When The Stars Ain’t Right
Half-hour before last call, Marko roamed the Cantina floor. He wasn’t a bad looking guy, about 6’2″, weighing 215. He was constantly in fighting shape, training and taking stunt work on the side. He had little use for women since he was dumped in his mid-20s. That was enough for him. He learned lessons well and only once, but when he wanted a piece of ass his senses were on alert.
Two hot babes were bellied up to the bar and one was knocking back sweet drinks like a kid in a candy store with an unlimited budget. The other one, her sister, slightly taller and much more trimmed, sipped at a glass of water sporting a lemon wedge and listened to her younger sister snivel about the men who had plugged her only to dump her pregnant and leave her to handle the rest. She had two kids with two different dads. She was a woman who didn’t learn lessons ever when it came to sex. Marge on the other hand, had played all her sexual cards much closer to her slight chest. She trained, went to school and ducked most relationships.
After Marko was cut to the quick by the brunette’s acerbic response to his blunt approach, he stepped back, took his rounds and regrouped. “Whatta ya say we have a quickie after the bar is closed,” Marko said, trying to capture her attention over the blaring jukebox.
“What did you say?” Marge said, spinning in his direction. Her sister lifted her liquor-soaked eyebrows and tried to assess the man that was disturbing her conversation. “Isss he cute?” she muttered, unable to focus.
“You heard what I said,” Marko spoke in his over-confident manner.
“No I didn’t,” Marge said directly; her eyes were a bright crystal blue as if inherently cold.
Marko had little or no patience in his formula that lead to no tact. “How about a quick blow job so you can drive your sister home.”
“Isss heard that,” the sister slurred, spinning and almost falling off her stool. She had bigger tits that flopped around in her blouse unhindered and her ass was larger, but she was still cute.
“It’s OK, Sheila,” Marge said, pushing her back toward her drink. She was fuming, her face was flushed and her eyes were slightly red from the smoky Cantina interior. “I don’t know how to acknowledge that last ridiculous statement.”
“It’s just sex,” Marko said. “We’ll just have a little fun. Hell, if you can’t drink you might as well fuck.”
“Are you always this subtle?” Marge questioned, looking at Marko’s fair, to the point of being blotchy, skin. He was young for salt-and-pepper hair and moved with confidence.
“I’m generally not so cordial,” Marko said. “I don’t have a lot of time. Is the answer, yes?”
“No,” Marge snapped. She couldn’t believe the audacity of this bouncer. “What future is there in a bouncer?”
“Future?” Marko said smugly. “I was talking about a blow job not an investment partnership.”
The conversation was going no place and Marko reviewed the interior of the Cantina. People were rambling toward the door except for the diehards who drank till the last minute. He rubbed his goatee and pondered the situation. He needed to watch the door, and the parking lot for fender benders. He liked to see that the patrons got home safely. He tried to ensure that the right person was driving or taking a cab.
“Excuse me,” Marko said. He bowed slightly as though he was leaving a martial arts dojo mat. He backed away.
Marge turned to her sister who said, “Who the fuck is that?”
“I’m not sure,” Marge said.
“Isn’t theee just the bouncer?” Sheila slurred, rolling her eyes.
“I don’t think so,” Marge said, watching him head for the door.
Nyla poured drinks for Mandy and watched the bar as she went to the ship’s bell and rang for last call. “Last call everyone,” she hollered as Mandy rounded the inside of the bar and let her palm graze Nyla’s ass. She jumped, but a portion of her response was delight.
“We need another night,” Mandy whispered, slinging her wonderful crop of auburn waves around her shoulders.
“I can’t,” Nyla said, heading toward all the outstretched hands reaching across the bar for one last alcohol fix.
“Ah shucks,” Mandy said, smiling and heading back into the dining room with her tray and pen ready to take orders.
“Is she your girlfriend?” a girl said from across the bar.
Nyla blushed slightly and shook her head, moving to grab the Quervo bottle to make margaritas. She had been watching this girl all night. She was with some guy, so Nyla didn’t give her a second thought, but did continue to glance. She had her lower lip pierced and her ears were dangling with multiple rings. Her tits were nice and she could sense the pierced rings through the nipples that pressed against her tight top. The girl was hot, her shirt unbuttoned enough to allow her soft cleavage to jiggle into the opening seductively.
“Is that your boyfriend?” Nyla said, passing her to reach the tall tap spigots. For the first time in a couple of weeks, Nyla sensed a mutual attraction. Each day, she was horny for an untouchable girl. She wanted another woman like an alcoholic wants another drink, but she felt out of reach. She didn’t hang at lesbian joints and didn’t know how to. She just wanted the touch of a woman and the thought of it made her nipples swell and a warmth fill her loins. She knew that she watched the girls in the Cantina with the same interest as guys. She loved cleavage, a nice round ass and miniskirts that revealed long, slippery legs.
“Sometimes,” the girl said. She leaned further onto the bar. She had a punk look of too many piercings, but beyond that a cute little face with creamy Italian skin and dark, wavy hair. Her lips formed words in the shouting noise of drunks reaching for Nyla and ordering their last drinks. Her lips mesmerized Nyla and her boobs grazing the top of the bar enticed her. Suddenly the room seemed to go quiet. It was just her and this smile that would melt iron.
“Can I get a goddamn drink,” a boisterous loot shouted and embarrassed Nyla but pinched her back to reality. She shook her head and turned to the bearded biker pounding on the bar top.
“What the hell do you want?” Nyla spouted.
“Gimme a Jack on the rocks,” he barked, glaring at her, “and make a good one.”
“Yeah, sure,” Nyla returned as another patron ordered a rum and coke, then a Bud and the orders kept flying. She had a tough time focusing, but she knew time was fleeting. She bustled up and down the bar, stopping only to take furtive glances at the lovely young lass that teased her madly.
“Well,” Marko said, coming in the door after helping a couple into a waiting taxi.
“Well what?” Marge said, turning away from her sister.
“Are you interested?” Marko spat, heading to a table of drunks.
Marge just watched him move across the room with a confident air that he could handle anything. She was attracted to his tough, wide-shouldered looks, but not his mouth.
“I hate to see you go home to a puking sister and not have some fun tonight,” Marko said casually.
Her sister spun off her barstool as the lights went up in the bar and slipped and fell. Marge and Marko helped her to her unsteady feet. Marge was beginning to admire Marko’s distinct honesty, but it still rubbed her the wrong way. “Want to help me get her to the car?”
“That’s my job,” Marko said indifferently, hauling her into his arms and heading for the door.
“I’m surprised you didn’t slap her and kick her out the door,” Marge said, her ass swaying one way then the other as she lead them out into the cool night air.
“I would have,” Marko said, his eyes focused on the outline of her muscular ass cheeks dancing in the delicate cloth. “But I’m sure that would have ruined my chances of getting laid.” Marko set Sheila’s feet on the asphalt and guided her onto the passenger bench seat.
Marge looked at the big man over the top of the car and enjoyed the way he moved carefully, placing her sister delicately into the interior. As he stood, Marge slipped into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition key. The lumbering mid-’70s beast fired to life. “Thank you for helping me with my sister, but you ruined your chances a long time ago.”
Marko leaned down and look across the car as she shifted it into gear, then turned and smiled as she drove away.
“She’ll be back,” Marko muttered to himself, standing and heading back to the Cantina.
As the lights came up in the bar, the busboy dashed around, picking up glasses and chips and salsa baskets. People were heading toward the door and bikes were firing up outside, except for the black-haired beauty leaning on the bar. Marko unplugged the jukebox as Nyla busied herself cleaning glasses and restocking the bar.
“I go both ways,” the young girl said as Nyla passed. Inside she jumped, but she tried to keep her sprouting nipples from revealing her excitement. She collected beer bottles and cocktail glasses and brought them to the deep sink right in front of the young squeeze.
“What did you say?” Nyla said, leaning over the sink and turning on the hot water.
“I said,” the girl looked around at her man who was deep in a conversation with a broad-shouldered biker, “I had a girlfriend once.”
“Would you like another one?” Nyla said, her toes beginning to tingle.
“Sure,” the girl said, her soft blue eyes brightening.
“My name is Nyla,” she said, drying one hand and reaching toward the girl. Her boobs were still softly pressed against the bar and Nyla was dying to reach into her blouse and touch them.
“I’m Sparkle,” the girl said and Nyla smiled but still looked at the succulent cleavage, waiting for her on the bar. Sparkle lingered as if bending her shoulders to reveal her soft brown nipples for Nyla’s inspection, then she lifted slightly, teasingly and extended her hand. As they shook sensitively, their soft skin kissing, their eyes met and Nyla could feel her knees weaken. She wanted the girl so bad she could taste her.
“What’s happening later?” Nyla said, almost pleading.
“I’ll find out,” Sparkle said, turning her head slightly in the direction of her man.
“Does he have to be involved?” Nyla said, trying to bring herself out of the romantic haze to reality.
“No, no,” Sparkle shook her head. She was still holding Nyla’s hand and they both wanted to tug closer, but the bar prevented it.
“Can he leave you here?” Nyla said, releasing her dainty grip on Sparkle’s soft hand. She knew, but ignored that she was pleading.
“I sure would like to…”
“Let’s go, baby.” A squishy male voice interrupted her sexual haze. The biker was walking away briskly and suddenly her man had a driving desire to leave. Nyla looked at him in the amber lights of the bar and tried to assess his relationship with the girl she wanted.
“Baby, this is Nyla,” Sparkle said.
“Yeah, hi,” he said in a detached voice that almost sounded too soft. “Let’s go.”
“But…” Sparkle said.
“Let’s go,” he said, cutting her off as he pulled her toward the door. Sparkle turned and dashed back to the bar, slipping a card across the sticky surface and winking.
Nyla picked up the card and read, “Sparkle, Your Fetish Is Mine.” It listed her e-mail address and a small illustration of a nasty bitch, half-naked wrapped around the words. Nyla slipped it into her bra and poured herself a drink. The card intensified her intrigue. “Goddamnit!” she spat.
