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You Don't Even Have to Get Me Drunk

Chapter 1 of The Woman with the Unbuttoned Blouse

By Maurice PirelliPublished 5 years ago 8 min read
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By Jules Lefebvre - Art Renewal Center, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=238093

I walked into one of my favorite bars for a beer and a basketball game. There was an empty bar stool right in front of one of the monitors so I sat down. The clientele was mostly men, but the bartender was a woman so that was some good news. Then I noticed that the stool next to me was empty, and the drink in front of it was still half full. Hopefully, whoever belonged to the drink was not some old fuck who wanted to slur out his various philosophies about sports and life when all I wanted was a quiet beer. The bartender stopped in front of me.

"What can I get for you?"

"The Ninkasi IPA. It's Sleigh'r, right?"

"Well, it's their winter ale, and not an IPA."

"Good enough. I'll have a pint of that, please."

This has always been one of the best things about Portland. The dive bars have plenty of craft and micro brews on tap, and the bartenders know their stuff.

"I'll have one, too." My absent bar stool neighbor sat down, and she was an attractive, middle-aged woman.

She was looking straight ahead. I swiveled a few degrees toward her and said, "I'm guessing that although you are slightly younger than I am, we can dispense with all the usual small talk. Deal?"

"You have to guess at that? Did you not notice the gray hair?" she said, smiling at me in a way that said she knew flattery when she heard it, and she had heard quite a bit in her time. The bartender put our beers on the countertop.

"I'll get both of these," I said.

"Thanks," she said, and took a sip of her pint. "Ninkasi is a Eugene brewery, where I'm from, and I love this beer. You have good taste—even if your vision is a little suspect."

Except for her voice, she reminded me of Kathleen Turner, one of my favorite actresses. Years ago, I got involved with a woman who sounded like Kathleen Turner, and things didn't go very well. Maybe my luck was changing. Or maybe I was simply obsessed with Kathleen Turner.

"I'm Decker," I said, extending a hand.

"Mara." She turned toward me and gave me a firm handshake. I like that trait in someone, regardless of their gender or age. It was enough to make me start thinking ahead. But no small talk. We sort of agreed on at least that much. I also liked the fact that she didn't have a wedding ring on. I would like to be able to flirt with a woman without wondering if her husband is going to sit down next to us. I had taken mine off as I walked into the bar.

"So how old are you, Decker? I can't really tell. You have crows feet, and your beard is mostly gray, but that's it. And you seem fit."

"Fifty-four. You are... um... in your early forties."

"Liar."

"What the hell do you expect? I'm a guy in a bar guessing a woman's age. There's no fucking way I'm going to dig myself out of that hole."

"Then why did you guess in the first place?"

"I don't know. Sometimes, I blurt shit out. It's my age. I mean, in another month I'm going to get the senior discount at McDonald's.

"Does you dick still work?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Most of the time. Have you hit menopause?"

"Perimenopause. I still get wet, but it takes a while."

"We can order some lube as an appetizer. Do you carry a miniature fan everywhere?"

"Ha. No, but when I'm in bed, I'm either freezing or can't be anywhere near someone."

"You're describing my wife and every woman I've ever known."

Our knees would occasionally bump together. She wasn't avoiding touching me, and she hadn't asked me what I did for a living yet. That was refreshing. It was nothing illegal. I had been working for a friend of mine as an investigator. He was a lawyer and my wife was a cop, so when he offered the work to me it seemed like a better career path than driving cabs—particularly since Uber and Lyft began cutting into my cab driver income.

"I've been married before," she said, casually. "Three times. Got a problem with that?"

"No. I'm on my second, and she's lost interest in me. She wants some sort of poly arrangement, now. I said okay, but I don't want to know about anyone she wants to see. I would rather just get a divorce if it's not working."

"You're not a cop, are you?"

"We said no small talk... "

"You are, aren't you?"

"I'm an investigator for a lawyer and my my wife's a cop."

"Good. I like a challenge," she said, smiling at me. I smiled back. Or what passes for a smile. I usually feel like an idiot when I smile at people. I was about to ask her what she did for a living, but I realized that I didn't really care. I was more focused on her cleavage.

"My boobs have become bigger as I've gotten older—it compensates for my flatter ass. Speaking of which, you don't seem to have much of an ass at all, even when you are sitting down. How tall are you?"

"I'm a towering five seven. Abs of steel."

"Uh huh. I'm five five, inconsistent exercise regimen. I lift more pints than weights, and I'm almost done with this one."

"Excuse me," I said. "I have an over-fifty male peeing frequency." She nodded and picked up her glass as I made my way to the men's room. It occurred to me that she might be gone when I got back to my seat. It wouldn't be the first time someone had done that, but that's her right as a woman. She shouldn't trust me. I could be anyone. She could be anyone.

She was still there, though, and had paid for our beers in my absence. "Thanks. I said I would pay, you know."

"I know. Now, you owe me. Where's your car?"

"Follow me," I said. I put on my wool fedora as we walked out into the dark, drizzly evening.

"I like your hat," she said. "It fits your face. I usually go with hoods and baseball hats, but I didn't have a hat to go with this dress."

It was a tasteful, dark green dress, stopping just below her knees. I could almost see her bra at times, making me wonder if she was wearing a bra at all. She placed her arm in mine and I began feeling my cock get hard. It seemed like a long time since my wife had made any effort at seducing me. We reached my car.

"This is it. Old Toyota Forerunners aren't the sexiest vehicles on the road, but it keeps running and it's paid for. No one can see through the window tinting at night, either... "

"In that case, I would like a tour of the back seat."

I opened the door and she climbed in. As soon as I sat down next to her and closed the door, she said, "Lock me in."

"My boss is a lawyer and he said I should always make sure a woman gives 'affirmative consent prior to sexual relations.'"

"Unzip your pants. How's that for consent?"

"Um... I don't know. Still kind of ambiguous. First, I wear button-fly 501s and second, I could be trying on clothes, or something," I said as I unbuttoned my jeans. "Maybe I should record you. Let me get my phone out."

"Why don't you get your dick out, instead?"

"This will just take a sec." I unlocked my phone and turned on the voice memo app. "Okay. It's on, now. Let the record show that you are fellating me." I grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head up. "Do you consent to having sexual relations with me?"

"I consent, and you don't even have to get me drunk."

"Good. I like a cheap date. Oops--an audience...." A pair of young women were walking down the sidewalk in our direction. I wasn't sure if they could see what we were doing through the windshield until one of them pointed and laughed. Her friend gave the thumbs up sign as the two of them walked past my car. It made me harden a little more, but it wasn't enough. After another minute, Mara looked up at me.

"You know, I usually have a mouth full of come by now. What's the deal? I'm starting to think I'm losing my touch."

"I like blowjobs, but they are more like an appetizer than the main dish. That is, unless you do this." I explained to her what would get me off. Within a couple of minutes, she got her wish.

"Mmm. That's more like it," she said, checking her face in the rear view mirror. "I don't have any on me, do I? I can't see from here."

"No, you're good. I suppose we should have an std conversation. Got any?"

"No. You?"

"No," I said, wondering if I should trust her as I began pulling her dress up over her hips.

"Your turn to enjoy the view. I'll need to conduct a thorough investigation to make sure you are telling the truth about your sexual health. Panties off, please."

"What panties?"

I could smell her before my tongue reached her labia. I licked upward until I found her clitoris. Slowly, I moved my tongue over her clit and into her vagina until her breathing changed. It was time to begin sucking her clit.

"Oh. Bite down. Yeah, that's it. But harder. Harder... "

I had a feeling that she had no idea what was happening outside, and didn't care. After I felt her shudder, she pulled my head up and kissed me.

"You can do that any time, as much as you like," she said, sighing.

"I'm just doing my part as a thorough investigator, ma'am. Everything checks out. I am going to need your phone number should I have any further questions...."

Later, as I drove home, it occurred to me that I should probably wash the vaginal secretions off my face before getting into bed with my wife. Even though Micki said she wanted to open up the relationship, smelling like another woman was probably not the best way to revisit that topic.

Or so I thought until I walked in on her and the woman who lived next door....

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About the Creator

Maurice Pirelli

Mr. Pirelli, a former cab, bus, and truck driver, is writing the sequel to his first novel. He enjoys the company of sophisticated women at local brew pubs, and is considered to be the second most interesting man in the world.

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