BARE HUNTER

Chapter 4

Sandy had left about a dozen texts on my phone during the day. I had turned off notifications from her a few weeks ago, as it was getting on my nerves. I figured I could always catch up with her demands of the day when I got home from work. They were the typical, “Did you send the check out yet? I have to pay the babysitter and I’m out of cash. “You can’t take Timmy next weekend, my parents will be in town,” and so on. Why couldn’t all women be like Phyllis? Easy with no strings attached.

I stuck a heat-and-eat meal in the microwave before showering. After drying off, I looked in the medicine cabinet for band-aids and covered up the incriminating evidence of the cougar I wrestled with last night. Let Phyllis think what she wants. It only ups my value in her eyes.

I washed down the quick meal with a beer and drove to the pick-up bar where Phyllis usually hung out. She was sitting at the bar with two more cranberry and vodkas lined up in front of the one she was sucking down through the straw, with most of the men at the bar watching her greedily.

“Hey, Ted! Did they catch that cougar you were attacked by?” she joked, making me look around awkwardly.

“Nope. She’s probably on someone new tonight,” I joked back.

“Well, good, because I have plans for you, baby,” she said as she slipped most of the straw into her mouth and slowly sucked up the rest of her drink while caressing the straw with her lips.

My penis responded appropriately, making me anxious to get this part of the evening over with. When she finished the two other drinks in front of her, she had a good buzz and suggested we go to a place with more action. I thought we'd have more action at her place, but kept that to myself.

The next place on her usual route was called Pubby’s, and the centerpiece of the joint was an old-fashioned jukebox with equally old-fashioned tunes. No one at work, except for HR, knew how old Phyllis was. If I had to guess, I’d say she was between fifty and sixty, or somewhere thereabouts. She seemed to recognize all the golden oldies playing and insisted on dancing with me. I wasn’t much of a dancer to begin with, plus, all Phyllis wanted to do was show off her cleavage and her ass. After a few rounds, I let her dance with whomever she wanted. I didn’t care, as long as I got taken care of when we left.

She enjoyed the hell out of the guys lined up to grab her ass and press her tits up against their chests. I got a strange thrill out of watching. Maybe, along with all my other faults, I was a voyeur or worse. When she got tired of being fondled, we found a table, and soon, drinks for her were lined up there, too. This would be a cheap date with a blow job on the side. Sweet. I should get out more.

While we were sipping our drinks, I felt a bare foot in my lap. Hmm. Things were heating up nicely, as she began rubbing my cock through my jeans with her toes. By now, her bleached blonde hair was stringy looking from sweat and hanging in her eyes. Her slutty makeup was smeared all over her face, and her clothes looked as though she had pulled a train through the bar, with buttons askew and her blouse untucked. She looked more her age with every drink, and I wanted to shuffle her home before she began looking like an old crone, making it impossible for me to get it up later.

“Say, you want to head for your place?”

“Now? No! I just started partying, and you want to go home? There’s one more place I want to hit first,” she pouted.

“Okay. One more bar, then we have to get some sleep. Workie-workie in the morning. Remember?”

“Ugh, don’t ruin my night!” she replied.

“I know. So, let’s get out of here and go. Where is it?” I asked, not knowing what we were about to encounter.