{my sex life}

I was writing at one of my downtown watering holes the other week from 3 p.m. to 10 p.m. Some time around seven, the night bartender started (I was clearly un-sober due to my hours of drinking). He was cute, but I didn’t think much about it. After a while (and a drink order), he comes over and says, “What are you doing Monday night?”


“I wanna take you out.”

I was impressed. I can’t remember the last time I was asked out. Come on to, yes, asked out proper, no. I said that I was busy that night, but I could do Wednesday. He handed me paper and pen on a cute little wood clipboard thingy, and I wrote down my number. Cash showed up a few minutes later. He works for the company that recently bought and reclaimed the bar, so he didn’t want to stay. He got a shot, I finished my drink, and then we left to fuck in his 4Runner, and grab drinks at a different location (like I needed more booze). During the post 4Runner sex cocktails, I let it slip about the bartender. Not something I normally do, but maybe it was fun making Cash a little jealous. It sort of backfired on me. Damn word vomit. “You can’t fuck a guy who works for me.” “I can do whatever I want.” Big smile.

“Seriously babe, it’s not a good idea.”

“Ah, you’re so cute. We’ll see.” I knew I was seeing him that Wednesday, and that I was already turned on by his bravado, I was pretty certain there would be fornication. Which, as I saw it, was none of Cash’s business. Then again, I was the one with the loose mouth. Anyway, the date: We texted a plan to meet at Hank’s Bar (one of a handful of true dive bars left). As per my motto, I got to the bar early to do some writing. The bar itself was too busy to sit at, so I grabbed a dark corner table in the deserted back room (which I decided was better for flirting and making out).

The bartender—later nicknamed ”Power Tool” by my best and I—walked in, we hugged, and he ordered us drinks. When he came back, he sat next to me on the corner bench. We drank. We asked each other question’s. Nothing too deep. He was a player. I saw that right away. I also knew that he recognized the same in me. We knew the score. This wasn’t a love connection. He was cute. Handsome actually, but a little shorter than I remembered. What could I really remember though? I was half in the bag and he was behind a bar. He was sexy and manly, and a Marine when he was younger (I found out). I’ll forgive in height what a man can make up for in the way he carries himself. We have similar styles and mind frame. He’s the male version of me. Something I’ve always wanted. We kissed a little. He was good. Game on. I wanted more petting, and maybe another drink, but he was itchin’ to get out of there, so we did.

I drove us to his loft (near by), actually, he instructed me to a parking lot near his loft. Now, for some weird reason, I was a drunker than I should have been—only two greyhounds and a shot of whiskey. I wasn’t in a blackout, but I couldn’t tell you where he lived. In the wee hours of the early morning, I had zero recollection of where the parking lot was is all I’m sayin’. His loft (that he shares with a roommate) was huge and scantily furnished. He showed me to his bedroom. We fucked for the next five hours. Five. Hours. Half of the reason my friend and I coined him Power Tool. “Power Tool” loved my tits. Loved. He was the first dude in a while (besides Cash) to give two shits about them. I have these huge titties, and all these non-boob men. Go figure. I was down to my panties. He was like a kid in a candy store. It was time for him to take off some clothes.

He sat up and kneeled in front of me. He unbuttoned his over-shirt, and then pulled his T-shirt over his head. He was muscular, but not overly. He started to undo his pants and said, “Let me show you what I’ve got.” I shit you not. I laughed so hard. He told me to bring his cock out. I started to reach in his black briefs when I realized that it was going to take two hands in order to free this fucker. He wasn’t lying. His dick was fucking gorgeous. Seriously. Gorgeous. The sex commenced. I would definitely classify it as quintessential good sex. We both knew what we were doing. We’d bought the tickets and been around the block. And while I had fun, my problem was this: I was dehydrated (I need to carry lemonade in my purse), and I wasn’t that turned on. It had all the corresponding elements, but something was missing. The combination of my being a little too drunk (I hadn’t eaten enough that day), the lack of mental into-it-ness, and my bad non-coming habit with my ex, was frustrating beyond belief. Also, we fucked on and off for so long (he came three times all told), I couldn’t pee after each time, making me nervous I was brewing up a fine bladder infection. I was trying not to think about any of this (good luck, fruitcake). I REALLY wanted to come, but my body had other plans. Power Tool wore me the fuck out. No way I could drive home, so finally, I took half a muscle relaxer, put my dark shirt over my face, and passed out.

His place was bright as fuck when the sun peaked up over the horizon. I was so thoroughly beat after the drill jamboree, I actually fell asleep with him holding me. As I was cursing the morning light and shocked that I had slept with this man’s arms around me, I felt his erection against my back. Hell no. First, my head was pounding. Second, my pussy was raw. And third, it was like the Louvre at noon in summertime in there. So I let him fuck my tits while I kept my shirt over my face. He was a little weird after he came. Like, OK, get the fuck out now. Which, I totally understood, I wanted to be in my dark bedroom something fierce. But my head was hurting so bad, I could barely move. We fell asleep for another two hours. When we woke up the second time, my head was a little better, and we had sex. I guess that fifteen-year-old girl who wanted to be the best lay is still alive in my forty-something mind. I’m sure it wasn’t some of my best work, and luckily, not a marathon. After he came (for the millionth time), I threw my clothes on and got the fuck out of there. Did my walk of shame, complete with blisters from my new heels, and dried jizz in my hair and on my neck. I miraculously found the parking structure. Had to use my remote car lock in order to locate my vehicle. Classy. I then promptly took myself to my favorite greasy breakfast joint for eggs and bacon.

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