Author's note: I've told this story before in various fora, most recently orally in the Public Library event at Venus Beach II in Second Life. But this is the first time I've begun to tell the rest of the story. It's a work of fiction. Except, of course, for the parts that are inspired by experience. (Shy, March 2015)
*****
Around the turn of the millennium I lived right on Venice Beach in Los Angeles, overlooking Muscle Beach and the 'White Men Can't Jump' basketball courts. There was frenetic activity all along the boardwalk every day for the milling tourists, a chainsaw juggler, a roller blading electric guitarist, artisans of all genres and abilities. But I was pretty reclusive while trying to deal with depression and anxiety following yet another relationship failure. When my money ran low I had to get out of my cave to find a job. I got one just a few blocks away in a small bar in a hotel.
Bartending might seem an unlikely job for a reclusive depression-sufferer. But the clarity of the roles made it easier for me: I pour/you drink, I flirt/you tip. And the long mahogany bar itself served as a psychological barrier that I let "protect" me. One reason I rather liked working in what was quite obviously a pickup place was that I was, quite frankly, horny. Very horny. My only intimacies for months had been self-generated. My mouth was so hungry for cock or pussy that I could feel myself salivate just thinking about what I would desperately like to be doing later.
On this Friday night the hotel was filled with a small convention, and the attendees wandered in and out before and after dinner. A half-dozen local regulars talked about the new bartender as though I weren't there; I was flattered at their comments about my nipples that poked through my sheer white blouse and my legs that were hidden only by a very short black miniskirt. What they didn't know yet was that I wasn't wearing panties, and I was very tempted to bend over to 'innocently' let them know. I would have done any of the three men and three women, and in my current state of neediness I probably would have done them all together had they asked. But at this point they were just teasing me, hopefully sizing me up for future use.
I was at the hotel lobby end of the bar cutting limes when my attention was first diverted, then riveted, by the sight of a tall brunette walking toward the bar, backlit so that the only view was of long legs and long, dark hair gone slightly wild. She turned around as though looking for friends to join her. My jaw dropped and I stopped working as I saw that she was not only tall but also wore exceptionally tight designer jeans wrapped snugly around a magnificently shaped ass that made the curve from thigh to hip to waist a downright erotic vision.
My God, she just HAS to come in here. What can I do?
"Um, excuse me, Miss, may I help you?" I called out. She turned toward me and suddenly materialized right in front of me. I have no memory of how she got there. All I knew was that I was facing a beautiful, wild, green-eyed sexual animal who was making me warm and wet and nervous and excited. As usual, the most obvious reactions came from my now extremely erect nipples, whose darkening erection could be seen through the translucent material of my blouse. I had to say something. What?
"Hi, I'm Gay," I said as I held out my right hand. She took it, shook it, and held it gently for a moment too long, sending electric charges up my arm and into all the parts of me that were already racing into fifth gear.
"You're gay?" she asked as she cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
That I was bisexual was not in doubt, but it was always a spur of the moment thing usually fueled by a few too many drinks and a proposition I couldn't refuse. I didn't have enough confidence in my gaydar to ever initiate an encounter, just to make myself very, very available. I wanted to scream, I'm queer as a three-dollar bill and I want to you to fuck me right here, right now! Instead, I swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and said with what I hoped was a warm, inviting smile:
"My name is Gay, and you are?"
"Sonia. I'm Sonia." She drew out the first syllable and her pursed lips looked invitingly kissable.
"Well, Sonia-with-a-long-sexy-O, what can I get you?" I wanted to tell her that I was the best thing on the menu, that she could even get a to-go order of me.
"Coke would be nice."
"I don't think that's been on the menu here since the '80s," I replied, hoping I could coax a smile from that beautiful, intense face.
"Coca-Cola will be fine," she said, smiling broadly with the mouth I wanted to kiss, her green eyes twinkling with delight.
"Nothing stronger?" I wanted her drunk so that maybe she would think me worthy of her obvious sexual energy.
"No, afraid not. That's off-limits for me."
"Good that you know that. The only difficult part of this job is dealing with people who shouldn't be drinking. It makes me sad." I drew her drink into the finest tall crystal glass I could find, added a splash of Rose's Lime Juice and garnished it with a section of lime. I wanted to dip a nipple into it, offer her a taste and ask her, May I pour? Pour it all over me!
