Shape

Fucking Under the Full Moon

Eight months ago, I needed a change. Divorce’ll do that, I guess. Twenty-seven, and I was already up by exactly one more marriage and separation than I had ever planned to be. A soft reboot was in order. Probably anything different from the city I left would have done the trick, but the sleepy seaside town I wound up landing in was the perfect little change-up, however temporary it might have been in the long run. I liked that you could actually see a handful of stars at night, and I liked being able to smell the salt when I woke up in the morning. Falling asleep to the soft sound of crashing waves wasn’t half bad either.

The port, though. The port was definitely my favorite part. My particular landing place, despite being sufficiently remote, still had the distinction of being close enough to the nearest metropolitan city that it was somehow able to stay nice and sleepy, but without ever becoming boring. It was almost like we managed to collect the runoff: scrappy longshoremen, tired travelers, and the occasional culture vulture who buzzed into town to check out Cozy’s, which was literally the only thing of social relevance contained within the entire zip code.

Part small-town dive bar and tavern, part legendary local music venue, Cozy’s had been around and run by the same salty old dog for decades, and under Frank’s stewardship it somehow managed to become something of a true diamond in the rough. It was the first place locals would tell you that you needed to check out if you were visiting, but also the last place you’d recommend to another person after you went there — it was just too good of a secret, and everybody seemed to know it. The only people worth telling about it were the ones that had already managed to wander into its vicinity. This, of course, was a pretty major selling point for me, personally. I had been looking for a place that would feel like home while still counting as an escape, and I had found it. And it wasn’t hard to land the bartending job at Cozy’s, either. My residual college knowledge actually made for a drink-making repertoire that far eclipsed anything I’d ever be asked to do by the patrons in this little town; I think the most complicated thing I ever made was the whiskey sour. And it definitely didn’t hurt that Frank was sorely in need of a new bartender when I wound up waltzing through the door. I think our interview lasted all of five minutes.

It wasn’t long before I had settled into a sort of routine. I loved my new little home, and I felt as though it loved me back. But it was the occasional diversion that I enjoyed the most. Like last week. At some point, well after the music had stopped and the crowd had mostly filed out, I found myself trading rail shots and war stories with a crewman from a container ship that had docked for the night. He was certainly handsome enough, but it was the way he looked at me that really put a bee in my proverbial bonnet. He had this way of staring directly into my eyes while we talked, as though I were saying the most interesting thing he had ever heard in his life. And I believed it. There was a searching quality in the way he looked at me that night, as though he was trying to find some sort of secret I had kept from him. Features are one thing, but it was those eyes that made me more than just a little wet.

Eventually, the bar was empty, except for the two of us. Chairs sat upside-down on tables and we were lit by a single hanging light above us, the rest of the room mostly dark. Slight forearm touches and the occasional hand on a shoulder eventually escalated, to the point where hands were just…everywhere. The progression was a subtle one. At some point, I was no longer behind the bar, but sitting next to him. At some point, his hand was on my thigh and I didn’t mind it even a little bit. Then, his mouth was on my neck. We hadn’t even kissed yet. This was his first move: A soft bloom on my neck, just below the jaw. The perfect blend of warm and wet; I could feel goosebumps appearing, my nipples obviously hard through the old tank top I was wearing. I wanted him. I wanted his mouth to move from my neck to my nipples to my clit. I wanted that tongue to work its way across my entire body. And so, off came my shirt.

He didn’t miss a beat, his hands sliding up my stomach and over my breasts. He kneaded them firmly, pinching my nipples as he did so and sending small shoots of pleasure through my chest and down into my legs. Still kissing me, he moved down my neck as he unhooked my bra and removed it in what I still consider to be an impressively fluid gesture. His tongue ran down my tits and I found myself wondering if it were possible for my nipples to get any harder than they were in that moment. He met one with his tongue and closed his mouth around it as I moaned softly, feeling a strong hand slide down the front of my pants. We were standing, by now, my back pressed against the bar as his mouth teased my nipples, tongue running across the bottom of my breasts before tracking between them as he gently parted my pussy with his free hand. I shuddered as he began massaging my clit, coaxing even more wetness out of me, sucking one of my nipples while he squeezed the other. My whole body was a raw nerve, pleasure coursing through me as he pushed his fingers inside me.

Our mouths met then, as I peeled off his shirt, feeling my hard nipples drag against the skin of his broad, bare chest. His line of work had served him well, and my body was practically begging to feel more of his against it. Before I could reach down and take him in my hands, his were on my hips, turning me around and pushing me firmly against the bar. I didn’t mind. If anything, I looked forward to the surprise. With one hand still kneading at my breasts and playing with my nipples, he used his other to lower my pants, just enough. I don’t know that it was possible for me, in that moment, to have been any wetter. And my surprise was a delightful one. My hands pressed against the bar top, I felt him push his way inside me, strong and thick. My eyes went wide in response, feeling stretched nearly to my limit. He fucked me gently at first, his thrusts then becoming more and more powerful, pushing pleasure into every possible corner of my body. I could feel the whole of him, snug inside me. I rocked my hips back, meeting his momentum and fucking him as he fucked me. His heavy breathing and my moans mixed, probably louder than they should have been. I didn’t care. I came on him, every muscle in my body wracked tight with spasms, waves of pleasure causing every fiber inside me to clench down on his cock. His hands tightened on my hips as he kept fucking me, coaxing pulse after euphoric pulse out of me from places I didn’t even know existed.

A sharp slap on the bar top snapped me back to reality and I realized I had been staring at the place where I took him for entirely longer than was necessary. It was, after all, a busy night at work, that evening’s headliner just getting ready to take the stage. I managed to shake off my daydream and pour some drinks, still feeling a tingly wetness as I did so. Not every act that comes through is The Beatles. I’ve sat through more shitty concerts than I care to admit, but this particular night was different. The band was fantastic, and I wound up having just as much fun watching their set as I did reminiscing about my after-hours encounter from a few nights before. It’s crazy, how quickly the right kind of entertainment can make time whizz by. Before I knew it, it was nearly two, tired patrons dutifully making their way to the door as the band broke down its equipment. I was getting ready to head out, myself, washing the last of the dishes and wiping down when I noticed the band’s guitarist standing off to the side, over near the bar. This guy was definitely sharp enough to notice that the bar had closed, but I was curious and walked over to him anyway. “Come here often?”  As openers go…I have to admit, this was a pretty funny one. Considering I was the one behind the bar. “Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, mostly.”  He nodded, considering this. “I suppose that makes this my lucky Thursday, then, doesn’t it?”

His blue eyes practically shone out at me from under a curled mass of sandy-blonde hair, shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a glimpse of his impressive physique. “Oh man, that depends on how lucky you’re trying to get there, partner. What can I do for you?”  He put two defensive hands in the air, laughing good-naturedly “I promise, I’m only here to see if you’ll serve me a drink after last call. No more, no less. Okay, maybe less. If you don’t want to make that drink.”  I narrowed my eyes at him, working a towel along the rim of the glass I was holding suspiciously. With a wink: “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”  He seemed to accept this, and pivoted accordingly. “How long have you been here? I don’t remember seeing you the last time we came through.”  “Maybe you’re just not very observant.”  “Observant or not, I would have remembered you.”  A fair shot.

When I looked over, he had already set a ten-dollar bill down on the bar. He looked at it and then at me, as if to ask what it would get him. Wordlessly, I walked over, fishing two shot glasses out from under the bar, and a handle of whiskey along with them. “Your money’s no good here,” I said, sliding the bill back towards him. I could smell the marijuana wafting off from him, burnt and slightly sweet. He just grinned a sheepish little grin in response, as though I had paid him a compliment that made him blush. “I’ve only been here about three months. I just blew in from a few cities over.”  After knocking back his shot: “How do you find it so far?”  “Y’know it’s almost more like this place found me, if I’m being totally honest.” I leaned in closer. “What about you?”  He leaned across the bar to meet me, our faces almost touching. My hand brushed gently against his forearm.

Later that night, I came. Alone and in bed, my face pressed hard into the pillow, not even bothering to keep my voice down. With a fistful of the bed sheet in one hand, my other worked two of its fingers inside me, curling up to coax yet another body-tightening orgasm out of my clit. I imagined the guitarist from earlier, there behind me and pushing his throbbing cock further inside. I imagined milking his cock, coaxing wave after wave out of him with my pussy, his cum filling me up and dripping down my leg. I could practically feel him there, hands gripping my waist as his thighs slapped against my butt. As I drew my fingers out and ran them in circles over my clit, I imagined him pulling himself out of me, focused on every single inch of him as he slid out before leaning down to run his tongue across my pulsing pussy. I imagined him practically lapping me up as I came once more. I slept like a baby that night.

The next night was a busy one. No band playing, but the usual thick crowd of locals, a few out-of-towners scattered amongst them. Enough to keep me busy, but also enough to keep my tip jar full, so it was shaping up to be a somewhat decent Friday night. Frank had even hired an extra barback a few nights before, so I had some company to help ease the load in terms of grunt work.

I had been tending to the regular requests and drowning out the constant commotion for who knows how long, when I found myself staring straight into an alarmingly familiar set of crystal-blue eyes. It was Danny, from the night before. This time, I beat him to it: “Hey, Stranger. You come here often?”  Danny shifted in his seat, charmed and obviously just a little bit nervous. “Not too often, I guess. Figured I’d stop in one last time before we take off for good.” He looked around for a moment, before adding, “tomorrow morning.” As if this needed to be clarified. “Well, then I suppose a farewell and congratulations is in order,” pouring him an on-the-house glass of beer.

He took it. “Congratulations?”  “For tearing it up last night. You kids were pretty fantastic.” Danny was at least ten years younger than I was, and I loved it. “Hah! Thanks.”  I had enjoyed watching him play, the night before. He had an intensity of focus that I found a big beguiling. Throughout the rest of the evening, Danny stayed right in that very same spot, slowly drinking beers and making small talk with me when I could get away for a moment. He didn’t even get up once. It was kind of cute.

By the time I had finished ushering the last of the patrons out of the bar, Danny was asking if he could buy me a drink. I told him no. Instead, I poured two beers and simply handed him one, but leaving the bar between us. I don’t think we talked for longer than ten minutes, and I couldn’t tell you what we said.

Eventually, he got up and walked around the bar as though he owned the place. He stared directly into my eyes as he walked towards me. I could see that intense focus, again. I wanted it. He barely slowed as he reached me, planting a kiss deeply on my mouth, and I lunged slightly forward in return, meeting him with our tongues dancing wildly in the middle. His hands held me by the jaw as he kissed me deeply and my seeking hands could feel him growing harder in his pants. I massaged him, coaxing even more size out of him, feeling the head of his cock and rubbing it with my fingertips. I could feel his body shudder against mine, and I grabbed his wrist as he started to unbutton my pants. I grabbed it hard. He looked at me, a little concerned. “Is this o—”.  I silenced him with a kiss.

Pulling back, I said to him, “Wait. I’ve got an idea.”  My hand still latched around his wrist, I guided him out of the bar, closing the door and locking it behind us. We were both a little tipsy, making our way down towards the shore. You could hear the water lapping lazily against the sand as soon as you left the building, we were that close to the water. The air was like a warm bath. Palm trees rustled under a swollen, full moon.

By the time we got to the sand, we could barely keep our bodies from connecting. Hands and mouths explored every possible inch of flesh that was made available, and it wasn’t long before I had taken him in my mouth. I ran my tongue along his impressive shaft, dancing it along the tip of his head as he moaned softly. My free hand could feel the hurried rise and fall of his taut chest muscles as I pleasured him, my mouth gliding up and down. After a few moments, he gently lifted my head and brought me up towards him, kissing me fully as he maneuvered me into the sand, his body on top of mine. His mouth tracked its way down my belly as he slid off my jeans. I gasped, sucking in a lungful of air as his mouth met my clit. His tongue traced what I assumed was every letter of the alphabet over me, my fingers digging deeper into the sand as my back arched with the waves of pleasure that eventually blended and became indistinguishable from the waves crashing rhythmically on the ocean. After a moment, he stopped, his body pushing forward to meet mine, and I could feel him teasing my clit with the head of his cock. He explored me with soft, circular motions, teasing me and coaxing me open before fluidly sliding himself deep inside me. I was full. Stretched almost to my limit and positively stuffed full of pleasure. I could feel every centimeter of him sliding into me, the firm texture of his rigidity causing me to wrap as tightly around him as possible. My hips met his as we fucked there in the sand, hands intertwined and a moon that looked about ready to burst shining down on us. I probably came harder than I had ever come in my entire life.