I am the first to admit that I have a drinking problem, but so far it's been under control. I need to watch myself, but I have a strong will. One of these days I am going to quit for good, but not just yet.
A big reason for this is the Sundowner. It's not much of a place, but I live within walking distance so I've gone there for years. It's sort of a second home to me, I guess. But my reluctance to leave has less to do with the place and more to do with the bartender Wendy.
When she first came to work ten years ago she was a slip of a thing, though tall. One of those skinny girls with big bones in her wrists and elbows, a long neck, and long fingers. She was maybe twenty then, shy and polite.
She got her hair cut short, which somehow suited her. She mostly wore baggy clothes. We thought maybe she was ashamed of being such a scarecrow, but of course nobody said this to her face. She was too nice.
A couple years later she'd sometimes show up with a black eye. People would ask her if everything was okay, and she would just shrug. A town as small as this, most people think they know everything, so the rumor was that her boyfriend beat her up.
One afternoon I came in. The place was empty except for Wendy and me. "Where is everybody?" I asked.
"Wednesdays are slow," she said, looking up from her crossword. "Bourbon?"
"Sure," I said. She poured me my usual. "Where are you getting those bruises, anyway?" I asked.
She smiled. "Where do you think?"
I shrugged.
"I'm fighting."
"With your boyfriend?"
She laughed. "No, man. I mean in a ring. MMA."
"Is that like boxing?"
"Mixed martial arts. Boxing, kung fu, jiu-jutsu. Whatever you do, as long as you win."
It was my turn to laugh. "A skinny little thing like you?"
She gave me a half-smile. "Don't let the clothes fool you, honey. Tell you what." She put her elbow down on the bar. "Beat me armwrestling and I'll pick up your tab tonight."
"What happens if you win?"
"You think I'll win? A skinny thing like me?"
"You got a point." I put my elbow down and grasped her hand. It was as large as my own, and somehow felt thicker and harder, though the skin was soft.
"Ready?" she said. "Go."
I pushed. Her arm did not move. I pushed harder. My should popped. She stared at me and smiled. "That all you got?"
I gave it my all, every ounce of strength. I tried to bend her wrist. It was like her arm was made of wood. I felt my face getting red, sweat running down my back. "Okay," she said. "You've suffered enough." She then slowly pushed my hand down to the bar and held it there, me body bent at the waist. I could not extricate myself. It was like being pinned by a piece of farm equipment. Finally she let me go.
"Jesus," I said. I took a closer look at her baggy sweatshirt and realized it wasn't baggy at all. Her wrists were corded with thick veins like you see on a blacksmith. "Can I feel your arm?" I asked, feeling myself get aroused.
She looked toward the door. Nobody was coming in. She pulled off her sweatshirt and I almost fell off my chair. She was wearing a tank top underneath. Her shoulders were wider than mine, round and hard. A clean line of muscle bisected her chest, and though her boobs were tiny they stood straight out. Most impressive were her arms, corded forearms and thick biceps with veins popping as she moved. She flexed her right arm and a softball-sized muscle rolled up and jutted out. I reached my hand to touch it, squeezed down. It felt like a fieldstone. My hand wasn't big enough to encircle it.
"Jesus," I said. "If I'd seen that, I wouldn't have wrestled you!"
She grinned. "You forget that I won, Jimmy. I get to name what I won." She went over to the front door and locked it, turning the sign to closed. "Come on back here with me," she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me along toward the tiny kitchen. My legs were weak as I got off my stool and followed her.
In the kitchen, she grabbed my belt and pulled me toward her, kissing me with an aggressive tongue. One hand slid down to my throbbing cock. "Oh, you like this. Good," she said. "Usually my muscles freak men out."
"Oh, I do. But why me, Wendy?" I asked.
"You're here," she said. Then she put one hand on each side of my hips and easily lifted me onto the prep table. I ran my hand along those hard arms as she undid my belt. "I'll do the driving," she said, unzipping my pants.