A Quiet Conversation

Lots of Fridays I end up at a bar with some guys from work. It was already a tradition when I started there years ago, and we're still doing it, even though most of the original gang has retired or died. The current crop of guys are about my age, coming up in the company, we aren't kids any more but young enough to loosen it up every now and then. In a good way. Some of them are married, so we keep it pretty mellow but, it seems to me, life is better when there is some nonzero chance of crazy shit occurring.

This week we had ended up at PJ's, a kind of neighborhood place with bands on the weekends. The bar has been here forever and probably holds fifty or seventy-five people, if it filled up, which it usually doesn't. The bands are okay, rock and roll for dancing, and us single guys usually have a good time checking out the women there, though it's not much of a pickup joint. Like I say, that's not really what we're looking for anyway, it's all just fun now that we're not kids any more.

I was getting a little bored, watching the same old band do the same old songs, when I sensed that a lady at the bar was sending out secret brainwaves on my frequency, if you know what I mean. I noticed her out of the corner of my eye and turned to check her out, but she wasn't looking at me, she was staring off into space. She looked like a regular girl-next-door, cute, wearing a short denim skirt and a buttoned blouse with a couple of buttons open. To repeat, the skirt was short, let me say: very short. I wouldn't say her legs were "spread," but I would not say her knees were together, either. In fact, from where I was sitting you could see right past the hem of that little skirt and all the way to her unpantied cootchie. Though there was shade down there, I could clearly make out the ruffles of her labia and the texture of pubic hair. Her legs were long, her posture inviting, and she seemed to be sitting by herself. The band finished a song and was fucking around on stage like they do.

"Just a sec, guys," I said, "I gotta say hi to somebody here."

In the quiet minute between songs I got up and walked back to the bar. The woman's hair was that kind of casual-looking tangle that might take hours to perfect, or she might not give a fuck, you can't tell. Her shirt was wrinkled and had a delightful way of not clinging to her, and her skirt was mostly legs. It looked like she'd cut the hem off herself; it must have required some courage to wear that, as short as it could be, with tantalizing strands of threads lying against the smooth skin of her thighs. Her eyes shifted from the bandstand to me as I seemed to be coming toward her.

"Excuse me," I said. "Did you realize your pussy's showing?" Note to reader: this is not a line I had ever used before to start a conversation.

Her eyes looked into mine without blinking. She was holding a beer bottle, Modelo Negro, by the neck. "I hadn't noticed," she said. "Is it?"

"Yeah, from where I'm sitting over there, I can see it," I said.

"So how's it look?" she asked me.

"What do you mean, 'how's it look?'"

"I mean, like, does it look okay? Should I do something to it? Put lipstick on it, maybe?"

"Oh, no, it looked fine to me," I said. "You got a patch to match, looks like."

"Yeah," she said, "I think that's pretty normal."

"I haven't really thought about it," I said. "But not everybody's matches."

"Sure," she said. "Especially blondes, sometimes the hair on their head bleaches because of the sun but their pubic hair is dark."

"Huh, I didn't know that," I said. "I figured their blond hair was fake."

"Not necessarily," she said.

What followed would be called 'an awkward pause.' At least for me. The conversation had moved at a brisker pace than I had anticipated, and she had be entirely off-balance for the moment, which is rare. I am not typically shy around women, you might say. She seemed perfectly comfortable sipping her beer and watching the crowd, while I stood there contemplating her. She did not shift her legs. I could not quite see her pussy from my place standing beside her.

"Well I just wanted to mention it to you, in case you didn't mean to flash everybody."

"Yeah, okay, thanks," she said, and she gave me a warm smile that seemed polite and normal, if we had been talking about anything else. "I hope I didn't offend you."

"Offend me? Why would it offend me?"

"You never know these days."

"For the record, I am totally in favor of naked women, including exposed body parts," I told her.

"Can you see my tits?" she asked me.

"Standing here I can," I said, making a point of not darting my eyes toward them.

"So I guess you're in favor of that too?"

"Oh, yes, absolutely," I replied. "I think you are displaying them perfectly."

"It's not too much, huh?"

"No, somebody has to be looking for it."

"And you were."

"Well, yeah," I said. I felt a little embarrassed but I obviously didn't need to be. "I guess my eyes just automatically do that."

"And that's how the world goes round," she said with a smile.

"That seems like a good thing to me," I said. I was feeling a little challenged for some reason.

"It does?"

"Sure. If you want someone's attention you can get it. If you don't want it, you can button up an extra button or whatever and they'll move on. Sort of a way for controlling somebody else's mind."

She looked at me as if I might have surprised her by saying something halfway intelligent. "That's a good point, I guess," she said. "People can sort of control other people's behavior with their own self presentation."

"So when you sit showing your pussy to a room full of people, don't you think somebody's going to notice?" I asked her, coming back at the sensed challenge.

"Oh absolutely, I hope they will," she smiled. She was still sitting the same way, facing the tables where people were sitting with their eyes at pussy level.

"Is that why you do it?" I asked her, going for the coup de grace.

"Oh, I'm doing it because my girlfriend told me it would work. I had thought I would prove her wrong but that does not seem to be the case."

"She told you it would work? To do what?"

"Yeah, I was bitching about how hard it is to meet guys. Told her I was getting sexually frustrated but couldn't meet anybody. She said, 'hey it's easy. Just flash your pussy at 'em, they'll be on you like flies on shit,' is what she said."

"Huh, I see. I guess we're a little predictable, aren't we."

She shrugged. But in a nice way. "Well it seems like a way to meet men, I don't know that it helps me any with the frustration part."

"Yeah I guess sitting at the bar talking to some creep is not exactly satisfying."

"No," she said sweetly. "It only moves the solution one step further away. So a guy comes over because he saw your pussy. Does that mean you invite him to your apartment, or go with him to his?"

"Well?" I tried not to sound too hopeful.

"Seems to me that would be crazy. No offense but I am not going to risk my life wandering off alone with some stranger because he happened to see part of my body in a bar. I'm safer in a crowd."

"Yeah it doesn't help you with your basic problem. You got no privacy in a crowd," I said.

She gave me a penetrating look. "Sure you do," she replied. "Just like people notice you when you call attention to yourself, you can not call attention, and they won't. It works both ways."

"Uh, yeah," I said. "I'm sure you could just be fucking in a corner somewhere and nobody'd pay any attention."

"No, you couldn't do that."

"So what would you do?" I asked her.

"A girl doesn't want to attract flies, she wants an orgasm."

"Well sure, but you can handle that yourself, can't you?"

"It's not the same," she said.

"So you want to have an orgasm with a partner, in a crowd, without fucking."

"You are a fucking genius," she said, smiling at me in a way that did not look sarcastic.

"Gee, thanks, I think," I said. "How do you plan to do this?"

"Oh I don't have any plan. But talking about it, I think the most fun would be to do it right here. Sitting at the bar."

"Doing what?"

"I can imagine some gentle, sensitive prince doing magical things to me with his fingers."

"Oh sure, somebody could do that," I said. I was not sure if I myself was joking or serious.

"Huh," she looked at my eyes. "So is that an offer?"

I suddenly felt cornered by my own bravado. "I wouldn't do it in front of all these people," I said.

"Sure," she said. "I wouldn't be comfortable with that, either. But if I turned around they wouldn't be able to see." She paused and took a sip of Modelo. "Do you know what you're doing?" she asked me.

"What do you mean, do I know what I'm doing?"

"I'd be taking a chance, letting a stranger manhandle me, even if people couldn't actually see. Would you know how to get a lady to have an orgasm?"

"Well shit," I said. "I don't know. Every woman is different."

"Ding-ding-ding," she laughed. "Correct answer." She punched me in the shoulder in a playful way.

I threw it back at her. "Do you even have orgasms?" I was kind of enjoying her directness; it was a relief to skip the small-talking part. "Some women seem not to."

She gave me a knowing look. "The only times I have ever had orgasms in my life have been when I do it to myself. And yeah, it works pretty fucking well."

"Well I'd do better if I could use my mouth, but I think somebody would notice that."

"Fingers then," she said.

Now we had reached that part of the game where you have to show your hand. In my case, literally: my hand. In her case, she had to position herself for action.

She spun her barstool slowly, inconspicuously, turning toward the bar, and waved her hand to call me to stand beside her. I was on her right. The stools on both sides of us were empty, and the bar curved around, so what happened under the surface of the bar was not visible to anyone. I knew that my friends at the table behind us couldn't literally see what we were doing, and would never guess, in a million years.

I put my left hand on the back of her barstool and my right hand on her thigh. She brought her left foot up and rested it on the rung of her barstool, extending her right leg out in front to rest on the rung on mine. This gave me easy access, with her skirt riding up out of the way. Glancing down I could actually see some tufts of pubic hair.

Her eyes turned coolly toward me and she raised her bottle to her lips. "Let's see what you got," she said. The band was just counting off their next song, and the room filled with music and activity as people got up to go to the dancefloor. I spider-walked my fingers up her leg and under her skirt to tickle her a little bit, and she shifted to position me better. I found it was easy to get my hand between her legs and I gently squeezed her vulva between my fingers and thumb, inner and outer labia and everything in between, rubbing the two sides lightly against one another.

Her eyes darted around the room and then to mine. They had taken on a faraway quality, and she gave me a friendly though somewhat nervous-looking smile. I massaged her a little more, letting her get used to my touch, and then used my fingers in the shadow under the bar to separate her labia. I ran the tip of my index finger along the sensuous slot between her labia and felt her growing wet.

Thinking it might look more natural if we looked like we were just a couple of people having a quiet conversation, I said, "What did you say your name was?"

She was a little slow in responding, but it seemed that she recognized what I was up to. "I didn't say," she replied. "My name is" -- she paused to gasp -- "Sarah. And what is yours?"

"They call me Doc," I said.

"Oh, nice. Are" -- pause -- "you a doctor?"

"No," I said, knowing that she meant 'physician' and not wanting to discuss my academic history at the moment.

"Well it feels like you could be one," she said. "You seem to know" -- pause -- "something about anatomy." She bit her lip and gave me a crooked smile.

Her pussy now was quite wet. I let a fingertip wander up inside her vagina while she sat at the bar trying to look normal. She would sometimes take a sip of her beer, for the sake of anyone watching, and we small-talked a little for show while I finger-fucked her with one and then two fingers. She was a kindergarten teacher, it turned out, never married, kind of bored and lonely but not looking for a serious relationship, nor the reputation and risks of fucking around. She did not use the word, but basically she was just horny. "This is just about right," she said, as I worked on her under the bar.

My fingers went to her engorged clitoris. I pinched it between my thumb and index finger and rolled it back and forth. She took a deliberate sip of her beer and looked at me with eyes that were absolutely gone. Vacant, lost. "That's going to do it, you beast," she said, almost whispering.

I squeezed her clitoris harder and twisted it between my fingers and she suddenly froze with a shudder. Her eyes locked onto mine and stared, unblinking. She stopped breathing, sat there holding her bottle in midair, gazing through me from a distant galaxy. I could feel her pussy squeezing, pulsating, throbbing under my touch, and I continued my assault without lightening up.

Her orgasm lasted until the end of the song, and then her shoulders came down into a relaxed posture, her head floated loosely on her neck, she started breathing again. She took a sip of her beer and said, "Oh my fucking God, Doc. You can pull your hand out of there now."

"That's it?" I said. "One?"

"Holy shit," she said. She swallowed her beer and her head started to droop toward the bar. A half-smile formed and then she looked at me and broke into a grin. Then, out of nowhere, she leaned over over and gave me a big, deep kiss.

"That was just exactly precisely totally perfectly one hundred percent just what I needed," she said.

"I never would have guessed," I said.

Sarah tried to read my expression. "I'm sorry if I was overly predictable," she said. "I'll try to avoid that in the future."

"Oh, you're not predictable," I said. "I really had no idea what was going to happen when I came over here. So far nothing has been what I would have expected."

She had her arms on the bar and I was leaning on one elbow, facing her. "You're hard, aren't you?" she asked.

"Of course I am," I said. "Does it show?"

"Yes," she said, without looking. She dropped her hand to her side and reached over and ran her fingers along the cylindrical bulge in my jeans. She felt the rock-hard column extending down my leg and the ridge around the tip, letting her fingers take in all the details.

"You read Braille?" I asked her.

"Yes I do," she said. "This particular document is a cry for help. It says 'release me!'" She smiled at me.

The more she stroked it, the more releasing it right then and there seemed like a sensible thing to do. She was relentless. I watched her face, my eyes straining to focus.

"How long do you think it would take?" she asked.

"For what?" I thought I knew but it seemed unthinkable.

"For you to shoot your load if I sat here and jacked you off," she said.

"Well I don't want to ruin these jeans," I said.

"I understand. I mean, he's begging for release. What if I just took him out for a few minutes and, you know."

"I don't know how long it would take," I said, panting. "I don't think we could get away with it."

She looked around. Nobody was paying attention to us. She was sitting close to me with no gap between us, nothing to see from behind. And the bar blocked the view in front.

"Let's do it," she said. "Do these zip or button?"

"Zip," I said.

"It's not going to fit through the opening," she said. "I'm going to have to unsnap your britches." Her fingers were stroking me firmly, gripping around the sides of my shaft, outlining it through the fabric.

"It's pretty risky," I said.

"Yeah, you're right. We better not," she said, suddenly withdrawing her hand. She picked up her beer bottle and put it to her lips, took a sip, looked around the room. My cock began twitching wildly in its confinement.

"Fuck you," I laughed. "You're terrible. I'll get the snap." I held up my beer in my left hand and looked intently at it while my right dropped to my waist and unbuttoned my jeans, having read a book about prestidigitation in grade school. I was not wearing a belt, luckily. "Do you know what you're doing?" I asked her.

She chuckled. "Fair enough," she said. "Actually, no, I have never given a hand job before, is that what you call it?"

"Yes. Never?"

She looked me directly in the face. "Doc, listen, I am a fucking kindergarten teacher. I'm here on a fucking dare, more or less. I am not some chick who goes to bars and jerks off strange men." She stopped. "At least not till now."

"So you're going be fumbling around down there while somebody calls the police and we will go to jail and both lose our jobs and get our names in the paper. And I won't get my rocks off."

"It could happen," she said. "You gonna get the zipper, or should I?"

"I'll get it," I said, and I discreetly tugged my pants open.

"Boxers?" she said, glancing over.

"Yeah."

"Pull them down, or out of the way somehow. Let's get that big boy out of there."

We were sitting up straight, talking like normal people. Anyone would say that I was successfully picking up a pretty hot-looking girl at the bar, I'd even kissed her already. Nobody would think I was pulling my cock out for her to give me a hand job while the band played Bon Jovi or some shit.

"What am I going to do when I cum?" I asked her.

"What do you mean, what are you going to do? I don't have a lot of experience but I'd say you'll close your eyes, probably drool, groan, maybe pump your hips a little."

"And what, shoot semen all over the floor?"

"Doc, this bar has been here for eighty years. Do you know how many people have puked down there, probably stood here and peed on the floor? You're not going to hurt it any."

Her fingers now had pulled my penis out of my pants. It was hard as steel and she wrapped her fingers around it.

The bartender chose that moment to come to our end of the bar. "Y'all ready for another?"

"Sure," I said. "Two Modelo Negros."

"Tab?"

"Yeah." And he wandered off to get fresh beers for us.

"He didn't seem to think there was anything unusual," Sarah noted.

She started a rhythm going, pulling on my shaft, gripping me near the base and letting her fingers glide to the tip, then starting again at the base. "Is that okay?" she asked me.

I tried to speak. "I'll take that as a yes," she said.

The bartender brought the beers and set them on coasters and disappeared again. I glanced down and confirmed that she was using her wrist and forearm in such a way that no one in the room could see what she was doing.

"You're starting to get a little gooey," she said. After a couple more strokes she said, "Wow, look at that, I can use the goo sorta like a lubricant on you." Her strokes became more intense over the next few minutes as she gathered up drops of precum on the upstroke and used them for a smoother pumping motion on the downstroke.

"Nah guh tay muh mmmmore a tha," I said.

She smiled at me. "Good," she said. "This is kind of fun, actually."

"I guh shoe duh secken," I mumbled a couple of minutes later.

"Oh, right now? Excellent," she said. I could feel it coming fast. I was past the point of no return and all the mysteries of heaven and earth were preparing to reveal themselves in a massive cosmic surge of energy and sticky cream, when suddenly she leaned over and took the head of my cock in her mouth and sucked it.

"Unh!" my body stiffened. I tried not to bellow or wave my arms around, tried to pretend I was reading the labels on the bottles behind the bar as loads of cum erupted down Sarah's eager throat. She ran her lips up and down my shaft to propitiate my release, and then when the last drops had oozed out she took a last lick, straightened up and picked up her beer and put it to her lips, turned around to look at the room, fiddled with her hair, scratched the side of her nose, and otherwise looked distracted. She'd really only been down there a few seconds.

I saw a movie once where they killed a guy and propped his body up in a chair at a party and nobody noticed he was dead. That was me. I had enough self-awareness to stuff my shrinking cock back into my pants and zip up, and after a minute I was able to snap them.

I took a sip of beer and the light began to return to my eyes. I looked at Sarah, who was smiling at me. "How did you like that?" she said. "I never did that before."

"You never swallowed a load of cum?"

She looked slightly startled to hear it put in those terms. "No," she said. "I never even, oh never mind."

"So this is all a night of firsts for you, isn't it," I commented.

"I guess so," she said.

"You, Sarah, are fuckin' amazing," I said, and I pulled her to me for a big slobbery kiss. I could taste my semen on her tongue and I loved it, well I loved the idea of it. She kissed me back sweetly and passionately, and then we sat straight and worked on our beers.

We chit-chatted through two more rounds. My friends came over to say they were leaving and I introduced them to her, and they gave me a look like, hey you're gonna get lucky tonight, man. At closing time Sarah said she had to go home, I don't remember why but it seemed obvious that she would. I paid the tab and walked her to her car. This is where I will end this story, except to note that in the months since that night we have chosen to keep our adventure going. It's always something new, we still have never been in a real bed together, we let fate offer us opportunities and we take them. I wake up every morning wondering what is going to happen today, and so does she.