I couldn't have married Monica, I knew that in the first five minutes after meeting her at Bull's. But I sure as hell could fuck the shit out of her.
Bull's is a downtown sports bar with little to recommend it, except that it had a crowd of young single professionals who used it as a hook-up joint. I was probably seven years too old for the crowd, but I didn't mind. I was still wearing my usual work suit, which cost more than the combined drink tab of everyone in the room, so I was visibly out of place, too. I watched somebody else's team play on the screen while I sipped a rum and coke and ate peanuts and waited for my date. It was raining outside, and the white noise lulled me into a pleasant little stupor for a while. It kind of hit me that I was single again, and I felt both pleased and depressed by that. As I watched the casual flirtation and bad pick-up lines fly fast and furious, the growing chorus of the early-twenties mating call ("I am soooooo drunk!") I became more and more fearful by the idea of being back on the open market again.
Monica showed up a little late, but looking yummy. She had a lovely dark red sweater and knee-length black skirt, a wide black belt over the sweater. She wasn't a particularly striking woman, save for her long nose and piercing eyes, and she had a lovely shock of reddish-brown hair that had seen one too many budget stylists – but she was short. Petite, in the classic sense. The top of her head came to my shoulders. No doubt she had students who already towered over her. And she was lithely built, too. But that just made the two B-cup beauties she was hiding under her sweater pop out all the more.
"Bill?" she asked, checking me out like a piece of prime rib.
"Monica, a pleasure," I said, shaking her hand and smiling. "What will you have?"
"A Blowjob," she said, bluntly. I nodded, smiling despite myself. Novelty drinks – gotta love 'em.
"Let's get a Blowjob over here!" I called out to the bartender over the crowd. There was a weak cheer from the profane, and the requisite laughter from the rest of the crowd, but before I had helped Monica off with her coat a small long-stemmed glass arrived with its creamy concoction. "Gotta get the taste of adolescent smugness out of my mouth. I always like to start my weekend off with a Blowjob," she confided in me naughtily.
"Who doesn't?" I agreed. Then I got to enjoy the sight of her bending down, engulfing the top of the glass with her painted lips, getting a firm grip, then raising her head up quickly, allowing the drink to splash down her throat – with no hands.
When she set the drink down again, there was scattered applause and a hoot or two, and she bowed, then closed her eyes and shivered. "Damn, that was good!"
"Tough week at work?"
"Little bastards ran roughshod over me all week," she bitched. "They come back from Christmas break and it's like someone erased their tiny goddamn minds!"
"How else are they going to learn to become mindless drones for the corporate machine?" I shrugged. "In five years they'll all be in this bar, making our nation great. On behalf of American industry and commerce, I thank you for your efforts."
She slugged me playfully in the arm. "You're a funny guy," she decided. "I think I like you."
"I'm starting to take a shine to you, too," I agreed. "You hungry?"
"For dick or dinner?" she asked, bluntly.
"Lady's choice," I said, bowing deferentially.
She considered, her eyebrows making a cute little dance while she thought. "While I haven't been fucked in . . . way too long, I skipped lunch to grade papers, so now I'm famished."
"Dinner it is," I agreed, throwing a twenty on the bar and helping her put her coat back on. "Sushi okay?"
"Oh, hell yeah!" she said, her rural Southern accent popping out. As the night progressed and the drinks flowed, I would hear more and more of that accent using filthier and filthier language.
I held the door to the Jag open for her, and she naughtily flashed me some serious thigh when she got into the passenger side. I slid into the diver's seat and was about to turn on the car when she grabbed my head and kissed me. I could taste the sweetness of the liquor on her breath, mixed with cigarettes and lust. I stopped what I was doing and returned the kiss as well as I could – I was pretty aroused myself.
"Damn!" she said, after finally breaking it. "You kiss like a dream!"
"Thanks," I said, pleased. "You, too. I thought you wanted dinner?"
"I changed my mind," she murmured into my mouth. "I caught a whiff of you when you let me in the car and I damn near grabbed your cock right there!"
"Don't let me stop you," I said with a chuckle. Her hand immediately went to my thigh, where she squeezed it like a piece of fruit she was considering purchasing, then to my hard cock so cruelly imprisoned within. She took my measure with her nimble fingers, nodding all the while she kissed me.
"Oh, HELL yeah!" she sighed, breaking away again, her hand wrapped around it from the outside. "That's a beauty, there! Suzie was right about you!"
"More than you're used to?"
"It's been so long, I'm not used to anything but my vibrator," she giggled. "Pull it out – I want to see it!"
"Here?"
"Why not?"
"That's a pretty compelling argument," I agreed, slowly pulling down my zipper. I wasn't too worried – it was raining pretty hard, now, and I couldn't see the empty car next to us. No one would be able to see across the parking lot into my crotch. My dick gently made an entrance, and Monica's eyes lit up as she saw it like a kid eyeing presents under the tree at Christmas. Her hand measured it over and over again and she started gently jacking it.
"That's so pretty," she cooed. "So big and hard and soft all at once!"
"So when was the last time you got to touch a real dick?" I asked, trying to be casual as she was stroking my rampant boner.
She groaned softly. "Last June. My ex. Got drunk and did it standing up in a bathroom at a party. Didn't even cum," she complained.
