I'd recently graduated from college and gotten a new job and a place of my own. Two or three nights a week I'd stop at a little bar near my new condo in order to have a drink and unwind from a long day at work.
Dina was the bartender. She was a blonde woman, in her late 40's with a pretty good body for a woman her age. 10 or 15 years ago she was probably considered very hot. At this point she was still attractive, but her fashion sense was a little out of date. Her bleached blonde hair was piled high and she wore too much make-up. I don't want to be mean, but she was what you might call "white trash". At least, she seemed that way to an upwardly mobile young man like me. I imagine that she was the kind of woman who would hang out at dingy roadhouse bars where she might find temporary comfort in the arms of a trucker or construction worker.
I'd stop in for a beer, wearing expensively tailored suits and sit at the end of the bar just relaxing from the pressures of my job. Dina was always friendly and ready with a smile. She called me "Hon". Hell, she called everyone Hon. Pretty soon she got to know my beer of preference, and as soon as I'd walk in she'd have a frosty mug all set up at my usual spot. We'd chit chat in the way patrons and bartenders usually do, and I never thought much of it, or of her.
At the time I would casually date women I met through work. They were young, professional and oh so hip and trendy. I also found that they were passionless and cold. Too many of them would talk endlessly of business, market portfolios and the latest books and movies that were all the rage in the Yuppie crowd. Frankly, I found them boring.
Things probably wouldn't have changed much until this one particular evening. I stopped in for a beer, and sat in my usual stool at the bar. Dina wasn't working that night, but she was sitting at the bar as a customer. As I sat down she moved over a couple of stools and sat down at the empty stool next to me.
"Hey Hon," she said with her usual smile.
"Hey, how's it goin'? Not working tonight?" I asked.
"No, I have the night off, and the kids are with the ex," she answered.
We talked a more. She asked me about my work, and pretended to know what I was talking about. She told me about her 3 kids (2 teenage girls and a son that was my age). She was down to earth and friendly, and as I sat there talking I began to see her in a new way. She was no longer just the bartender that I barely acknowledge. I saw her as an attractive, sexy woman who was all the things that the girls I was dating weren't. She was wearing a black v-neck shirt that had black laces that tied over her ample cleavage. I couldn't help but look at the bare flesh of her large breasts. I listened to her tell me all about her jerk ex-husband, but all the while I was thinking about those tanned globes that were oh so close.
We bought each other drafts and then moved on to shots. Pretty soon we were both feeling pretty high. There was a small dance floor near the bar, and a jukebox in the corner. There were a few people dancing to some country and western song I didn't know. I noticed as we talked that she kept on touching my arm or knee as she looked me in the eye and told me a new story. I could feel myself getting hard, and could see my erection grow beneath my Armani slacks. I even thought I saw her eyes drift down to my growing cock, and a strange look came across her face.
Someone played another country song on the jukebox. It was a slow one, and the dance floor filled with couples. She looked at me and said, "Would you like to dance?"
"I'd love to," I replied.
We walked to the dance floor, my eyes on her ass. It was a little bigger than the ones I was used to on the salad-eating girls I'd been dating. Hell, she was 25 years older than those girls, and had had 3 children. Her tight acid-washed jeans clung to her ass like a fresh coat of paint. She grabbed my hand and led me to the dance floor.
As we danced I smelled her perfume. It wasn't one of the more expensive brands that I knew and smelled cheap, but I found it intoxicating. She pressed against my chest, and I felt her stiff hair-sprayed hair against my chin.
"How old are you?" she asked.
"I just turned 23," I answered.
"I can't believe a young and handsome man like you isn't out with a pretty young lady right now," she told me.
"But I AM with a very pretty young lady right now," I quickly said.
She laughed. "Oh come on, I'm more than 20 years.... well I mean I'm much older than you."
"Does that bother you?" I asked with a hint of mischief in my voice.
