B artenders drive me fucking crazy. I ask them for things and they give
                          'em to me. When I'm depressed after a long day, they slip a little extra in
                          my drink and perk me up. There is something else about them, maybe
                          it's the power; I have to be nice to them or they won't give me what I want.


                             A couple weeks ago, they got a new bartender at my local bar.
                          Handsome and very butch, he didn't talk much at first. After a few visits, I
                          sat and waited for him to talk to me. He must have realized I was ignoring
                          everyone else, so he finally came and asked me my name. His thighs
                          were muscular and stretched his jeans. His basket was tight and his ass
                          was partially hidden by a white towel hanging out of his back pocket. 

                             I asked him what he was doing after work. He said it was his night to
                          clean up so he wouldn't be done for a while. I didn't answer right away.
                          "But you're welcome to stay and keep me company," he added. 

                             An hour later, the last desperate soul finished his drink and left. He
                          went over to the stereo and put an old Violent Femmes tape in. I watched
                          as he ripped off his sweaty T-shirt and quickly mopped the floor. When
                          he was done he asked if I would help him carry the bucket and supplies
                          back to the closet. I did and when we returned he leaned against the bar
                          and said, "What can I get for ya? It's on the house." 

                             I didn't answer, instead I walked right up to him and started rubbing his
                          crotch. He didn't say anything and neither of us spoke again for a while. I
                          moved in to kiss him, but stopped only inches away from his mouth,
                          breathing his breath, smelling him. I finally undid his pants and got down
                          on my knees and tasted leathery cock. The smell of his crotch was so
                          strong, I had to breath through my mouth. He was shaking like a dog and
                          pulled me up before he shot. He pulled my own cock out of my pants,
                          reached behind the bar and slipped a condom over it. Then, with his
                          jeans stuck around his hairy thighs, he offered me his ass. I leaned in and
                          he reached back. He placed my cock in his hole and with one fell swoop,
                          it was completely in. 

                             I fucked him quickly; his two hands on the bar, his legs spread. My
                          hands found his hips and I pounded him until I couldn't anymore. When I
                          was done, he pulled the condom off-now full of creamy jizz. He poured it
                          into his hand and used it as lube. A couple quick strokes and he shot his
                          load. I reached out and caught some on my fingers. I tasted it and it was
                          sweet and milky. I put the cum-covered fingers into his mouth and he
                          licked them clean. 


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