Hard Sell/Chapter 1
You're all alone in a bar, Houston, relaxing, tie loosened after a hard business day, a couple of drinks down, feeling warm, sort of horny, It's dark, country and western music wailing softly in the background. You become aware of me: appearing next to you suddenly, soundlessly, standing too close for comfort, obviously invading your personal space. You glance up, startled, to see me: handsome, tan, a big guy in a western shirt and well-worn 501 jeans. If you look down, you could see I've got on pointy-toed cowboy boots. But you don't, you're hypnotized by the intense stare-or is it a glare?-from my big smoldering brown eyes, transfixed by the sculptured cut of my jaw, dark with a day's growth of beard, my glistening shoulder-length brown hair, my huge muscles bulging and thick chest hair sprouting from my open shirt. You involuntarily pull away, actually feeling a surge of heat that radiates from my body toward yours, but I grasp your shoulder hard, near your neck, sort of proprietarily, pulling you back toward me. "Hey, buddy, how's it going?," I ask. "Oh, hi," you answer nervously. You smile. I don't smile. Instead, I keep staring at you intently, as if reading your brain into my memory. I pull the neighboring bar stool over very near to yours and sit down. As I do, I loosen my grip on your shoulder. You have the distinctly unpleasant impression that as my hand slides off you that it's not just brushing, but FEELING your back. I sit very near to you, my huge tree-trunk leg touching your leg under the bar. "Listen, buddy." I say it softly, in a deep, sonorous voice that makes your balls retract. "I got a problem... I was wonderin' if you might could help me with." My gaze has not wavered, my tone is so serious that you feel relief when I continue: "My damn truck battery's gone dead, and I could sure use a jump start." You laugh stupidly, and answer too quickly, "Sure, be glad to. Where's your car?" "Right outside." For the first time, I smile, sort of. Or sneer. As we get up, the bartender, who had been at the other end of the bar, hurries back and asks you to go ahead and pay for your drinks. You're surprised. "Oh, I'll be right back, just going out to the parking lot for a minute," you protest. But the bartender looks first at me, then back at you. "Still, sir, wish you'd go ahead and settle up." You're pissed, but not being the type to make trouble, you go ahead and pay him. I've stepped back into the shadows, silently watching you. As you finish paying him and turn toward the door, I again materialize near you, once more laying my heavy arm across your shoulder, squeezing near your neck and guiding you toward the door. You know this is not right. I'm TOO familiar, you know you should get out from under my hand now, before it's too late. But the fact is that my hot musky smell, the feeling of my strong muscular hand kneading your shoulder, is making your dick hard. You WANT to come outside with me.