I don't understand what there is about me that makes strange men think they can do or say anything at all and I won't object, protest or complain. It's almost as though I have the word "SUBMISSIVE" stamped on my forehead.
So I was sitting at the bar in an expensive downtown San Francisco hotel sipping a Mai Tai when this old guy sat directly beside me even though there were plenty of open bar stools that would have given both of us more leg room.
I gave him a discreet glance, and like I said, he was pretty old, maybe fifty or so, but he appeared in decent shape for a guy his age, and he had a nice mane of silver hair above his not unappealing face. He ordered "Makers Mark—neat" from the bartender and we sat in silence sipping our cocktails.
My straw made a loud slurping noise as I sucked the last of the drink from the tall glass. The old man looked at me and asked, "What are you drinking there, boy?"
"Oh, it's a Mai Tai," I shyly replied.
"Kind of a girly drink, isn't it?" he said while looking me up and down. "Are you some sort of sissy?"
Before I could protest he added: "I'm gonna buy you a man's drink..."
He caught the bartenders attention, shook the ice in his near empty glass and said, "Another Makers Mark--and one for my young friend here!"
Since I could only afford the one drink, but wanted more, I didn't insist on another Mai Tai...I like bourbon as well, the only problem is it doesn't take long for me to get drunk on bourbon.
Oh well, at least the night wasn't going to end too early. I hated the thought of having to drive back to Santa Cruz in the dark.
"My names Earl," he announced, "...from Houston."
"I'm John--from Santa Cruz!" I said and shook his outstretched hand.
I winced when he squeezed my hand too tightly and that made him laugh.
He told me he was in town on business, but was having a difficult time finding some 'action' at night.
"Yeah," I said. "There aren't many bars near this hotel where single women hang-out."
He gave me an odd stare then almost inhaled the remaining bourbon from his glass.
"Drink up, Johnny--time for another one!" he ordered.
I don't like to be called 'Johnny' but he was the man buying the drinks so I didn't protest or complain.
While sipping our drinks, he noticed my bag on the stool beside me.
"Nice purse, boy," he said with a snicker of ridicule.
"No, it's a European man bag," I said correcting him then quickly added, "...it's very handy—-my pockets are too small to carry all my stuff!"
He gave me a sly grin and said, "Uh huh, sure boy..."
After the second bourbon I was feeling a little dizzy. He ordered us another round and I weakly said, "I better not--I have a long drive!"
He smiled and said, "Nonsense, boy...if need be I have a nice, big sofa in my suite where you can spend the night!"
My head began spinning as I tried to keep up with his drinking prowess. He suddenly leaned into me and whispered in my ear.
"Are you one of them San Francisco fairies I've heard so much about?" he bluntly asked.
My face turned beet red. Like I said before, I don't know why strange men feel as though they're entitled to act rude and crude around me.
"W-Why would you ask me that?" I asked quietly; trying to appear offended and indignant.
"C'mon boy...look at the skimpy little "outfit" you're wearing...and you carry a purse, for Gods sake!" he said, not at all taken aback by my surprised expression.
And, yes, maybe my short-shorts were small and tight-fitting, and the brightly flowered beach shirt was loud with pink and yellows, and perhaps my man bag could be mistaken for a woman's purse, but still, why do men think they can say such obnoxious things to me?
He seemed more amused than annoyed at my obvious discomfort. He then boldly placed his hand on my upper thigh and stroked my leg. I heard him chuckle.
"Are you naturally hairless, boy, or do you shave?" he asked with a smile.
"I use a depilatory cream," I softly admitted.
He nodded his head knowingly, smiled, then said, "I like my boys smooth...are you smooth EVERYWHERE boy?"
I finished my drink and sheepishly nodded in the affirmative.
He ordered two more drinks and I meekly said I wouldn't be able to drive, but he ignored me.
The bartender placed the drinks in front of us and walked away. 'Earl from Houston' moved his bar stool as close as he could next to mine until our legs were touching.
"Johnny, you're too drunk to drive--you're spending the night in my bed!" he whispered.
He boldly took my hand and placed it on his crotch. He had an impressive hard-on--he pressed my hand firmly to the bulge in his pants. I neither protested nor attempted to remove my hand.
He forced my fingers around his hard cock and moved my hand slowly back-and-forth. After a few seconds, he removed his hand but I kept stroking his hardness thru the thin layer of his expensive slacks.
He smiled at me and whispered in his Texas twang, "Baby, you and I gonna have us some fun tonight!"
My breathing became shallow and irregular; my own small prick was hard as a rock inside my tight shorts.
He signed the bar tab to his room and we climbed off the stools and walked to the elevators with me leading the way.
He chuckled and said, "You seem to know your way around here...are you a 'regular' here, boy?"
I blushed and mumbled, " Well, uh, not really..." but he wasn't convinced and laughed again.
I knew no one would be able to see the small lump in my shorts, but I wondered how he would hide his manly bulge. His hands were covering his crotch as we walked, and when we boarded the elevator he had me stand in front of him.
