Currency: £ GBP
I lied to get my first bartending job and I’m so glad I did.
It was my last summer in my home town before going to uni. I needed a job to save up for my new life in another city after the summer. But I knew that if I disclosed the fact that I’d only be available to work for a month and a half, I probably wouldn’t get a job.
And so I lied.
It was a typical English pub that served pints of beer and pub grub. The boss, Simon, was in his early thirties and he was hot. When we first met for my interview, there was an instant connection. It went so well that, to my surprise, he offered me the job on the spot and insisted I had a 2-hour training session with him on how to pull the perfect pint.
During those two hours, he was impressed by how quickly I was learning the tricks of the trade. Despite this, Simon insisted on shadowing me during my first shifts. This was just to make sure that it wasn’t down to beginner’s luck, or so he said. As I pulled the tap down slowly, I couldn’t resist making lewd and inappropriate comments about giving my pints of lager and bitter the perfect ‘head’. I even drew cocks in the white froth on the heads of the pints of Guinness instead of the traditional shamrocks. Simon shook his head in feigned anger when he saw this. It was a big pub and there was a significant distance between us and the other waitresses and customers. They were oblivious to the situation that was blossoming between Simon and me.
Over the following weeks, he was my motivation to go to work. That wasn’t the only advantage. I was saving quite a bit of money given that working in a pub meant that I wasn’t spending my hard-earned cash on my own social life. I also made a generous amount of tips. My interactions with Simon were usually on weekdays when the pub was quiet. Every conversation we had was replete with innuendo, even when it was about serious things such as changing the barrel when there were thirsty customers waiting. We always tried to outwit each other. Sometimes it was with silly flirtatious comments and other times it was engaging in intense staring competitions that always caused a stir between my thighs.
At that time, I was having fun with my newfound femme fatale charms. I had never felt beautiful or popular during my formative years. But something happened when I turned 18. Suddenly, it became effortless for me to attract male attention. I enjoyed the ego boost but it wasn’t quite enough for me. It was too easy. I wanted a challenge when it came to seducing someone. Particularly if it was someone in a position of power. That was the kind of forbidden fruit that I was salivating for. Getting what I wanted would also require some intellectual input and not just flaunting my tits and ass.
One day, I did the lunchtime shift. At the end of it, when the pub was closed, he offered me a drink. I accepted and we sat at the bar, with our knees touching. This time our conversation was seriously off the scale with mutual provocation. When we had the last sip, he ended up taking me by the hand and leading me down to the cellar.
Once inside, we kissed and explored each other’s bodies standing next to the beer barrels. My heart was racing as it was the first time I was exploring a real man’s body, with my hands. He was nothing like the clumsy guys of my own age that I had been with.
When I made my way down to his throbbing cock, I felt a little self-conscious as I held it as I didn’t really know what I was doing. I didn’t have to worry about my technique for long though, as it took him no time at all to erupt with passion. He apologised, but I didn’t care. Wasn’t ejaculating the objective? He got some tissue to clean up his wet patch on the floor. When he was done, he picked me up and sat me on the edge of a table in the corner. He lifted my skirt, opened my legs, pulled my panties to one side, and went down on me. His expert tongue got to work on my eager clitoris and I could hardly contain my pleasure. This only increased when he inserted his fingers because, within seconds, I was moaning with ecstasy. During my orgasmic spasms, he kept telling me to be quiet even though we were alone.
In more ways than one, I ‘milked’ the opportunity so to speak. Over the following weeks, I took full advantage of my privileged position at work and enjoyed first preference as far as the roster was concerned. As we were spending so much time together, the flirting was getting seriously out of hand. It got to the point where the others couldn’t help but notice. For some reason, I could tell that they weren’t impressed and they were pretty cold with me. This only made me cling to Simon even more.
We shared a few more clandestine kisses and caresses in the stockroom, but it never progressed to anything more. I lived with my parents and he was always working. I was happy with the ‘slap and tickle’ status. I didn’t need full sex. Especially as I’d be leaving soon.
I thought I had full control of the situation, but one day in September, the sweetness began to go sour. I discovered that there was another layer to the nature of this forbidden fruit and it wasn’t so tasty or appealing. It turned out that Simon was married and everyone knew except me. I couldn’t believe how naive I had been. I tried to act as though I didn’t care. But of course, I did.
I found out the hard way when she turned up at the pub one day. All my colleagues knew her already. When Simon introduced me to her, he even mentioned that I drew cocks on the heads of my pints of Guinness. Needless to say, I was completely flabbergasted. She was beautiful and friendly. I was awkward and in complete shock.
The worst part was seeing Simon’s behaviour. He acted as if he was the perfect doting husband around his wife. I couldn’t believe it. Was this the same man who had been rubbing my pussy through my panties moments earlier next to the beer barrels? My confusion reached critical mass when he resumed his flirting with me after she had gone as though nothing had happened.
I resisted and said I had period pain. I went home early and I never went back there again.
Given the circumstances, I felt as though I could give my notice over the phone as opposed to in person. The clock was ticking after all, and a new life in a new city awaited me. As well as new men to explore.
‘I’m sorry, I just don’t feel comfortable working with you anymore. I’m going to have to leave,’ I told Simon on the phone.
He was disappointed but he said he understood.
Despite everything, I was still glad that I had lied to get the job, as it made leaving it so much easier.