She Wasn't the Bar Type

She wasn’t the bar type. But she was alone in a city with nothing to do while the friend she’d come to visit worked the night shift. Armed with the map and directions that he had carefully downloaded, she decided checking out exactly what “Celtic Rock” meant couldn’t hurt.

She drove the hairpin curves with mixed emotions and when they appeared to be endless, she almost turned around to head back to the coastal inn where her longtime buddy now worked as the night manager. Almost.

But she continued on, telling herself that while she wasn’t the bar type, she was the music type and going to a bar to hear music alone was not the same as going to a bar to pick up someone.

When she finally found the restaurant, she determined that she was glad she had and she was up for the adventure. Surely, she wouldn’t be the first tourist who walked into the place wanting simply to hear the music and have a drink. And if someone did think she was the bar type, well . . . she knew better and what did it matter if they did!

The hostess was covered up with parties of 4 and 5 and customers convinced she’d somehow lost their names. She caught her eye long enough to explain she only wanted to know where the music was. The hostess smiled a “thank you” and assured her she could find a space at the bar.

She couldn’t.

She did get a glass of white wine. But the only place she could find to situate herself was inches from the small dance floor and against the wall. She arrived in time to hear the last mic check and the first utterances from the band -- a band she soon surmised that had not one thing to do with Celtic anything. They were playing Southern rock and the barefoot lead singer was belting out the story of being born on the bayou and that didn’t quite ring true. Still they weren’t too shabby and it beat staying at the inn and logging more hours on Facebook.

Soon a chair opened up at a table and she was able to get off the dance floor and sit down. Of course, the one thing she wanted was to be on that dance floor with someone twisting and turning her to both their delights but that wasn’t happening. So she moved to the music and kept a smile plastered on her face. Music did that for her. She was happy.

An older couple she’d noted as she’d searched for a chair was the floor’s first occupants and they made it their stage. Initially, she’d thought this might be a “sweet” performance given that they were in their 60s at least and the woman had a coifed do and had practically pulled her partner to the floor with her. She was wrong.

They were incredible. Light on their feet and obviously longtime partners they cha cha’ed and rumbaed so that they became the entertainment. Even the singer complimented their moves as “one dancer to another.”

When the older woman walked beside her, she said, “I want to be you!”

“Get yourself and partner and get out there then,” and without pausing the older woman looked at the man with whom she was sharing a table and said, “Do you dance? You should dance with this lovely woman.”

The man indicated he did not and the older woman shrugged her shoulders and said once again, “Grab someone!” before sitting down.

She didn’t have to. In a few moments, another older gentleman asked if she’d like to dance and smiled when she said yes. He’d been watching her dance her way out of chair. “I saw you and thought you might. But … uh … I really just want to dance,” he said somewhat apologetically.

“As do I,” she responded and was momentarily saddened that times were such that explanations were necessary.

Soon they too were spinning though not with the grace and ease of her new champion (who had raised two thumbs up when she took the floor).

A couple of songs later, the older guy asked again and she enjoyed their attempts.

Then the Irishman made it to her.

“Tell me what a fella has to do to be getting some of your attention,” he asked her. Or at least she thought that was what he said.

He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt which fit this beach resort village. But he also had a growth of whiskers and the squint in his eyes suggested he’d been at a bar somewhere long before the music started here. Between the booze and brogue it was hard to understand the words but the intent was evident enough.

“What’s a woman such as yourself kdjgdjgjjgjgljgjgljgjg?” he said as he leaned into her ear to be heard over the music.

“What?” she asked half suspecting she knew what he’d said. “I can’t hear you.”

She could have slapped herself because now he leaned closer. “What’s a woman such as yourself doing here alone?”

“Listening to the music,” she pointed to the band.

“And would you be letting me buy you a drink?”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“No, that’s a white wine, isn’t it now? I’ll be buying you a drink.”

He turned toward the bar and she almost laughed out loud as he began to engage the two women who were also there sans men. They all laughed for a while and she figured he’d lost his focus on her and was relieved as the older gentleman returned for another dance.

When she arrived back at her chair, the Irishman was seated and smiled sloppily. She thanked him for the drink (half hating herself for being the sweet Southern thing that she was which required her to be polite and smile even when dealing with drunken offers).

He rose and leaned into her ear again and grinding his cock into her knee. “So is there a chance you’ll be letting me fuck ya?”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree. I suggest you move on.”

“Ahhhh . . . now do you have to be that way? Just a little squeeze of those breasts then?”

“Wrong tree … really. Have a chat with those girls over there. They seemed interested enough.”

He pulled away with a hammed up frown but he pulled away and she was pleased with herself. Not being the bar type, she had never really had to decline an unwanted offer. She wasn’t great at it but she’d held her own.

She turned her attention to the cell phone that was her lifeline back to the friends she’d left behind in order to go on this cross country trek to discover new things about the country and about herself. She began to text a friend who would smile at her small triumph as well.

That’s when he caught her eye. He bent to be within her eyesight and smiled while holding out his hand. “Would you like to dance?”

Caramel colored and dark hair – she suspected Hispanic. Wide but soft grin, he had caught her attention as not too bad a dancer as he spun what she assumed was his date around the floor. Now he caught her by surprise and she suddenly realized his hand was still out. “Oh, yes, of course.” And she laid the phone down to be transported to the floor.

The first dance was nothing to text home about. He was smooth on his feet but they weren’t exactly dancing together and she was somewhat disappointed. Also, the dance lasted only a minute since they were late arriving. He asked if she wanted to stay for another and she agreed.

This time he took her hand and became the lead she’d hoped he would be. She was close. She was pushed away. She was close and bending backward. She was spinning. She was dancing.
They thanked each other politely and she returned to her phone to let her friend know that she was having a great time. Then she saw the time and realized the drive back to the inn was going to be a late one so she paid the check and headed to the restroom.

When she exited, he was exiting from the men’s room as well. Seeing her jacket, he said, “You’re not leaving?”

“I’ve got a long drive back to where I’m staying.”

“Oh … where’s that?”

The mistrust for all things happening in a bar flared up. “Uh I’m not even sure what they call the area and I’m not good with directions. It’s outside of Half Moon Bay.”

“I live in Half Moon. I can make sure you get on the right road. Stay for another dance?”

She really had no need to be anywhere at a particular time. And she had felt so free when they were dancing. She was thinking it might not be such a bad idea.

He was wiping perspiration from his forehead -- which for some reason made her more comfortable -- and fewer alarm bells were ringing in her head when he said, “Where are you from? Are you visiting?”

“Texas and yes. I’m traveling the country for a few months and this was one of my first stops … to visit an old friend.”

“Texas!?” he offered with pleasure. “I’ve got a contract coming up in Texas.”

When he told her the city, she was surprised that it was her home. She then learned he was a chef with a catering company and he consulted on start ups of restaurants. As a foodie, she began to grill him on whether he’d visited before. He had and they then exchanged gossip and critiques of some of the major restaurants and little known dives.

At a pause, he inquired again about a dance and she readily followed him back to the dance floor. For the next hour they danced and took chat breaks in the night air to cool off and learn more about each other. Soon she realized she wanted him to be closer each time he pulled her in. Surprising herself, she even began to push her way into his hips as he moved them to the music.

At one point, she raised her hands high above her head and he followed the landscape down. He politely and lightly passed by her breasts but at took the opportunity to gently kiss her cheek. She smiled and anticipated the next twist that would have her facing him once again. She knew this had to be her last dance and she wanted to see him before she left.

He gave her his card and wrote on the back – “Entitles you to one great bottle of wine” – as he invited her to come back by his shop the following day. She nodded that she’d understood and was grateful for the offer but she and her friend were leaving for a few days of hiking and she wouldn’t be able to accept.

“Then let me give you one tonight! You can follow me home, I’ll show you the road you need to use that will get you to your place with far less twists and turns and you’ll have a bottle for the hike!”

She knew she shouldn’t. She knew that all bar types knew what happens when you say yes to going home with someone you meet there. She knew. And she also knew what her gut was telling her. This guy could have tried any number of tricks to grope or fondle her and in many ways, she’d been the one to make the first of any type of aggressive move. She’d learned a lot about his life and he hers and she just couldn’t muster up enough reasons to decline.

“I really have to get home though,” she said as he realized she was agreeing to follow him.

“Yes, I understand,” and he walked her out to the car – after introducing her to the friend that he hadn’t come with and was therefore not the date she’d suspected.

They arrived at his apartment and she waited in her car. He went in, got the wine, and came back leaning into the window only slightly.

“Take the highway we just turned off of. After about 5 miles, you’re at your turn. It’s maybe a mile longer than the way your friend sent you but no hairpins!”

She liked that he’d remembered her tale of arriving at the unfamiliar bar. She also liked that he wasn’t forcing any issue about her leaving. She thanked him and drove home.

The next day on the ride to the mountains she texted a thank you for the dances and the wine. He replied, “Any chance we can do dinner before you leave the area?”

She considered all the reasons why she shouldn’t and then she agreed.

When the day arrived for the date she had done all the cautionary limits. Her friend had her new chef’s number and name and address. She would tell him she had to be back at the inn by a certain time. She was meeting him at a public place. She still hated that dating had taking on the trappings of a strategic strike but she also knew a few horror stories so she was trying to be both adventurous and wise.

He was beaming when he saw her walking down the sidewalk to his table at the outdoor bistro they had chosen for midafternoon coffee. She had decided to lean into her Texan persona and was wearing the boots from their night of dancing with a skirt and tights. She was funky without being too faddish and she liked what she’d pulled together. He obviously did too.

“You look great! How was the hike?” he offered as he rose and pulled out her chair.

“We had a blast!” and for the next hour they traded stories about hikes and camping and their mutual interests in doing almost anything at least once.

They left the bistro and visited several galleries he thought she might enjoy. He was right and she did.

“So, you ready for some more dancing in those boots?” he inquired. “I want to introduce you to a few of my friends. I think you’re going to like them.”

She laughed. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

She followed him to what she would have called an ice house back in Texas and what he referred to as a honky tonk. He was closer to the truth. The shack looked like it was leaning. The picnic tables hadn’t seen paint in … well, maybe never. The multi-colored Christmas lights gave the appropriate air of gaudy and the neon signs over the bar assured her she’d have her choice of domestic beers.

“Mind if I go all chef on you and order for us? I know a few of this place’s specialties and would like to surprise you,” he asked and she liked that he really was asking rather than telling her.

“Sure! When in Rome ….” She watched as he made his way to the bar and cajoled the waiter/bartender/chef? for a few minutes. When he returned he had a bottle of white that she doubted seriously had come from the ice chest she saw at the foot of the bar. She didn’t know much but she knew what he was holding was no “two-buck-chuck” the cheap wine that the area was known for.

“He keeps some goodies cold for his regulars,” he said as he poured what had to be the crispest, purest pinot grigio she’d had in quite a while.

They were deconstructing the day when his friends arrived. Two couples they were gregarious and easily accepting of her. The wine flowed. The meal was exquisite in its simplicity – grilled fish, mango salsa, rice and a salad. This place was definitely a find.

The music started after about an hour and all the couples took to the dance floor. They laughed as they sweat together. When the hour of her announced departure began to creep up on her, she knew she didn’t want to leave.

He spoke first. “So … does your friend expect you or do you have a code text worked out for getting you out of here with the least amount of notice?”

“You realized the caution from the first didn’t you?”

“Not the first time. And frankly, if you were my friend, I’d be just as protective.”

“And am I? Your friend?”

“I think you know that I would love the chance to be with you. I think you also know that we aren’t in a position to make it much more than that – the two coast thing and all. So I’m not asking or expecting. I would like to add, however, that I am wanting.”

“Nicely put,” she offered. “And very astute. This is all very strange for me. I don’t see myself this way and yet every fiber of my being wants to follow you home.”

“My keys are in my hand. You say the word.”

She hesitated only a moment. “Let’s.”

And they did. Making their goodbyes with hugs all around, they drove back to his apartment. A two bedroom overlooking the beach, the place was immaculate. He had an Asian motif going with swords, a gong and the dining table was set with all the pieces you’d need for a sake and sushi experience.

He turned on some music and held out his arms for yet another dance. She complied willingly.

This time they didn’t twirl. They swayed and she felt his arms as she hadn’t yet felt them. Hard and firm, they encompassed her. His hands slid effortlessly up and down her back. She duplicated his movements adding a slight massage at his neckline.

He moaned agreeably. “Nice.”

“I think … “ she paused because the day and night had been so lovely, “I think … you’re nice. And that is one very sexy trait.”

He laughed, “Often been my downfall. Nice guys finishing last and what not.”

“We’ll see,” and she pulled back as she asked, “So this place has a bedroom, right?”

“Follow me, Madame.”

He led her to a queen size bed decked in comforter reminiscent of Asia once again. She pulled back the cover and then turned to face him. He was inches away and seemed miles. She pulled him towards her.

He kissed her and she realized that this was their first real kiss. His lips were firm but the kiss was soft. He sighed after they completed it and she realized she had too. The anticipation of the day had caught up with them. Now they were relaxing in one another. She was pleased.

He began to unbutton her blouse and she his shirt. They played between the buttons with kisses to a shoulder, to a breast, to tickle his chest hairs with her tongue.

As he unfastened her bra, she giggled.

“What?” he asked, somewhat alarmed.

“I just realized that this seduction scene is going to have to take a pause for the cause.”

“What?” he was genuinely confused.

“Trust me. There is no sexy way to take off these boots,” she said pointing down.

“Oh really?” he replied and pushing her playfully to the bed, he reached down and yanked each boot off with a dramatic flair before stripping her of her tights and then gently massaging each foot as she further relaxed into the luxury of the bed and the moment.

“I stand … or lay corrected,” she offered.

He chuckled as he removed the rest of his clothes and joined her. Taking her skirt down her thighs, he stopped and kissed whatever caught his fancy along the way.

She found his thick head of hair and wove her fingers in and out of the dark locks. When they were both beneath the covers, she began to work her way down his neck and chest by kneading her hands into his muscles and alternating the semi-massage with kisses and licks and even an occasional nibble.

He didn’t disagree. In fact, he pulled her on top of him and reached upward to take her breasts each hand, squeezing and tugging just as she like it. She was fascinated with how well he knew just what to do to please her.

She adjusted herself so that she was straddling his leg while cradling his cock in both hands. She was suddenly possessed with the idea of taking care of him the way he had cared for her. She fondled his balls, squeezed the base of his cock and then dove down to lightly lick the tip. She then pressed her lips further down the shaft, further and further until she had almost every inch of him in her quickly salivating mouth. She moved up and down with increasing speed. She heard him moan and smiled. She moved to his right side, cock still in her mouth, then to his left. Finally, she mounted him. Her legs on each side of his face, for the taking if he wanted.

He wanted.

He began to match her licks and sucks, concentrating on her clit with the same attention to rhythm he’d shown on the dance floor. She was the one now moaning.

Her moaning was affecting him as well. He felt it and she knew it so she continued.

When the hardness in her mouth was increasing and she no longer felt she could contain him, he began to indicate he was about to come. She smiled. She was ready.

He moved to mount her. Inserting himself, he moved in and out with growing intensity. She asked for more. He complied, pounding his way to his own orgasm.

As soon as she knew he was spent, she grabbed hold and asked for him to stay. Then the waves she knew were forthcoming began. First a shudder, then a series of throbs and her mind went to that place of unbelievable, undeniable nothingness and pure pleasure.

They lay there for a few moments. He was the first to speak.

“I’m glad I asked you to dance.”

“Uh, excuse me . . . the music isn’t over yet.” And she placed his hand in the wetness between her legs and smiled.

“Again?”

“And again and again and again.”

She wasn’t the bar type. But she was the multiple orgasm type.