I wanted her the moment she walked into the bar. After driving all day on my way to visit some old friends in western Massachusetts, I decided to get a drink then head back to the sleazy motel down the road and get up early. The shabby bar was empty except for the bald headed bartender with a pot belly and a drunk with his head down on the table, holding an empty shot glass. The head of a deer with huge antlers hung from the wall over the bar. We were in the middle of nowhere, so I was surprised when this sexy young woman walked in wearing tight faded jeans, an old jean jacket embroidered with bright colored beads on the sleeves and carried a small green backpack. She had an exotic, hippie look about her.
Our eyes met as soon as she entered, and a slight smile flickered on her lips before she looked away. I guessed she was in her early thirties--maybe ten or so years younger than me--short, about five two or three, with shoulder length auburn hair, fair skin, high cheekbones and dangling earrings. When she sat down at the other end of the bar, she glanced at me with that slight, playful smile, then looked away when the bartender asked her what she wanted.
"A Dirty Martini, please." She opened her green backpack and took out her cellphone but glance again at me before scrolling.
"Put it on my tab," I said to the bartender and glanced back at her.
She nodded and smiled her thank you, then surprised me when she got up, walked over and sat on the stool next to me. I could not believe how her tight jeans hugged her ass, legs and hips. She put her small backpack on the floor and smiled. I returned the smile, noticing her dimples and green eyes.
"Thanks, mister, mind if I join you. My name's Megan."
"Not at all, my name's Jonathan, but people call me Jon." I took a sip of my Jack Daniels.
"Hi, Jon, nice name."
Our eyes met again and she gave me that slight, intriguing smile as if she was interested in something happening.
When her drink came she picked it up and we clicked glasses. "Here's to luck!"
"I'll drink to that." I lifted my glass to hers then took another sip.
She put her glass down and stirred the drink with her red polished index finger, then sucked it slowly and gazed into my eyes. "
Mmm
, that's so good. I love martinis."
This woman's hot,
I thought, feeling the sexual energy between us growing rapidly, and suddenly appreciated her toast to luck and her sucking and licking her finger.
"So what are you doing here?" she asked then took another sip from her drink.
"I'm on my way to visit some old friends but needed to stop. I'm at the motel down the road."
"Nice. I'm on my way home from a conference and thought I'd stop, too. I'm probably at the same motel you are...
hmmm
...serendipity." She took another sip from her drink, then picked up the olive out of her glass, placed it in her mouth, rolled it around and continued looking at me with that slight, sexy smile on her lips before swallowing it.
"You look interesting, like you think a lot. What do you do?" she asked, suggestively licking her lips after swallowing the olive.
"I'm a writerβnovels, poetry, short stories."
"Cool. I like your blue eyes. Eyes tell a lot about a guy and I like beards." She glanced at my trimmed beard, then back at my eyes.
"Thanks," I took another sip of my drink. Both of us gazed at each other as if exploring a new territory and enjoying the landscape.
"So, where's home?" I asked and finished my Jack Daniels, then motioned to the bartender for another one.
"New York. Where are you from?"
"Maine."
"Oh, I was in Maine once a few years back...beautiful. I loved it." She finished her martini, smacking her lips, "
Mmm
, that was good. I could go for another one." She looked at me just as the bartender put down my glass. I pointed to hers. "She'll take another one."
"Thanks, Jon." She took off her jean jacket and dropped it on top of her small backpack on the floor and revealed a skimpy, black tank top that could barely contain her impressive breasts.
Damn she's not wearing a bra.
I moaned silently when I saw her nipples making little peaks on her tight tank top which immediately caused my cock to bulge.
She smiled knowing where I was looking, then glanced down and saw the outline of my cock straining my snug jeans. Neither of us said anything, but her smile told me what she was thinking.
When her martini came, we clicked glasses again, took sips and looked into each other's eyes.
I wonder if she's thinking what I'm thinking.
She rotated on her bar stool, faced me and sat with her legs spread apart so that I could see the seam of her faded tight jeans pressed into her pussy. I faced her too, my legs spread apart and she could see my bulging cock straining to break out of my jeans.
She lifted her martini to her mouth and took another sip, while I did the same with my drink. Our eyes gazed at each other over the rims of our glasses, both of us getting drunk, our lust growing, our inhibitions fading.
"So what do you do in New York?" I asked, swirling my drink, letting the ice cubes clink.
"I'm a professor at NYU and write articles on feminism and other women issues. I'm in the Women's Studies Department."
"So, are you a strident feminist?"
"I am, very strident. In fact several hours ago I delivered a paper at the conference on the exploitation of the professional woman in a man's world and was dressed in handsome pants suit, my hair in a tight bun, wearing my classy glasses." She then glanced over at the bartender whose back was to us, and then surprised me when she reached forward, placing her hand on my cock and started to rub. "
Mmmm
...nice."
I put my hand on top of her hand as she rubbed my cock, surprised at her aggressiveness. I also glanced at the back of the bartender.
"Are all feminists as aggressive as you?"
"I don't know about others. We're not suppose to let ourselves be sexual objects and that's what I teach and write about, you know, professional equality, how to handle sexual harassment, how to maintain female dignity in the workplace and not be exploited."
As she leaned forward, biting her lower lip, rubbing my cock, I could see her cleavage and nipples and with my other hand reached forward and started rubbing one of her tits with the palm of my hand, squeezing it, hearing her moan again... "
mmm
, I like that."
"So you're a professional feminist?"
"I am, but if my students and readers could see me now, they'd be shocked."
"Why?"
She chuckled and snickered. "Because I shouldn't be in a bar like this in the middle of nowhere dressed in tight jeans and a tight shirt wanting to get laid."
"Then why are you?"
"Because I'm tired of all the bullshit, I mean a lot of what I teach is important for young women to know, but sometimes I get really horny and just want to fuck and forget all that crap and get out of my head."
"Interesting." I liked how she spoke and her blunt honesty was getting me hotter.
"Yeah, sometimes I just want to be a slut and shove all that intellectual crap out the door and just be taken, let myself go."
"So how do you do that?"
"I find places like this where no one knows me--dress the way I know men like, let my hair loose and I become the sexy woman I am underneath the intellectual bullshit--you know, the putting on a face to meet the faces that you meet like Eliot says in that J. Alfred Prufrock poem."
"I know what you mean, Megan, you want to live your erotic fantasies, not just fantasize. You don't want to always be prudent like Prufrock."
"Right and that's why I sometimes stop in places like this where no one knows me to see if I can find a guy whose on the same page as me." She smiled, took a sip of her martini and looked into my eyes. "Like you."
"What do you mean, like me?"