Trish's Place...

"You look a bit bummed, sugar," I said to her as I wiped the bar in front of her 'space' and removed her empty shot glass, then pouring the rest of her beer into her glass.

"Can't hide the obvious, I guess," she replied with a bit of a sad smile on her otherwise very cute face.

"Well sweetie, once you accept the fact that 98% of all men are blatant assholes, the disappointments they can cause doesn't seem so fucking important," I said to her in an attempt to lighten both her spirits, and the moment.

Leaving her with that thought to chew on, I greeted a couple who had walked in and sat at the far end of the bar, feeling the cold air that had entered with them. Taking the order and bringing their drinks, they immediately became engrossed in private conversation between themselves.

It was slow at my bar that particular Friday evening, no doubt a result of the terrible weather, and I had let my floor girl go home a bit early; hell, with three at the bar and another couple at a table, it wasn't anything I couldn't manage by myself. We had been busy earlier, during happy hour, but with the bad weather, the crowds died.

After checking on the couple at the table, the chick at the bar signaled for another round with a hand motion while she talked on her cell phone. Damn, I thought, she'll be in blitzville pretty soon at the rate that she was putting it down; I made a mental note to monitor her intake and not let her drive off if I thought she was impaired. The last thing I needed was a fucking lawsuit because I let someone drive away drunk.

"You might want to nurse this round, baby, you've been hitting it pretty hard," I said to her when I delivered her order. She nodded her agreement with the same sad smile still planted on her face.

The couple at the table got up, said goodnight, and walked out as I retrieved their glasses and wiped the table. As I did so, Ms. Sadface punched up a couple of tunes on the jukebox, her body slowly moving to the sounds as she picked a couple of more.

Saying goodnight to the couple at the bar and cleaning their spaces, I checked the time and debated about closing early since it was slow and the weather outside just plain sucked.

"It wasn't a guy that stood me up," I heard my last remaining customer say as I checked the register readings.

"Excuse me?" I said since I hadn't heard her clearly, or so I thought.

"It wasn't a guy," she repeated, a noticeable slur in her voice now; that, and the slightly glassy-eyed look told me that she was definitely cut off.

"Well, gals can be bitchy as well, sweetie," I offered in response, "either way, it sucks to be stood up."

"I hear that," her voice still slurring.

"Sweetie, you need to hand me your car keys; I can't let you drive away in your condition," steeling myself for the argument I knew was coming. Surprisingly though, she reached into her purse and threw me her keys, which I stashed next to the register.

"Look," I said, "I'll call you a cab and you can pick up your car tomorrow, okay?"

She nodded her agreement and threw down the remaining shot, and took a long pull at her bottle of beer, not bothering with the frosted mug I had given her. Picking up the phone, I called the cab service I regularly use for driving drunks home and was greeted with a surprising answer.

"Trish," the dispatcher said to me, "there's not a shot in hell of getting a cab to your place, have you looked outside?"

Walking to the front door, I opened it and was greeted by a blast of cold air and blowing snow; looking to the street, I couldn't see it because of the white-out conditions.

"Great," I muttered, "okay Joe, thanks anyway, I'll figure something out," and clicking off the hand-set, I chewed my lip in thought, while staring down to the floor.

"Got a problem, sugar," I said to my lady at the bar, "there's no cabs available and there won't be for quite a while by the looks of the blizzard that's going on outside."

"Guess you and I are stuck with each other then, aren't we?" she replied.

"Well, me, not so much; I have a small apartment, above the bar that I can use, so I'm good," I jokingly responded.

"Well, since we can't go anywhere, let me buy you a drink," she said with a smile that wasn't so sad.

What the hell, I thought, might as well and I set us both up with a shot and a beer.

"I'm Trish," I introduced myself to her, "and you're...?"

"Horny and stood up," she joked, then added, "Marge, Trish, I'm Marge."

"Please to meet you, Marge," I replied and lifting my glass to hers, and she to me, we threw the Tequila back, both of us grimacing at the fiery burning sensation to our throats.

We talked and the long and short of her story was simply this; she was supposed to be meeting an on-line chat partner for the first time and her 'date' hadn't showed up.

"She was looking for her first bi-experience and I guess she chickened out," Marge said to me. Seeing the small smile on my face, she added, "Oops, too much information?"

"Quite alright," I countered, "I'm not exactly Ms. Prim and Proper myself," pouring us both another shot.

We threw that one down as well and then I went and locked up, just as the last song she had punched came up in rotation. Jumping off of her bar stool, she grabbed my hand as I walked past and said, "Dance with me, Trish? I mean, if you want to, that is."

I must have been feeling those two quick shots; well that and the other four or five I had during the evening when regulars had bought me a shot to do with them.

"Sure, why not? Sure as hell, we're not going anywhere," and with that said, I let her take the lead and followed her movements on the small dance floor of my bar.

She was a good dancer, was Marge, and I found myself relaxing in her embrace. She was a little bit taller than me, probably 5'8", give or take an inch, with short, brown hair and dark brown eyes. I figured her to be near my weight, maybe 125 lbs. and while she wasn't the next glamour model for Elle, she wasn't unattractive, either.

"I really like this song," she said softly while we moved to the music, the warmth of her breath next to my ear and cheek sending a wake-up call to Ms. Priss. Well hell, it'd been a few months since my last tango in bed and with the shots and all, it's no wonder that Ms. Priss got all tingly.

Marge sensed something, though what, I'm not sure. But as she moved us effortlessly around in small circles, I found myself responding to her embrace. And when her lips lightly brushed against my cheek, I stifled a sigh of excitement.

Jesus, I thought, had it been that long since I balled someone?

Marge had something going for her alright, I thought, and now the question was what was I going to do about it; about it, and about her, now that she was 'trapped' by the weather with me.

What the hell I thought, as the song was coming to an end, I couldn't just kick her to the curb and let her freeze to death, now could I?

And, if I was to be totally honest, dancing with her had stirred up some welcomed emotions; it's not like I've never been down that road before.

"That was nice, Trish, thanks for the dance," Marge said when we parted from our dancing embrace but still holding onto my fingers with hers.

"No, thank you; it'd been a while since I danced with anyone that dances as well as you," I replied, then added, "Look, I have a spare bedroom upstairs and since neither of us are going anywhere in this storm, you might as well plan on spending the night, okay?"

"Are you sure?" she asked with questioning eyes to my face.

"Unless those keys you gave up are to a snow plow, I don't see any other choices, do you?"

Laughing, she replied, "No, I guess you're right; wow, we really

are

stuck with each other, aren't we?"

"Fuck it, Marge, we'll just make the best of it, okay?" and turning out the lights and setting the security alarm, I had her follow me up the back stairs to my small, but very comfortable 2 bedroom abode above my bar.

When I bought the bar, a few years ago, I already had a house but the small 2 bedroom apartment was the former owner's primary residence, so I made the decision to redo the apartment to my own tastes; because of the hours that owning a bar requires, it made sense to me to have a crash-pad, close, for those evenings I was too tired, or had too much to drink, to make the drive back to my house.

Made sense then, makes sense, now, at least to me.

"Very, very nice," she complimented as her eyes took in the décor and wall hangings of my place, nodding her head appreciatively at my taste in furniture and all.

"Thanks; it's small, but it's all mine," I proudly said, "well, mine and the bank's, I guess," laughing at my own joke.

"Marge, I definitely need to shower up and get the bar smells off of me; make yourself at home and if you'd like to clean up as well, I can loan you something to sleep in, okay?"

She thought for a moment and said that'd be fine and she'd shower after I was through with mine.

Flipping on the TV, I tossed her the remote and told her to amuse herself and that I wouldn't be long, running off to the bath afterwards.

The hot water felt wonderful as it caressed my body; as I soaped and lathered up, it was difficult for me not to 'linger' on Ms. Priss when I cleaned myself, but I resisted the temptation to get myself off.

But the thought of sexual release stayed with me, it surely did.

After I had dried off, I threw on one of my many sleep-shirts and a pair of panties and rejoined Marge while I towel-dried my mop of hair. She had taken off her jacket, revealing a very nice set of ta-tas that pushed against her top's fabric and showed a very nice cleavage.

Now, I'm not a lez; that's my story and I'm sticking to it. But I've been down that road more than a few times in my life since I was sixteen or so; if I was going to be 'tagged', I guess it would be as a bi-sexual broad.

I enjoy sex with both men and women, though my romps seem to be more with women as I get older, than with men, so calling me bi wouldn't be inaccurate. Over the years I have found that I can just as easily be turned on by an attractive woman as I can be by a studly guy. Hell, I've been turned on by 'studly' butches once or twice, so it's not a stretch for me at all.

I suppose it could be said that I am somewhat of a Libertine.

"Your turn, cutie-pie," I teased Marge, throwing her one of my sleep shirts to wear, "at least, you won't have to sleep in your clothes," chuckling when I said it.

Standing and stretching her arms over her head, she thanked me but took notice that I was eyeing her attractive figure as she stretched. Smiling, she scooped up the shirt and said, "I won't be long, and Trish? Thanks for the hospitality; you've made a bummer of a night seem not so bad now."

As she walked off down the hall to my bath, my eyes wouldn't stay off of her ass that looked poured into her tight jeans.

"Do you need a toothbrush or anything like that?" I called after her.

Peeking back to me from around the bathroom door, she waved her purse at me, saying, "No, I have some basics in here that I carried, you know, in case I got lucky with my 'date' tonight," snorting derisively as she said it.

"Hot chocolate or Irish coffee?" I called to her again.

Stepping out to the hallway, she had stripped down to her bra and panties, the sight of her causing a bit of a flutter in my crotch and replied, "Irish coffee, strong Irish coffee, I don't want to lose my buzz entirely," laughing afterwards.

"Done," I replied simply as I stared at her in her underwear.

Walking into my small kitchen to put on the coffee and get the fixings together, I could feel warmth between my legs that wasn't completely unpleasant, I thought.

When she joined me in the kitchen after her shower, I took note that my sleep shirt fit her just fine, albeit that it was a bit shorter on her, than on me; her larger boobs seemed to stretch the shirt more than my smaller, B-cups did, I thought.

"Sorry I couldn't provide any fresh underwear for you," I commented as I fixed our coffees, lacing it liberally with Jamison's.

Turning to point her butt at me, she laughed and flipped up her shirt to reveal her firm, round, and naked, ass-cheeks; "Not a problem," she joked, "Commando works for me."

Laughing with her, I remarked, "Yes, yes it does and very nicely, I might add," to which we both laughed. Taking our mugs into the living room, we camped on the couch and let the TV provide some background noise as we talked.

Marge was an IT specialist for her employer, a large manufacturer in our city and had just turned thirty. Divorced once, she admitted that she was bi-sexual and enjoyed being with 'curious' women who wanted to have their first girl-with-girl experience.

"You'd be surprised at how many married women want to walk on the wild side with another gal," she commented, adding that she sort of 'got off' on being the teacher in those circumstances.

"Nah, I wouldn't be surprised by that at all," I answered, "I see it all the time in my bar, you know, married chicks out for some strange, though most of the time they're looking for some dick to fuck other than their husband's."

"A couple of times," I added, "I've seen them get hooked up with one of the butches that frequent my place, so no, I wouldn't be surprised at all."

I went on to tell her that as far as marriage was concerned that, at forty, I was a two-time loser, and finally decided that staying single seemed to work out best for me.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, I enjoy having someone in my bed but only when I want to; I enjoy being able to call my own shots in that regard," chuckling a bit when I admitted that truth to her.

"Strange that you have both straights and gays as customers," she opined.

"All are welcomed in my place as long as they behave themselves," I replied, "and as long as they don't cause problems; life's too short to put up with drama and assholes."

"I couldn't agree more," Marge replied, "and by the way, any chance for some more of this wonderful concoction."

"I was just thinking the same thing," I laughed and with that the both of us returned to my kitchen to fix another round, though this time, I added even more of the Jamison's to our steaming mugs.

Turning to hand her the freshly fixed mug, I found her staring at me.

"What?" I asked as I handed her the mug.

"Nothing," she replied, "I just find it hard to believe that you're forty; I mean you don't look any older than me."

"Good genes, I guess," I replied, "both of my parents lived into their eighties but neither looked their age when they passed."

"Lucky you," she replied with a cute smile on her face.

Returning to the couch, we sipped our coffees while sort of watching the tube and when she was finished, she turned to face me, curling her legs under her nice ass and revealing a hint of a beaver-shot to my eyes when I faced her.

Reaching for my mug after I had drained it, she took it from me and leaned across me to place it on the end table, on my side of the couch. But instead of returning to her sitting position, she stayed close to my face with hers, her eyes staring intently into mine.

And just that quickly, we moved our heads towards each other and kissed; softly, tentatively, but neither of us not wanting to kiss the other.

"You have nice lips," she said when she pulled her lips from mine.

"So do you," I said, and in that moment we both knew that we would be making love on that cold winter night.

I kissed her next, our mouths opening slowly to each other, our arms embracing the other as we kissed with increasing passion, though not lustfully, not yet, at least. Turning her body so that she was laying across my lap, my hands supporting her, she put her hand behind my head and brought my lips to hers once again.

I felt the tip of her tongue probing at my mouth and opened my mouth to accept its warmth; as she slowly slipped her tongue into my mouth, I dropped my hand between her legs, slowly rubbing the inside of her thighs as our kissing continued.

After a few minutes of this, I could feel the dampness begin to saturate my panties, and when I brushed her trimmed pubes with my fingertips, her wetness was clearly evident, which only served to make me hornier than I already was.

"Not your first time in Girlyland, is it?" She remarked when we parted from our kiss, my fingers stroking her love patch as we looked into each other's eyes, "You have a very nice touch," she added.

"Thanks, maybe it's a natural instinct," I replied, "mostly, I just do to others as I would like it done to me; kinda' my own version of the "Golden Rule'," I joked back to her.

Dropping her mouth to my breast, she sucked on it through the thin material of my sleep shirt, getting it very wet, very quickly, and producing an instant erection for my nipples.

I laid my head back to rest on the sofa-back, enjoying the heat and wetness from her mouth on my tit and, all the while, my hand and fingers continued to play with her increasingly wet pussy. Her hand was fondling my other breast as she sucked with increasing lust on the one, and my finger had slipped into her snatch, fucking her with it slowly, but deeply.

Lifting her mouth from my wet sleep shirt, she kissed me hard and passionately, my mouth opening wide to accept her probing tongue, which, in turn, caused me to finger her with increasing lustfulness.

"Take me to your bed?" She asked when she pulled her mouth from mine.

"Only if you're ready for some serious fucking," I not-so-jokingly teased in response.

"Oh, I'm ready, sweetie, I am soooo ready for some serious fucking with you," was her truthful reply.

"Well then, let us go and play," I said to her with a slight push of her to move her from my lap.

Because of the late hours I keep from running my bar, my bedroom is like being inside of a bat cave when the drapes are shut and the lights are out; it works for me but not everybody is comfortable in such an environment of total darkness.

Marge climbed onto my bed first, then me; before I shut off my bedside lamp, I warned her of the darkness, asking if she'd be comfortable with it. As she settled onto the bed, turned to face me while lying on her side, she replied, "I guess we'll have to navigate each other with touches and tastes, won't we?" her eyes showing mischievousness that I found alluring.

"Not a bad thing," I offered from my past experiences.

"I agree," Marge said, then she placed a hand on my breast, cupping it in her hand as I stretched to turn off my bed lamp.

"Oooh, I like the darkness," Marge said immediately, squeezing my breast as I felt her move closer to me.

Finding each other's mouth quickly, the intensity of our kisses ramped up several notches, complete with the heavy breathing and moaning from sexual arousal. Her hand was under my sleep shirt and pulling off my panties within seconds of our lips meeting. I wasted no time, either, in returning to fondle and finger her pussy.

She pulled away from our kiss to pull her shirt from her body and then, she removed mine just as quickly. Pulling her to lie on top of me as we resumed our kissing, my hands caressed and kneaded her ass cheeks, pulling her pussy against mine which was grinding with arousal against hers.

Moving one of my hands from her ass, I tried to surround her breast with it, but she had too much tit for my small hand to totally encompass; oh well, there's worse things in life to deal with, isn't there?

This girl definitely knew how to kiss, I thought as we traded tongue swipes with each other; that, coupled with her hand now between my legs playing with Ms. Priss as we kissed, definitely had me ready for an orgasm. Sliding down my body, her tongue traced a path between my breasts, pausing long enough to suck and lick each for a bit, before continuing her journey. Once there, she slipped my legs over her shoulders as her mouth found its target.