The Marlin Bar

The Marlin Bartender

So anyway, I have this awesome husband that I love so much. But he’s a little bit crazy at times.

And there’s this tiny little taco bar called The Marlin Bar that we went to for a late supper when all we wanted was a little snack.

And it had this cute bartender.

So……. We’ve been back there several times. After I noticed him working there. And got caught staring.

Because my husband is so sweet, but a little bit crazy, as I said, in the sense that he likes it when guys look at me and even when they flirt with me. He actually REALLY likes that and even encourages me to flirt back, although I almost never do, because, well, I’m shy a little bit. Also, I could not bear to lose him.

So anyway, just to entertain my husband, I let it slip while we were having quinoa and kale salads with grilled salmon — and of course blood orange margaritas, my favorite — that the cute bartender and I had exchanged more than casual conversation. Just eye contact and meaningful smiles, you know, nothing really, except that in those few seconds, I confessed, we both knew there was mutual physical interest.

So my husband was very excited by my little vignette. So every chance he gets, he takes me back and sets me up to have little moments with the hot bartender. Did I mention he’s much younger? And Hot?

He’s got a great beard, trimmed very short, just like I like. In fact, he’s slim and trim all over. Just like I like. With a nice butt. Still slim and trim, but it’s, shall we say, very well developed. Muscular, even.

And well, he has a crush on me.

On my tits anyway. We’ve hardly spoken, but he enjoys looking at me. Especially my chest.

Guys do that a lot. It’s one of my best features. So I don’t mind. If they’re not creepy with it. And he’s not creepy. At all. But let’s just say he doesn’t maintain eye contact.

I mean, I do take a long time to decide what to order. <wink> I’m picky about what I like. And he’s my bartender for the evening, so I ask lots of questions. About what I want to eat. And the cocktail I want.

I know, how can you fuck up a margarita, right? But I know what I like. Has to be strong and not too sweet. The margarita I mean. Also, I hate licking it and getting a salty taste. So, no salty rim for me.

You might be wondering where my husband is all this time, while I’m standing at the bar letting a very hot bartender glance at my chest while I flirt with him. Well, this bar has this strange system where you order directly from the cute bartender and then go sit down, and a waitress brings your drink to you.

Except this bartender brings me mine. I order, he makes mine special for me just the way I want it, then he comes from behind the bar to the tiny table and gives it to me.

Sometimes I’m at a high-top, so I’m perched on one of those tall chairs. I usually pick these when I’m wearing a miniskirt. Just to give him something to look at besides my tits all the time, you know?

Sometimes, though, I’ll sit on a low lounge chair. So when he comes, I’m hunched over my menu. He and I always get the angle just right, so he can see that I’m not wearing a bra, which is rare for me given the size of my chest, but something I’ve started doing every time we go to this particular little bar. Again, I ask questions. He’s a bartender, so of course he knows lots to tell me about my drink, — which tequila, whether I want Grand Marnier or Cointreau, etc. I finally choose, but again, he isn’t making eye contact.

I look into his eyes, though. He has kind eyes.

Ok so I encourage him to look at me, ok? It’s just for fun. My husband’s right there. Somewhere. In the store looking at golf shirts probably. And me. My awesome husband likes to watch men roam their eyes on me from a discreet distance, so they aren’t inhibited, and I don’t act shy. I pretend I don’t see him.

One time, my husband was sitting right there at the café table when my bartender brought our drinks. He knew which one was mine and never even glanced at my husband while setting his whisky drink over his way. He’s a respectful but bold type of a guy, this bartender, so he stared at my breasts enough that my husband had to notice, but politely enough to not make a scene.

Now, each week my husband always lets me go up to the bar and place my order with that same bartender. After we drink the first one, I usually go back and order more drinks and some guacamole or nachos. Again, the bartender is very patient while I stand there for him to enjoy me. Of course, he knows by now that I like him and that I like it that he looks at me. He’s probably figured out that I dress for his eyes. It’s a little game we started playing once a week.

He doesn’t bring the food. He’s a bartender not a waiter. However, I still go up there to order, and he always makes sure he’s the guy who comes over and smiles patiently to hear what I want.

It got more intense this last time when my husband merely paused the car on the street in front of the café part of the bar. He told me he was dropping me off and going to park the car. He’d told me to go order my drink from the hot bartender and pick a table to display myself the best for when the bartender would bring my drink, so he and I could chat. My husband had made me agree to this to give the bartender some opportunity. He said that he would come later. “Just see what happens,” he’d said.

“You sure, honey?”

“Go for it,” he said and shifted into gear.

I exited our car on shaky legs. It was only twenty steps over to the bar, but my same hot bartender spotted me and arrived at the little ordering counter at the same time as I did. Of course, I leaned my stomach against the granite which extended my breasts out over the menu area, right above the plastic-coated card we were looking at. I took my usual excessive amount of time. Even though I was vibrating with excitement inside, I held still while he treated himself to a visual voyage down my cleavage.

There was another guy on a barstool to my left who was also checking out the lack of coverage of my blouse, and I caught the eye of the woman with him, and she rolled her eyes at me. I ignored them and ordered my usual but just one drink. The bartender looked behind me and over at the café tables.

“Where’s your husband?”

“I’m by myself now.” I got the feeling I needed to explain. “We sometimes come separately, meet here after work.” Well, we could’ve done that. We never had, but I was nervous and had to think fast.

“I see.” I could tell he knew I was lying, so I had to change the subject fast.

“What do you see?” I said in a ridiculous college-girl tone, shimmying my chest at him just a tiny bit.

“I see a pretty girl all alone at a bar.” OK I did melt at that. He was even cuter up close.

“Oh, he’s around somewhere, shopping in the golf shop, I think.” Realizing I was talking too much, I twirled away fast and floated over to an empty table to sit down and wait.

In minutes the good-looking bartender brought me my drink and picked up the conversation right where he left off. “Didn’t think he’d let you get very far away. Lotta guys’d take advantage of the opportunity.”

“Oh, he’s fine with me talking to other guys.”

“I meant more than talk.”

“Me, too. I mean… he’s fine with — Look, honestly? I like talking to you, but there’s something interesting about you that’s more than just talk.”

“Like what?”

“You have a really nice beard.”

“You like my beard?”

“Oh, I love facial hair.”

“Husband has a beard.”

Shit. He remembered. For some reason I really needed to get the conversation off my husband. I sucked on my margarita and said a little too loudly, “Wow, you do make a tasty cocktail.” I winced and blushed.

He smirked as I realized he was looking down between my knees which were spread in a way nice girls don’t do. I slowly closed them back, showing him that I didn’t want to. He nodded wisely and said, “I have to get back to work.”

“I know but thanks for bringing me my margarita.” I smiled my girl-next-door smile. “I wish we had a bit more time and a lot more privacy, though.” ‘Jeez that was kinda forward,’ I thought.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Sounds fascinating,” he said with a killer smile. I was watching that hard butt weave away through the tables when my cell phone signaled a text.

It was from my husband, of course.

How’d it go?

Fine. He’s cute.

You said that before.

Still true

Ok what now?

Can you get something to eat down that way?

??

I’m sorry… You said you wanted to see what would happen.

Is something going to happen?

Hope so

Wow ok I can get a fish taco here I can see you from across the street.

Hey great you love Mahi Yousure it’s ok I mean you wanted me to experiment right?

There was no response. I got antsy and looked all around for him. I was secretly hoping he didn’t just show up and blow my cover. Not to be mean, but we’d set this all up.

Still no text. And no husband. Now I’m hoping I didn’t hurt his feelings. I thought, ‘Was that too strong? Too physical? How do you take back a text? Maybe I shouldn’t have used the word “experiment.”‘

My phone pinged. It was my husband.

Yep that’s what I want… but geez,you’re so scientific. I’d have used a more poetic term, like “get a taste”

Im gonna skip food

Not what I meant. Sigh… Here if you need me

K so let me get another drink.

‘Breathe,’ I told myself.

I laid my phone down on its screen and went up to the bar. The bartender came right over.

“Another round?”

“Yes, please. You make a great margarita.” So lame.

“We only use fresh sour. No dry mix crap.”

“Kinda hot over here.”

“By the kitchen… want some food?”

“Yeah no.”

“You just trying to get drunk?”

I giggled “kinda”

“Well, be careful.”

“You’ll watch out for me, right?”

“Call yourself an Uber.”

I frowned and went back to my table.

A few minutes later I looked up, and there he was. He was bringing me my second margarita.

“Oh. Hi.”

“I’m Brad by the way.” He put his hand out, and I put mine out, and I was glad he grabbed it, because I didn’t want him to see it trembling in midair.

“hi” I said again in a tiny voice even I could hardly hear. We didn’t really shake hands. We just stayed there with our hands in the handshake pose. It was so shocking I couldn’t bring myself to say my name.

His big strong hand engulfed mine for what seemed like an hour. Finally, he leaned forward, and I was hoping he was going to whisper something to me, but instead he just put my margarita down, which at least reminded me to stop holding my breath.

I frowned then, realizing he had finished his delivery, so he had to go be a bartender, so I suddenly had a bright idea. “Here, help me move my stuff. I want to change seats.”

He hadn’t let go of me yet, so while saying this, I disengaged from his handshake but instead slid my hand up onto his forearm. It was ropy with muscles, so I squeezed it a bit. This is a tiny cafe, so there was not much space to maneuver, which was part of my sudden idea. I was “forced” to squeeze past him to get around my table and not bump into either of the elderly couple at the next table. I put three fingertips of my other hand on his hip for balance, hoping he knew I didn’t have to and just did it for him.

I didn’t mind bumping into him. In fact, I moved in slow motion, rubbing each individual tip of each breast across his torso, one by one, with time for the first one to bounce back into place while he watched the second one to scrape on his pectorals, which, by the way, felt as hard as my café table top.

“You did that on purpose,” he said in a soft, sweet tone.

“Busted.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the elderly couple smiling, and the husband kissed the lady. She toasted me with her Rum Runner. Pretty sure they knew this bartender was not my husband, as he is like twenty years younger than I, at least, so the naughtiness of what I was doing and thinking made my mind and other parts tingle.

I blushed as he grinned down pleasantly at my flirty hips slow-dancing only millimeters away from his thigh and the very tip of my breast still boring into his chest. I got insecure and said, “They ok?”

“Perky. I like that in a set of tits.”

Not knowing what to say to that, I kept my back arched so that last nip kept rubbing him while I looked down submissively and took a long suck on my straw. I then fiddled with the cherry on the plastic sword.

“Like your short skirt, too. Very handy.”

“Thanks.” I glanced down to where his thigh was pressed firmly against my hip. ‘Handy?’ I thought. ‘For what? Jesus, he’s moving fast.’ My mind swirled a bit at the thought of his hands and my miniskirt. I thought I better sit back down, but when I did, I kinda slid back into the chair, spreading my knees again, and this time he was given a nice view of my lacy pink panties as my thighs split for balance.

“Well played,” he said as he left to go back to work.

I got my breathing back to normal and texted my sweet husband.

How’s your mahi mahi?

Tasty how’s your bartender?

Same

LOL

He just brought me another drink.

I saw. You were smooth. But That’s two. That’s your limit.

He flirted with me.

He flirted with you or you flirted with him?

OK both maybe but he started it.

How?

Well when I brushed his chest with my… ok maybe I started it. Haha

Haha

There was a long pause.

What happens next?? He texted me.

I’m done I guess. If that’s my limit…

Don’t be done yet.

What then? He’s working.

It’s close to closing time. Ask him to walk you to your car. Like you’re a little bit afraid

He’ll think I’m drunk I was warning my husband.

Ok drunk whatever works

Now it was my turn to pause while I thought over the implications of walking drunk out into a semi-empty parking lot at 10:15 at night with a hot bartender. I couldn’t decide by myself, so I texted my husband:

What’s supposed to happen?

What do you want to happen?

What do YOU want to happen?

… a short pause…

Have fun

I looked across the street to where I knew my amazing husband was in a book store café watching me. What did I want to happen? I knew, but I couldn’t text that. I couldn’t even think it.

Ok darling are you sure? If I tell him to walk me to my car, he’ll have expectations.

So will I. So will you.

No you don’t understand. If I get out there alone with him stuff will happen.

Have fun

Where will you be.

Good question,,, I can park in the first lane to the right and you can walk out behind the cars and sorta pause and say good night out there then when hes gone I’ll start the car and pull forward to pick you up.

How will you know when we’re finished?

Shit honey that sounds so hot

Stop you know what you want to see so if you don’t then say so now

No it’s cool have fun

I’ll set my phone to dial you but I won’t hit the call button till he’s done with me

Oh god damn!

Don’t come before were done please oh I’m so nervous

K no worries justhave fun

I slammed my phone face down on the café table. This was it. No more pretending he was just any old bartender. Stuff was going to happen tonight.

I decided a million things in my head that I could never admit aloud, but the first thing was I needed a third margarita. If I was going to be pushing my limits tonight, the first one I needed to push was how much liquor I had in me.

I pulled my top down low and tight across my tits and went to order from my bartender. When I got to his little counter station, he looked over at me from where he was pouring Jack Daniels into a cup of Coke, like something a man would drink. Like something my husband ordered him to make. I looked around, scared he was there.

“Hungry?” The nice little waitress was talking to me.

“Hungry? Me? No I uh why?”

“Well you look hungry or scared or something–”

“I’ll handle this one, Laura,” said the bartender. He handed her the Jack and Coke. No husband.

I did feel a little guilty that I counted that as good news, but I have to admit I felt a lot happier to see my bartender than if he was just doing a casual drink order. I smiled. He smiled. It was awkward as the waitress was still too near for me to just kiss him. Finally, I found my voice again.

“Can you make me one more blood orange margarita?”

“Sure.”

“uhh Can you bring it to me? Instead of the waitress? I’ll be back at the last table down the side.” I pointed down into the darkest corner. I could feel myself blushing, dammit. Tried to be cool, but…

He smiled that smile again. It was a cute, young-guy smile, but it was also confident and aggressive. He knew he had me.

I turned quickly to keep from doing something dorky like blowing him a kiss. I wended my way through the crowded café tables hoping people attributed my accentuated hip sway to the tight situation instead of the cute guy behind the bar. I sat at the very last table, past the lighting, in the shadows. If that was not a big hint, I don’t know what more I could do. I sat in a chair facing where I could see him coming.

He came. He was even hotter out from behind the bar, as his legs were long and strong, and I stared right at them with no pretense of hiding my interest. He walked completely around to my side and pressed his hip into my shoulder to hand me my drink, and I wrapped his fingertips in mine as I grabbed the margarita like some high school chick flirting with the star football player.

To make sure he understood the offer, I had my shoulders pulled back like a stripper on a pole. My blouse was stretched so tightly across my tits right at the nipple line that I thought they were going to pop up over the top, and I shimmied my shoulders twice trying to help set them free, but the damn fabric held snug across them. At least that made a nice gap for him to see right down between them, so that was good.

The plastic cup containing his cocktail was already all slippery with sweat from the heat outside, and since neither of us were looking at it, we almost dropped it, both giggling as we set it down on my little table. “So wet,” I said, inadvertently flicking my fingertips right at his groin.

He looked down at the spray across his shorts. He was a bit unhappy. I shocked myself by snatching up my cocktail napkin and dabbing at his lap as if trying to dry it. He wasn’t hard, but he was packed solid.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked. I winced. Another cute smile. He gestured at the drink. “That was last call, but I can bring you one for the road.”

“Oh yeah right. Well. Thanks, no, I’m pretty drunk already,” I chuckled. He made a hand motion as if it was a waste of a high. I had to think fast. “Looks like it might storm. It’s so dark and cloudy tonight.”

“I have to go clean up.”

“well, shoot. Uhh maybe you could take a minute break and walk me to my car when I finish my drink. It’s so dark in the parking lot. Part of your job, making sure girls are safe, right?” I tried an innocent smile, but my eyes twinkled seductively in spite of myself. I blushed again.

He didn’t miss it. He looked back towards the bar. The other bartender, also cute but not nearly as hot as mine, gave that chin-thrust that guys know how to give when they’re playing wingman for a buddy.