I stood at the bar, surrounded by warm bodies that shifted and flowed as the busy bartenders hurriedly served them. A twenty dollar bill raised high, I waited for someone to spot it and take my order. Then I felt it. A hand grazed the back of my skirt. It wasn’t any ordinary skirt, but the Catholic school girl kind…all black and plaid and barely covering my ass. I’d paired it with a set of come-fuck-me red thigh-high tights and black high-heeled Mary Jane’s.

The hand was soft, gentle but not timid as its grip tightened on my left cheek with calloused fingertips. As if its owner was waiting for me to pull away, or slap him, or scream for help. When I didn’t, it slid lower, just underneath the edge of my skirt to caress the curve of my butt cheek. My pussy lips tingled as I slowly shifted my legs wider. I continued to stand there, money in hand, part of me dying of curiosity. Fingers slid against the crack of my ass, lightly tracing the path of my lacy red thong. Then the crowd shifted, shoving him—definitely a him with those thick, calloused fingers—against me. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, but he never looked my way. My nipples tightened painfully hard underneath my white sweater.

“What’ll you have?” the bartender finally asked.

I was tempted to buy my new friend a drink, but refrained. Instead I said, “Rum and Coke,” just as normal as you please. As if I got felt up in public all the time. I almost giggled.

The bartender nodded and took a few more orders.

The hand slid underneath the edge of my thong to my now damp and achy pussy lips. The slow back and forth movement against freshly waxed skin made my knees weak. I forced myself to remain still while he stroked me and prayed the bartender took his sweet-ass time coming back. My nipples tingled, my skin ached, and my hips shifted slightly to give him even better access. An arm circled my waist, and a body shifted slightly at my side as the fingers delved deeper, reaching for my clit. I looked up into the face of a stranger, and my belly tightened. He had heavy scruff, dark blonde hair, pale eyes and a deep tan. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in a while. And he didn’t really fit in with the rest of the bar’s semi-trendy crowd. Not if his face and shirt, displaying the logo and name of an old-school rock and roll band, were anything to go by. I’d bet the twenty clutched in my hand he was wearing Levis.

His fingers found my clit as the bartender returned with my drink. I slid my money across to him, silently glad I’d have to wait for change as the stranger continued to stroke me. I kept my eyes on the bar, fingers caressing my glass, struggling against my hips that urged me to bend over, or spread my legs wide…anything to give him better access.

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