Talking to a bartender

Meg took another sip of her whiskey and tried not to wince at the burn. The bartender was glancing at her every now and then and she didn’t want to seem weak. It had been embarrassing enough when she’d first wandered in and he’d had to guide her through ordering a drink.

“You’re having a rough day, right?” he’d asked after a few moments of her staring at the rows of bottles behind him and failing to finish a sentence. He smiled a little after he said it, aware that he was being a cliché, and that calmed her. She nodded. “Well, nothing better after a rough day than whiskey,” he’d said, reaching for a bottle already.
She’d settled into a booth on the other side of the room after that and dedicated herself to finishing her drink, despite not really liking it. The bar was empty aside from what looked like a few regulars, whiskey and the old rock tunes coming from the jukebox were the only distractions she had from her thoughts.

She wasn’t normally the type to drink her troubles away but she’d found herself driving aimlessly and the bar was just the first place she’d passed with the lights on. She shouldn’t have left the house in the first place, she knew that, but it had been instinctual. She’d felt that impulse tugging at her all day, since she’d caught her husband casually scrolling through porn on his phone while they were sat together. He didn’t notice her noticing and she said nothing. Later, while he was showering, she checked his computer and her jaw dropped as she tabbed through the browser history. Videos, pictures, written erotica, hours and hours of the stuff. That was when she gave into the impulse, switched her phone off, got in the car, and left.

And here she was, sinking into the scratched leather of a bar booth and finishing her first drink. That initial shock had curdled into something meaner, an anger that brought with it a wave of questions. Did he want her to see? Why? Did she not satisfy him? Was she not sexy enough? True, it had been a while since they had sex. And when they did have sex, she could tell that something was missing. They didn’t always click. He wanted to do it from behind and she didn’t, she felt like it was degrading. Or at least that’s what she told him. The times they had done it like that, well, it had felt degrading but… not in a bad way. There was something scary about that though, a freedom she didn’t feel ready or able to grab. And then there was his obsession with her ass, something she’d never understood. She’d grown up hating its size, trying her best to cover it, a man wanting it like that didn’t compute to her.

She swirled around the half-melted ice in her otherwise empty glass, her thoughts turning in her head. The whisky had sent its burn all the way down to the core of her and up to her cheeks too. She wandered if they were visibly flushed. They certainly felt it. She got up from the booth to order another from the patient, friendly bartender. On her way back, she glanced to the right where a large mirror hung on the wall. It framed the bar perfectly and so she could see the bartender watching her walk away. His eyes were planted firmly on her behind. She was definitely blushing after that. Back in the booth, her mind was even a bigger mess of conflicting thoughts and feelings. She probably looked like a mess, no makeup, dressed in just jeans and a tee, but a guy was checking her out? Not that it had never happened before but normally she hated it. This time, it felt like exactly what she needed. She finished her second glass, quicker this time, and went for a third. On the way back, she made sure to swing her hips a little. It was clumsy, not something she had much practice at, but the look she saw on his face as she glimpsed in the mirror suggested it was effective.

Some time later, the bartender clocked out. Another man took his place and he disappeared into the back. Meg felt a twinge of sadness at that, as ridiculous as it seemed. All he’d done was show a little compassion when she walked in and ogle her ass when he thought she wasn’t looking. Still, it had been something. A minute later, she almost jumped in her seat as he slid into the booth and sat opposite her.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she managed.

“So that rough day… How rough are we talking?”

She was silent for a moment and then the truth unfurled from her. The porn, her insecurities, her sex life (for some reason!), the whole story. The bartender nodded along, not interrupting, letting her vent. Eventually she ran out of words.

“It seems like,” he said slowly, carefully, “like you don’t know what you want. In bed.”

“I guess not,” she said, half of her freaking out that she was discussing this with a total stranger in public, the other half relieved to say it.

“What are you into?”

“Into?”

“You know, what turns you on?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, everyone knows that. It’s a part of you. How about this, you like being the one in control or not?”

Meg bit her lip, stared at her drink for a moment, and then finally said “Not. I think.”

“Well that’s a start.”

“What about you?” she said, the booze emboldening her.

“Me?” He smiled and looked right in her eyes. “I like being in control.”

A sensation ran through her then, one she couldn’t articulate.

“But listen,” he looked down then and Meg realised he was looking at her hands, the wedding band on her finger. “It’s not your fault you’ve not learnt these things. Your husband, he doesn’t know what he’s missing out on,” he looked around the bar and then back to her. “My apartment is just around the corner, if you wanna talk more about this somewhere private.”

Fuck it, she thought to herself, my husband can stay home and jerk off to a screen. He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.

“I would love to,” she said.