Sidney Durham lives in the high desert of Arizona where he intends to stay. He is happiest when writing, and when he isn't writing, he isn't. Mr. Durham's work has appeared in Mind Caviar, Ophelia's Muse, The Erotica Readers and Writers Association, Dare Ezine, JaneZine, the Blowfish Update, Adult Story Corner, Peacock Blue and Scarlet Letters. Renaissance E Books has published three anthologies of his stories in ebook form, one of which was nominated for the Franklin eBook 2000 award. In print, Durham had a story in the spring 2001 issue of Blue Food, and another of his stories was selected for Maxim Jakubowski's prestigious The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica anthology, published in September, 2001.
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"JB and water?" The bartender remembered me, no doubt for the graceless way I stumbled out of the room at closing every evening.
I nodded. "Tall, please. Same entertainment?" As if my question had been a cue the lights began to dim. The restaurant was already transforming itself into a night club.
"Here all week," he said, moving away to fix my drink.
I swiveled my stool around and watched as the night club emerged from under tablecloths and centerpieces. I had decided to go sit at the bar after eating a shamefully over-savory interpretation of veal cordon bleu. Never my favorite dish, it was the only entree on the small menu I had not yet tried. It was time to change hotels.
The bar was as unimaginative as the restaurant menu. The wood, chrome, glass and hopelessly artificial leather all seemed to have been extruded through a die that had been used all around the country for this hotel chain. I longed for older hotels in bigger cities, but my disinterest in my work and my lack of enthusiasm in selling had put my career adrift in the doldrums of smaller, less fertile markets.
Turning back to the bar and retrieving my glass, I took a long drink of the water-muted scotch. A waitress was standing at the pickup station next to me, moving drinks to her tray.
"Hey Danny," she called out, "which one's the rye whisky?"
I glanced at her. She felt my eyes and flashed a preemptive "fuck off" smile. It didn't matter. I never tried to pick up cocktail waitresses.
The bartender lifted two rocks glasses off the tray and sniffed each. Putting one down he announced: "This would be your bourbon." Holding up the second glass up briefly, he added, "And this would be your rye." There was almost a swagger in his voice.
"Yeah, right," said the waitress. She took her tray and plunged into the darkened room on white nurse-wedgies. The bartender caught my eye and grinned.
Within a minute the waitress was back, her delivery made. She tossed her tray on the bar. "You can't do that, Danny," she complained in a weary tone. "You can't tell rye from bourbon by smelling them."
"Sure you can," he answered. He looked at me. "Can't you?"
"Absolutely!" I replied. In truth, I had no idea.
"That's crap, Danny," said the waitress, ignoring me.
Several others along the bar spoke up with opinions that seemed equally divided.
"We'll just see about that," said Danny, winking at me. He turned and grabbed two bottles from the shelf behind him and put them on the bar in front of me, labels away. "Which is which?" he asked, pulling out the pouring spouts.
Somewhere down the bar I heard a bet being made, then a couple of others. I hesitated, feeling absurd as the center of attention.
"Go ahead," said Danny.
I sniffed each bottle, taking my time. Then I guessed and got it right. Danny revealed the labels with a flourish. There was a rousing shout from the winners and a low groan from the losers. The waitress stomped off and Danny gave me another drink as a prize. Money moved as the bets were settled. The bar was starting to sound like Las Vegas and I was beginning to feel good. It wasn't often that celebrity came into my life.
Then it started to go weird. A strange-looking girl with short white spiked hair squeezed between me and the guy on my right. It was a tight squeeze; her shoulder was against mine. "How'd you do that?" she asked, blinking wide painted eyes at me. Her black eyelashes were spiky, just like her hair.
She seemed like the type that wanted to be looked over, so I did. "Just a guess," I said. "Buy you a drink?"
She looked at Danny. "What's that drink I like?"
"You mean a pousse-cafe?"
"Yeah! That's it! Pussy cafe!" She grinned at me. "Do you like pussy... Um, I mean do you like pousse-cafe too?" She giggled and covered her mouth with fingers that were tipped with crimson daggers.
I grinned. Things were looking up.
"I'm Cherie," she said. Suddenly her face had gotten very close to mine. Her tongue came out and licked her glossed lips and I sensed it more than I saw it. Then I felt her hand on my leg and a finger traced up my inseam, stopping around mid-thigh. I began imagining her spiky head bobbing in my lap.
Danny poured carefully and put the drink on the bar with some pride. It looked like a six or eight ounce drink. "Hey," I said, "I thought these things were supposed to be shooters."
"I can chug it," said Cherie. "Want me to?"
Up and down the bar there were voices of encouragement. Once again bets were made.
Cherie raised the glass with her free hand, holding it with her fingertips as if afraid she would crush the glass. "Ready?" she asked, addressing the bar patrons in general. As she asked the question her fingers trickled up my inseam another inch or two and my cock twitched.
Without waiting for assent, Cherie raised the glass to lips that looked soft and full, an ideal cock wrapper. She drained it in what seemed to be a single swallow. As she put the glass back on the bar and acknowledged the brief round of congratulations from her audience her fingers moved up my leg a little more. I glanced down, wondering how sharp her nails were.
Two guys a couple of seats down were arguing. Their bet wasn't settled. One of them maintained that Cherie had not drained the glass completely and the other disagreed. After a little good-natured back and forth, one of them turned to me: "You settle it, buddy. Is it empty or not?"
Cherie picked up the glass and held it in front of my face. "Stick out your tongue," she said. I did as ordered and she upended the glass over my tongue. Her breasts pressed my arm as a drop of liquid fell on my tongue -- just as her hidden hand reached my cock. It began to stiffen. From the corner of my eye I saw a smile come to her face, as if she knew about the power she was exerting over me. She rolled her body, brushing small hard breasts on my bicep.
With a shout of triumph the bet was settled, but the loser wanted more. "Do it again, babe," he said, slapping a bill on the bar. "I know you can do it. I'll buy."
The music started, loud, and the lights dimmed even more. Cherie's hand left my thigh completely and began kneading my hardening cock. "Okay," she shouted. "Danny, fix me another." Her hand perfected my hard-on quickly and I was impressed with her proficiency. She knew exactly what to do.
Danny frowned, as if he knew what her hand was doing. "Cherie, I don't want any problems."
"Aw, come on, Danny, be a sport," said the guy with the money on the bar. He threw down another bill and Danny went to work on the drink, still frowning.
Thinking it was dark enough, I slipped an arm behind Cherie and cupped her ass. The fabric of her white slacks was thin and hugged her tightly. She was swaying in time with the music and her ass cheeks clenched, muscular and solid, saying hello as she gave my cock an extra squeeze.
"Hey! What about me?" she called out, looking down the bar. "What's in this for me?"
"I've got something for you," said one of the men.
"Is it green?"
There were loud shouts of laughter along the bar and as it died down Cherie leaned and touched my ear with her lips. "Get it out," she said, squeezing my cock again and quickly plunging her tongue into my ear. "I get the money, you get a hand job. Everybody's a winner."
I looked around. The pickup station on my left was at the corner of the bar; there was nobody with a direct line of sight. To my right was Cherie. It seemed safe and it was plenty dark. I slipped off the tall barstool and stood up.
The guys down the bar had caught on to what Cherie wanted. One of them was hounding the others, and quickly there was a pile of green in front of her. It looked like about thirty dollars. Her hand left me, giving me a little tug, and she began stacking and folding the money, making a big show of it. I unzipped my pants.
My excitement began a slow arc as Danny put the drink on the bar in front of Cherie. Its ascent began to accelerate when her hand fluttered into my open fly and it soared like a rocket when her expert fingers plunged through the opening in my boxer shorts and yanked out my cock as if she were pulling a ripcord.
"Ooh, you're a very bad boy," she whispered, fluttering her bright eyes. "Hold that thought," she added, lifting the glass with both hands.
It dawned on me that I was a perfect candidate for a public indecency arrest. I didn't care. I'd had two drinks with my dinner and had just finished two more sitting at the bar, and only one thing mattered by then. I slipped a hand down beneath the bar and began stroking myself as I continued to caress Cherie's swaying ass with my other hand.
She looked at me. "Cheater," she said, sticking out her tongue.
I just grinned.
Cherie looked back down the bar. "Everybody ready?" she called out.
Several of the men shouted encouragement. Cherie lifted the glass to her lips and tipped back her head, and all the liquid disappeared into her mouth. I watched her throat and didn't see it move. It was as if she had poured the drink straight into her stomach.
As the glass emptied she moved it away from her face and held it over her extended tongue with one hand, waiting for the last drops. Her free hand stole under the bar again and began pulling my cock, pushing my own hand out of the way.
A slow viscous drop rolled out of the glass and fell to her tongue and she swallowed. That's when I saw the Adam's apple move.
Talented fingers flicked my glans with a fingernail. Suddenly my cock was so hard it hurt. What the fuck, I thought.
Another drop fell.
I came hard.
Another drop fell.
I wondered if I'd gotten any of it on my shoes.
Danny came around the bar. "That's it," he said, taking Cherie by the arms from behind. "I warned you last time about this." Out they went, amid protests from the other patrons.
Within seconds Danny was back. He handed me a wet bar towel. "I'll let you stay for one more drink," he said, "but that's only because I'm in a good mood."
"What happened to Cherie?" I asked, trying to act innocent.
"Do you want a refill or not?"
I threw some money on the bar. "No thanks," I said.
left in a hurry. He couldn't have gone far.
Copyright © 2001 Sidney Durham. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.
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