My Last Bar Pickup

We were talking about bars, so I'm trying to remember the last guy who picked me up at a bar. It was a while ago, because like I said, I don't do the bar scene.

Oh yeah, now I remember. The last guy who picked me up in a bar was when I was still in college. I went to school a fair distance from my home, so it was a different bar, and different people. Which is, I guess, a good thing.

He bought me a few drinks, and he wasn't bad looking. But I'm really much less picky when it comes to guys than I am when it comes to gals. He didn't smell, he was reasonably well-mannered, he didn't look like the creature from the black lagoon, and I was raring to go. Plus he was buying, and like I said before, I'm not a cheap drunk so I takes what I can get.

After we pounded a few shots, of tequila I believe, we started getting pretty cozy. He put his hand on my leg and started petting my thigh, real friendly-like. We just kept making idiot smalltalk until his hand got more adventurous and started to creep up my skirt. Which is when I confessed, in a hushed tone, that I wasn't wearing any panties. That got his attention.

I don't want you to think I'm easy; I am easy, but I'm not as easy as I think people think I am. Wow, psychology there, huh? Let's just say that I'm only easy when I want to be easy; you can't just walk up to me on a street corner with a smile and get fucked.

Anyway, easy or not, I was being pretty easy that evening. He suggested that we move to a booth, since the bar was getting crowded. Once we were in the booth, his hand went straight up my skirt with no hesitation and started petting my pubis. At this point in my life I was still fooling around with my pubic hair, and I think I probably had a decoration. Now, of course, I just shave it off; too much of a hassle.

Well he petted and we chatted, perfectly normal above the table. I spread my legs a little wider so he could get a better feel, and he slipped a finger into my well-moistened passage without much effort. It was a little strange; he seemed to be perfectly happy to sit there all night finger fucking me under the table. I was after slightly bigger fish than that, and told him so. When I reached over to put my hand on his crotch, I could tell that his lower half was thinking the same way. He had a big old bulge.

In my wilder youth I might have been tempted to just unzip him, sit in his lap, hike up my skirt, and fuck him right there. Actually, I was tempted, a little. But this was not that type of bar: too well lit, people not all lost in the bottle or watching the TV, just not the place. So I asked him to take me home, because I still had a roomie at that point. Or maybe I just didn't want him to know where I lived; I forget which.

We went to his car, his hand on my ass and just giving me little squeezes with every step. I'm pretty sure that an observant patron of the bar who watched us leave could have seen my pussy, the skirt was hiked that high. He was barely keeping his hand from slipping up under the skirt to the honey pot from behind. Barely. But if anyone saw, no one complained.

By the time we got to his house my skirt was rolled up to my waist and my blouse was undone. It was pretty dark on the street, which was good because I was indecent to say the least. We kissed as we staggered down the front walk, we kissed while he was trying to find the keys to the door, and by the time we were inside I had my hand in his pants, feeling the throbbing of his cock waiting to be let loose.

Then I saw all the pictures and realized why there was another car in the driveway. The man was married. Now I don't make it a habit of sleeping with married men; it's not fair and it's kind of risky. But I figured he knew what he was doing until I heard the voice from upstairs asking who it was.

He shushed me and talked to his wife for a few minutes. And I still had my hand down his pants, and his hands still roved over my body, and his cock showed no signs of deflating. The man had balls of steel is all I can say. I couldn't think of anything better to do than to stand perfectly still.

Eventually his wife said goodnight, without coming down the stairs, thank god, and he led me out to the kitchen. He said he'd thought she'd be asleep. I wanted to know what the hell he was thinking. He just kissed me. I was sure she would hear us. He kept kissing me. Eventually he just wore down my resistance, and when his pants hit the floor I knew there was no way I was leaving without fucking him.

I tried to keep quiet, as quiet as I could, while he hoisted me up on the kitchen counter and spread my legs. I was so distracted by the whole thing that I didn't even think about making him wear a condom. Now that was stupid, but I'm stupid like that. He didn't seem to care, and I guess if you're fucking a college girl in the kitchen with your wife upstairs in the bedroom, you don't sweat anything. He lubed up with some spit and some of my juices, then he slowly eased his way in.

He wasn't a fabulous lay, by any stretch, but when his cock bottomed out inside me it felt great. The tension of the situation just sort of made the whole experience very intense. I mean, I still had my clothes on, just out of the way, and he had only taken off his pants, and we were in his house with his wife upstairs asleep. That's fairly intense. And his technique wasn't bad either.

He picked up the pace and we made a little more noise, but whenever I wanted to moan or gasp I just bit my lip and whimpered. I think it turned him on. He, for his part, didn't make a sound, other than heavy breathing. Eventually he pulled out, helped me down from the counter, bent me over, and stuck it home again from behind. I got one leg up on the counter and we went at it, my breasts pressed into the marble, occasional gasps escaping my lips.

I came from the downward force, and had a nice vaginal O which lasted for a while and left me feeling like liquid, and then he grunted softly that he was ready, pulled back, and rather forcefully grabbed my head and pulled it down to crotch level. With the other hand, he stroked a few times and then tensed and spewed an amazing amount of cum all over my face and hair. I just wasn't expecting so much; it got everywhere.

We cleaned up as best we could, and then he quietly took me outside and drove me home. I saw him a few times after that, on the streets and such, and while I'd wave at him, he barely spared a glance. So he was a dick. But it was memorable.