Real Men Still Exist

This story is my story, I wrote it, stealing is lame. If you don't like it, don't read it. This story has been re-submitted, with minor tweaks and corrections, feel free to complain. I hope you enjoy instead:

Real Men Still Exist

Or

The Joys of Autophobia

Not another one.

"Oh god, here he comes..." Eileen huffed under her breath as she snatched up the free $8 Cosmo in front of her, napkin and all, in an attempt to thwart him. He couldn't be so uncultured as to speak to a woman who fronted zero interest in him, let alone one whom already had a drink. She crossed her left leg over her right, and turned away from him.

Truth be told, Eileen had no idea how the male mind worked, nor did she realize the power of a small red straw on ruby lips, or toned thighs under a pleated skirt - but she was learning fast. Her lack of interest drew him closer, speedier; he was so inept that he took it as a sign of her obvious attraction. This guy really thought he was smooth. She could feel his lecherous stare on her toned thigh and perky side-boob. She guessed and knew that he was not blinking.

"Yo boys," she thought as she unconsciously shook her head and frowned. He approached, standing too close for comfort.

"Hey yo, babe. My name is Jeff. You're looking fine tonight. Why don't you get dat ass of yers up and dance wit me." The smile on his face finally revealed to Eileen what a 'shit eating grin' really was. He didn't pause as he spoke from memory, nor did he pronounce his syllables. His baggy, trendy clothes, his cheap watch, and his off--angled, upturned hat, made her gag a little. Perhaps it was his cheap, overused, flavor-of-the-month body spray.

She didn't need this.

"Fuck it..." she thought.

"Don't you want to know my name first?' she asked brazenly, turning to face him directly, her amber eyes suddenly shrinking and turning to black fireballs. Her legs were still crossed, and her perfectly manicured nails began to tap the bar, for some reason the 'tap tap tap' was louder than the music in the club. Her drink was still in her other hand.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, except for a sexually frustrated, workaholic red head.

Jeff felt his cock shrink, and his balls retreat, she was out of his league; his stereotyped mind could not grasp what was happening. In a boyish, childlike fashion, he retorted.

"Whatever, bitch. I just wanted to dance," and turned in search of easier, dumber, and/or sluttier conquests.

"Wonderful," she thought, "very adult and mature." As he walked away, she set down her drink, and sighed, wondering why she even let Jenna drag her here. She also wondered what happened to all the real men her mother had told her about.

***

"Come on, it'll be fun. I need a wingman, and you

never

go out with me anymore," she heard Jenna squeal through the phone.

"I don't know..." came her predictable reply. Eileen had not been social in a long time, but she had her reasons. She was going to be a professional woman, and The Law takes up a lot of time, especially for the budding legal assistant with hopes of post graduate school and a full law degree.

"Ooooh pleeeeease," came the response from Jenna, before Eileen could make up another excuse, for the umpteenth time. "I'll even let you borrow some of my clothes, it'll be fun. We'll get all dolled up, and sexy, you might even meet a guy. 'Cause you need one," Jenna was giggling uncontrollably before she even finished speaking, and Eileen knew she was right.

She'd been working too hard, for too long, and her plastic man really wasn't doing it anymore, she needed flesh. Eileen heard herself agree before she had the ability to comprehend the reasoning.

"Great, bitch, be at my apartment by eight," and the phone clicked. If the two hadn't been friends for so long, since childhood, they probably would not be. Eileen had her career in mind, while Jenna was always thinking about dick and the boys. (ha)

As Eileen put her phone away, and went back to her lunch, she suddenly began to think like her friend. "It has been a long time," she thought to herself as she pictured her last rendezvous with a man, one of a very short, but well used list.

He was the starting wide receiver from her college, or 'wide giver' as Jenna liked to call him. He was pretty, but dumb, and he never treated her like a woman, only a piece of ass. It had been over a year and a half since their last tryst, which was during her last semester of college. Eileen never saw him again after that - because his girlfriend had called his cell mid coitus. She felt a little used when he left, and had found the filled condom just laying on her high thread count bed sheets, even though the wastebasket was only a foot away.

She found herself idly tonguing one of her carrot sticks as she thought about his muscles.

"Maybe Mom was wrong, and all the good ones were taken right out of high school. Maybe anything is better than nothing." Eileen was no prude, but she came across as frigid, simply because she wanted a man to set her on fire, a man with something to offer other than a few tweaks and a thrust.

"I must be the only person with morals that wants to be a lawyer," she mused to herself as she started back towards the office. "At least it's Friday."

***

True to her word, Jenna had them both looking sexy by 8:30, which is drastically an understatement - and a record time. Both of the young women were knockouts to begin with, slightly taller than most, athletically lean, and stacked short of defying gravity, Jenna the unnatural blonde and Eileen the natural, freckleless bright red.

Shortly after she had arrived, Eileen was saying "I'm not putting that on," but by 9 PM when they walked into the club, from the cab, they had matching 'school girl' outfits, complete with loose, oversized, overly triangular ties. Jenna skirt was blue plaid to match her eyes; Eileen's was red for no reason at all; more open buttons on their white shirts being the only other difference beyond color.

Jenna, being the type of girl she was, loved the draw her cleavage and short skirt had. Eileen, being the type of woman she was, preferred men to look her in the eye, leaving only one button undone on her shirt. As good as Eileen looked though, it would take a strong willed man, one similar to Jesus.

Thirty minutes after they arrived, Jenna was no where to be found, and Eileen was tired of men she didn't know pinching her ass. She stomped off the dance floor, by herself. When Eileen approached the bar, she asked the ebony god of a man (similarly built to the wide giver) for another drink.

"Cosmo, right?" he asked her, and she nodded. Moments later he was back, with a beautiful smile on his face.

"Here ya go, sweetie," he said as he set down the drink on a napkin that contrasted his skin wonderfully.

"Thanks... you wouldn't happen to be single, would you?" She asked as she dropped the $20 bill on the bar.

This made him chuckle, as he looked at the sex bomb in front of him. "Sorry, doll, taken," he continued to smile, "but it looks like you won't have to worry. I see a few pigmentally challenged fellas itching to come and talk to you," he stated blankly as he nodded in the general direction of the dance floor.

Eileen turned to look, and saw only trendy boys with stickers on their hats.

"Ugh," she said as she turned back to the bar, "Keep the drinks coming as fast as possible."

The large, dark man, still smiling, said: "Sure thing, lovely," and went to another customer. He never touched her money, and she was on her third free drink by the time Jeff shriveled away.

It was then she noticed the icon blinking on her phone, a text from Jenna. "Found some boys, call you tomorrow" was all it said.

"Bitch," she commented aloud to herself, but she didn't mean it. She was just jealous that her friend could so easily find what she wanted. She dropped another $20 on the bar, on top of the other, knowing she had found a new favorite bartender for her sorrows. She was about to get up, and hit the bathroom before leaving, when

he

walked in.

Suddenly Eileen was locked in place.

Some women have the ability to stop traffic, others to dumbfound a man when he tries to speak, and some women have the ability to cream their panties at the sight of their perfect man. Eileen did just that. Her legs unconsciously clamped together, her nipples hardened, and her breasts swelled as the phrase "Oh my lord..." slipped from her lips.

She suddenly felt warmth all over her body, and he hadn't even fully entered the club.

The double doors that made the entrance to the club were no taller than average, and his head almost touched it. Six foot five, maybe more - she couldn't tell - but he was definitely the largest man she had ever gazed upon. He looked as wide and solid as one of the double doors, like a perfectly sculpted man, only larger, dwarfing the fellow he was speaking to, and the bouncer who was holding the door for them. Eileen could see a few of the ladies outside, behind those red ropes, mirroring her internal expressions. He appeared totally oblivious to their awe, as if it didn't matter.

A moment or two later, once he had finished talking to the man by the door, he surveyed the dance floor.

Out of no where, he lifted his arm and pointed to the DJ. Eileen's eyes followed the casual movement of his arm, and watched each sinew of his perfect muscles ripple beneath his plain thermal shirt.

"Look at his shoulders, yum... and his chest... ooo, and those arms," her panties were soaked and her legs were squirming as she was thinking to herself. "They must be three feet long." She began to think this man could make her a squirter, along with a hundred other dirty and filthy thoughts.

Her eyes continued to follow in the direction of his pointed finger, when she noticed the DJ pointing back at him, and that the current song had abruptly ended.

By the time the song she loved - and hadn't heard in ages - began to play, the man of her attentions was making his way to the bar. She giggled aloud when she saw Jeff shrink for the second time that evening, as the girl he was currently attempting to hit on was turning her attentions to the mystery man. Jeff jumped, dove, out of the way as the man passed, and the girl of Jeff's attempt suddenly looked sad. She was pretty, and the man paid her zero mind.

It was then that Eileen realized he was coming her way. She had inadvertently, or advertently (your choice), sat at the farthest away point from the dance floor, at the corner of the bar, one of the cash registers just a few feet away. This appeared to be his spot, and he appeared to own this room.

The song the DJ had chosen for him elicited a cheer from the dancers on the floor, and suddenly very few women were staring his way; the booze and beats taking over for most. He was less than ten feet away from her, and she took a deep breath to clear her head, trying to peer at him with a clear mind.

"Bad kitty," she thought as she tried to reign in her body.

The closer he moved towards her, the larger he appeared. She began to take notes on his features, his jaw was strong, and was totally proportionate. It looked as if he had not shaved that day, and his hair was too long, it was actually done in a bundle towards the top of the back of his head, random strands falling here and there, almost like an unkempt samurai.

Light brown wavy hair, with random natural blonde streaks, shiny from the lighting. He was in jeans to go with the thermal shirt; at this distance she could tell the clothes were simple and worn, but very expensive, like boutique clothing from the clearance rack. The bottom cuffs of his jeans were slit on either side to fit over his sneakers. Not simply baggy pants, but tailored boot cut.

That is what caught her attention the most: His slightly worn, slightly dirty sneakers. They were a style she had never seen, in an off red color that barely matched his off red shirt, and his perfectly faded slightly frayed jeans.

He was everything she knew she shouldn't like. A total combination of every thing she and her friends joked about never wanting: long hair, scruffy, simple, and not quite matching. Altogether though, he was making her nipples ache and her sex scream - and he hadn't even looked at her.

He was looking at everything around him, not focusing on anything in particular as he walked. He stopped four bar stools away from Eileen, but didn't sit right away.

"H-hey, Darren," the giant stuttered in a barely audible, strangely quiet voice, but she felt the deep tremors of a tenor. They went straight to her clit, each syllable. "H-how are t-those tips tonight?" She almost came, but she also felt as if he were holding back, trying to keep the power out of his voice.

"They're pretty good so far, Pro, thanks again for this hook-up," Darren replied. Eileen thought they must be old friends, slowly pondering their clashing skin tones.

"N-no prob-blem, Sir, I owed you and M-mely a huge f-favor, I'm g-glad you like it h-here." The giant, who had a blank expression on his face, began to slightly smile, more like a smirk, but he still hadn't looked at Darren. He was still surveying the dance floor, the lighting, the counter top.

"So are you sticking around? Do you want a drink or something? Maybe a G&T?" Darren asked, though he had grabbed a short glass before the giant answered.

He moved his leg so that his foot was slightly higher than the other, resting it on the round foot rest at the bottom of the bar. "I dunno, man..." The giant replied as Eileen's eyes were instantly glued to his ass and left leg.

He had put his hands on the molded edge of the bar, covering the smooth wood from top to bottom, then holding on and leaning back. His fingers gripped the wood suddenly and he pulled himself forward, causing his muscles to snap flexed for an instant beneath his almost tight shirt. Eileen let out a moan, and swore she dribbled onto the bar stool.

The instant she was audible, his head turned to stare directly at the center of the space between them. Had he heard her? Did she want him too? She could not tell. It was like he wasn't paying attention to her at all, and it was driving her into a frenzy.

"Sorry, Jeff," she mused silently.

"You should, brotha, you really should," Darren replied, as the smile on his face had gotten bigger, his pearly whites contrasted to his skin.

At this remark the giant tilted his head to the side, like a ditzy cheerleader, "W-why's that?" he questioned while staring at Darren's teeth.

Eileen had to smile at his genuine confusion, "My god he is sexy!" she thought to herself as she continued to eavesdrop.

Darren made no reply, he simply pointed directly at Eileen with his index finger, while his thumb was up in the air, the glass still in his hand nearest to her.

Eileen's jaw dropped for a split second while she turned from staring at Darren's finger, to the face of the giant.

Now he was looking right at her, and standing up straight.

His posture was perfect. His eyes looked like a never ending dark blue ocean, and a real smile worked its way onto his face. He was beautiful to her in a way she had never seen, and his smile was a killer. Eileen moaned again, and began to shiver, but this time, she was coming.

She could smell herself, and she knew he was looking right into her, reading her, studying her. The moral part of her brain was telling her that "Men like this shouldn't exist, I need to get out of here now" while the rest of her brain was screaming "Shut the fuck up, morality, and go pull his pants down."

Outwardly though, no words escaped her slightly parted, glossy, cherry red lips. She was a deer, and he was all headlights.

What turned out to not be an eternity since Darren pointed at her, was rather less than ten seconds until the giant simply said, "Well hello there." There was no stutter, nothing held back, his voice echoed in her ears and clit.

"H-hi, h-hello," it was Eileen's time to stutter as she smiled and lost herself in his baby blues. Her uncontrolled response to his presence brought a small, sexy, chuckle from deep within him.

"Relax, beautiful," he said as he studied her, then slowly turned back towards Darren, both men with smiles still on their faces. "I think I will have that drink, did the Black Label come in yet?" He asked Darren still looking at his teeth.

"Indeed it did ma man, what's your vice?" Darren replied.

"Three fingers of J. Walker Black, and a dash of water, please, and another for the lady if she wants one." He made absolutely no attempt to reach for his wallet, or pay for his drink.

As Darren slowly poured the dark amber liquid into the glass he looked over at Eileen, with a wordless look of 'well?' on his face.

Eileen gulped her heart back into her chest and nodded as the glass was placed in front of the giant, "What was his name?" she asked herself, "Did he call him Pro?" Her head was spinning, and she wasn't drunk, not from the booze, anyway. Darren picked up her glass, and napkin, while at the same time he pushed one of the two $20 dollar bills back at her, and stuck the other in his pocket.

"Thanks, sweetie," was all he said to her as he began to make her another drink. She had absolutely no idea what to do, until Darren set down a fresh napkin, and her drink, in front of the stool next to Pro.

Darren looked at Pro, who was casually staring at the drink in his hand, and her drink on the bar, at the same time. It was like he was fascinated by the color contrast of the two drinks; his drink as tan as his skin and hair, hers as red as her hair, perhaps even the fire inside her.

"Holla," said Darren as he walked away toward other customers.

"Word," echoed the reply from Pro. They were old friends, she knew it now.

A second later Pro looked down at the empty seat next to him, then over at Eileen, rather, into her. "Care to join me?" He asked her, the gorgeous smile back on his face.

Eileen almost came again, her panties were ruined, but she pulled herself together enough to say "Mm-hmm," and nod slightly. She felt like a teenager again. Ten years of confidence had suddenly disappeared.

He was still standing, facing the bar except for turning his head to watch her walk as Eileen came over to the seat. As tall as she was for a girl, he was still easily a foot taller, since her face only came up to the height of his pecks. When she managed to make it to the stool, she bumped into it, and had the sudden urge to run, she felt out of her league, silly, stupid, unsure.

Pro saw it all. He knew he was intimidating her; he did it to most people, but not on purpose. He had to act fast or she was going to bolt, and he knew it. He slowly started to sit down, and as he did, he touched the crease on the inside of her arm, just above her elbow. "Relax, Red," he said to her, the tenor and power in his voice was still there, but he was speaking calmly, slightly hushed. "Why don't you have a seat, and tell me your name?"

Eileen slowly released the breath she didn't know she was holding, and slowly sank to the barstool facing him, with her legs squeezed together, and her hands clinging to each other just under her thighs. She did not adjust her skirt; it didn't matter, because she had other things on her mind.

The cheeks of her round, firm bottom felt slightly cool against the vinyl seat as the back of her skirt hung in a halo around half of the stool. As she settled into the seat his hand slowly slid from her arm to the top of her knee - she watched it move and felt static shocks throughout her body, causing her to part her legs ever so slightly. His hand was larger than her knee. She could feel his fingers slowly tickling the top of her calf.

"E-Eileen, my name is Eileen Patterson," she said as she finally moved her gaze away from her own knee, towards his face, stopping at his crotch along the way. "My god just look at him," she thought, "no matter what I have to call my mother tomorrow."