I don't understand what there is about me that makes strange men think they can do or say anything at all and I won't object, protest or complain. It's almost as though I have the word "SUBMISSIVE" stamped on my forehead.
So I was sitting at the bar in an expensive downtown San Francisco hotel sipping a Mai Tai when this old guy sat directly beside me even though there were plenty of open bar stools that would have given both of us more leg room.
I gave him a discreet glance, and like I said, he was pretty old, maybe fifty or so, but he appeared in decent shape for a guy his age, and he had a nice mane of silver hair above his not unappealing face. He ordered "Makers Markβneat" from the bartender and we sat in silence sipping our cocktails.
My straw made a loud slurping noise as I sucked the last of the drink from the tall glass. The old man looked at me and asked, "What are you drinking there, boy?"
"Oh, it's a Mai Tai," I shyly replied.
"Kind of a girly drink, isn't it?" he said while looking me up and down. "Are you some sort of sissy?"
Before I could protest he added: "I'm gonna buy you a man's drink..."
He caught the bartenders attention, shook the ice in his near empty glass and said, "Another Makers Mark--and one for my young friend here!"
Since I could only afford the one drink, but wanted more, I didn't insist on another Mai Tai...I like bourbon as well, the only problem is it doesn't take long for me to get drunk on bourbon.
Oh well, at least the night wasn't going to end too early. I hated the thought of having to drive back to Santa Cruz in the dark.
"My names Earl," he announced, "...from Houston."
"I'm John--from Santa Cruz!" I said and shook his outstretched hand.
I winced when he squeezed my hand too tightly and that made him laugh.
He told me he was in town on business, but was having a difficult time finding some 'action' at night.
"Yeah," I said. "There aren't many bars near this hotel where single women hang-out."
He gave me an odd stare then almost inhaled the remaining bourbon from his glass.
"Drink up, Johnny--time for another one!" he ordered.
I don't like to be called 'Johnny' but he was the man buying the drinks so I didn't protest or complain.
While sipping our drinks, he noticed my bag on the stool beside me.
"Nice purse, boy," he said with a snicker of ridicule.
"No, it's a European man bag," I said correcting him then quickly added, "...it's very handyβ-my pockets are too small to carry all my stuff!"
He gave me a sly grin and said, "Uh huh, sure boy..."
After the second bourbon I was feeling a little dizzy. He ordered us another round and I weakly said, "I better not--I have a long drive!"
He smiled and said, "Nonsense, boy...if need be I have a nice, big sofa in my suite where you can spend the night!"
My head began spinning as I tried to keep up with his drinking prowess. He suddenly leaned into me and whispered in my ear.
"Are you one of them San Francisco fairies I've heard so much about?" he bluntly asked.
My face turned beet red. Like I said before, I don't know why strange men feel as though they're entitled to act rude and crude around me.
"W-Why would you ask me that?" I asked quietly; trying to appear offended and indignant.
"C'mon boy...look at the skimpy little "outfit" you're wearing...and you carry a purse, for Gods sake!" he said, not at all taken aback by my surprised expression.
And, yes, maybe my short-shorts were small and tight-fitting, and the brightly flowered beach shirt was loud with pink and yellows, and perhaps my man bag could be mistaken for a woman's purse, but still, why do men think they can say such obnoxious things to me?
He seemed more amused than annoyed at my obvious discomfort. He then boldly placed his hand on my upper thigh and stroked my leg. I heard him chuckle.
"Are you naturally hairless, boy, or do you shave?" he asked with a smile.
"I use a depilatory cream," I softly admitted.
He nodded his head knowingly, smiled, then said, "I like my boys smooth...are you smooth EVERYWHERE boy?"
I finished my drink and sheepishly nodded in the affirmative.
He ordered two more drinks and I meekly said I wouldn't be able to drive, but he ignored me.
The bartender placed the drinks in front of us and walked away. 'Earl from Houston' moved his bar stool as close as he could next to mine until our legs were touching.
"Johnny, you're too drunk to drive--you're spending the night in my bed!" he whispered.
He boldly took my hand and placed it on his crotch. He had an impressive hard-on--he pressed my hand firmly to the bulge in his pants. I neither protested nor attempted to remove my hand.
He forced my fingers around his hard cock and moved my hand slowly back-and-forth. After a few seconds, he removed his hand but I kept stroking his hardness thru the thin layer of his expensive slacks.
He smiled at me and whispered in his Texas twang, "Baby, you and I gonna have us some fun tonight!"
My breathing became shallow and irregular; my own small prick was hard as a rock inside my tight shorts.
He signed the bar tab to his room and we climbed off the stools and walked to the elevators with me leading the way.
He chuckled and said, "You seem to know your way around here...are you a 'regular' here, boy?"
I blushed and mumbled, " Well, uh, not really..." but he wasn't convinced and laughed again.
I knew no one would be able to see the small lump in my shorts, but I wondered how he would hide his manly bulge. His hands were covering his crotch as we walked, and when we boarded the elevator he had me stand in front of him.
We got off the elevator on the top floor and he led me to his suite. His room was directly across from a room I had once spent a weekend.
As soon as the door to the suite closed behind us he took me in his arms, held my head still, and kissed me full on the lips. His thick tongue pushed into my open mouth and he reeked of bourbon...of course, so did I.
He broke the kiss and stared into my eyes.
"Boy, I need to know now if you're just a cock-tease and I'm wasting my time," he said in all seriousness.
I kissed him hard, and found his tongue with mine. I rubbed the front of his slacks and was glad he was still hard. I curled my fingers around his erection and stroked the length back-and-forth...back-and-forth...back-and-forth...
He smiled and his voice cracked when he spoke: "Good boy...I want you to call me 'Daddy' okay?"
Inside I was laughing but I managed to keep a straight face. My God, the silly games men like to play in the bedroom!
"Yes, Daddy," I softly said.
He broke our embrace and said, "Make yourself comfortable boy--I'll fix us a couple drinks."
"Thank you, Daddy," I replied. "May I use the bathroom, Daddy, I have to pee?"
He chuckled and said, "Go for it, Sugar--it's thru that door there to the right."
I knew the layout of the rooms but said "Thank you, Daddy" anyway.
I placed my man bag on the vanity then took a wicked whizz--my God it felt good!
When I returned to the living room, Earl from Houston was sitting back on the sofa sipping his drink. His bare feet were on the coffee table. I noticed he'd only poured one drink and figured he'd share it with me--not that I wanted or needed more bourbon.
"Awww, boy, I thought you were going to get 'comfortable,' he playfully pouted.
I gave him my best coquettish smile, lifted first my left foot, untied my sneaker, pushed it off my foot then rolled down the anklet sock until it dropped to the floor. I did the same with my right foot.
Very slowly I began swaying my hips in time with imaginary music as I unbuttoned my shirt. I saw his eyes glaze-over as I exposed my hairless chest to him. I pushed the shirt off my shoulders and it too dropped to the floor.
I reached down and unsnapped my shorts and slowly pulled down the zipper. The erotic sound a zipper made when lowered always makes my prick throb. I hoped it had the same affect on him, too.
My shorts were very tight and I made a great show of squirming and wriggling and rolling my hips like a girl until they were down far enough and I could push them to the floor.
I stood before him in my undies and locked my hands behind my head and posed for him with a huge smile on my face. He had a good view of my bare underarms. I thrust my hips slightly forward so he could he could plainly see my hard-on poking-out the cotton fabric of my undies. I saw him staring at the sizable pre-cum stain that had formed.
"Do you like what you see, Daddy?" I softly asked him.
He coughed then said, "Daddy loves your tiny panties, boy."
I giggled and said, "Oh Daddy, they're men's string bikini's..."
"Whatever boy...red is certainly your color...come over here and sit on Daddy's lap!" he said commandingly.