Tiffany De Roode was a stacked cunt. She was mean, arrogant, and one of the most beautiful women who had ever walked into the tiny single's bar called Welling's. She would stride proudly into the bar each evening at about six thirty, huge breasts bouncing inside of a tube top or t-shirt, wide hips and round ass swaying, ripe with invitation, under a tight, short skirt, a haughty sneer on her plush, thick lips, and long, black hair cascading down over her soft shoulders. Every male eye in the bar was glued to her.
She rarely got more than five steps into the bar before at least three guys would be falling all over themselves trying to pick her up.
The bartender, Annie Wilson, stood at the far end of the bar watching the nightly comedy of errors. Sitting at the bar next where she stood was her older brother, Bill.
"It's the same every night," Annie said shaking her head in wonder, "They never learn."
"I doubt that any of them are thinking with their brains, at the moment," said Bill with a chuckle.
"Got that right," Annie said with a smile, "I'll be right back."
She walked down the bar to the customer waving his empty beer stein in the air.
Bill continued to watch the massive singles slaughter with rising amusement. A tall, gangly, carrot-topped guy was trying to get her attention by whispering something in her ear. She elbowed him sharply in the stomach and yelled at him to leave her alone.
The next one took a different approach. He looked at Tiffany sympathetically and said, "Can I be of help? Is this guy bothering you?"
"Yes," Tiffany said haughtily, "So are you. Fuck off, asshole!"
Young man after young man tried and was shot down. It was the same thing every night. Bill just sat back, sipping his beer and enjoying the show.
Annie had drifted back to join her brother.
"I don't get it," she said, "Why do they do this every night? Why do they put themselves through that?"
"False pride, arrogance, testosterone," said Bill flatly, "Take your pick."
"I guess," she said dubiously, "It seems kind of stupid, though."
"You won't hear an argument from me," Bill said with a grin.
"I mean, it's not like there aren't other good looking women in here," Annie continued, "and they're all in in here for the same reasons as the guys, to get drunk and get laid."
"People sometimes spend the most effort trying to get what they know they can't have," said Bill.
"I suppose that's true," said Annie.
It was the same scenario every night. Tiffany would bounce in and rudely shoot down every guy who approached her. After an hour or so she would pick out one guy in the bar to go home with. It was, usually, somebody who hadn't tried to pick her up.
She would jiggle over to her unsuspecting target and suddenly be all sweetness and light, flirting like hell. She would rub her tits up against their arms, laugh at their lame jokes, and fondle as many of their body parts as she could reach. The only times she lost was if the guy she had chosen was already there with his girlfriend. Even at that, she only ever lost about half of those battles.
Suddenly a tall, blond man walked up behind her, and reached around in front of her to squeeze her huge jugs.
"Hey, Sweetcheeks," he said "how about a repeat performance of last night?"
The buxom tease wriggled free of his grasp to turn around to slap his face hard enough to leave a hand-shaped red mark on it.
"I don't do repeat performances unless the guy is really, really good!" Tiffany shouted, "You weren't even close!"
The stunned young man retorted, "You weren't complaining last night."
"That's because I was too bored to be able to talk!" Tiffany shouted, "You may have a big dick, but you have no fucking clue what the fuck to do with it!"
Everyone in the bar was silently listening to the exchange with rapt attention. Everyone, but Bill that is. Bill threw back his head and laughed out loud.
"What the fuck are you laughing at?" the blond man asked angrily.
"You don't really want me to give you an honest answer to that. Do you?" Bill asked with a grin.
Tiffany grabbed a stir stick from the bar and, as she waved it in the young man's face, "This thing would be a better fuck than you were! That's what he's laughing at!"
At that everyone burst into mirthful hysterics.
A red-headed woman sitting next to Tiffany chimed in saying, "It looks like instead of fucking you fucked up."
That set off another round of guffaws and giggles.
The young man turned beet red and slumped out of the bar in humiliation.
Annie looked at her brother and said with a smirk, "You like living dangerously. Don't you?"
"What are you talking about?" Bill responded, feigning offense.
"Don't give me that," Annie said with exasperation, "You must have known that there was a good chance that the blond jerk could have come over here to punch your lights out."
"Okay," Bill said shrugging his shoulders, "But, he didn't. No harm. No foul."
Tiffany had not taken her eyes off Bill since he had laughed. She had never really noticed him before. She knew that he was always there. He sat on that same bar stool at the end of the bar, near the door, every night. He had never tried to pick her up or even talk to her.
Just as she was beginning to consider checking him out the red-headed woman who had chimed in during the blond guy's humiliation got up and went over to sit by Bill.
"I want to buy a beer for the only man in the room with a backbone and balls!" the red-headed woman said to Annie.
