Last Call

Two vodka-tonics and a scotch and soda. Finally some adult drinks. Maybe I'll make more than a quarter tip on this round. How many stupid sodas and juices can you pour in one shift? C'mon folks, you're on vacation here, live a little. All these first-timers are taking seats away from our regulars. A few more days, and our seasonal nightmare will be over for another year.

My name is Rick. I work in a run-down hotel bar in a small rural community in the South Eastern corner of Pennsylvania. We are nestled in the Allegheny Plateau, just over the Appalachians. On an average summer night, the place gets forty to fifty reservations. Mostly tourists visiting Amish country or Gettysburg. The bar gets a regular happy-hour crowd of salesmen and truckers. In the evenings we have Karaoke or "oldies" sing-alongs.

There is no actual "young crowd." But we have enough dart teams and pool shooters to keep us serving until midnight on most days. No need for bouncers and no reason to card anyone.

Then comes August.

Every year thirty-thousand people from all over the world descend on our quaint little farm town to watch kids play baseball. In the old days the circus rolled into town with elephants and a calliope. Now it's satellite trucks and video games.

Trailer-parks spring up from the earth where the corn was just harvested. Hot-dog carts and ice-ball vendors appear on every corner. Mobile arcades, paint-ball venues and water-slides blossom overnight. Twelve-year olds from twenty countries get their first taste of American excess. And they are all in bed by eight thirty.

Then the bar fills with lonely moms, often on their first trip to the States. And the hucksters have something to sell them, too. There are phony Chanel bags and knock-off Rolexes, Gucci and Lauren. And for the adventurous moms, there is always a troupe of second-rate Chippendales who can communicate in the Universal Language.

Our hotel caters to the bargain hunters. The room-rates only double at this time of year. At about nine o'clock, the moms drift down in pairs or groups and grab tables in the back. Those who speak English do the ordering and they all congregate around the jukebox. They brag and worry over their sons and then bad-mouth the husbands they left behind.

Most of the visiting guys are father/coaches, chaperones, or officials from the four-letter cable station that televises the tournament. These guys manage to find the same entertainment that's available in any town around the world. So the ladies are on their own.

Tonight, the dull and dreary was just settling in and I was preparing to break down my section and close the bar. At least, I thought, I'll be able to catch the sports on t.v., change clothes and still find a place to get myself a cocktail.

"Is this the best it gets," I heard her say. I looked around the taps and saw a smiling face. She had dark blonde hair worn in a ponytail and bright blue eyes that stood out sharply from the white skin, the only light circles on her otherwise sun-scorched face. Her sunglasses must have been on all day, and her light-blue tank top clearly showed the outline of the tee-shirt she must have worn to today's game. For whatever reason, people forget that ninety degrees and blazing sun is just as hot, here in the sticks, as anywhere else.

At the end of the night this place smells like suntan lotion, cold cream, and sweat.

She slid a fiver across the bar and said she had a joke to tell me. So I listened to her as I cleaned, and I told her that her comedy-act must have knocked 'em dead in Iowa. She dead-panned, "Nebraska." It only took a moment to freshen her drink and make her one of my special flaming-shots for last call (on the house, of course.)

I tallied the register and turned up the lights as the last guests were leaving. Her face lit up as I placed a paper rose in front of her. Then I said, "now it's time for me to find a friendly little pub."

She honestly surprised me when she asked if she could join me. I said that there was a dive-bar about a five minute walk from here, but that I still had twenty minutes of work to do. She asked for the bar's name and said that she would meet me there in half an hour.

I had nothing better to do so "The first round is on me, see ya there...hey wait- what's your name?"

"Just call me Debbie, and the first two are on you!" She smiled with a twinkle in her eye and slipped out.

She made me laugh. Okay, so an older broad wants to drink and tell farm stories to her bartender before she tucks in her son and watches some late-night television. I did not get a real good look at her, but I have certainly walked into bars with worse. I can always cut out early or make-up some bullshit about a girlfriend. I don't want to be too nasty, if her kid's team keeps winning, I may have to see her all week.

The door was locked and I had just killed the lights when this hot blonde tapped on the window. I yelled out that we already gave last call. But as I got a closer look, I was stunned. I thought, "now here's a chick I would like to go out with. What are my chances of ditching Miss Cornhusker and hooking-up with this hottie?"

She tapped once again and yelled, "It's me, Debbie. I saw you inside still, and thought I could walk to the bar with you."

"Wow!" What a difference ten minutes can make. Her blonde hair was now brushed to a golden shine and spilled softly on to her bare shoulders. The street lamps reflected off of it like a halo. Her pink lips had some sort of gloss to them and highlighted her big smile. Especially when she saw that I had trouble recognizing her. Whatever she had done with her make-up, softened her skin tone while seeming to make her eyes glow. And those eyes! I don't know how to describe them. Icy blue, maybe? But dazzling, with more than a bit of mischief in them. And as she jumped and waved to me it became rather obvious that that she had left her bra in the room.

"How did I miss those tits?" I'm a guy who appreciates a nice rack. And whether they are on a teenager, a nun or my grandmother, I appraise them thoroughly and ponder the possibilities. These knockers were spectacular. They bounced freely under her frilly, pink , peasant-blouse. These babies had to be nearly forty double-d's. And the combination of her sun-warmed body and the cooling night air, had her nipples perking up as if she had a couple of thimbles poking through her sheer top. Her silver-dollar sized areolas were clearly outlined as she pressed against the big plate-glass front window. She left an imprint that resembled two big fried eggs on the glass. I almost crashed through it as I tried to get a better look down the front of her shirt. The neon beer signs shook and I cracked my noggin so hard, my knees about buckled.

Fortunately she laughed and I avoided making a complete fool of myself. She tried to assume a stern, motherly reproach but then her girlish giggle made her boobs bounce all the more. She made a playful motion to cover her chest with her hands, but even if she had been serious, her small hands could not have accomplished the feat. She smiled again and chuckled, "You better come out here before you hurt yourself."

I did not need a second invitation.

"Thanks for noticing the difference," she bubbled as she planted a quick wet kiss on my cheek. "I was hoping to not look like a typical soccer mom, tonight." My imagination warped into overdrive.

"Mission accomplished," I babbled. I placed my arms on her waist and held her steady at arm's length for a moment while I gave her a full body-scan. Beautiful smiling face, Pretty blonde hair, A+ tits. She wore a loose, billowy print skirt that hugged her full hips. Gazing down, I saw the tattoo of a kitten or something above her left ankle and then a pair of those stupid pink flip-flops. I hate to see women in cheap rubber flip-flops unless they are at the beach. And believe me, we are closer to Three-Mile Island than to any seashore! But I'll give her a Mulligan on the footwear, I don't think I'll be looking at her feet anymore, tonight.

"Well, you gave me a pretty thorough exam, doctor. What do you think?" she asked with a very flirtatious smile.

"I like every inch I see, and hope to be given a more complete view." My leer was only too obvious. But dishing-out compliments with just the right amount of sexual innuendo is a bartender's forte.

Debbie played along perfectly. "Get me to the bar and who-knows what else may happen? Tequila has been known to dissolve my clothing."

I returned her kiss and took her hand in mine like a high-school kid. We made our way around the corner and to a small, red-neck bar down by the river. It seemed a bit childish but oddly romantic to walk hand-in-hand with a woman twenty years my senior. Now I was able to steal a few furtive glances. Her blonde locks swayed gently as she walked and her butt had a very seductive jiggle. She wore some perfume, the scent of which, made me think of wild flowers. As we strolled along she snuggled up to me and bounced her hips against mine when she wanted me to look into her eyes. I truly enjoyed the short walk and looked forward to our evening.

On arrival, I opened the pub doors and followed her in. All eyes turned instantly and the conversations muted as the good 'ol boys took in Deb's features. I quickly felt proud and more mature as we settled into a table by the window instead of my usual perch at the bar. I even held her chair as she sat down.

The waitress, a girl I know well, gave me a sneer. She took our order and soon reappeared with beers and shots,(tequila, what else?) We had a pleasant conversation while sipping our beers out of glass. Deb would often grab my upper thigh to emphasize her stories or at the punchline of her corny jokes. I assumed it was just her mannerism, though I casually as possible draped my arm nonchalantly over her soft shoulders. She caught me more than once peeking down the front of her shirt but only rolled her eyes with a sort of exasperated expression. I was mesmerized by the way her blouse caressed the top of her jugs and then dropped-off suddenly to her lap. Those boobs seemed to jut out a foot, like the proud figurehead of a ship.

She must have been used to creeps like me ogling her chest and she could dish-out some good natured ribbing. "If you drool any longer, you're going to need a lobster bib."

She made drinking tequila an adventure. Debbie took a wedge of lemon and moistened an area just above her left breast, then sprinkled some salt on the sticky spot. She invited me to lick the salt off, and pulled her top down as far as decorum permitted in these circumstances. I moved to squeeze her breast in the moment, but she captured my hand and guided it to a warm place between her thighs. I was amazed, aroused and mighty confused. As I licked her breast she applied a slight pressure to my hand and allowed me to stroke her mound over the flimsy material of her skirt. We both let out sighs at the same time.

I eased back with a salty smile to sip my beer and she abruptly rose from her chair and moseyed towards the jukebox. She peered back over her shoulder and with a sultry look she cooed, "That should hold your interest for awhile."

I was beginning to suspect that she had slipped some invisible leash on me. When she returned, I heard some slow, country ballad playing. "C'mon, whirl me around the floor a little, and I'll try to impress your friends.

There was only a tiny dance floor and the fellas all know I don't dance, but there I was twirling Debbie around and smiling from ear to ear. All the guys stared and I heard a few comments, but to hell with them. And I couldn't resist sneaking a glance at our waitress as she marveled at my newfound slow moves. My cock was stiff and the small head has often done the thinking for me. Besides I may never get a chance at a MILF like this again. My fantasies began to override my rational thought.

I nestled into her neck, sniffing her flowery perfume and gently rubbed and patted her pear-shaped rear end. My left hand slowly snaked its way up to her tits and she did not stop its progress. In fact she seemed lost in her own thoughts. Her eyes were closed and she softly hummed as her own two hands settled on to my butt. The crowd had a great view as she kneaded my jeans and gripped me tight. I cupped her right breast and trailed sloppy kisses down her neck and in to her deep cleavage.

The lights dimmed appreciatively and her left leg worked its way in between mine. We were now just swaying together and contentedly slow-groping each other. "Is this foreplay?" I thought. Did she fly two thousand miles to cheat on her former husband and pick me for her one-night stand?

Deb continued to sway to the beat and I saw her blue eyes smiling. She knew I liked holding her, I could see it. Deb grinded slowly against me until our bodies were mashed together. I thought she had only been flirting at first, but no woman does this by accident. We were having sex. Dancing, standing, fully-clothed, but a sex act no matter what you call it.

I know a woman can reach orgasm without actual intercourse, in fact I've heard that they can orgasm just by dreaming up some sexy images in their minds. Right now, Deb's breathing slowed. Her eyes had a far-away mist. She rubbed languidly against me at every turn. She appeared to be more in a trance than aroused and I'm not certain if she was even aware that I was still hanging on to her. I may not even have been necessary for what she was experiencing.

Then I noticed it. A sudden heat wave enveloped her, breaking out in sweat and coloring her flesh. She looked through me and for about thirty seconds I felt a quiet throbbing sensation as I held her tight. Deb shook as if convulsing and then just as suddenly went completely limp.

It took a moment for us both to recover from this phenomenon. Her body glistened and her blonde hair was damp. Her mouth opened with a sigh and a soft, trilling purr escaped her. Those blue eyes sparkled once again and her beautiful tits heaved once and shuttered. Debbie burst out with a wonderful, throaty, laugh and whispered a "thank you" in my ear. I needed a beer and she wanted a smoke.

Our dance was over. I followed her back to our table and she sat down demurely as if we had just walked in. Our waitress, who had also been watching and admiring Deb's routine came over to get us another round. "No thanks, I've had all I can handle." Debbie offered, and asked me to escort her back to the hotel.

Had she just been unfaithful and I missed it? Did I give her a tremendous orgasm and a lasting memory while standing in a crowded room, fully dressed? And what about me? I started with a raging hard-on, now I have blue balls and a bar tab!

I walked her back to the hotel lobby where she chastely pecked my cheek and thanked me for a lovely evening. When she saw my disappointed and surprised expression, she replied, "I have to get back to my son before all the chaperones and busy-bodies notice. We're from a small community and everyone is either related or knows each other. I have never cheated on my husband even though the love left our marriage years ago. I'm sorry that I let you down, I was really tempted. Then she vanished up the stairs.

When I finally made it back to my lousy apartment, I cracked another "cold one" and rewound the previous hour in my head. As I recalled her lovely face and sexy figure the night seemed pleasantly memorable. Then I replayed that seductive turn on the dance floor and my cock sprang to attention.

I yanked my swollen cock and slid my hand roughly along it's entire length. The pressure building inside me was astronomical. I pictured Deb bent over our hi-top table with me now, firmly in control. Her shaved pussy would be my prize. And infront of a cheering audience I would force her to succumb to my wishes and, after her begging me to fuck her to orgasm, I would demand that she suck my huge cock until I filled her with my seed. I could feel her shudder beneath me as I ravaged her wanton cunt.

I found myself tugging at my rod as I tried to analyze each minute of the night. I've had enough shitty dates end-up with me drinking alone and squirting a lake of jizm on my belly. I was accustomed to the routine, unfortunately. But this was something entirely different. Instead of frustration, I was intrigued. What had she done, and how did she do it? I actually enjoyed the experience and felt as if I received an education. When I came this time, it was like a bomb exploded!

As the spasms subsided, I managed to convince myself that I was better-off "whacking-it" than embarrassing myself infront of this clearly more experienced, older woman. I came twice more as I played out scenarios where I wasn't totally in over my head. The sex was great, even if I was alone all along.

That night I dreamed that I escorted a princess to a royal ball and charmed her with my debonair ways. It was the first wet dream I have had in years. I was appropriately ashamed and dejected as the morning dawned.

At work that following night I learned that the little munchkins from the corn-hole state, had lost badly and were eliminated. Their plane left about an hour ago.

The group in tonight was from Puerto Rico. We stocked for rum drinks and salsa music. I practiced my paper roses.

The end, I hope you enjoyed it.