Dirty Martini

I was meeting this date in a cocktail bar I hadn’t been to before. I arrived first and decided to sit at the bar. Something I never used to do, but recently I’d discovered it was absolutely the best thing to do. If it was the right sort of barman, and you were the right sort of person, you’d get a taster of every cocktail they made that night, for free.
I hoped this place would be the same. There were two guys behind the bar – one wearing a trilby and the other in a waistcoat.
I asked for a menu and checked my phone. Nothing. He was late now. Ten minutes or so, but no word from him apologising.
The menu was a little pretentious – the classics were ignored and there were infusions and foams galore.
“Good evening lady” said the waistcoated bartender. “What can I get you?”
“Um, still deciding thanks” I blushed and looked him in the eye.
“Not a problem” he said and placed a crystal glass in front of me, pouring iced water from a silver jug.
He turned to fiddle with some lemons. My eyes were fixed on his ass. He wore grey trousers with pockets in the back, slim fit with an apron tied around his waist. I thought for a moment about untying the apron and reaching around his waist….and then he turned around again.
“May I recommend to you something?” he said in broken English.
“Of course” I said.
He pointed at one of the descriptions ” This is one of my own inventions- it has a kick to it but is very refreshing”.
“Okay, you’ve sold it to me.” I said and snapped the menu shut.
I watched him work. His strong, tanned arms flexed as he shook the ice together, blending flavours. Then the delicacy with which he peeled the lemon, taking the thinnest shaving from its skin and placing it on the edge of the glass.
“Hey presto” he said as he placed the concoction in front of me.
” Thanks” I said and took a sip. It was fruity, sharp and definitely had a kick.
“you like it?”
I nodded.
He moved away to serve a group who had just arrived.
I checked my phone again. It was as silent as it ever was. No way would I call him. Still, the drink was a good one.
I glanced up the bar, and caught eyes with the bartender again. And then he winked. At me?
I looked ahead, surely not?
I checked the time. I’d been waiting half an hour for him. Anyone else would have left.
I left my jacket on the chair and went to the ladies. Powdered my nose, sighed, put more eyeliner on and reapplied my lipstick. What a waste.
Outside the ladies, he was waiting, one hand on the wall.
“He is not coming is he?”
I spluttered ” I guess not” and looked at the floor.
He knew the story, had probably seen it before. A dozen times. I was embarassed.
He takes my hand and leads me down a corridor, unlocking a door and locking it behind us.
It’s an office, perhaps his, perhaps his managers. There’s a desk and a coat stand and I don’t get a chance to see much else because he starts kissing me and oh god it’s what I needed, his hands are on my ass and he’s walking me to the desk. And I lie back on the desk and he’s stroking my pants and my cunt is throbbing and his fingers pull the silk aside and his tongue is there then his fingers, then his cock and it all happens so quickly I don’t have time to think.
He unlocks the door again and checks outside. Motions to me to go back to the bar.
I reclaim my seat and notice there’s a couple of drinks there. and this must be my date.
“Oh hello, I was wondering if you’d stood me up?” he says.
“Er. No, I was just in the ladies”.

I wonder if I look like I’ve just been fucking. I must look flushed at least.

“Well, you look gorgeous. I’m so sorry I got held up at the office, this damned Vanderhoff case. I got you a drink anyway”.

I stared at the glass in front of me.
“What is it?”
“Oh that’s a Dirty Martini – I thought it was your favourite?”
The barman grinned and gave me another wink. I think he even stuck his tongue out.

“Oh yes. You’re right. It is my favourite, thankyou.” I raise the glass to my lips and take a sip.

Quite the Dirty Martini.

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