"You alright mate?!"
I heard the scouse accent echo in the empty pub as the door slammed shut behind the middle aged gent, dressed in his tight grey workie cargos and yellow high viz vest. His biceps curled with his elbows resting on the bar while he waited to be served.
"What can I get for you sir?" I asked, gauking at the hot, masculine energy oozing from the workman.
"Carling buddy" he said, not looking at me as his phone stole his attention.
The lager poured into the crystal glass as I stared at the work-mans rugged ginger beard, his muscular, tattoo's arms and neck sending dirty shockwaves through my body. His piercing blue eyes locked on mine as the lager began to over pour and spill into the drip tray.
A smile formed as he tapped his card against the card machine for payment, a cheeky wink was given as he swaggered away to sit at his favourite amusement gambling machine.
He was a regular at the pub, always trailed in dirt from his work site over my clean floors but it didn't matter, that pearly blue wink won me over every time.
I kept myself busy on the quiet night as I listened to the smooth music, often interrupted by his aggressive tapping on the buttons if he wasn't winning, or the occasional "fuck off you slag!" When he lost his money.
"I'll be your slag" I would think to myself, my dick hardening in my tight black trousers as I imagined the aggressive way he would treat me - in my dreams that is.
A while past and a few pints later, the loudening work man gave up his gamble and accepting his defeat, draining his glass of its alcohol he slammed it onto the table signalling he was finished.
With no other customers in and close to shutting time, I went to clear his glass from the table.
"No luck tonight then eh?" I offered sympathy.
