The Regular

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A frustrated guy finds relief.
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I was pissed! It was supposed to have been a "date night" but it didn't happen. I was looking forward to a night of hot sex with my wife but she had some kind of "woman's problem" and sex just wasn't in the cards. She felt really bad but she just couldn't get her head in the right place. Not even a hand job. It looked I was going to end up asking Rosie Palm and her five little friends for help.

"I'm going out for a ride," I told my wife, trying to hold back my frustration. "I'll be back in a little while. It wasn't unusual for me to get in the car and go for a short ride when I needed to clear my head. I drove in silence, not really paying attention to where I was going. A half-hour passed when I found myself on a road that I'd never traveled on before. The road was fairly dark but ahead there were some bright lights set back from the road. As I approached, I saw that it was a roadside bar and the lights were from the glow of neon beer signs. I might as well stop and have a drink, I thought.

As I walked in, I scanned the room. There were only a few people in the place. It was dark but cozily lit. It actually had quite a warm feeling to it. I felt that all eyes were on me. It was like walking into an Old West saloon. I was the stranger in town. There was a long bar with several empty stools. I sat down on a stool as the barkeep approached me.

"How're you tonight?" asked the comely barmaid, a question that, if answered, required only the simplest response.

"OK," I replied, although my mind wanted to tell her how annoyed I was about the disappointing turn of events with my wife.

"What'll you have?" she asked, placing a coaster and a dish of salted nuts in front of me. Ah, that dish of nuts! Whoever thought of a bowl of salted snacks on a bar was an evil genius. Some nuts, a drink, some more nuts, another drink!

"Do you have Jameson Irish whiskey?"

"Sure! How do you take it?!

"Neat, with an ice water on the side, please."

It's interesting to see how each bartender presents a drink. Neat means "from the bottle to the glass" without any accoutrement: no ice, no water, and no twist of lemon. Sometimes, I'll get a shot glass that's about ¾ full. This night, however, I was pleasantly surprised. There on the coaster was placed a rocks glass with easily two fingers of amber liquid. A tall glass of ice water was beside it. The bartender had made a friend and earned a generous gratuity.

"Here's to you, my friend," I said as I lifted my glass towards the barkeep, who smiled broadly. She knew how to pour a drink and for that she was to be commended. I took a second long look at her. She wasn't unattractive. Probably in her early 40's, she was a brassy blonde with a good set of boobs that more than filled the white man-tailored shirt she was wearing. In fact, she had at least one button more than necessary open which allowed a nice view of some substantial cleavage. She was definitely fuckable.

My usual style is to be short and sweet. I like to toss my drink down and follow it with a swallow of ice water and do the mixing in my stomach. For the most part I was in it for the buzz and the sooner the better. However, I was in no hurry to get home. I found myself very comfortable in the womb-like atmosphere of this small friendly roadside tavern. I sipped my Jameson, relishing each swallow. As I savored my drink, I noticed that there was music playing. It was at a comfortable listening level: enough to be appreciated but not so loud that it was intrusive. I don't know who selected the music but it was just the kind I like. Music from that wonderful decade, the hippy-dippy 70's, CSN, James Taylor, some Southern rock, it was all good.

The firewater was beginning to get a grip on me. Ah, the feeling of warmth and mild euphoria that alcohol can give you. Although the liquor was making me feel good, I was still fuming about the circumstances that brought me to this safe haven. As good as the barmaid looked, she and I weren't going to get any friendlier than the relationship of bartender and customer.

"Excuse me. Could you pass the nuts, please."

I was startled. There was a great Stephen Stills song playing and I was kind of lost in the moment. I hadn't noticed that a guy had sat down at the bar. We were a stool apart.

'Sorry, I was reliving my youth." I passed the bowl of nuts to my new neighbor. Thank God he asked for them because I didn't have the will power to push them aside. At least now, I would be saved from my gluttony.

"Great place to come and relive your youth. The jukebox has a great selection. And the staff here is the best around." He and the barmaid exchanged winks.

The barmaid served him with what looked like a whiskey on the rocks. How profane! It's almost a crime to water down good whiskey.

"Here's to your health," he said as he raised his glass to me. I looked at my glass only to find it empty.

"Miss, could I get another Jameson, please?" She must have had a premonition because my refill was in front of me as I said the word "please."

'And here's to yours." We touched our glasses and drank our elixirs.

"We have some things in common."

What would that be?" I asked of this man, a few years younger than I, but with a very pleasant demeanor.

"We're drinking the same beverage and I'm a devotee of the Woodstock generation of music, as well."

Instantly, I knew I had made a new friend.

"I'm Scott, and you are...?

"I'm Evan," he said moving onto the stool next to me. "I'm a regular here but I've never seen you before. New to the neighborhood?"

I was immediately comfortable with Evan. He was a pleasant-looking, clean-shaven guy, dressed in a sort of Polo style. I needed someone to talk to about my frustration and Evan seemed like a good listener.

"Here's my story," I began, with an exhale. The liquor was my truth serum. I told him how my wife and I had planned a "date night' which was a long time coming. He was like a priest and I was confessing. I told him all about our sexual practices, that I loved eating pussy and how much I looked forward to going down on my wife. It was all about her, I told him. I enjoyed her body immensely. She gave great head and would often ask me to fuck her ass. It was all good except for when she wasn't in the mood and I was shut off.

"And man, I couldn't even get a hand job tonight." My story was over. I told Evan all there was to tell. I was glad that I had someone with whom I could share my terrible tale but it didn't mitigate my feelings of disappointment. In fact, telling the story only reminded me of how horny I was.

We sipped our drinks, enjoying the music that was playing and the nostalgia.

"Man, that's tough. I feel your pain. I get the same shit from my wife. Promises, promises, but, well... you know what I mean. Sometimes, I've gotta look for it elsewhere. Hey, would you like to smoke a bone?" Evan asked.

"A bone?"

"Ya, ya, you know, a doobee, a joint? I hate smoking alone and you sound like you could you some good vibes."

"Sure, but where?" I asked.

"We'll go out to my truck."

"Let's do it! I reached for my drink and downed the remainder of my Jameson. I picked up my check and Evan's and left $30 on the bar.

"Thanks, hon," I said to the bartender. "See you again sometime."

"I think that's a safe bet," she said with a wry smile.

Evan and I walked out into the parking lot. He pointed to a large pickup truck with 4 doors. Its lights blinked when he pressed the alarm remote.

As we approached his truck he told me to hop in the back.

"The back seat is like a living room sofa. We can stretch out," Evan said, "plus, I don't want to be too obvious. If we sit in the front, somebody's bound to see us and we certainly don't want to get busted. That's all I need is getting busted for pot."

It certainly made sense. I climbed into the back seat. Evan was right. The back seat was huge. Evan lit up a joint and inhaled as if he had been underwater for 3 minutes and needed air desperately. He passed me the joint and I took a long hit on it. It was great stuff. I hadn't smoked in quite a while. The memories of years of pot smoking just flooded my brain along with thoughts of all the fun I'd had. The grass and the Jameson put me in a state of pleasure that I really needed.

"Thanks, Evan. This stuff is awesome. Now, if the wife was here to give me that fuckin' hand job, it would be absolutely perfect."

Evan looked at me with glazed eyes. He was certainly buzzed. We were both pretty well fucked up.

"You know, I could give you that hand job," Evan said with devious smile.

"No, man, no, no. I don't need it that bad!"

"What's the problem?' Evan replied. "We're friends, aren't we, and don't friends help each other out? Just a few strokes and you're a happy camper. It's no sweat." Evan put his hand on the inside of my thigh and began massaging me.

I felt my dick start to harden. I was really looking forward to "date night." If it wasn't going to be my wife then it was going to be any port in a storm. I looked at Evan and gave him a nod. He reached over, unbuttoned my jeans, and unzipped my fly.

"C'mon, pull your pants down."

In anticipation of a sex romp with my wife, I had gone commando. I was a little embarrassed.

When Evan saw that I wasn't wearing any underwear, he commented about how ready I was. I laughed nervously. His hand reached into my pants and I could feel the warmth from his skin on mine. I wriggled my pants down to my knees and, there it was, my half-stiff cock in all its glory. The truck was filled with the smoke from the joint and my head was spinning. We passed it back and forth until there was nothing left of it. Evan threw the tiny roach out the window and then moved closer to me. He put his right arm up on the back of the seat behind my head with his hand touching my shoulder. He started to stroke my cock slowly squeezing it with only the slightest pressure. Within a minute, I was rock hard.

"Oh, man, that feels so good." In the shadows created by the few parking lot lights, I watched Evan's hand caress my dick. He paid special attention to the corona of my cock which is probably the most sensitive part. He knew what he was doing.

"Well, I've had years of experience."

Now, I didn't know if Evan was talking about years of experience jerking himself off, or years of experience giving hand jobs? Either way it didn't matter. I'd masturbated a thousand times in my life, if not more, and my wife and women before her had pleasured me with many a hand job but this was the first time that a man was touching me. The feeling was electric. It was not only physical, but psychological and emotional, as well.

While Evan was maintaining a steady but gentle grip on my erection and stroking me with just the right amount of friction, his free hand was squeezing and rubbing my neck. Occasionally his hand would dip down and rub my right nipple. My nipples were hard as rocks.

"How am I doing?" Evan asked. His face was only inches from mine.

"I know it's an old cliché, but just keep doin' what you're doin'."

I could feel my excitement building to its inevitable crescendo. I was only seconds away from shooting my load.

"Evan, you got some tissue or paper towels. I'm going to cum."

"Not to worry!" Evan said as he increased his pressure. I began moaning as I felt my load beginning its journey. Evan's hand was gripping the base of my penis, and the next thing I knew, his mouth was wrapped around the head of my cock. He started to suck me at the moment I began cumming. His head was bouncing up and down, taking my shaft deep into his mouth. It felt like it was hitting the back of his throat. Pulse after pulse of my cum unloading in Evan's mouth. I was spent. The tension from my climax left my body and I just sunk into the seat of the truck.

Evan lifted his head up. I could see some of my cum still on his lips. Some of it was on his chin. He stuck his tongue out and licked up all he could. The glob that was on his chin was retrieved by his finger and he licked it off. I was in a state of shock. A hand job from a guy was one thing, but a blowjob, too. WOW!! And it felt so good. I couldn't remember when either one had been any better.

"Everything OK?" Evan asked, smiling broadly. "Did I do good?"

"Oh, man, that was absolutely fantastic. I don't know what to say other than thank you. I've never experienced anything like that." I was feeling somewhat self-conscious that this was a one-sided event. I wanted to reciprocate but it just wasn't going to happen. "I'm sorry that I can't return the favor. It's not that I don't want to, I just need to wrap my head around what just happened."

"Look, it was my pleasure to give you pleasure. I'm not looking for anything in return. If something comes my way, no pun intended, it's all good. Don't feel bad. You're supposed to feel good. And I got what I wanted. Your jizz was delicious."

I was kind of taken aback by Evan's attitude. It was like nothing I'd ever encountered. It was my first man-on-man experience but there certainly didn't seem like it was inappropriate. Actually, I really enjoyed it. My mind was going a mile a minute. I caught a look at the dashboard clock and it was getting late.

"Evan, I gotta go. It was phenomenal and I really appreciate it. Thank you."

"I understand, buddy. Like I said, it was my pleasure. By the way, remember I told you that I'm a regular here. Maybe we can have a drink together again sometime when you're in the neighborhood."

I smiled at Evan and nodded.

Hmmm! He was a regular. I think that I could find myself back at this very friendly bar again and probably sooner than later. I think that I could become a regular, too.

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  • COMMENTS
1 Comments
southflasouthflaabout 14 years ago
Great beginning

I need to find a friend like Scott to suck weekly.

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