I was going stir-crazy in my little apartment. The overwhelming urge to go out for a couple drinks was winning. I checked my wallet -- again. The ten dollar bill was still there -- it hadn't magically changed into a 20 or more. I thought about it for a few more minutes and remembered my unemployment check would be in the bank the next day. I grabbed my windbreaker and went outside. The cool night air felt refreshing.
It occurred to me I hadn't been outside in a week. I'd been cooped-up scouring the internet and newspaper for a job. A job? Hell, I couldn't even get an interview. The economy was still bad, and it wasn't going to get better any time soon. I shook my head in amazement at how quickly one's life could go completely downhill.
When I was forced to move to this neighborhood I saw a bar a couple blocks away. I walked there now.
When I'd told some friends where I was living, they said, "Be careful -- that's a bad area." So my senses were on high alert as I walked.
I went inside the bar and waited for my eyes to get accustomed to the dim lighting. I saw an open bar stool and sat down. The bartender came right over. I was a little surprised: He wore a leather vest and leather pants. No shirt -- the vest didn't cover much of his chest.
"What'll you have?" he asked.
"How much is Jack Daniels?" I asked.
"Five seventy-five," he answered.
"How about the well whiskey?"
"Four bucks."
I ordered whiskey on the rocks. I could have two of them and still leave a tip.
I looked around the bar as I sipped the whiskey. There wasn't a woman in sight. It finally dawned on me that this was a gay bar. I didn't care. I'm a fairly liberal guy. What two people did in the privacy of their homes was their business -- not mine.
I had a dilemma. If I sipped the whiskey, I could stay there longer, but I wouldn't catch much of a buzz. If I gulped it down, I'd get a little high, but I'd have to leave real soon.
I gulped down the whiskey and ordered another one. I took large swallows from the new drink, as well.
"You trying for a world record?" the guy sitting beside me asked.
I laughed. "No...no, just trying to get my moneys worth."
"You're new here," he said.
"Yeah, I moved into the neighborhood last week and had to get out of my apartment for awhile."
I looked at him. Nice looking guy; solidly built. Probably ten years older than me. Friendly smile.
Guys hitting on me was nothing new. I don't know what it is about me, but older guys trying to pick me up in bars had happened before. I never did anything with them, and I always rejected them in a nice way. In some ways, I felt like it was a compliment.
We both drained our glasses and he ordered 2 JD's on the rocks -- doubles!
"You don't have to do that." I told him, but deep down I was happy he did.
The whiskey began to go to my head and I opened up to him. Telling him how I was laid off from my job ("Nothing personal, John -- just business.") -- telling him the snowball effect it had on my life: I couldn't afford my condo so I had to move; I couldn't afford my car so it was repossessed and now I had to walk or take the bus. He asked questions, and I was more than eager to answer them. It had been awhile since I had actual human contact.
I lost track of the number of 'doubles' he bought me. I was still talking -- he hadn't said much of anything. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a twenty dollar bill, laid it on the bar, then slid it towards me.
"What's this?" I asked.
"This is yours," he said.
"What's the catch?"
He laughed then he placed his hand on mine and squeezed it. "All you have to do is spend about 15 minutes in the front seat of my car." He was looking directly in my eyes. "You, and this pretty little hand of yours -- if you know what I mean?"
I blushed. I knew what he meant.
In the meantime I caught the bartender out of the corner of my eye looking at me as if he wanted to say something. He was slowly shaking his head from side-to-side.
My drinking companion looked at him, and in a flat, almost threatening voice, he told the bartender, "We're just fine -- thank you!"
I looked at the twenty on the bar. A couple weeks ago it would have meant nothing to me -- now it meant I could eat something besides Ramen noodles. I folded it in my hand and put the twenty in my pocket.
"Let's go," he said.
I almost fell when I got off the bar stool. He caught me with his strong hands. We went to the men's room on our way out. We stood side-by-side at the long trough. No one else was there. We pissed.
"Look at it," he said.
My head was dizzy and swimming in alcohol. I looked at his cock. It was a lot longer than mine which was no surprise -- I'm not very well-endowed. We zipped up and washed then went to his car. I climbed into the front seat, he sat beside me.
He took my hand and placed it on his crotch. He showed me how to rub him. My hand caressed the growing bulge in his pants. My fingers slid up-and-down the clear outline of his cock.
"Open my pants and take out my cock!"
Even in my alcoholic haze I understood his words to be an order. I opened his pants, found his hard penis and brought it out of his shorts. My hand stroked it fast -- I wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.
He had another idea -- he slowed my hand; he wanted it to last longer.
This was the first time I ever felt another guys' cock. It wasn't at all bad. It actually felt pretty good in my hand. Warm and smooth. I was impressed at its length -- I guessed seven inches. I couldn't get my hand all the way around it. It was thick, too.
He never tried to touch me; he never said a word to me.
Finally he told me to go faster. I quickened my pace. He began to groan. Suddenly he grunted and I felt his cock explode. He caught much of his cum in his hand. When he was finished, he wiped his hand on my face. My face was slick with his cum. Then he ordered me to lick his hand. I obeyed him -- there was something menacing about this guy and I didn't want to make him mad. His cum tasted bitter and salty.
He said he'd drive me home. Where do I live? I wasn't thinking clearly -- I told him. I started to move near the passenger door, but he said, "Stay where you are!"
I was relieved when he parked the car in front of my building. I wanted to get away from him.
"There's a bottle of Jack in a bag on the floor next to you -- bring it inside!" I heard his door open.
Oh shit, I thought. He's coming inside with me!
The alcohol had dimmed my senses and I didn't know what to do or say. I grabbed the bottle and got out of the car. He walked beside me. I felt a strong hand on the back of my neck. I couldn't get away even if the opportunity presented itself.
My apartment was tiny; it was an efficiency. When I opened the door the double-bed was to the right. There was a loveseat on the left. A counter with two barstools separated the living room/bedroom from the kitchen. A small bathroom was next to the kitchen.
"Pour us some drinks," he ordered.
He sat on the loveseat and watched me. He spied my dvd player and television. "Have any dirty movies?" he asked.
I should have lied to him: "Yeah, ah...one," I answered.
"Play it!"
I hadn't re-winded the movie. It was somewhere in the middle. That's as far as I ever watched when I masturbated.
We sat close together on the loveseat and watched the movie. He sipped his drink; I took large swallows. The guy in the movie had the girl kneel on the end of the bed. She spread her legs wide and we saw the rear view of her anatomy. The guy spit on his finger and inserted it into her anus. He worked it inside her. When he removed the finger he took his cock in his hand and pressed it against her back door. He gave a mighty shove and his cock disappeared into her asshole.
"I'll bet that's your favorite part," he said to me.
I began to feel sick. I hope this guy doesn't want more than I can give.
Then he said, "Rub my cock the way you did in the car."
I massaged his cock through his pants. It stiffened. I squeezed it and did the best I could to make him happy.
