Helping Man

A tale of dangerous sex. May not be suitable for the general readership. Please be advised this is erotic literature and should only be read by mature adults.

The bar was packed for a Sunday night. This was not my usual hangout. I had traveled over 30 miles to get to the place, a "dance bar" in the next county. I'm on the board of a GLBT community service foundation, and it was my task to sell tickets to our big fundraiser later that month. The local bars are always very cooperative, donating liquor and bartenders for the event. The owner of the Silver Spoon had invited us to set up a table at the door this weekend. We sold over 50 tickets on Saturday, and I was doing very well again tonight. The place is near the beach, so dress code was decidedly casual: lots of shorts, tees and sandals. The boys were very pretty, the men as ruggedly handsome as I could hope. It looked like a really fun bar, and I wished there were a great place like this in my neighborhood.

I was very popular at my table. My organization raises charitable funds for some very important Gay and Lesbian organizations and I was answering lots of questions about our group and the big Summer party we were about to host. Throughout the night the owner sent men over to see me and I was being as flirtatious as I could to get them interested first in me, then in my tickets. It's all about the sales pitch, it's the sizzle not the steak! I was hit on repeatedly by incredible men that made my dick stir in my pants.

None of them compared with the dude at the end of the bar. About six feet-two, his blonde short spiked-out hair gleamed under the electric beer light hanging over the bar. He wore a white muscle tank over his broad bronzed shoulders, his pectorals straining the thin fabric. His nipples stood up against the ribbed knit. They looked so delicious, I wanted to go over and nip them right through the shirt. The man wore a string of pukka beads tightly around his neck. Was that back in style? His torso was hard, ripped and firm. The tank stopped just short of his waistband, showing his tight belly. He wore khaki pants that were cut off mid calf, like clamdiggers. The blonde hair on his arms and legs looked like golden threads against his caramel brown skin. A very sexy, sun kissed surfer look. I imagined him riding a wave, the salty spray clinging to his muscular body. He never came over to see me, but I noticed him staring at me several times that night. He would catch my eye and then turn away, almost as if he was shy. I couldn't imagine a stud like him being shy, but who knows?

The night was winding down, it was last call. I still had two full drinks lined up on my table from some very hunky admirers. I also had a pocket full of phone numbers and E-mail addresses from sexual wannabes. It felt good to be the center of attention! I had a long drive home, so I had stopped drinking about an hour ago. I sold about thirty tickets, really very good for a Sunday. I kissed a few new friends goodbye, and they promised to look for me at the big party. I passed the big blonde at the bar, and I saw him check me out one more time. He focused first on my crotch then looked up to my face. We locked eyes for a couple seconds. I hoped he liked what he saw, although I didn't think I'd ever see him again.

I joked and flirted out in front of the bar with some of the men I had met. They all wanted to do some very rude things to my orifices. Another night, another place, perhaps. I needed to get back home. I had to go to work in the morning! The parking lot had been jammed when I arrived earlier, so my car was parked in the back lot behind the small strip mall that the Silver Spoon shared with a restaurant and a Laundromat. The sky was cloudless, crystal clear, and the half-moon threw blue light into the corners of the lot. I walked around the corner and saw my Mustang parked under a post in a pool of yellow light. I hit the key ring and heard the reassuring chirp of my alarm. As I opened the car door I sensed someone behind the dumpster. My caution had been replaced with sweet dreams of the blonde stranger at the bar. I guess I thought it was just some bar patrons, enjoying a little outdoor sex.

The two men came at me fast, knocking the air out of me, as I was body-tackled to the sandy pavement. We struggled for a minute. A fist hit me in the jaw and felt an odd liquid warmth. My mouth was bleeding. Another fist to my solar plexus. I stopped fighting as the men dragged me to my feet. I admit it, I was scared and in pain. I begged them to stop; I asked them, why? What did they want from me?

"That's enough talkin'. Just shut your dick-sucking trap. You little cock-tease, think you're so hot, so special? Sold a lot of tickets by struttin' yer ass in front of everybody. Well, I'll jus' take that envelope, darlin'!"

He was very drunk, but that didn't diminish his anger. The second man held me from behind, giggling. He took a bandanna out of his hip pocket and forced it into my mouth. I gagged, but recovered. My muffled cries could not be heard. Although in great danger and in some pain, I couldn't help thinking how handsome my attacker was! He appeared Mediterranean, with an olive complexion and inky hair. His face was angular, rugged, and covered in a day's growth of black beard. His strong square chin had a clef in it, like Superman. The sleeves of his plaid shirt were cut off at his hairy pits exposing beefy arms covered in various tattoos, including USMC on one great bicep. His chest was massive, forming bulky mounds of muscle covered in a wooly mat of curly dark hair. He had a beer belly that he carried well; it fit his frame and looked good on him. The shirt was completely open, and I saw oily dark rings of hair continue across his gut and into his waistband. The bulge in his pants made me stiffen up despite the threats he continued to hiss at me. As his buddy held me tightly from behind, he shot another fist into my stomach, to remind me who was in charge here.