Erotic Tales

The Stranger

I do not know how I find myself at the bar. My workplace is about half a dozen miles away, nested in the city's bowels. I could have strutted the whole length like a zombie, unaware of the howling cacophony of city life, the bustle of people and motors. Or I could have arrived here by taxi. All I know is I'm in this bar, and the world outside has disappeared with its unforgiving reality. Here, I know I'll be cocooned from the stress, the aftermath of this deal, which went south. A deal I had been working on for months, only to be sabotaged at the last moment by a close friend.

I'm here by default because I can't afford to be elsewhere. The idea of suicide is tempting if I try to think about the effort I put in, working close to midnight and sometimes foregoing meals just to make the deal a success, only to be screwed in the end. Nothing can help me drown my sorrows at the moment apart from a bottle or bottles of whisky. I could add sex, but I know I would be frigid in bed, and no man can turn me on in this state. I want to be drunk until everything appears double. Alcohol is a solution(pun unintended)

So I'm seated on a high stool at the counter. The barmaid is behind her station, radiating movements, busily dispatching drinks to her colleagues who take orders from all sorts of alcoholics. She is a light-skinned woman in her early thirties, tall and cheerful. Occasionally, she has a window of being accessible and tries to make small talk with me. She has the easy manner of someone accustomed to talking to people. I'm tempted to pour out my frustrations on her, to borrow her listening ear. But every time I want to do that, her colleagues interrupt with orders, and I'm left with my bottle and frustrations gnawing at me.

The bar is so crowded and noisy that I do not hear someone calling my name. I only feel a gentle tap behind my shoulder. I slightly turn, and my eyes rest on another pair of intelligent, dark eyes.

"Hello there?" The man says. He is a total stranger.

I regard him for a moment and mumble back a hello. He is middle-aged with the ordinary looks of a typical person. He is medium-sized with a lean body. He is wearing a dark blue shirt with two missing buttons, and I can see the promise of a toned chest peering beneath it. I wonder if the missing buttons are deliberate, a way of making women gawk at his chest and probably end up in his bed. It does not affect me at all.

"Is this stool taken?" he asks, gesturing with his hand.

"Yes, it is. I'm with my boyfriend. He went to the bathroom and will be back shortly."

He stares straight into my eyes, saying nothing. He probably knows I'm lying, but I don't care. He is a total stranger to me.

"I have been observing you since you came in," he says casually. "I didn't see any boyfriend. "

I eye him with a so-what look and quickly say, "I texted him. He will be here soon."

"Well...before then, why don't I keep you company? Don't worry, I won't eat you...I'm harmless," he lifts both arms to emphasize his point.

Despite my mind's befuddled state, my instincts tell me he means no harm. Most strangers I have encountered have impacted my life better than my friends and colleagues. On the contrary, I am here because of a close friend. Yet, I feel I can give this stranger the benefit of the doubt.

He seems to notice my hesitation and sits on the stool. He orders a Guinness and smiles at the beautiful barmaid once she serves him his drink. He then turns to me and says, "I'm Mark, by the way."

I avoid his gaze and stare at the carefully arranged bottles on the rack. I start counting them and stop when I lose count. They seem to appear double-double.

"I know you, madam," Mark says.

This statement catches my attention. I turn to look at him, and I see two Marks there. The whisky I'm drinking must have begun to work on me. Another two bottles, and remembering my name will be difficult.

"How-how do you know me?"

He gulps his drink and leans forward on the counter."Your name is and my boss is your regular client."

The noise of loud music in the bar prevents me from hearing what he says next. I notice people have begun joining the dance floor.

He acknowledges the noise's effect and moves closer to me. We are now ridiculously close to each other. My nose can detect the faint smell of his cologne. He smells like a gentleman.

"Where do you work?" I find myself asking him. Before long, I find myself liking his company. We talk about jobs and general stuff. His forearms are now touching mine. I resist the urge to move away and tell myself I won't let anything happen between us. To my astonishment, I tell him about my frustrations, betrayal, and why I came to this bar. I blurt everything out, and he listens, nodding and shaking his head at the sad parts.

"Will you dance with me?" he asks in the middle of my tirade.

I start to say no, my boyfriend will be here soon, but I find myself agreeing to the request of this ordinary man.

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