At The Bar Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Her squeals of pleasure would be so loud as I spank her while bent over, with her saying how she knows she’s been bad. And oh how she would moan as I let her experience something new and fresh. Finally I would slide my manhood inside her tight loving womanhood. I would insert it and we would as one, feeling warm and loved.

There I would make sure it is the best sex she’s ever had. I could be myself and not have to worry about if I’m doing it as she wants or going too long. There I would only care about making her moan and squirm, bringing her as much pleasure as I could. Following the cues of her body, I would make her orgasm until she could no longer take any more.

The bar door opening snaps me out of my daydream. I’m so deep in my own fantasy that I have to shake my head to push the thoughts away. A bit embarrassed, I take a sip of my drink, hoping I didn’t have too goofy of an expression on my face as I daydreamed.

I’m not sure why the bar door opening knocks me out of my daydream. I’ve heard the door open all night long and didn’t seem to care. It opens like once every three seconds, so it is a normal noise here. Only this time it seems louder than normal.

I am glad it knocked me out of my thoughts, as, well, not to be gross but I’m a little “excited” now and if I stand my pants will give that fact away. I need to calm myself or others will really think that I’m a weirdo getting off on other couples or something.

My mouth legit drops open when I see who came into the bar. It’s a woman. The most perfect sort of woman I think I’ve ever seen. I’m so entranced by her that for a moment I think that she really is walking in slow motion. She’s just so…perfect.

The first thing anyone would notice is she is unlike any of the other women here. All the other women here wear clothes that seems to scream “I’m country and proud of it.” They wear tight blue jeans, flannel, camo and other country clothes. But this woman? She wears an outfit that seems to say, “I don’t care what you think” as all she wears, is a pair of old baggy blue jeans and a t-shirt with old school Ninja Turtles.

Trying not to stare, I watch her as she heads right for the bar. I am not surprised at all to see her go right for the crying man. In fact, I would have been shocked if she has here for anyone else. I do notice how she didn’t look around for him when she came in. She knew he would be right at the bar.

She is…perfect. Even her body is just how I like. Not the skinny, rail-thin toothpick body of women that freak out if they gained a few extra ounces. She has a few extra pounds were you can tell she can handle herself and won’t easily break. Not to mention she has good size breasts. I know women can’t control their bust size any more than a man can control his dick size, but damn it, I’ve always been a sucker for big boobs.

Thoughts of actually introducing myself come back with a vengeance. I had convinced myself doing it was stupid but now that I see her? She’s perfect. More than ever, it feels like the universe is giving me the perfect chance to get what I want. That she was meant for me. I mean, even looking at the crying man and her, they don’t even look good as a couple.

Even more fantasies play in my mind, now powered by alcohol. This makes them more intense as I see her face in them now. In them, I get to touch her perfect body. I kiss her perfect lips. I hear that perfect feminine voice, in which now that I hear her speak to her husband from across the bar, I have to admit it sounds like some talented singer singing.

My heart pounds, hard. I feel very much like when I was a teen about to ask a girl out on a date for some reason. Those fluttery feelings deep inside. Feelings I haven’t felt in years. Feelings that I both love and hate with a passion.

“I’m being stupid,” I mutter to myself, then request another drink, reminding myself that I’m not going to do anything. The entire idea of going over there and making her know that we are meant-to-be is far-fetched and stupid. It’s something that would happen only in music videos or crap rom-coms.

Unable to help myself, I look across the bar again, wanting to see her. When I do, I find that the perfect woman is looking right at me. Seeing this fills me with terror and even more of those fluttery feelings.

Shit! She can read my mind! I’m fucked. She knows what I am thinking. And worse, she knows she’s given me a hard-on. How freaking humiliating!

Then I come to my senses, knowing how dumb it is to think that. It’s just she’s rattled me, hard. Like my brain is no longer in control, but my emotions are.

She’s smiling a sweet, gentle smile directed right at me. Seeing this damn near makes me pee my pants as it’s as if my fantasy is really coming true. That smile could stop wars. It’s so…sweet.

The perfect woman points at me, but not at my face. She’s pointing lower. To this I feel another wave of terror as I’m sure she’s pointing at my hard-on. Not sure how she knows I have one as it is hidden by the bar, but she can probably read it on my face.

Then I see the shirt I’m wearing. Since I am no longer at work I had unbuttoned the dress shirt I was wearing so the T-shirt I had under is showing. It’s a Deadpool T-shirt. It is a cool shirt, one of my favs as Deadpool has a speech bubble that says, “You got two options. 1. Fuck you, I’m Deadpool. 2. Fuck you, I’m Deadpool.”

To respond, I smile back and point at her shirt with a thumbs up, telling her without words I like her shirt as well. Her’s is of the Ninja Turtles playing an old NES connected to an old TV, where they are playing a Ninja Turtle video game. It’s a cute shirt. She smiles wide at this, clearly happy to receive a complement.