Bar Work

"Hey baby, wanna feel my balls slapping your ass?"

I gave a courteous smile and turned to face the other end of the bar, sipping slowly and resignedly on my cocktail. It was only Monday and already the week was shaping up to be pretty shit. I don't make a habit of picking up guys in bars (in case you were wondering i usually take the Internet route) but when times are slow and you need some cash i guess it beats standing on a street corner.

When cruising in a bar I take hints from the Amsterdam whores. You seek out a client yourself, picking him rather than the other way around. Lots of eye contact, beacon him over a little. Then of course comes the part where you hint at what the deal is. Some get it, some don't. Of course you chat a little first, make him like you - want you - act like something out of a Playboy article. (Never thought it would happen to me... legs that wouldn't quit... mouth that would leave you dry... fucked every which way till sunrise) When you're both on the same wavelength you're pretty much home dry, just a case of finding somewhere to go. (His place, if not a motel on him - although i have been known to go for it in the alley on special occasions)

Well Monday was a long night. I didn't get with Mr Ball Slapper surprisingly enough - although he reiterated his request at least five times that night - instead a cute little blond accountant who i almost felt i was taking advantage of.

I said almost. He got Anal.