I was picked up in a bar

First (and only) time in 8 years I was organically picked up by a man I met in person, just me, no internet dating site between us.  This happened in July of 2011.

I returned to a bar at 10 pm on a Saturday, alone, to pick up the check card I’d forgotten there the night before during a horrendous first date. Once there, I decided to have a glass of wine at the bar and a couple of glasses in I decided to let a man I’d been talking to on AFF come and meet me, Steven.

Funny thing is, is that I wasn’t dressed to meet anyone. I wore a black tank top with some sequins on it (not fancy, or cute, I assure you), a green skirt with multiple holes I’d sewn shut, and sandals. I was wearing minimal makeup, my glasses, and had my breast-length hair tied in a knot. Seriously, I couldn’t have cared less about my looks and it showed.

And why should I, after all?? Clearly, according to my bad date the night before, I was a troll even at my best, so fuck it. I was gonna sit at the bar alone, lavish attention on my iPhone, drink some wine and meet some dude I was moderately attracted to because he was available for the job and I didn’t want to sit at home alone watching Murder, She Wrote reruns.

No sooner had I pulled out my phone to play games than the man to my left asked me how to spell “rhythm.”

“R-y-t-h,” I start, “No, wait -” and then I was interrupted by the man on my right. A fit, handsome fella with a twinkle in his eye.

“Nope. You got it wrong. It’s R-h-y-t-h-m.”

“I knew that!” I laughed, “I swear!”

“Oh, really?” he countered. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

It was roughly 10:15 when he moved a seat closer to me. I couldn’t stop laughing as I kept pushing my glasses up higher on my nose. WAS I REALLY GETTING PICKED UP IN A BAR LOOKING LIKE THIS??

The answer, he told me, was a definite YES.

I told him a man was coming to meet me later. He said I should just come hang out with him instead, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

“My name is Hy, by the way,” I say hurriedly. I felt like Steven was going to walk in any second.

“I’m Hunter. And I was just about to ask you your name.”

We talk and flirt for the next 45 minutes until I got a text from Steven that his arrival was imminent. Hunter graciously bows out with the excuse he has to use the restroom.

The second his seat is empty, Steven fills it. I hug him hello. My first assessment is he’s not as attractive as I’d hoped: “I’ll be right back. I have to go to the bathroom,” I tell him.

And it was true. I did. But it was to wait for Hunter.

He was surprised to see me standing outside the door. I was startled to see how tall he was. “Hi,” I manage to say. “I want to get your number.”

He smiles mischievously and gives it to me. I text him, “Yo.”

The next hour consisted of me giggling and laughing over what appeared to Steven to be nothing. And I felt awful that he couldn’t figure me out, but how could he know that Hunter was texting me intermittently that I should ditch my date and hang with him instead? So, eventually I text him back, “Ok. Midnight,” and let Steven nuzzle my neck and squeeze my thigh.

(I know, right??)

I even had to turn Steven down when he asked for a ride home. But, really, come on. Presumptuous much?

In the end I met Hunter at another bar where he kissed and held me and asked me to go to his place where he said he promised he’d not try to fuck me. I agreed. Nothing hotter than an empty promise, I tell you.

Turns out he was house sitting for his boss and the place was gorgeous. His girlfriend was moving out of their place and he needed a place to crash. Lucky us.

A couple of glasses of wine later and we were all over each other. He discovered I was pantiless and soon had my skirt soaked through with pussy juice. I looked like I’d been hosed down.

“Oh wow,” he murmured into my mouth passionately, “You’re a squirter!”

We romp and fuck and laugh all over the upstairs. I soak the bed he was sleeping in and two towels. We had to move into a different guest room.

I woke up up this morning cradled in his arms. I was shocked at how good and normal it felt. Maybe I should let more men do it. We fucked some more (a good, hard pounding and a spank or two), then I suckled his cock dry (nothing like a good cum cocktail to start the day off right).

I wanted to keep sleeping, but I could sense my welcome was running out, so I got dressed and said goodbye. And now I’m sitting in a taco shop with ridiculous beard burn and fuck hair contemplating the universe and its mysterious ways and relishing my sore pussy.

[Epilogue: I’d hook up with Hunter one more time about 6 months later.  He was sunburned and too drunk and I was dry as a bone as he silently came.  I never called him again.]

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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