A Girl Walks into a Bar

by Helena S. Paige

  “You put chili in tea?” you ask as the flames on your tongue die down.

  He launches into an enthusiastic list of the spices he uses to make it from scratch, and how he learned to make it properly while traveling in India during his last backpacking trip.

  Once he’s run out of chai recipes, there’s another long silence—not awkward, exactly, but fizzing, rather. At last Xavier blurts out, “I’m sorry, I’m not exactly used to having women in my room.”

  You laugh. “Are you kidding me? Every time I looked your way tonight, someone was hitting on you. You probably have a different gorgeous woman up here every other night. I’m surprised there aren’t grooves in the stairs!”

  He locks his hands, and looks down at them. “Um, no. You’re the first.”

  “Wait, you’re not saying—I mean, you must have a string of girlfriends, looking the way you do . . .”

  He shakes his head.

  “But how is it possible . . . ?”

  “Oh, I dunno. Only child. Older parents. They’re cool, but they were really strict. Quaker boarding school. First year of university in a seminary . . .”

  “What? You were studying to be a priest?”

  “No, no. It was a place to crash—one of my lecturers knew I was looking for something cheap and quiet. It was great while I found my feet, but it wasn’t exactly the sort of place I could bring friends. And when I moved on, everyone else had sort of hooked up, and I never knew how to get into the swing of all that stuff.”

  As the full implications of what he’s saying slowly dawn on you, you can’t believe you’re about to ask such an intimate question—but then you’re the one dressed in almost nothing but a borrowed T-shirt. “Xavier, are you saying you’re . . . a virgin?”

  This time he doesn’t blush. He goes very still. And then he nods.

  “Um, wow.” You need a minute to process this. The guy looks like sex on legs. It seems impossible that some woman hasn’t gobbled him up.

  He hurries on: “I know, I must seem like a freak to you, but you saw tonight how women act around me. They all assume I’ve been around the block hundreds of times. How could I get one of them up here and then say, ‘Um, actually I’m a virgin and I haven’t the first clue where to start’? They’d laugh in my face.”

  You winch your jaw back up and wonder how to handle things from here. Xavier looks like he fell off the roof of a cathedral, but you came out for a night of fun, not to play Dr. Ruth. Still, you’re tempted to take him in hand, as it were. He has the most mouthwatering body you’ve seen in a long time, after all . . . You tell yourself it would be an act of kindness to offer. Plus you never know, you might even have fun.

  On the other hand, it’s not something to be taken lightly. Your first time wasn’t earth-shattering, but you’ll always remember it because it was the first time. Do you want to take on that kind of responsibility?

  If this isn’t for you, and you decide to hotfoot it out of there, click here.

  If you decide to stick around and show him a thing or two, click here.

  You’ve decided this isn’t for you

  YOU LOOK INTO HIS eager eyes. He’s gorgeous and there’s definitely chemistry in the air, but it’s been a long night, and it’s too late to play schoolteacher.

  And he really is very young. He’s about the same age as the sweet but slightly naïve student intern you’re mentoring at work. Wait a minute; they’d be perfect for each other! They like the same kinds of books, they both want to travel, and while you’re not sure if Lexi is a virgin or not, she has that whole sunny, innocent thing going on—and she’s definitely single. Why not let them fumble around together, having fun working out where and how their body parts are supposed to fit? You feel a quick pang of envy for all the discovery ahead of them, but you shake it off. There’s plenty of fun to be had out in Adultland.

  “You know . . .” you say. “I might have a solution to your, ah, problem. I think I know the perfect girl for you.”

  “You do?” he says, his eyes shining.

  “We have this intern at work, Lexi—she just turned twenty. I think you two might hit it off.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. She’s gorgeous, funny, and clever. And she’s into yoga and meditation, that sort of thing. I think you might be just right for each other.”

  Xavier tears a page out of a notebook on his desk, writes a number on it, then hands it to you. “Cool. Maybe she can give me a call sometime?” he says. “And thanks. I really appreciate it.”

  “At the risk of sounding like your older sister, can I give you some advice? Try not to stress about the whole thing. Just ask a woman out. Kiss her. See where that takes you.”

  “Thanks again.” Xavier gets to his feet and ambles over to you. Then he leans down and kisses you softly on the cheek. His lips are soft and warm, and his breath fans against your skin. There’s a long quiet moment, and then he turns his head very tentatively and lays his mouth against yours. It’s so gentle, it’s hardly a kiss, just a long, slow brush of that heavenly mouth. It takes everything you have not to respond. If Lexi plays her cards right, she’s going to be one lucky girl.

  One of the candles sputters and the moment is broken. You have a life to get back to.

  “Do you think my dress will be dry yet?” you ask. “It’s late. I think I’m going to head out.”

  “Yeah, absolutely, we can go past the laundry room on your way out,” he says, leading you to the door. “It’s been really nice meeting you. Again, I’m sorry about the drink and the dress.”

  “That’s okay. Everything happens for a reason. And I’ve got a funny feeling Lexi might just be the reason in this case.”

  You smile at each other, and you feel that tug at your heart again. You hope he finds what he’s looking for. Meanwhile, it’s time you called it a night and went home. Or maybe you should perk yourself up with something from your local coffee shop en route?

  If you go straight home, click here.

  If you go home via your local late-night coffee shop, click here.

  You’ve decided to stick around and show him a thing or two

  YOU DECIDE TO TAKE the plunge: “Xavier, would you like me to change all of that?”

  Your words hang in the air between you, and you add, “If you’ve never had sex before, at least I could show you where to start.”

  He looks at you with a mix of disbelief, caution, and wild hope. “Would you?”

  “I would. But here are the ground rules: There are no strings. This is a one-off. You’ve been really sweet to me, you’re one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen, and all I want is to give you a lovely, unpressured first time. No need to romance me or worry about performance or any of that stuff. Okay? Just relax, go with it, have a good time.”

  Then a thought strikes you. “You do have condoms, don’t you?”

  Oops. From the consternation on his face, this is not an eventuality he has covered. And while you keep meaning to be a grown-up and stash an emergency condom in your bag, it hasn’t been a priority—until now.

  His look of agony is almost funny, but you’re also frustrated. It looks like you’re going to have to revise your offer, but then his face clears. “Wait, hang on! Don’t move! Stay right there!” He shoots out of the room in almost comical haste.

  A minute later he’s back, panting proudly and carrying—what is that, a gross of condoms? There must be hundreds in the cardboard box he’s brought in. Now that’s optimism for you.

  “My cousin keeps the stocks for refilling the dispensers in the bathrooms in the bar,” Xavier grins. “Lucky I remembered.”

  You’re just relieved to have the problem solved.

  “So we’re on? Just this one time, no strings?”

  He smiles at you again, and it’s that same stomach-melting smile he gave you when you first walked into the bar. “Okay, it’s a deal. But are you sure? I mean—”

  “Xavier,” you say. “Stop talking.” You go over t
o him, and let yourself slowly down onto his lap. His arms come round you, and you feel the warmth of his body and the thudding of his heart. You sink your head onto his shoulder and place your fingers on the exquisite little hollow at the base of his throat, which is pulsing in time with his heartbeat. You rest like that for a moment, and then you go searching for his mouth.

  It tastes of spice and tea, and his lips are incredibly soft. At first he is tentative, then more eager, murmuring as your tongues touch, probing into each other’s mouths. He reaches up to cradle your cheek, changing the angle of your head, deepening the kiss, growing more confident. When you finally break for air, you’re both breathing fast and smiling.

  “So far, so good,” you say. “Let’s go a little farther, shall we?”

  In the soft light of his desk lamp, you’re touched to see his hands trembling slightly. They’re beautiful, the hands of a concert pianist, with fingers that manage to be delicate and strong at the same time. You pick one up, press a kiss into the hollow, then place it over one of your breasts.

  The result is instantaneous: you both gasp with pleasure as your nipple pops up against his palm through the thin fabric of the T-shirt. He kneads and cups gently at first, then more robustly as you press your breast against his hand. Then his fingers seek out and play with your nipple, tweaking at it with gentle, teasing pinches.

  You whimper, and his hand stills immediately. “Too much?”

  “God, no. Trust me, I’ll tell you if anything is too much. But I think it’s time to return the favor.”

  Part of you has been wanting to undress him since you first saw him behind the bar, and you take your time, first unbuttoning his shirt, then slowly raising it over his perfect stomach and his chest, which is smooth and hairless. He lifts his arms above his head as you peel it all the way off and drop it on the floor at your feet, revealing his perfection. In the candlelight, his torso glows, and his skin is as fine as cashmere over muscles that ripple as your hand glides over them. You suck your index finger and then stroke it over each nipple in turn, and he shudders. When you follow up with your mouth, he groans aloud.

  You’re torn between wanting to draw out this languid stage of your seduction, and the urgent beating between your legs. You’re definitely both still wearing too many clothes, and so you get up from his lap, causing Xavier to protest—until you pull your own T-shirt languorously off over your head.

  “I think it’s time to get over to the bed,” you say.

  “Wait,” he says hoarsely. “I just want to look at you for a minute—in that tiny lace thing—and those heels . . . You have no idea how hot you look.”

  You stand in front of him, reveling in the effect you’re having. You part your legs and sway a little, stretching your arms up over your head and arching your back slightly, making your breasts rise and bob.

  “I’m all yours. Look all you want.”

  In seconds he’s up off his chair, fumbling at the button of his jeans. You hear the sound of his zipper as he yanks it down in a hurry, then he’s hopping from foot to foot as he strips his pants off. His body, as it emerges, is more amazing than you could have hoped—narrow hips, taut belly, legs that go on forever, and a tight, high butt, now clad only in thin cotton shorts. Which do nothing to hide the size of his erection.

  “I think we need to get totally naked,” you tell him. You step out of your G-string, then sit primly on the edge of the bed, knees together as you kick off your shoes. Then, slowly and deliberately, you lean back on your arms, open your legs, and tilt your pelvis up toward him. You’ve never been this wanton before, but then you can’t remember when you were last this wet.

  You drop a hand between your legs and stroke your swollen lips apart, your fingers making soft sucking sounds on your wet, heated flesh.

  Xavier’s eyes dilate and he murmurs something under his breath as he wrenches off his shorts. It’s your turn to stare as his cock springs free, fully erect, long and thick, the head shining with moisture.

  “Lie down.” You have to clear your throat to get the words out as you pat the bed next to you.

  He whispers, “This is, like, unreal. I can’t believe it’s happening. You’re incredible.” Then the bed sags as he lies down beside you.

  You look at his body trembling with need and pent-up lust. You should take this slowly, but you’re not sure if either of you can at this stage. And you can’t resist his cock, which is dusky and engorged. You wrap a hand around it, the silky skin taut over the live rock underneath, and squeeze, then pull your hand just once from the base of it up to the tip—and with a great shout he convulses, shooting hot semen into the air in huge spurts.

  Dammit, you should have seen that coming—pun intended. What’s the protocol for a situation like this? you wonder, trying not to feel disappointed. Once Xavier has his breath and his voice back, he starts apologizing—again.

  “Shhh,” you say, reaching for the borrowed T-shirt to blot at the come pooling on his flat belly, still heaving. “That was inevitable. I should have, um, handled things more carefully.”

  “I’ll completely understand if you want to leave,” he pants.

  If you decide it’s time to leave, click here.

  If you want to stick around for lesson number two, click here.

  You’ve decided to leave

  YOU LEAN UP ON one elbow and look at him. It’s hardly a surprise that it all happened so quickly—after all, he’s been waiting for this moment for years. You sigh as you watch his eyelids fluttering, his chest still visibly rising and falling.

  You could always just head home. You picture the box in the drawer next to your bedside table, and the vibrator nestled in it. You remember what your girlfriends say about vibrators: they never come before you, there’s no awkward small talk, they don’t hog the remote control, and you don’t ever have to wonder if they’ll call.

  You lean down and kiss Xavier gently on the lips, stroking his fringe out of his face.

  “You’re delicious, you know that?” you say, smiling into his eyes.

  He grins back ruefully. “Sorry that was so quick,” he says. “We didn’t even get to . . . you know . . .”

  “That’s okay,” you say. “That was just lesson number one. When you’re ready for lesson number two, you grab one of those dozens of girls panting at your feet and whip them up to this room, okay?”

  He nods, his face still drowsy with satisfaction.

  “It’s late. I need to get out of here,” you say, slipping off the side of the bed and reaching for the shirt he was wearing.

  “Are you sure?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbows, looking a little disappointed. “If you give me five minutes I’m sure I can, you know . . . get things going again.”

  You lean forward and press a hand down firmly on his shoulder. “You know what? It’s really late, and you look like you need your beauty sleep. I’m exhausted, too.” He lies back and watches you with dreamy eyes as you slip his cotton shirt on over your head, breathing in the boy scent of him, then step back into your G-string.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” you say, tugging his shirt into place, “I’m just going to grab my dress on the way out. I can leave your shirt for you in the laundry room, if that’s okay.”

  “Why don’t you keep it, and bring it back tomorrow night?” he says, that extraordinary smile lighting up his face again. “For our second lesson.”

  You consider him thoughtfully. “I might just do that.”

  “I get off at midnight,” he says. “And then again at one, two, three, and four.”

  You laugh and blow him a quick kiss as you grab your bag and shoes and slip out the door.

  Next stop is the laundry room, where the drier has just come to a stop. You pull out your dress and bra and slip into them. They’re warm and fresh. You take one last sniff of the bartender’s shirt and smile: Who would have thought you’d find a virgin in this day and age, especially one with the looks of an angel? It’s the equivalent of f
inding a unicorn. You fold his shirt up and leave it on top of the drier, acknowledging a little wistfully that you’re unlikely to be coming back. Now you need something to perk you up. Perhaps a hot chocolate on your way home? Or maybe that Rabbit in your bedside drawer will do the trick . . .

  If you’re not quite ready to go home yet, click here.

  If you decide to swing past your local late-night coffee shop on your way home, click here.

  If you decide to go home to your Rabbit, click here.

  You’re sticking around for lesson number two

  “I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE,” you say. Especially not with your body nagging for its own release. You have definitely not finished with Xavier. In fact, you’ve barely begun.

  You cuddle into him as his breathing slowly returns to normal, kissing his cheek and his soft hair, which smells faintly of the lime shower gel in the bathroom, and something more human and warm as well.

  “I want to make it up to you,” he whispers. “How about a back massage?”

  That’s not a bad idea at all. Your body is knotted with tension, and your lower back aches faintly, no doubt as a result of wandering around all evening in five-inch heels. You’re willing to give it a go, and you roll over. You feel the bed move as he gets up, and a minute later you hear him rubbing oil between his hands, a faint scent of sandalwood in the air.

  Next, his hands come down on your shoulders, the oil slightly heated, and you sigh luxuriously. His fingers press skillfully into your tense muscles, running over the knots but not digging in, smoothing and warming the flesh.

  “Wow,” you mumble against the pillow. “You really know what you’re doing.”

  “I did a course at the ashram in India,” he says.

  That makes sense—he’s not slapping your muscles around or pinching at the knots. Rather it feels as if he’s drawing connections between the muscle and nerve groups of your back, calming them, deeply relaxing them. You fall into a trance where all that exists are his warm, strong, stroking fingers circling slowly all the way down your spine. You’re almost on the brink of sleep when his touch changes, becoming lighter. He draws his fingertips across the skin of your back, and you shiver at the shift in pressure, goose bumps rising. He draws a path of gooseflesh right down to the base of your spine, then circles his hands very lightly on your buttocks, teasing as much as soothing. His hands go lower and lower, and by now you’re holding your breath.