I was a bar-back at a bar called Checker's Pub. It's a real dive; a working class bar whose regulars include vagrants, factory workers, ex-cons, Vietnam veterans, prostitutes, drug dealers, and all sorts of other people who love life enough to distort their perception with alcohol night after night. It's a fun place to work, if you don't mind being around an all-star team of human failures. The employees, on the other hand were not all human failures. The owner was a great guy to work with. I was hired by Nikki, a bartender there.
Nikki was about 5'6" and a little on the heavy side, but with enough well-defined curves to make it worth your masturbation's while. She had a great ass and boner-inducing breasts, but her sexiest characteristic was her eyes. They were very dark, showing both her Native American ancestry and her French lineage. In her eyes you could see she had a lot of depth, personality-wise, as well as an enormous sexual appetite. This appetite of hers affected every part of her life.
We got along great, because we could talk about anything. Also, she had a sense of humor similar to mine. I could always make her laugh. What irked me, though, was how much she talked about her boyfriend. She was always talking about why she was pissed off at him that day. It was always something. She never did it in a whiny, bitchy way, but it was still annoying. You see, the Nikki that I worked with was such a strong, self-sufficient person. She could look into the eyes of a drunken patron, a full foot taller than herself, who's being a nuisance, and say, "Well now I'm not gonna serve you any more drinks because your wasted and your being a dick." She had an 8-year-old son who she reared and she was also taking steps toward attending the local college.
So it was difficult for me understand why she would continue to stay with her boyfriend. I had heard from other sources (patrons who knew her and Andy) that he was a real asshole. Her good friend Joey told me that sometimes he yells at her, "real abusively," as he put it. It was at times difficult to listen to her bitch about her boyfriend, because it kept me from having such respect for her. It's not often that I have respect for a woman. So when I do, I don't want it to become tainted by anything.
I had been using Nikki for masturbation fuel for a while. She and I always flirted, often to an outlandish degree, much to the amusement of the patrons. I would smack her ass (a common practice at Checker's) or sometimes get down on my knees and beg to kiss it. Other times she would say, loud enough for several people to hear, "Miles: Show my your cock." She would give me tips on how to maximize penetration with a woman, how to best make her cum, etc. Long story short, I wanted to fuck her, and I was pretty sure she was attracted to me as well.
On the particular night which the following events occurred, Checker's was pretty dead. Only a few regulars were there. It was a Sunday, so there was Karaoke. Nettie ran it, and she kept having to sing songs herself, since there was almost nobody else singing. As the night went on, Nikki and I drank more than a few shots. She complained about her boyfriend Andy. "We haven't had sex in a month. Ever since I gained twenty-five pounds, he hardly ever tries to fuck me."
"What a shame." She didn't notice that I didn't really want to hear about it. She just kept talking.
Nikki: "I'm thirty years old. I'm at my sexual peak. Every morning when I wake up, I NEED it. If I don't get a chance to masturbate, I'm the queen cunt for a couple hours."
"Goddamn." Suddenly I was interested; there was an erection in the works in my pants. I didn't care about the fact that her boyfriend neglected her, but I was turned on by how much she needed sex, how important it was to her. It aroused me because it was a sign of weakness. Her need for cock was a weakness I could exploit. "Stop teasing me," I said. She smiled.
Nikki: "It's not easy being at your sexual peak when you have a nearly celibate boyfriend."
"There are plenty of dicks in the sea," I said, waving a hand over the bar, referring to all the male patrons who'd gladly have sex with her.
Nikki: "I've ALWAYS been the good girl. I've never cheated on him."
I placed my hand on my belt buckle and said, "I think you need some Mileage."
Her smile faded slightly. We looked into one another's eyes. Just as our eye contact was lasting just a few too many seconds, Nettie called out from the Karaoke booth: "Alright. Let's here it for Kandy. Now I need Nikki the bar-wench!" That was Nikki's nick-name, as well as Nettie's way of distinguishing her from other possible Nikkis in the bar. Nikki walked out from behind the bar and up to the stage.
She sang "I Hate Myself for Loving You" by Joan Jett. It was one of her favorite songs to sing. Obviously, the song expressed her feelings concerning her relationship with her boyfriend.
I hate myself for loving you Can't break free from the things that you do I wanna walk but I run back to you, that's why I hate myself for loving you
As I listened to her sing the lyrics, the anger I felt was increased by my horny state. Sexual frustration is bad enough, but it's a lot worse when it's compounded with anger toward the person toward whom you're attracted. Each emotion feeds and enhances the other. I didn't talk to her much for the rest of the night, until after everybody left. I just gave her hard stares when she talked to me.
Two o'clock eventually rolled around. Last call for alcohol. By 2:20 everybody had left. I had wiped down all the tables and taken out the trash. I had stocked all the shelves and turned off most of the lights. I locked the back door and returned to behind the bar where Nikki stood at the cash register, counting the money made for the night.
Nikki: "Tonight sucked. We didn't even come close to making five hundred."
"Is there anything I can do to make it better?"
She turned and glared at me. We were about three feet apart. She said, "I don't know. Is there?" We had definitely had too many shots.
We began making out. I leaned into her, she had her ass against the sink. I lightly pulled her hair back and groped her breasts. Our tongues danced sensuously, each one wishing it could more fully inhabit the other's mouth. This alone was blissful. It was all the more pleasurable because it felt wrong. She has a boyfriend, I kept thinking. This doesn't belong to me.
Nikki groped her way down to my crotch. She felt my erection, which was giving the stitches in my jeans a run for their money. She slowly groped from the base to the tip, going up and down a couple times. Just then she broke off from me. I opened my eyes, startled, and saw that she was already halfway to the pool table. I walked out from behind the bar.
"Come hither." She said. She was facing the table, her back to me, with her hands resting on the edge. "I didn't wear any panties."
I walked over as calmly as I could, undoing my belt at the same time. I immediately unzipped and pulled out my cock. My cock was grateful for the release from its denim bondage. I grabbed her hair and lightly bit her ear, before kissing her neck.
She pulled her skirt up to her waist. She bent over onto the pool table.
Nikki the bar-wench: "King me, Miles."
