Sasha (Mixed Drinks #1) (2 page)

I got no real information from them. Apparently everyone thought Tim and I had an open relationship because Tim would hook up with random whores from time to time and tell everyone else that I knew about them and was totally on board with it. Needless to say, the world soon came crashing down around me, and the hunt for my knight was on, again.
After castrating Tim, of course
.

Working Sundays at the
Broken Jukebox
was something I looked forward to all week. I’ve been bartending there for the last five years, and it is currently my only source of income. Wayne, the owner and his wife, Cici are really some of the best people you could meet, and the best employers I’ve ever had. They’ve been giving me as many hours as I can handle during the week, and don’t mind when my friends hang out there on Sunday afternoons.
As long as the customers come first
, they always say.

Wayne and Cici gave me a chance after I lost my last job at a dive bar downtown. I was a waitress there, and I got fired after I told the owner where to go when he told me I had to wear his new uniform. I refused to work in a mini skirt that showed my ass cheeks, and a tank top that left very little to the imagination. I had never bartended before, but it’s in my blood, so I picked it up pretty quickly. My dad owned a neighborhood bar and sold it when I was two. He talked about
The Duck Inn
often, how people of all ages would come in and have a good time.
It was more than a bar
, he would say,
it was like hanging out at your friend’s house
. He even met my mom there.

Anytime the bar or jail was brought up in conversation, we would all hear the story of how they met. “You know, the only time I’ve been to jail was the night I met your mother,” he would say to me. Then he would continue on about the night the most beautiful woman walked in into his bar and changed his life. My mom and her friend had just moved into the apartment building next door and came over for a late dinner after unpacking, but my dad didn’t know that at the time. My dad waited on them all night. When the time came for last call, well, he never called it, and just stayed open, not wanting my mom to leave before he had a chance to ask her out. Why he didn’t just ask for her number and get on with it, I will never understand, but he claims he was shy. Anyway, the cops eventually came to shut him down for the night, but my dad being the ‘tough guy’ that he is, smarted off to the cops and landed himself in jail for the night. I really wish he hadn’t sold
The Duck Inn
so I could have seen it in all its glory.

Over the last few years, as Megan and Sadie got busy with their careers and boyfriends, it got harder to find time to hang out together. I, being the lowly bartender, and again without a boyfriend, my calendar was pretty wide open. We did manage to find time to hang out on Sundays while I worked at the bar. Sundays were always slow days. Normally there were just the old time regulars, stopping in for the one-dollar tap beer special. This left us with plenty of time to catch up with each other, and gossip about the world.

Megan and Sadie showed up earlier than usual today, only because they were eager to hear about my latest break-up with Dave, so it doesn’t surprise me when they walk through the door while I was still working on the morning to-do list. Dave and I met at the grocery store a few weeks ago; a nice change from the drunken idiots I normally meet at work. He seemed super nice, and his gorgeous ass didn’t hurt, either. We talked for a few minutes about baked beans, randomly, and chuckled when we both realized it had to have been the most ridiculous conversation in the world. So when he asked for my number, I happily gave it. I mean, if you can have an accidental conversation about farting beans with a hot guy and he still wants your number, he has to be a good one.
Right?

Well, you would be wrong. I start to tell the girls about my encounter last weekend, and how I originally thought it was so sweet that Dave came over to help me do some cleaning before we had planned to catch a movie. I didn’t even think it was odd when he offered to do my laundry for me, even though we had only been seeing each other a few weeks. That is, until I walked into the laundry room of my apartment building and caught him huffing my panties. It wasn’t like he was trying to read the washing directions label and I misunderstood the situation.
Oh, no.
He was taking in deep breaths, while my bright pink, lacy Victoria’s Secret panties were wrapped around his face, and his hand was down his pants. I, of course, screamed bloody murder, as if my panties were my best friend, and he was attacking her. He jumped halfway across the room in shock, ripping the panties from his face and fumbling over his words, trying to come up with some valid excuse for what I had just seen. I can only assume that he thought the laundry room’s door was locked.

In reality, the building’s maintenance man jammed the lock because Betty, the little old lady who lived next door in apartment seven, kept locking herself in by ‘mistake.’ Personally, I think she was sitting on the dryer having a good ole time, and she didn’t want to be interrupted. Then she would be so flustered that she couldn’t work the lock to get out. Betty’s husband had died two years ago. I felt really bad for her, because they had one of those magical marriages. I mean, any couple that has been together for fifty years and can still get it on has to have some magic involved; but that’s a whole other story.

I screamed for Dave to leave immediately, and with a bright red face, he scrambled for the door, panties in hand. I threw my arm out to stop him. “Um, I think those belong to me, thank you very much,” I said to him, avoiding eye contact.

“Oh yeah um, I, um, well you see, um-” he mumbled. I grabbed the panties and motioned for him to leave; reminding him as he left that a follow up phone call was not needed. Or wanted.

So now that the girls were caught up on the madness that is my life, and equally as grossed out as I was, it was time to give Dave his nickname. Sadie looks like she is about to burst into laughing tears as Megan starts rattling off things like, Sir smells a lot, Mr. Snifferson, Davy Crotchsniff. They just kept coming. I finally had to walk away to catch my breath. As I return with a fresh soda for each of us, Sadie and Megan are still rattling off potential names, I let them keep going for a few minutes then finally I interrupt and say,

“Ok, that’s it, let’s just keep this simple. Dave shall forever be known as ‘The Huffer’. I don’t think we can get any simpler than that.” We continue to laugh like hyenas before finally calming down. Renaming my past boyfriends has always been a favorite pastime of ours. Why not give them a more fitting name, because who really needs to remember the guy’s real name? You want a name to remind you why it didn’t work, so at three in the morning on a drunken, horny night you don’t call him. Thinking you made a mistake. In this case, The Huffer left no room for regret.

Whenever e W Whenever we needed a good laugh we would walk down the memory lane of assorted ex-boyfriends that I have acquired over the last five years. One favorite among my ex’s was Mr. Wiggles. He wiggled and squirmed so much during sex, it was like he was running away from the vagina that was about to eat him. Then there was Sniffles, who cried after sex because he was just so happy to have shared an experience like that together. And of course, I can never forget the Minute Man. I know it’s not a very original name, but when the title fits, you just have to go with it.

I just don’t get it. I meet a guy, and hit it off. He seems like he’s a great guy, and when I finally decide to go to the next level and sleep with him, it all goes wrong.
Maybe I should just marry my vibrator
. I know it will never disappoint me in bed, never talk back, and never ever huff my panties.

As the afternoon went on, a few customers came and left, but for most of the day I had only one real customer in the bar other than my girls. His name was George, and he was somewhere in his mid to late 70’s. He normally kept to himself, and he came in every Sunday like clockwork. George would enter through the side door with his oxygen tank, grab a seat in the middle of the bar, and ask for his regular glass of
Blatz
beer, tipping me a dime for my trouble. Today, I kept his glass full for most of the afternoon, which was a little out of the ordinary since he would normally leave after two or three glasses. When I went to refill his beer for what I thought was the tenth time, I thought that I should ask him if everything was ok.

“Hey George ready for another one?”

“Yeah, better give me one more,” he replied.

That was a favorite saying among the old guys. As if to imply that if they didn’t have one more round, then the world as we knew it would somehow come to a screeching halt.

“So, George, is everything ok? You’re joining us longer today than usual.” I ask, giving him a smile.

“Ah, they took my driver’s license away Wednesday. Said I was
a danger to myself and others
,” George bellowed out.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry to hear that.” I say softly, and with real empathy for his situation. I’m not sure what I would do without my car.

“Ah, it’s bullshit if you ask me. I only hit a fence. It’s not like I hit a kid or anything,” he explained, as if I had the power to overturn the judgment. He continued to tell me how the ‘lady judge’ had it out for him, and that it was not a fair hearing.

I shoot a look over to Megan and Sadie, both of whom had clearly been listening in. I could see their shoulders moving from the laughter. They knew George as this fairly nice, old school guy. You know the kind... the ones that never swore in front of a lady, and still thought chivalry was a commandment.

George continued to inform us that his grandson had insisted on selling his car for him, and to sweeten the deal, he had promised that he would be happy to drive George wherever he wanted to go. He dropped George off earlier, and now he was two hours late to pick him up. I topped off his beer one more time and told him it was on the house. George gave me a drunken smile and accepted the free beer, tossing me another dime while telling me I was a good kid.

As I stepped back over to my girls, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for George. He was such a nice old man, and it seemed that the excessive amount of
Blatz
was bringing out a side to him that had never been seen before by us. His irritated tone of voice and the excessive swearing was not like the George we knew.

Megan, Sadie, and I went back to bashing my ex-boy toys, when suddenly George stands up and shouts, speech slightly slurred. “You know what you ladies need? A real man! I should take you out back, rip off those tight little jeans, and show you what a real man can do for you!”

I stood behind the bar motionless and wide-eyed, in pure shock at the visual that has just flashed into my head. It was an old wrinkly cock and balls coming at me, with the oxygen tank not far behind, and me screaming, “
Oh My God, old balls!”

I snap out of my stupor when George starts moving toward Sadie, yelling, “You hear me? I listen to you girls each week complain about how no man can satisfy you properly, so I’m gonna show you what a real man is.”

I start to run around to the front of the bar toward George, to stop him from accosting Sadie, who was now fighting with the bar stool that had snagged her shirt while she was desperately trying to get away. I see George fidgeting with his zipper, his belt already unbuckled, and had now accidentally knocked over his oxygen tank, all while mumbling what I can only assume was a play-by-play of what he was going to do to
satisfy
us.

I was really starting to get nervous, seeing that it was just George and the three of us in the bar... alone. Not that I thought we couldn’t take him down. But how would I explain that one to the police?
Excuse me, Mr. Officer, we are the victims here. He tried to attack us, he wanted to show us what a real man was like, and when he wouldn’t back down, we had to bring out some kung fu on his ass. No, I didn’t break his hip. He did that by tripping over his oxygen tank.

I was starting to mentally prepare my desperate appeal to the judge, in an attempt to get out of the imaginary charges, when a quick movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. A hot stallion of a man was running toward us yelling, “Grandpa, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m gonna show these ladies what a real man is like in the sack! Wanna help? You take the brunette, and I will take the blonde and the redhead,” George slurred back.

We all looked at each other, jaws to the ground. Now I was picturing Megan (the tall redhead) and Sadie, (the short blonde) in a three-way with Grandpa George. But really, I mean, who could blame Grandpa George?
Megan and Sadie were hot
. Megan had once been a cheerleader in high school, and is now a personal trainer, with perfect C cups and killer thighs. While Sadie, with her curly blonde hair, was the one who normally got a guy’s attention first when we were all together. Her sky blue eyes and her ass that could never be confused as having junk in the trunk, was hard to resist. I could see that similar images had popped into their heads, because they both started laughing hysterically, with a side of gagging.
OH MY GOD, OLD BALLS!
Was all I could think of. Old balls, jiggling around like a J-ello Jiggler that no one wanted to touch.

A second later though, I was imagining that stallion of a man ripping off my tight jeans and favorite blue tank top. I got the top a few years ago and wear as much as possible because it shows off the cleavage that I only pretend to have, with my tiny size B’s. In my mind, he tosses me up on the bar, pours
Southern Comfort
over my body, and then begins licking every golden drop off of me, not missing an inch while working his way down to my lady parts. Said parts are now screaming to be played with and penetrated by what I can only assume is going to be a very large, youthful cock that I can ride all night long.

“Grandpa! Stop it now! You’re not going to show these nice girls anything like that.”

“Oh, yes I am, It still works... See!” George proclaimed, triumphantly.