Joanie goes to The Office in search of a Valentine's Day date
**
I have always hated Valentine's Day. Growing up, I never had a boyfriend, nor even a boy who wanted to be my boyfriend. I also didn't have a girlfriend, which makes sense because I'm neither gay nor bisexual. Well, to be honest, I don't know what the f**k I am, and probably won't k now until I try things out, and the prospects for that happening soon are, well, frankly, dim.
This year I was going to get Valentines because I bought them myself, filled them out, and mailed them to myself. I know, I know, you think that's pathetic. Well, yes, it is. But, do you have a better idea? I didn't think so.
I found Jake at his usual seat at the bar. Jake is a hunk, and either he doesn't know he is, or he doesn't care that he is. Either and both work for me. He was drinking his usual drink, an MGD. He was pretending to read something, but -- as usual -- he was staring blankly into space. He had a look; he always looked as if he were thinking about something truly profound, but in reality, he never was. It's a talent.
"The answer is 42," I whispered in his ear.
"I know," he said.
"Buy a girl a beer?" I asked.
"Will you come home with me later tonight?" he replied, like he always does.
"I'd love to, Jake, but sadly, I'm busy tonight," I replied, as I always do. Then I added a true surprise. "Buy me a beer and I'll come home with you Sunday night, though.:."
"Barkeep! Over here!" Jake almost shouted. The bartender arrived, and as always at the Second Avenue bar known as The Office, the bartender was a young and attractive sexpot. "An MGD for the lovely lady here, and another for me, and keep ten dollars for you."
"You're in a generous mood," I observed, as the barkeep pocketed the extra $10.
"I'm celebrating," he said.
"Celebrating what?" I asked.
"You coming home with me on Sunday. Do you know how many times I've asked you to come home with me?" Jake replied.
"372, by my count," I said.
"So, you can see why tonight is special," he said.
"It's special for me, too," I replied. Just like that, and I had a date for Valentine's Day Eve, and all night. Probably we'd go to brunch on Valentine's Day itself. It's true I'd have to fuck Jake for the privilege, maybe several times, but to me, it was well worth it.
**
I'm not unattractive. I even have some sex appeal, especially once I wear something besides my usual uniform of baggy jeans and sweatshirts. Maybe I'd trot out my short skirt for the occasion. It's tight, too; it hugs my ass nicely. I know Jake likes boobs, and like all women, I've got boobs. They're not especially large (I'm a B cup), but they're big enough to give a man a thrill if he gets his greedy little hands on them, and I can wear a blouse instead of a sweatshirt.
Here's an idea: I'll go braless on Sunday. It's the big advantage of B cup boobs; if you're young (I'm 24), and your boobs are not that big, you don't really need a bra all the time, and if you go braless, somehow men think that you're easy. Everyone hits on me when I go braless, or so it feels like. I think Jake will like that.
Now, of course, I'll have to shave everywhere: legs, underarms, and, of course, yes, down there, at least somewhat. I hate doing that, but at least women don't have to do it daily, like men. Also, it helps if one is blonde, and the carpet matches the drapes. It does, in my case, although a lot of good it does if I shave off the carpet.
Then there's perfume. Hey, I'm going all out! Why take chances? I can't believe I'm seducing Jake, and he's making it easy for me to do it. It's exciting! I'll have a date, sorta, kinda, for Valentine's Day.
**
I saunter into The Office, looking -- I like to think -- reasonably hot, and ready for my "date." I look around, and Jake isn't there. How embarrassing. I feel the seat of his usual barstool, and it's cold. The sexy, tattooed barkeep comes over to me and I order an MGD. She gives me the once over, and takes a second look. Yes, barkeep, it's me. I'm just cleaned up.
"Looking for Jake?" she asks. I can tell by how nice she's acting towards me that something's wrong.
"Yes," I say, as acid rapidly builds up in my stomach.
"He won't be in tonight, I'm afraid," she said, with a look almost of pity in her eyes. "He left about an hour ago with Virginia all over him."
"That scuzzy barfly?" I asked.
"She looked nice tonight. She wanted a Valentine's Day date, and she announced to the bar she'd fuck anyone who took her out," the barkeep said. "Jake beat off the other men, and the two left together, all lovey dovely."
"Thanks," I said. "Now I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go. Say, are you free tonight?"
"You swing that way?" the barkeep, whose name was Erica, said.
"I don't know, to be honest. I've never tried it before," I said, checking out Erica for the first time, I mean, that way. Underneath all of her tattoos, there lay quite a pretty woman.
"So, I'd be your first?" Erica replied. "By the way, I'm AC/DC, and I have a live-in boyfriend, Ryan. Just so you know."
"Does that mean ...?"
"Yes, he'll want to watch, and then join in after we each climax," Erica said.
"By join in, do you mean ...?"
"You bet. He'll want each of us, especially you, I'd imagine. You're very sexy, you know," Erica said.
"Well, I dressed up for Jake's benefit, fool that I am. Thank you, Erica, but a threesome is not my scene, I'm afraid," I said, although even as I said it, I began to wonder if, maybe, with the right two people, I mean, it could be ... nah, forget it.
"No problem. It's not my scene, either, but Ryan does enjoy, occasionally, the taste of new pussy, as do I. Too bad."
"Yes, it's a shame," I said, as I began to waiver more seriously. Erica did not notice, I suspected, because she was called away by a thirsty patron at the far end of the bar.
**
Erica had made last call. Three different men had hit on me after Erica and I had discussed a threesome. I just was not, however, in the mood for a one-night stand with a quasi-stranger, even if it was Valentine's eve, and I was without a date. Actually, Erica was being so nice to me all evening, that I felt the affection in the air, and I was both happy and content. No date was needed, after all.
As the bar's remaining patrons filed out, Erica cleaned up a bit, put chairs on tables, and in general did what barkeeps do once the place closes. She didn't have to clean the bar, because there was a janitor for those duties. A horn honked outside, even though it was 2:30AM. In New York, there's always more important things for the police to do than to enforce noise ordinances.