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stayathomemom2 said: I want to work with you. Your coworkers and boss say the best things! (Not to mention that I would be working with you…)
aren’t they hilarious? I get pretty endless entertainment. and yes, I wish we could work together! that would be awesome.
I just had a three-way with Verizon Wireless. ‘Can you hear me nowwww?’
The tempered squawking of the baseball announcers was the only sound of life in the bar. Grunting as he leaned across the counter to reach the far corner, the bartender glowered at the small figure hunched over the last stool. "Hey. Kid. We’re closing. Move along.“
The figure uncoiled, lengthening into a slender woman with a pixie cut. She smacked a piece of white gum under her canines. "Your sign’s still on,” she said with a jerk of her thumb over her bare shoulder. The movement made her visible breasts quiver.
The bartender stopped mid-wipe and sighed. "Right. Okay. Look, I’m turning off the sign.“ He crossed the distance behind the bar and flipped the switch. Neon tubes hissed and died. Hands to hips, the bar cloth dangling from his fingers, the bartender faced his last customer. "We’re closed.”
“Excellent.” The young woman swung off the stool, and with a thrill in his groin, the bartender realized she was not wearing pants. Her heels ticked away the seconds as she moved to the door, bolted it, and slunk back towards him.
He suddenly found that his hands were awkward, no matter where he intended to rest them. "Ma’am, I’ll h-h-h-have to ask you…“
"I’d prefer you give commands.” She dropped to her knees on the rubber mat, her tongue lolling. Like graceful divers, her hands disappeared into his pants and slid them off. "So? What’ll it be?“
"In your mouth,” he gasped, his hand moving without bidding to the back of her head. Her hair was coarse, dyed too many times; he grasped a handful and pressed her nose into his crotch. She accepted his length down her throat with a grateful gulp.
His eyes fell on the envelope, splashed with beer, resting where she had been sitting. His name was on the back. His fingers trembling with the effort of concentrating, he managed to extract the card.
Happy birthday, bud. Have one on us.
It was signed by bar owner and his coworkers.
Stabilizing himself on the edge of the counter with his palms, he adopted a wider stance. "Deeper, bitch,“ he said, and she went to work.
Somebody loves you if they don’t mind the quiet. They don’t mind running errands with you or cleaning your apartment while blasting some annoying music. There’s no pressure, no need to fill the silences. You know how with some of your friends there needs to be some sort of activity for you to hang out? You don’t feel uncomfortable just shooting the shit and watching bad reality TV with them. You need something that will keep the both of you busy to ensure there won’t be a void. That’s not love. That’s “hey babe! I like you okay. Do you wanna grab lunch? I think we have enough to talk about to fill two hours!” It’s a damn dream when you find someone you can do nothing with. Whether you’re skydiving together or sitting at home and doing different things, it’s always comfortable. That is fucking love.
