A few weeks ago I received an email from a reader. She asked why so many of my stories seem to involve bars, blowjobs, and redheads.
"Blow jobs" is easiest to justify. I love them. An ugly woman becomes pretty when she's sucking my cock. I'm old and as I look back on my life I tend to remember the blowjobs more than anything else. I think most guys, if they were honest, would say the same thing. I've heard guys say they got divorced or cheated because their wives wouldn't suck them. I've yet to hear a guy say he divorced his wife because all she wanted to do was suck his cock.
My fascination with women with red hair is pretty simple as well. In my sexual experience that extends back over a half century, I have found women with true red hair to be the most passionate and hungriest above all others as a group. Yes there have been outliers, but I profile based upon experience.
As for bars; as I aged, I found bars to be places to congregate and converse, but in my youth I learned there was truth to the old maxim "Candy's Dandy but Liquor is Quicker." I could leave it there but that wouldn't make for much of a story would it? This story will be centered on my love of bars and blowjobs. It is true and accurate with the exception of some names. I have another story partially finished about red-heads. I hope you like this enough to read "Red" which I'll finish soon.
****************
I grew up in a rural area of New York that bordered New Jersey. At the time, the drinking age in NY was eighteen and in NJ was twenty-one. On weekends, and especially during college breaks, the local bars were flooded with young men and women from Jersey. One such place was a small tavern that my father and his friends often frequented for lunch. They served good burgers and their fries tasted better than any I've had since. I occasionally met my dad and his pals there for lunch after I had my own car. My high school was only a couple of miles away and this fare certainly beat out that of the school cafeteria. Since my Dad and his friends were regulars, John who was the owner, would often come to the table and make sure everyone was happy.
My eighteenth birthday came in the winter when all the college kids were home for break. A few of my older buddies decided to meet at this tavern and check out the action. We stood in line to get carded. John was working the door. He recognized me and looked at my drivers license. My buddies went in and he pulled me aside to ask if my dad knew I was there. I told him he did and had just given me a warning about drinking in moderation.
"Look; I'm short a bartender tonight and it looks like it's going to be busy." He asked if I had any experience and I told him I sometimes mixed drinks for my father and mother and usually tended the beer tap for our annual family picnics. He said he'd pay me $5.00 an hour cash and of course I'd split tips with Billy for the time I was working. $5.00 was twice what I made working for Mr. Waldner at the local drugstore after school. I jumped at the chance. My car was a gas hungry '59 Pontiac with a big 389 cubic inch engine. John also told me that I could drink one beer per hour on the house. Billy threw me a bar apron and showed how to tie it properly.
My mixed drink experience was very limited. My Mom liked Tom Collins' and my Dad liked Manhattans or Martinis. These kids hit me with requests for Sloe Gin Fizzes, Singapore Slings, etc. Billy helped me through it. I went on shift at about eight, after telling my buddies the deal. They understood and just cruised. At about nine, a pretty young girl walked in and took a seat at my end. She had strawberry blond hair but was kind of skinny with what looked to be a pretty flat chest. She ordered a Sling and was pleased to see that I knew how to make it.
We chatted a bit during the lulls and I learned that she was a little more than a year older than me and a freshman in college. Her name was Deb. A bunch of guys, my friends included, came on to her and offered to buy her drinks. She turned them all down and smiled at me every time. John cut me at eleven when things started to slow down. He split the tip jar, took cash out of the drawer, and handed me sixty dollars! At five dollars a fill up that was twelve tanks of gas!
I stripped off my apron, thanked John, and sat next to Deb. John treated us both to drinks and asked if I wanted to do it again next Friday. Of course I agreed. Deb swiveled to face me. When her calf touched mine she didn't flinch but began to slide it up and down. We discussed her college and such as her moving leg on mine began to make me hard. Finally she asked me if I was still a virgin. I blushed and admitted ashamedly that I was. "I have two questions for you. Would you like to correct that condition and do you know a quiet and secluded place we could go?" I croaked yes to both.
We left and walked to my car. I held the door for her, she got in sideways, and reached out and stroked my growing hard-on for a second or three before facing forward. I went around to my side and got in. She was sitting right in the middle of the wide bench seat and her hand once again found my crotch as I started the car and left the parking lot. "Feels to me like your hiding something in there," she said as she unzipped my fly and snaked her hand in. "And no one has had the pleasure of this beauty before?" I assured her they hadn't.
I pulled into a remote place that I had been to before with my girlfriend for some serious necking. I reached for Deb and we kissed while my hand groped for her tiny tits. He bra was pretty padded and I really couldn't feel a thing until she reached behind her and undid the catch. I slid my hands under her loose bra and could feel nipples harden under my palms for the first time. I loved the sensation and still do.