“Ha. Yeah. There’s kind of no clear way to go about this.”
This? She felt herself flush again.
“Except for what our friends did, of course,” he said with a laugh, and pointed at the ceiling.
An image suddenly appeared full-blown in Kaylee’s mind, and a thought hit her like a jackhammer. It was so obvious and so plain, but for some reason it suddenly seemed very profound: right now, probably just twenty feet away, Miranda was having sex with some guy. What Miranda had done and was doing was so carefree, so I-don’t-give-a-shit-because-I’m-horny. Kaylee couldn’t help but admire how forward and carefree it was. Miranda had wanted pleasure and she’d gone after it. Sometimes, Kaylee wished she could do things like that. Touching herself in the shower when she felt the urge just wasn’t the same. But what was she supposed to do — go from being an honor student to being a party girl overnight?
“She’s crazy,” said Kaylee. “I kind of wish I were that crazy sometimes.”
“So be crazy,” said the bartender.
“It’s not that simple. It’s not who I am.”
He shrugged. “I’d help you be crazy. Just offering my services, you know.” Then he laughed again, but this time, she was pretty sure that the laugh was just a foil. He meant it… if she were willing to mean it too.
Before she knew what she was doing, she turned and awkwardly kissed the bartender on the mouth. Then she turned back and resumed her position beside him, blushing.
He looked over at her, but she kept looking straight ahead. That was so out of character.
She felt his hand behind her, in the small of her back. Then his other was on her belly. He turned toward her and kissed her, and this time it lingered just a bit longer because she didn’t have to be the initiator. She simply had to allow it, and she realized that she very much wanted to.
Her skirt suddenly seemed too tight. Her underwear felt somehow full . The feeling was primal, and warm. His hand stayed behind her, hovering on the small of her back. Then Kaylee felt the hand move down onto her ass. Her mouth opened just a little, and a small breath escaped her.
Then, still behind her and out of sight to any onlookers, the bartender’s hand found the bottom of her skirt. He watched her face. When she didn’t protest, the fingers went lower, now onto the skin of the back of her left leg. Then the hand doubled back and went higher, under the fabric this time, finding the crease between her ass and her leg, the bottom of her panties.
This time, her eyes closed as she exhaled. She snapped them open. A pleasure face would alert others to what was happening behind her.
The need for stealth did nothing to dampen the warmth and wetness radiating from her.
The bartender played with the bottom edge of her panties, still watching her face for a reaction. She looked straight ahead. She was afraid that if she looked at him, she’d get embarrassed. That would be bad, because if she got embarrassed, she might stop what was going on. And she really didn’t want to stop what was going on.
His hand cupped her ass, his index finger moving under the bottom edge of her panties. She felt the finger brush her outer lips, which had become very wet. It went back and forth, slowly, extending and flexing at the knuckle so that the people in the bar wouldn’t see his hand or shoulder move if they looked over.
Why am I allowing this? she thought. This isn’t who I am.
And yes, she should probably stop it. But now his finger was playing very near her opening, and her wetness was causing it to glide frictionlessly back and forth, in and around.
She leaned toward him and whispered, “I want to do something crazy.”
“Thank God,” he said. She looked down and noticed that a noticeable protrusion had formed at the front of his jeans.
“I want to go upstairs,” she said.
“Chuck is my roommate,” he said.