Allison was drunk, but holding her liquor well. I knew she wouldn't puke in my bar. She's a pro, an alcoholic from an early age. She still came to my bar to see her friends, her ex-coworkers, even though I had had to fire her. I liked her. She's beautiful, she's strong physically, and she knew the menu well. But she was a bum.
She slept in different places every night. Most times at girlfriends houses. Sometimes with men. Sometimes with men she knew and sometimes with men she'd only met. She had shared some of these licentious details with me during a previous drunken bout. Ever since, I had fantasized about her.
I wanted to fuck her less because she was beautiful - she is - but because I thought maybe she was just loose enough to let an older married man fuck her. Her sexiness was in her vulnerability.
Tonight again, as she hugged me and slobbered over me and asked me for my phone number to give as a recommendation to another potential employer, I wondered if I could make a move.
In all my years of owning a bar and working with fun sexy people who hug and kiss me all the time, I have never once cheated on my wife. Even if I had had sex with a customer or employee, I don't think it would have been cheating. I would simply tell my wife I had fucked someone for fun, just as she had told me about her own affair at work.
But her affair was something else altogether. Their sex was a culmination of a friendship that had developed over years. I knew her lover well, and yes, I knew - I think even before she did - that they had formed a bond.
When he got transferred to Hawaii (of all places) she was depressed, and I comforted her. I opened her up and I told her that I knew she held a love for him that I was not a part of. I rest secure in her love for me and I told her so. I encouraged my own wife to go and consummate a forbidden love, to give physical expression to her abstract feelings.
The two weeks they spent fucking each other while I babysat our kids, also included some of the best love making between my wife and I. And then he left. And the whole episode became history.
Still, that episode has a way of popping into my mind at times. It sneaks in when I see a sexy lady at the bar or get a hug with a little too much weight in it from a sexy waitress. It sneaks in to tell me that I might just have permission to do what any virile male would be thinking of doing. And I probably do - for that split second.
I hesitate, though. I always do. Because I know that to have sex with these women I would need to get them alone, to undress them, to undress myself, to begin kissing them and throughout that process to exchange words. And I know, I am sure, that as that process commences, one or both of us will let reason in and watch ourselves as if from above and call a stop to the entire charade.
A 20 year old beauty doesn't need a 45 year old lover. A 45 year old business man with a wife and three children should spend his free time with them.
Of course I'm judging myself the way I judge my customers. I see them come in: the business men with escorts, those who have invested in trophy wives and the married women as well, looking for a young stud to take their minds off their dull marriages. I see them and I'm thankful that I have a beautiful sexy wife who takes care of me. She may not be as young and hot as she once was, but neither am I. But over the years, her knowledge of my body and hers has increased and while we don't fuck as often as we once did, we fuck well.
I get home most mornings at 5:00am. My wife is up by then even though she has a ten minute commute to work and doesn't need to be there till nine. True, we must get the kids off to school by 7:00. But there's still time for us to get in an hour's worth of fucking before or after the kids do their morning thing. And there are as many days that we fuck both times as there are those days we're too tired to fuck at all.
No, my wife and I are horny teenagers compared to most of my peers. At least from what I hear. So I see no need to stray no real need for a young lover, only the natural Male instinct to want more and more and think only of sex. And then there's the conquest. Allison, drunk Allison, is the faun and I am the lion. It's 2:30 in the morning, the rest of the herd is moving on. I'm low in the grass. Will an older, more sober deer come back to rescue her, or will I pounce?
We're in my car. It's 4:00am. She's leaning with her head against the window. Is she asleep?
She'd given me her old line: "I've no way to get home, no more buses."
I offered to drive her home, but it would have to wait till I closed the bar. She stayed till closing, but left before I did. I was simultaneously relieved and disappointed. Then she found me as I walked to my car. Now I was scott free. None of my staff had seen her leave with me. We didn't touch on the way to my car. I could get away with murder.
I park in the underground garage of an office building that doesn't lock up. They have gates you can drive around. It's a secret only the locals know, and at four in the morning, I'm the last local around. There's no light. There are no security cameras. This is the perfect lair for a rapist, if there were any passersby. There never are. And if there are rapists about tonight, I'm them.
We take the stairs down three flights, but on the second one Allison leans over in the corner and pukes. It's a long stinking regurgitation as I watch hours of alcohol and cheap fast food splash onto the floor. Ever the pro, she holds herself up with one hand while her long feet stretch as far back as she can and her left hand holds her dress out of the way.
It's been warm, and she's wearing a summer dress. As she bunches up the flowery material in her hand, and as her legs move further back away from the mess, her bare ass is revealed. Because I'm already a few stairs ahead of her and lower than she is, I can see her full bush of red pubic hair and the pink folds of her large vagina.
Allison is a red head, through and through.
When she's done throwing up, she wipes her arm across her mouth and asks me if I saw her naked. I asked her why she wore no underwear and she told me a pathetic story about trying to save money by throwing her underwear into someone else's load at the coin-op Laundromat. She planned to get there first and remove her laundry, but the other woman never left and in any event, Allison got back too late to even talk to her about it. No money for laundry, no money for new underwear, but money for booze. I love my business. People who have their priorities straight.
At this point, I'm in the car and feeling like a creep. I think of my friends who are doctors and lawyers and a bit holier-than-thou. What do I have over them if not my fun job and the sexy girls I meet? I'm sure they think I fuck strangers all the time. Maybe tonight I'll live up to that fantasy. That, or maybe I'll get caught for drunk driving and statutory rape.
"Allison, you awake?"
"Mm-hm" she grunts but doesn't open her eyes.
"I want to see your pussy again." I try, getting bolder but giving her something easy to laugh at, laugh off and turn me away.
But she just raises her skirt and starts rubbing her clit absent mindedly.
"You can fuck me if you want, you know." She says, and I wish I had a recording of that.
I turn on the overhead light in the car and watch her finger herself. Then I reach my right hand in through the wide open neck of her sundress and feel one of her large breasts. She's wearing a bra. At least she has some underwear. Somehow she finds the handle to lower the back to the bucket seat and now she's laying back, frigging herself with two hands and letting me feel her up.
