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Astonishing what can be taught during happy hour...

“Curl your fingers. One or two. Either way works for me. Just be gentle. And use the soft pads of your finger tips. Here, let me show you.”

Thirty minutes ago I’d ordered my first beer in mocking celebration of yet another failed relationship. Barkeep! Something bitter; something loathsome, please. Just like me.

Better make it two.

My double order drew the attention of an out-of-place woman who now obstructed my pity party play. She intruded. Her smoldering cigarette and intoxicating scent then sat to my left, and she grabbed one of my beers. I was an easy mark. And I surprisingly shared too much.

“Her parting remarks, most likely cast to indefinitely scar, were that I couldn’t even find it.”

Embarrassingly, my bar skills were rusty. The beer thief’s response should’ve been expected. She turned her stool to face me, unbuttoned her blazer, hiked her inappropriate length skirt further up both thighs, and then eased her knees apart.

“I can help with that.”

I had been charged with being oblivious, unaware, and now, unwanted. However, I sensed that bar woman felt that I was a quick study and a worthy student.

G-Spot 101. Sign me up!

She first spun me around so my knees pointed away from the bar. She then grabbed my non-beered, right hand and placed it on her long and lean, naked thigh. From there, I easily felt the fog of her humidity.

“Curl your fingers like this,” she instructed while shaping both my fingers and smile. “There’s a quarter-sized bump. It’s covered with smooth ridges. Just like a walnut shell.”

With my beer in my left, and my other beer in her right, she tapped the long, brown necks. Cheers, my serendipitous friend. But my eyes still pleaded for additional confirmation.

“Go ahead, it’s okay,” she whispered, and then pulled my hand against her exposed, welcoming sex.

Smooth and slippery. Those were my first two thoughts. Then warm. Wet. Spongy. Followed by tight. She was alive. It constricted around my probing touch. As instructed, I’d gently slid my fingers along the inside front wall, and quickly reached what she’d aptly described.

“Good,” she gasped with first contact. “Caress it. Yes. Just like that, but slightly slower and with a little more pressure.”

With that oft-described come-hither motion, my soothing touch coaxed out several soft moans, a lower lip bite, and a few tiny whimpers. Fortunately, I was able to contain my giddiness. The experience was indescribably empowering. I was pleasuring this stranger in a manner I’d just been chastised I couldn’t. Fuck you, Kelli!

I continued as instructed, rubbing the woman’s swollen spot while carefully watching for signs. But I only saw the distant stare of her blue eyes, the flutter of her long lashes, and the facial twitch confirmations that accompanied good sex.

She struggled to maintain eye contact, and struggled more with continuing to hold the bottle of beer, but that was the least of my worries. We were in a moderately busy hotel pub, in the middle of the week, at the start of happy hour. Soon, it would be filled with suits and skirts from the downtown business community. My focus was annoyingly divided.

The ignored, darkened space at the end of the bar thankfully hid our activity, and her pulled back skirt sheltered my burrowed hand. But it would only take a visit from the bartender or the passing by of a restroom-bound patron to interrupt us. So far, nothing of that sort had threatened.

With her eyes now squeezed closed, focusing on the enjoyment from the fruits of my manual labor, she took her last sip of my beer before blindly setting it back on the bar. She then leaned into me and placed both hands on my legs, digging her fingernails into my thighs. I mistakenly prepared for her kiss.

“Do you think you can find it now,” she purred as her pelvis slowly ground against my trapped hand. And when she rocked herself forward, I felt my palm fill with her juices. Before I could answer, which I dearly wanted to, she whispered that she was close. Very close. To protect us, and to see this wondrous adventure to its rightful conclusion, I nonchalantly scanned the nearby area for unsuspecting interlopers, which there were none, while hoping that my partner wasn’t a screamer.

Then from behind, a softened, smoky voice asked, “How’s he doing?”

My instructor’s glossy eyes opened and followed the second woman as she moved beside her.

“You’re just in time.”

Only inches from my face, their open mouths then met. Tongues searching. Finding. Then disappearing behind their pressed lips. The other woman smelled of red wine and perfume. It was, and they were, a decadent mix.

The standing woman then grabbed my wrist and held it in place as the seated woman’s insides slowly spasmed on my moving fingers. She squeezed her thighs together, as a woman trying to control her orgasm does, and I watched in awe as the two women continued to frantically kiss. Until then, I surprisingly didn’t realize how aroused I'd become. However, raging erection or not, I continued doing as told, until I was instructed to do otherwise.

After several moments, once the tremors subsided, their sparkling eyes and mischievous grins simultaneously turned to me. I felt that wave of giddiness again.

Did this just happen?

“Thanks for the beer,” the bar lady winked as she adjusted her skirt and blazer. “Sorry to hear about your break-up.” I then watched both women walk away.

Before reaching for my beer, I licked my juice-coated palm and cleaned my fingers, savoring the spoils of my impromptu lesson. I continued watching, witnessing their roaming hands exploring the contours of each other’s backside, before the women kissed again while they entered the hotel lobby’s elevator. Both women looked my way before their amorous embrace disappeared behind the closed doors.

I then saw the room key leaning against my other bottle of beer.

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