Can we finish before we get caught?
It’s a crowded after work bar and my girlfriend is sitting next to me. We’re both nursing beers and trying to talk over the din. She pulls her phone out and looks down. My phone makes a noise.
It’s her.
Her: lets fuk
Me: home?
Her: here
Me: how?
She just looks at me and shrugs as if to say, “that’s your problem.”
I look at her for a minute, then tell her I’ll be back. A short trip to the end of the bar, a thirty-second conversation and monetary exchange with Sarah the bartender, and I’m back with a grin.
Me: take off your panties
Her: here?
Me: yup
She looks at me then stands up between her chair and the bar. She looks around, then reaches down discreetly and wiggles her underwear off under her skirt.
She hands them to me.
A new song starts up on the jukebox and I take her by the hand. I pull her towards the back of the bar as I hear the crowd go wild. She turns to see the two hot bartenders climbing up onto the old wooden bar with bottles in each hand.
“Free shots!” they shout as I push her up against the back wall; the crowd surges forward.
My hands are on her thighs, sliding up against her smooth skin. Her fingers are opening my jeans. I can hear the guys screaming behind me as the girls pour shots down their throats, and I pull a knee up under my arm.
“We have two minutes and eight seconds,” I whisper in her ear.
She wraps both legs around me.
“Then you better fuck me hard,” she grunts.
I can’t see what’s behind me, but her eyes are open and her hand is around me as she guides me into her warm wet pussy. She’s so tight as I thrust into her that I nearly drop her.
She’s still looking behind me as I push all the way into her, slamming her hard against the wall as she wraps her arms around my neck. I’m kissing her and fucking her, and I can tell she’s watching something, but all I can think about is when someone will turn around and catch us.
Half a chorus left and the song is over. I thrust one more time into her, pulling her tight against me, then, regretfully, I put her down and make myself decent. I’m standing beside her and the song is ending and she’s panting as she pats down her skirt.
I look over my shoulder and see the bartender staring at us as she climbs down from the bar.
She winks at me.
“She watched me the entire time,” my girl says, as she pulls me out the back door towards our apartment.
We are nowhere close to finished.
Guy New York is a writer, publisher, and professional layabout.
