of high school, both from strict old world families, and despite raging hormones we’d kept pretty much within the bounds set forth by our church and parents on acceptable premarital behavior.

Though I had my first apartment, it was a small place sparsely furnished, with a sofa bed, a desk, and a small table and chair – the sum of my worldly possessions – and small stove and refrigerator that came with the place. It was cluttered often with books, papers, and piles of laundry in the corner, and was certainly not the place to entertain anyone.

This was not to imply that I didn’t have my share of impure thoughts, however. A neighbor woman, Marie, was constantly teasing me, winking at me and asking if I’d like to come over and spend a little time with her. I’d blush and stutter and she’d laugh as I politely declined and rushed into my apartment. What I assume she didn’t know is that I’d run inside to hide the rapid response that always sprang forward in my pants and wouldn’t subside until an appropriate amount of attention was paid to it.

At nineteen, well over six-foot four and a then trim two hundred pounds, my blond hair, blue eyes and slight freckles might have been attractive to her, but I was plagued by all the self-consciousness of adolescence.

I was also unable to resolve the conflicts between my idealistic respect for women and the sanctity of sex versus my vivid fantasies and raging sexual hunger. Some days I’d give in to my desires, usually after Marie’s teasing, and spend hours touching, stroking, and erupting again and again, falling asleep beside a cum-covered towel and awakening with a hard-on only to begin again, leaving for school with a sore arm, tired legs, and underlying exhaustion. Other days my guilt would lead to a resolve of abstinence and I’d sometimes last a week or more before waking erect from a vivid dream and falling back into my self-abusive ways. I must have spilled enough seed to populate a small country back then, and in my fantasies and dreams I was an accomplished lover, but in reality I’d never really seen, touched, or tasted the delights that I imagined.

One day, stopping home between class and work, I had stripped down to a pair of sweatpants and was cleaning my refrigerator, discarding a few items that seemed ready to mold and carrying the garbage out to the back before the smells could permeate my apartment. As I tossed the bag in the trash, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, and saw Marie looking at me through her open window on the second floor. Her facial expression suggested that she was in some pain, but as I waved to her, she smiled.

“Tony!” she called, waving back. “I was just going to empty my garbage, too – would you mind taking mine out for me?”

“Sure, glad to!” I replied, but I dreaded this. Running up to her apartment and grabbing her garbage was no problem, but these damn sweatpants would provide no cover for the hardon I could already feel rising in my pants. I tried to think of logic problems and recall parts of Cicero’s orations to distract myself as I ran up the stairs, but my cock paid little attention and seemed to delight in the friction my running caused between my leg and the cotton fleece. I knocked on Marie’s door and stood with my hands clasped in front of me, trying to look casual while suppressing and concealing my tenting pants.

She opened the door and invited me in, and I was greeted by the smell of fresh bread and some slightly musky undertone in the air. I don’t know much about pheromones but my body began to flush with excitement, embarrassment, and anticipation all at the same time. She was wearing a thin robe and pink satin nightgown that accentuated her breasts and stopped a bit above her knee. I averted my eyes as quickly as I could. “Are you okay?” she asked, seeing my skin redden from my neck up and flush across my chest.

“Yeah, I was working out before and I guess I overdid it,” I answered lamely. She smiled and said nothing, walking toward her kitchen where I could see a couple of garbage bags. I watched her as she walked, following closely but far enough back to admire the sensual movement of her fine behind, even through her robe and nightgown. I had a momentary urge to slide close to her and lift it, kissing up the backs of her legs to tongue the small of her back. My cock leapt at the thought and I said “Pray, dear Cataline, how long will you abuse our patience?” Cicero was my last defense against intrusive thoughts and I’d unwittingly spoken aloud as I recited him in my head.

“What?” she turned and asked, quizzically.

“Oh, sorry, just something I’m trying to remember for my Rhetoric class later.” My hands were still clasped in front of me as Cicero seemed to fail me once again.

“You are a strange one,” she said, laughingly. “When you take care of these,” she said, handing me the bags, “I’d like you to come back and change a light bulb for me? I just can’t reach it.”

I took the bags and held them at waist-height, relieved for the cover, and said, “Sure, anything for you Mrs. Olsen.”

“Tony, you’re nineteen now, aren’t you? That makes you a man in the eyes of the law and I’d appreciate if you’d call me Marie. Mrs. Olsen was my mother-in-law before her son ran out on me, and I’d like you to call me Marie instead.”

Oh if she only knew how often I’d called her Marie in the privacy of my room. “Sure, okay Mrs.. uh, Marie,” I stuttered.

I walked back down the stairs and my sense of shame and embarrassment had the effect of lessening the throbbing of my member. By the time I reached the garbage cans, I was almost flaccid, but as I leaned over to put her bags in I was hit by that same aroma that excited me when I’d opened her door. There, on the top of her trash and barely concealed in a sheet of newspaper was a pair of pink panties that matched her nightgown. The crotch was visibly stretched and soaked, and my cock sprang to new life with an intensity that make my knees weak. I debated taking them for a moment (to do what with I had no idea), then realized I’d no pockets or anywhere to conceal them. I also suspected that Marie might be watching me again, so I casually closed the can and walked backwards toward the door, pretending to be watching something that had caught my eye in the distance.

There was no way to conceal my hard-on now and I’d have to get inside before she saw me. I walked slowly down the hallway and up the stairs, this time trying to translate and conjugate Latin verbs to English and back again, with enough success that by the time I reached Marie’s doorway I could push my still-hard prick far enough down between my legs to keep me from hitting her door with it. It made walking a bit difficult, but I was sure I’d be done with the light bulb and out of there in time to take it home and give it the relief it so badly needed.

She opened the door and invited me back in, this time shutting it behind me and locking it. I imagined that she was concerned about safety, and though the neighborhood was pretty nice, I figured it was an old habit and a good one for an older woman living alone. She led me to the kitchen, and pointed to the cabinet high above the sink. “The light bulbs are in there.” I opened the cabinet door and reached up, finding the corrugated paper sleeve and a 50 watt light bulb.

“Is this one okay?” I asked.

“Well, it’s for my bedroom, and I guess I’d like something a little brighter. You never know who might be looking in!” she said, teasingly.

Damn. My cock jumped at that like a trout for a wet fly on a clear summer day. I blushed again, coughed, and laughed uncomfortably.

“Come on in here,” she said, leading the way and opening the door to her bedroom. “Come on in, said the spider to the fly!” she giggled, and again chuckling politely, I followed.

Not in my wildest dreams had I imagined a room like hers. A large waterbed draped with a patterned quilt dominated much of the room. On one side there was a mahogany vanity with a large mirror, and on the other, beside the closet doors, stood a beautiful inlaid wardrobe, slightly open, revealing a mirror on the inside and reflecting various hanging “intimate wear” items that I’d seen only in magazines or in the window at Victoria’s Not So Secret. “So where is the fixture?” I asked, averting my eyes again and hoping my arousal wasn’t nearly as evident as it felt.

“Above the bed,” she said, “That’s why I couldn’t change the bulb, I can’t reach it and I can’t very well put a ladder on the waterbed. I should have thought of that when I moved in, but I thought you could reach it.”

This would be tricky. Despite my height, when I leaned forward from the side of the bed, the ceiling fixture was still a few inches beyond my reach. “Can I stand on this?” I asked, pointing at the waterbed.

“Sure, but let me steady you so you don’t fall,” she said. “Move slowly or you’ll get sloshed around by the waves – or would that be something you’d like?” she continued to tease.

By now I am sure I was as red as a beet, for I really would like that but didn’t dare say so. My swollen hard cock, however, tried to stand like a schoolchild raising his hand in answer to a question. “Um, I think I can reach it if I’m careful,” I said, avoiding her question. I stepped onto the bed carefully, and from the middle, I could reach well enough to unscrew the old bulb. The problem was the continued shifting of water in the bed which threatened my balance.

Marie was ‘steadying’ me as I reached, her hands at the small of my back and my stomach, her fingers just above my waistband. She applied pressure in front and back, and as the bed’s movements slowed, she continued to hold me. I knew that my cock was about eye-level for her now but she thankfully said nothing.

As I removed the old bulb, holding the new one in my mouth, I stuck the old one in the waistband of my sweats. As I said, I didn’t have pockets, didn’t want the thing to break, and frankly, I was enjoying the feel of both her hands on my skin too much to ask her to hold it. As I inserted the new bulb, I felt her hands trembling a bit and sliding down slightly. As I tightened it, I felt her hands slide a little lower, til she was unmistakably touching my cock, now swollen and arching to her touch. I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do, so I stood there for what seemed an eternity while she squeezed my member lightly though my pants.

“Wow, you sure know how to screw,” she said, her voice a little throaty. She seemed to catch herself, not laughing this time, but looking rather intensely at me.

“I wish that were true,” I said, somewhat sheepishly. “I’m afraid you’d be disappointed – I’ve never been with a woman like that. But oh that feels good!” I moaned as continued to squeeze, then to caress my now straining cock.

“Does it now?” she asked. “Then I bet this will feel even better,” she said, sliding my sweats down and freeing me. The old light bulb fell to the quilt and she tossed it into the waste can, turning again to approach me.

My cock bounced to attention as it began to throb and pulse with insistent desire. She cupped my balls lightly in her hand, slid her fingernail up behind them to my ass and then drew it, slowly, carefully, back up my shaft to the tip. “What it this?” she asked, pointing to the clear precum now brimming at my opening. “Let’s find out,” she said, and, leaning forward, touched her tongue to it. “Mmmm… I’m not sure what it is, but I sure hope there’s more, it tastes soooo good!” she said, opening her mouth and taking me between her inviting lips.

I thought I had died and gone to heaven. I felt my legs start to shudder and shake as she licked and sucked, grasping my shaft between her fingers and stroking lightly. I could feel myself filling and tightening and my eruption imminent. I put my hands on her gray hair and caressed it as her head moved with increasing rapidity. I warned, “I think I am about to cum,” my voice wavering. She suddenly stopped.

“If you really are going to become a knowledgeable screwer, my young man, you need to learn a few things!” she said. I was still so close that a word from her, a touch, or even a vivid mental image would have made me shoot hot jets from the very depth of my being. But she moved away, instead, and my excitement and arousal and edge of my orgasm seemed to follow her out of the room.

Embarrassed, humiliated, and deeply ashamed, I wondered what I had done wrong, either to make her touch me so or to stop. That worked even better than Cicero to back me off from the brink, and though I was full and dripping precum, with what felt like a quart of cum tightened and ready to launch from within, my cock began to lower and soften in its shame and frustration. I pulled my sweats back up and headed out of the bedroom towards the door.

“I’m sssooo sorry,” I muttered as I tried the lock, only to realize it was deadbolted. I turned, and there she was, sitting on the couch with a rather smug look on her face.

“Sit down, Tony,” she said softly. “I have a confession to make and I would like you to hear it. When I’m done, if you still want to leave, I will let you out. But I need to explain a few things before you go, so that you won’t hate me.”

I didn’t hate her, but I wasn’t sure I liked her anymore, and frankly, I was so congested below that I couldn’t think straight and wasn’t sure I could stand much more. But her voice was so soft and pleading, and I was sure she was as embarrassed as I had been by what transpired in the bedroom.

“Look,” she said, “I am sorry about what happened in there but I was being unfair. I’ve lusted after you for the whole three months I’ve lived here. I really didn’t burn out the light bulb, I lied about that. I’m a woman who hasn’t been with a man for a long time, but my desires haven’t stopped – in fact, I think they’ve increased. You keep running around here with your shirt off, being so nice to me, well, I have to tell you. I’ve been fantasizing about you. As a matter of fact, I was touching myself and looking out the window, imagining being with you, when you came outside today. Just as I hit my orgasm you turned and waved, and I tore my panties slipping my hand out to wave back.”
increased. You keep running around here with your shirt off, being so nice to me, well, I have to tell you. I’ve been fantasizing about you. As a matter of fact, I was touching myself and looking out the window, imagining being with you, when you came outside today. Just as I hit my orgasm you turned and waved, and I tore my panties slipping my hand out to wave back.”

That explained the panties in the garbage. I was so stunned I wasn’t sure what to say. Should I tell her that I’d fantasized about her too? Seeing my hesitation, she went on:

“I must be thirty, no, make that forty years older than you. The men my age are pretty much either taken or damaged goods. I’ve dated a bit, met some men in bars and taken them home, but there are so many women my age that they seem to go from bed to bed, from woman to woman, looking for the best deal and the most excitement. Worse yet, just when you find someone, he’s likely to leave you for the next young pretty thing that comes along, just like my husband did. So I’ve been a bit lonely, and maybe in the midst of my fantasies I thought maybe I could entice you in to help fill my aching need. Had I known you were a virgin, I never would have done that. Please forgive me.” She was weeping softly now, tears running down her cheeks.

“Mrs. Olsen.. uh, I mean Marie… don’t cry. I’m flattered and, well, since you’re being so honest with me, I guess I should be honest with you, too.” I hesitated, not sure where to begin, so I just let myself ramble. “I haven’t really ever been with a woman, not ‘all the way’. Heck, I’ve never really even seen a naked woman’s body, except in pictures. But I think about it all the time, and well…” I readied myself for the big bombshell.

“Marie, I think about you too, almost every night. I lie in bed and imagine making love to you and I just lose myself in the thought and the pleasure. I’m even more guilty than you are, because I’m sure I’ve done something to make you feel this way. My ma always told me it was men who made women have sex, and I apologize for whatever it was that I did.” Inside, I felt the struggle of my emotions, my sadness for having led her astray somehow, my relief at finally telling her, and still, that persistent arousal that I always had around her.

“Tony, I think you have a lot to learn about women and about yourself,” Marie said. “I’m glad we had this talk, and I, too, am flattered. I think we both need to sort some things out, but we can do that another time. I’m glad, for the moment, that you’re not mad at me, and I thank you for hearing me out. Sorry about locking the door, but I was afraid you’d run away and not let me talk to you.” She reached into the pocket of her robe and walked to the door. Damn if she didn’t look sexy doing it.

I stood and followed her to the door. As she reached with the key I put my hands on her shoulders from behind, and she stopped. I came up close behind her, and on impulse, leaned down and kissed her neck. She didn’t move but I thought I heard an audible moan. I kissed again, then opened my mouth to taste her smooth sweet skin. She had a clean scent of soap but I could also sense that slightly musky smell I’d noticed before.

She turned in my arms and her mouth met mine, the keys falling to the floor. Her mouth was hungry for me and our lips bruised and teeth clicked as our kisses spoke of all our contained passions. Our arms caressed each other’s backs, then I found myself sliding my hands lower to her full warm buns, pulling her close against my again arching madness and gasping at the feel, even through our clothes, of her body against mine.

“Tony, are you sure you want to do this?” she asked, though it was much more ‘pro forma’ versus a real question. In answer I slid my hand into her robe and under her nightgown, finding and caressing her hot center. My hand and fingers were drenched immediately when I parted her folds, and she gasped when I bent down and sucked lightly on her nipple.

Truthfully, there was no going back for either of us. She grabbed my hand and pulled me roughly to her bedroom, pushing me back on the waterbed and slipping my sweats all the way off this time. I fumbled and flustered but eventually got her robe and nightgown off, mouths locked and hands exploring the whole time. I felt her breast and she felt my nipples, and we took turns kissing and licking and nipping and biting, teasing each other into a frenzy. She pushed me back and straddled me, guiding and lowering herself onto my rigid cock and gasping as I slid into her.

It was like nothing I’d ever felt before, so hot and wet. I could feel her grasping me somehow as she moved up and down, her hands on my chest, pinching my nipples, smiling as she felt me lifting her slightly as I began to thrust upward, meeting her, going deep, almost slipping out… I was messy and amateurish and at that point I stopped caring about anything except the release that was about to happen. I felt I needed to warn her:

“Oh Marie, I am going to CUM!” I almost shouted.

“Yes, baby, me too!” was her only reply and she slid forward a bit, tightening her internal grasp on me as she slid her clit the length of my veined and textured shaft. I couldn’t hold back any more.

I still can’t find the words for what happened next. I was gripped by a wave of pleasure and tightening down below followed by what seemed like an explosion of my cum, boiling and frothing and shooting forth into her. “YES!” she cried as she started first muffled and then full screams of passion, thrusting down on me with each “YES!” and my cum seeming to spurt harder upwards with each thrust. I thought I must be spent but as she slowed, her voice growing softer but more hoarse, I could still feel my diminishing spurts pumping into her. Suddenly she leaned forward and kissed me full on the mouth again, and then rolled off me, my cock falling out of her with an audible plop. She turned and smiled at me, then closed her eyes with the most intense look of contentment that I’ve seen before or since.

As she lay there, her eyes closed, her face still red but her breathing slowing, I just looked at her. The gray hair long and now disheveled, the slightly spotted skin of her face and shoulders telling of years in the sun, the slight sag of her breasts more than compensated by their beauty and fullness. Boldly, I reached over and touched one, and her eyes opened. She smiled at me and took my hand, spreading my fingers and drawing my palm to her breast, then moving my hand in circles across the hardening nipple. She guided my fingers, showing me what she liked. Then she let me experiment with the other breast on my own.

“Does this feel good, am I doing it right?” I asked, hopeful.

“Yes, Tony. But you are going to make me all horny again,” she said softly. “I’m going to want you to touch my womanhood if you keep that up,” she said, and it came out almost like a challenge. Encouraged, I continued to caress and tease her breasts until she started to move and moan to my touch, and she again took my hand, this time moving it down her tummy and spreading her legs for me.

“Um, uh, Marie,” I said, haltingly, “Could I look?”

“Oh, Tony, I wish you would, and tell me if you like what you see!” she said, the slight laugh returning to her voice. I slide down the bed and spread her legs, enjoying my first full uninterrupted view of a woman’s sex. Her hair there was less gray than that on her head, and it was thick and matted with her wetness and my cum. It was more beautiful than anything I’d seen in pictures or imagined, the folds glistening and the reddish lips seeming to pout, to swell even as I looked at them. As I stared she opened her legs further, and a glop of my cum slipped out of her. She reached down, caught it with her fingertips and she began rubbing it across her own nipples.

“Marie,” I said in a whisper, “Can I kiss you there?”

“Oh gawd Tony, yes. I wish you would!” she said, without any hint of embarrassment. I kissed the inside of her knees and made my way down her smooth full thighs, a bit cautious and fearful but drawn irresistibly to her center. I kissed all around it, and especially below, where our commingled juices seemed to flow from her continuously. I kissed her then right on those swollen lips and heard her gasp. Thinking I had hurt her somehow, I stopped.

“No, Tony, it is alright baby,” she said. “Please don’t stop.”

Encouraged but cautious, I used the tip of my tongue to trace her opening, savoring the taste and the scent and the heat that seemed to arise from her and warmed my face. That was the scent I’d noticed earlier – was the smell of a woman’s arousal, and that knowledge cause my already revived prick to jump with excitement.

“Gently, Tony, gently, find my clitoris, my clit. It will be a little harder than the other tissue, and it will get harder still as you touch it. It is my love nub, a woman’s counterpart to a man’s penis. Find it Tony, and kiss it. I want you to do that,” she said, gently and but with a sense of urgency in her voice.

I stuck my tongue in her toward the bottom of her opening and heard her gasp again, and licked and probed my way up to the top. Just beyond the top, pushing itself out from between the folds, I found her love nub, and I circled it with my tongue. I heard her cry out in pleasure and knew I’d accomplished my mission. Feeling proud and a little silly, I started to hum the theme from ‘Mission Impossible’ as my tongue danced around it.

“GAWD TONY!” she cried, “THE VIBRATIONS ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY!” Happy that I’d discovered on my own something that excited her so, I hummed harder, flicking my tongue across her as I did. She suddenly locked her legs behind me and put her hands in my hair, pulling me harder against her. I continued to lick and hum and flick as she started to thrust against my face and pull my hair, until she uttered what could only be called a primal scream and pushed me away.

“I’m sorry, honey, but I was so sensitive I would have lost my mind if you’d continued,” she moaned, her body seeming to shudder in aftershocks. Seeing my perplexed look, she explained “A woman’s orgasm is like a crest of waves” she said. “You’ve taken me over the edge and more would have been like trying to withstand a tidal wave” she said. “I don’t even know if I’ll be able to walk!” she laughed. “Luckily, I don’t have anywhere to go or anything to do but enjoy this afterglow. But aren’t you working?” she asked.

I looked at the clock. Sigh. If I left now, I could shower and dress and get to work with a moment or two to spare. “I’m not sure I want to go in today” I said, smiling.

“Tell you what,” she said, “If you do go to work, I’ll have some dinner waiting for you when you get off.” “Keep the key” she said, “I have a spare. I might need you to come change my light bulb again.” I kissed her, appreciatively and passionately until she broke it off, tossing me her key and my sweats, and I left for work that night with a smile on my face.
As I arrived at work, a few minutes late and slipping my tie on as I came through the door, Mike and a few regulars, Joey and Louie, were deep in conversation at the end of the bar.

Joey was an old cab driver who’s been kicked out of most of the local bars, primarily because he’d get tanked up and engage in loud verbal arguments on a variety of subjects, but usually concerning the way liberals were driving the country to hell. He’d managed to offend pretty much everyone at one time or another, even those who might agree with him, and while he expected others to be tolerant of his opinions, he’d become a shouting tyrant at some point in the evening. The most successful ploy in controlling him was to wait until he was at his finest, then make some statement about Nixon being a crook, at which point he’d challenge me to a fight. I’d agree, and we’d step outside, where I’d sidestep his wild first punch (always a right hook, by the way) and he’d sprawl on the ground. I’d then help him up and send him on his way. No harm, no foul, and he’d return the next day with no memory of the events of the night before. He was a regular customer, and Mike needed the business.

Louie, on the other hand, worked for a moving company, packing and hauling people’s belongings across the country, and showing up irregularly for a week or two at a time, only to disappear again, leaving one to wonder if he’d been sick, injured, or simply out of town on a job or a binge. He was classically educated and could carry on conversations about almost any topic, a brilliant man who’d traveled the country and the world, but had found his love for the liquor his only constant.

Louie was always a little rough on arrival, unless he’d stopped somewhere else first, but between about the third and twelfth drinks he was both a great conversationalist and an expert pool player. I know only because I’d seen him once at another bar, won about $100 as his partner from drinks four through eleven, and, with the stakes raised, lost it all during that thirteenth drink. At his best, he could make the cue ball curve completely around the ball in front of it to sink his target ball. At his worst, he played like I usually do. He, too, would become belligerent at some point in the night, though he’d usually just hurl invectives and stomp out at some point.

“I can’t believe she’d do that, and besides,” said Mike, “He’s too young for her by a long shot.” I hated coming into the middle of conversations, especially between these guys, because asking for an explanation usually led to a much longer story than could hold anyone’s interest, which would digress further into arguments about the details and relationships and events, the speakers themselves losing the thread of the original story. So I moved behind the bar and Mike grabbed a stool, and while I took inventory and checked the register, I listened in discreetly.

“I’m telling ya,” bellowed Joey, “She took him in the back and did something to him! She walked back out, it musta been five minutes later, with her wig askew and her lipstick smeared. When he came out, carrying a couple cases of beer, he had a smile on his face, not unlike the grin that Tony came in with.” I was unaware that my presence had been even noticed, much less that my smile had been observed. I’d just been introduced to the pleasures of a woman that afternoon, and had little doubt that Joey had been inaccurate in his description of me, but now they all turned and I blushed.

“What have YOU been up to?” Mike asked, a sly smile on his face. Louie looked at me and laughed.

Joey said “I know a smile like that, boy, you got laid, didn’t you!”

“A gentleman would not talk about such things,” I protested, turning redder still.

“Ah, I KNEW it!” said Joey. “See, I told you something was going on in the back room and that’s the same look Tommy had on his face when he came out.”

Tommy was another regular who served as interim bartender when neither Mike nor I were available. He was a quiet, nice guy with a pleasant manner, not much personality, but from what I was catching of the story, he’d committed a mortal sin in the bartending business. No, not having sex in the back room, but leaving the bar unattended.

“Marsha wouldn’t do such a thing,” proffered Mike, “And Tommy… well, I’ll have to talk to him about it tomorrow.” Mike finished his drink and turned to me. “All in order?” he asked, pointing toward the till.

“Perfect as always, boss,” I said. “Do you think you’ll be in later?” I was hoping that he’d want to close tonight, as I had a promise of dinner and more awaiting me next door to my apartment. On top of that, my legs felt sore and weak from my afternoon’s activities, and I didn’t relish the thought of standing behind the bar all night.

“I dunno, you seem to be doing a pretty good job,” said Mike. “I think I’ll let you close again.” Mike got off his barstool and walked a little unsteadily toward the door. He must have been drinking with Joey and Louie for some time. “Good night and make sure you lock up tight when you leave.”

“We’ll keep an eye on him and get him trained up right,” called Joey as Mike left. Damn. This meant I’d have these guys teasing me and arguing for a couple more hours. All I wanted to do was rush back to those beautiful arms and willing body that had given me so much pleasure. That, it seemed, was on hold, however.

The evening progressed, a few new customers trickling in and out, Joey and Louie arguing as usual, and we kept the banter light-hearted. I was in a generous mood and even bought them a few drinks, and they seemed to appreciate it, leaving together for a place down the street where they could shoot pool and stumble home.

I was alone in the bar when she came in about midnight, and I was shocked to see her.

“Marie!” I said, stunned. When I’d left her that afternoon, she’d been sleepy and disheveled, her gray hair long on her shoulders and her expression content.

Now she was dressed to the nines, a short black dress that seemed to enhance her beauty and accentuate her cleavage. Her hair was up, and her blue eyes were piercing as she smiled at me, posing for a moment and moving her legs in such a way that I could see a bit of thigh and the garter belt which held up her dark nylons.

“I missed you,” she said, smiling. “I was going to relive our afternoon, and I did a bit, but after the real thing it just wasn’t as good,” she said naughtily. My cock was as happy to see her as the rest of me, suddenly tenting my pants as my mouth grew dry.

“I’m glad to see you too!” I said, though I was suddenly nervous. This was just the kind of thing that got one in trouble, what might cost Tommy his job tomorrow, and I needed no gossip or rumors complicating my work and reputation. While there was nobody in the place besides the two of us, anyone could walk in at any time, and anything untoward would be reported to Mike, probably before I could show up for the morning shift. Okay, this job wasn’t a partnership in a law firm but it was the only one I had, and I’d just made it through the necessary initiation by regular customers giving me a hard time, I didn’t need any more trouble.

“Why don’t you come down here and let me make you a drink?” I said, motioning Marie toward the far end of the bar, where we had a hinged section that lifted to allow the bartenders to pass in and out. If she sat there, I alone could steal a look at her legs while I worked, and they were indeed a thing of beauty, especially with those dark nylons.

“How about a kiss to help me decide what else I want to drink?” she said, seductively. This was going to be a long three hours, I thought. She walked to the place I’d suggested, took my hands and leaned across the bar to kiss me. As my mouth met hers she pulled my hands to her breasts and I was about to lose myself in her as I heard the front door open. Startled, I stood up, again blushing, as a few college students, evidently on a “Death March” – a tour of the street from a bit west all the way to the lake – stumbled in, laughing and slurring and calling to their friends outside, began to pile into the bar.

With an authorized (by the fire department) capacity of twenty-five, the Small Bar was pretty quickly filled by the twenty or so students who filed in. “Some pitchers of beer!” they said, and I started filling pitchers and distributing glasses and counting customers, setting the beer on the bar to be passed around. The students were mostly guys, somewhat past sobriety but not quite beyond tolerable limits, some rushing to the bathroom and a couple others looking at our antique jukebox. They plugged in a few quarters and I cranked up the box from behind the bar, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band filling the air with “Born To Run”. I collected for the beer and returned to Marie, suddenly realizing that I’d not given her a drink.

“I’m sorry, what can I get you?” I asked.

“I was thinking of something milky, what do you recommend?” she teased. My cock leapt again, remembering how her sodden love petals had dripped with my milk just a few hours before. I knew we had some heavy cream in the cooler, and I made her a White Russian. I slipped in a little more vodka and Kahlua than usual, wanting her both relaxed and awake at closing time, when I’d give her a little payback for teasing me so badly while I was busy.

The kids called for another round, and one of the two girls with them called for shots. “I want an Orgasm!” called one, and another “I want Sex on the Beach!” I lined up the shot glasses and tried to buy some time.

“Does anybody know how to make those?” I asked. They looked at each other – they’d evidently had those downtown, but I hadn’t a clue. I paged through the Angostura Bitters drink guide. Nope, neither drink there, but we did have a few liquors on the back bar. They were grumbling and I heard overheard some comment about bad bartenders.

“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll pour you a shot of a new drink – Tony’s Demise – and if you don’t like it, you don’t have to pay.” The promise of a few drink seemed to assuage their displeasure, and I reached back for some Midori Melon Liquor. Sweet and colorful seemed the thing for most kids, and though I was pretty much the same age, a lot of years of work and a few living on my own had leant some maturity. Since I had the Kaluha out anyway, I poured a bit into each glass, dark and chocolate colored, then added a touch of Midori. Hmmm. It looked like sludge. I poured a little vodka on top of that, creating an oddly layered parfait of alcohol, then put just a drop of the heavy cream on top of that. I’d forgotten that cream seemed to curdle when added to alcohol, but it was an inventive and interesting solution to my dilemma and the students seemed entranced.

“Don’t I get one?” asked Marie.

“Sure, lady, have one with us!” one of the boys said. I poured two more, and so armed, we all toasted and drank in one motion.

“That’s really good!” one of the boys yelled. Marie and I exchanged a glance. I wouldn’t have used the word ‘good’ – it was not unpleasant but I don’t think I’d ever order it on purpose.

“I tell you what, you can have that one on me!” I said. “Just order a ‘Tony’s Demise’ at your next stop, and when they don’t know how to make it, tell everybody where to get one!” Free marketing for the cost of liquors we hardly used.

“We’ve got to get going or we’ll never make it to the lake!” shouted one of the girls, evidently remembering they were on a Death March and had little time to linger.

Had this been some other night, had Marie not been there, I would have encouraged them to stay. The profits from the beers alone were welcome, and as they left, they threw bills on the bar for my tip. I counted them up – almost twenty dollars – twice what I’d make in a usual night. I grabbed the glasses and pitchers I could reach, and stacked them near the sink on Marie’s end of the bar.

“That was nice!” I said.

“You know what would have been nicer?” Marie asked. “If you could have given me an Orgasm. You must know the recipe, because you gave me a couple of very strong ones before.”

Gawd! How that woman could excite me. Her blue eyes met mine and she pursed her lips slightly. I glanced up at the clock – 1:30 AM bar time. If it stayed this quiet I could close up early. I leaned across the bar and kissed her again, and jumped a bit as I felt her arm reach beneath the hinged section and grasp my cock through my pants.

I was working, this was dangerous, but oh it felt so good. I braced myself on the bar and continued to kiss her while she grasped and stroked me. I could feel myself filling and aching for release when the front door opened again.

“Um, is this the place where you make the ‘Tony’s Demise’?” a small voice with a British accent asked. We both turned to see the small man shuffle in. I straightened and walked toward him.

“Sure is,” I said, though I was tempted to send him up the street. “How can I help you?”

“Well, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Chester Farnsworth from the Angostura Bitters Company,” he said, holding out his hand, “We’re putting together a new recipe book. I just ran into some college students who said you had a winner here!” He smiled as I shook his hand.

“Just call me Tony,” I said. He held out a leather folder, opening it to a letter of introduction. Under a multi-colored embossed seal and the Angostura Bitters letterhead, it read, in part:

To Whom It May Concern:

The Bearer of this Letter has the authority to enter into binding agreement with such persons or parties as he deems appropriate for the establishment of contract and transfer of ownership of such intellectual property….

It went on and on but seemed to be a legitimate letter, referencing Her Majesty the Queen and containing all sorts of legalese. I showed the letter to Marie, who reread it more intensely while I spoke with the stranger.

“Excuse me, sir, but why would an international company be sending someone out to a college campus in the US this late at night?” I was trying to be polite, but something just didn’t add up.

“Oh, you must realize, Mr. Tony, if people knew we were coming, or if we didn’t make surprise surveys in the heart of the colonies, we’d never find what people were really drinking!” he exclaimed. “What better place than small college bars? I really wouldn’t even have come in here if I hadn’t heard about you up the lane a pace.”

Still dubious, I asked, “Well, what now?”

“Well,” he said, “If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d like to try this ‘Tony’s Demise’ that I’ve heard so much about.”

I racked my brain briefly, trying to remember the ingredients. “I’ll tell you what,” I said, “If this is a story to get a free drink, you’ve more than earned it.” I set the shot glass on the bar. Suddenly I had a brainstorm.

“I begin with one dash of Angostura Bitters,” I lied. “Then one part Kaluha,” I said, pouring some in the glass. “An equal part Midori Melon Liquor” I added, “then two parts vodka.” “Last, a drop or two of heavy cream.” What the heck, it was my own recipe, I could change it if I wanted.

Farnsworth seemed even more enthused, and lifted his glass “Bottom’s up” he said. I watched as he sipped, then tilted his head back to empty the glass. “My, that was interesting!” he said. “The Angostura Bitters clearly gives it a special flavour, don’t you think? Please, join me in another if you would be so kind!”

I filled three glasses, making the drink as I had for Farnsworth, and Marie and I toasted to Farnsworth this time, and he to our hospitality. Strangely, the bitter seemed to improve the drink, balancing the sweetness of the kaluha and helping integrate the flavors. “Heck,” I thought, “I MIGHT order this someplace. It’s good!”

Now it was close to closing time, but Farnsworth had some papers for me to sign, and offered me fifteen thousand pounds for exclusive rights to my recipe. I wasn’t sure of the exchange rate, but I figured I could catch up with my tuition for this year and next if it was anything close to fifteen thousand dollars. Farnsworth thanked me for my time, gave me a vellum copy of our agreement, and left. I locked the door behind him and turned off the flashing neon sign, the overhead lights, and drew the blinds.

“Do you think he was legitimate?” I asked Marie. She seemed almost to glow in the dim lights of the back bar and exit sign.

“I don’t know,” she said, “But I’ve been waiting to do this all night and we keep getting interrupted.” She took my face in her hands and drew me to her, opening my mouth with her tongue and kissing me with unbridled passion. She slid her hand roughly into my shirt, a button popping off as she did so, and caressed, then pinched my nipple. It felt like electricity running through me as she pulled my tie loose, almost choking me for a minute, then ripped my shirt open to my waist. Sitting on the barstool, she began to kiss my chest, nibbling on my nipples and tugging.

It was pain and it was ecstatic at the same time. I started to reach for her but she pushed my hands back, pinning them against the bar, a clear message that this was her time, her move, and I was simply to comply. Leaning back, I braced myself against the bar rail as her kisses covered my smooth chest and her hand slipped between my legs, cupping my balls and then working their way up my now rigid shaft. She fumbled a bit with my belt and pants before opening them and ripping the zipper open, pushing them forcefully down to my knees, then shoving my shorts down as I sprang free.

“Ohhh, what have we here?” she asked, her voice a throaty growl. She took my shaft in her hand and began stroking as she kissed to my navel, where she began to lick and probe with her tongue. She reached up with her other hand and began to pinch my nipple, hard, and despite the pain I could feel my tension and pleasure and the electric tingle growing and merging into an almost audible hum.

She looked down at my cock, now red and throbbing, the bulbous head shiny in the dim light, and said, “I think you are about ready.”

She got up, motioning for me not to move, and slid one of the old red leather barstools right in front of me. She straddled it, hooking her heels into the rungs, and spread her legs. She slid her dress up to her waist and moved to the edge of the barstool, where I could see that she was naked above her garterbelts, her sweet pussy dripping onto the leather. She grabbed my cock and pulled me into her and I arched my back to slide deep into her hot slickness. We began to rock together, faster, and her moans and grunts and cries got louder. I was on the edge of no return when she suddenly opened her mouth on my nipple and bit down, the flash of pain triggering my eruption into her.

I came like I’d never cum before, shooting deep inside her as spasm after spasm seemed to grip my balls and force my fluids out. She rocked on the stool, grasping and milking me with her wetness as my cum squeezed out of her and dripped down the side of the barstool. She stood on the rungs then and embraced me, and I wrapped my arms around her and held her. She leapt into my arms then, the barstool clattering to the floor, supported only by my strong embrace and my cock still inside her.

We stood like that for a long while, and I could feel her heart and mine pounding together, and feel our juices running down my balls and onto my thighs. As I stated to soften she asked me to set her down, but instead I lifted her onto the bar, her dripping pussy at the edge, and righted her barstool. “Mustn’t leave a mess,” I said, and put the stool in front of her, sitting where she’d been and feeling the cold leather and our slickness on my ass and balls as I leaned forward.

I pulled the hem of her dress forward and up, and slid a little closer. She looked at me with some curiosity as I slid the dress over my head, and in that cloaked darkness, I followed my nose to her sodden lips. As I kissed her soaking mound I heard her gasp, but her hands pressed me closer. I started to lick her slick lips and she started to moan again, shifting her hips back and forth to give me better access. I licked deep then parted her with my tongue, piercing her and humming again as my tongue circled her clit. She moaned her encouragement from above and I began to suck, my mouth quickly filling with her fluid and my spent cum, the thick nectar sweet and I swallowed then began licking and sucking harder. Gawd, how good she tasted and how warm she was. I could feel my own excitement growing again as it stretched and swelled against my thigh.
shifting her hips back and forth to give me better access. I licked deep then parted her with my tongue, piercing her and humming again as my tongue circled her clit. She moaned her encouragement from above and I began to suck, my mouth quickly filling with her fluid and my spent cum, the thick nectar sweet and I swallowed then began licking and sucking harder. Gawd, how good she tasted and how warm she was. I could feel my own excitement growing again as it stretched and swelled against my thigh.

I slid my hand beneath her dress and up to her breast, feeling her nipple hard and slipping my fingers in her bra and rubbing it. She came again, her “YES” reverberating through the empty place and her hands pushing me away from beneath her dress.

I stood, smiling, my face wet and flushed with my now insistent excitement. She was still sitting on the bar, seemingly satiated, but her eyes were drawn to my arching manhood.

“Ooohhh,” she said, enticingly, “I see that somebody has something that I want!” She slid her dress off her shoulders and her full breasts fell free. She motioned for me, and I took her hand, but instead of getting off of the bar, she got up on it, standing before me. I was aching now and I grabbed myself and started to stroke while she slid her clothes off, dressed now only in her stockings and garters, dancing for me slowly. “Don’t cum yet,” she said, “I have something else I’d like you to do with that.” I stopped stroking reluctantly, because a bit more and I’d have lost it again.

She moved away from me down the bar a bit, slowly getting to her knees, and bracing herself on one hand she showed me her tight bum, spreading her cheek. “Like what you see?” she asked. Even in the dim light I could see her swollen pussy glistening with wetness.

“Oh yes”, I said.

“Then come up here and get some”, she challenged. I climbed up onto the bar behind her, and kissed her full round cheek as I approached, nipping a little, then kissing again. She moved against my mouth, pushing her rosebud bunghole closer to my kisses, and I took the hint, spreading her cheeks with my hands and looking at the clean soft pucker, then kissing it. “Oh, yes”, she moaned, “Be my dirty boy. Kiss my ass. Lick it.”

I was a little hesitant, I must say, but my cock was arching and throbbing and was clearly in control of this situation anyway. I slipped my hand between her legs and began to massage her wetness again, only to have my hand fill with our juices as soon as I touched it. A thick glob of my cum plopped into my hand and I used to caress her taint, to massage my way closer to her tight entry. I flicked my tongue on her pink ring and slipped the tip of my pinkie in, caressing her sopping pussy all the while with my other hand.

“Wiggle it, push it deeper”, she growled, “Open my behind and then… fuck me in the ass, my dirty boy!” She wriggled and seemed to relax somehow, and my cum-lubed pinkie slid deep, only to be crushed as she tightened again. She relaxed again and pulled away, freeing my finger, and smiled at me over her shoulder. “Imagine your cock in THAT!” she said. I was way ahead of her.

I slid my hand beneath her again and worked a handful of our cum back up her crack. I lubed her ass again, this time sliding my middle finger into her, and heard her gasp. I was going to stop but she relaxed again and pushed back against my hand. She started rocking and gyrating her hips while I wiggled my finger inside her tight tunnel. “I want your cock NOW!” she said, again tightening on my finger. “Spit on it, lube it, I don’t want this to hurt anymore than it has to,” she instructed.

She relaxed again, I pulled my finger out, spit on her hole and into my hand, slicking my cock with it, then drew again from her dripping lips and caressed us both. My cock was dripping precum again as I pressed the swollen head to her opening, and as she pushed back I felt myself slowly sinking in. We began to move with each other, slowly, gently, she grasping me tightly as she’d move away and relaxing as she’d slide back against me. I slid a hand beneath her and my fingers passed her swollen lips again, my thumb rubbing at her nub while I felt my cock moving in her ass through the back wall of her pussy.

She began to mumble and whisper in rhythm to the movements of her body, driving back harder on me, faster, the sound of my stomach hitting her ass growing louder. I suddenly realized what she was saying as her voice grew louder and more intense.

“Fuck me, dirty boy, cum in my ass!” Over and over again. The combination of her tight grasping and dirty talk were becoming too much for me. My head was starting to swirl and she rammed harder. I didn’t know where I was finding the fluids but they were about to burst into her. Though I was holding back for her climax I finally lost control again, my cum fresh and hot squirting deep in her ass, which seemed to trigger her own orgasm. She slid forward, her body now full on the bar, my cock trapped between her flexed cheeks as I braced my weight off of her on my arms. She slowly released me and my cock slid out with a slight popping noise, and I looked down to see my cum dribbling out of her ass.

She smiled at me, with half-closed eyes, and then said: “So, how was your night at work?”

“Lucky, awfully lucky all around,” I said, smiling. I couldn’t wait for the ride home.

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