Charlie’s Bar

A special thank you to Defiant Raven for giving me the initial idea for this story. When I reached out on Twitter this afternoon for writing inspiration, DR sent me this response: “A woman walks into a bar. There is no one there except the bartender, but he appears to be talking to people that the woman can not see.” – And this story was born….

It had been a shitty evening. A blind date gone terribly south. Rain. Cold. Blisters in too high heels. But, the blinking neon signs lifted Samantha’s spirits as shiny baubles did many other women. A drink would help. Just one before she went upstairs to her quiet, empty apartment. It would take the edge off the edge she’d already taken off. A good drunk was necessary from time to time.

Her shoes clicked an intermittent rhythm on the concrete walkway leading to her favorite bar. Handily, it was in the same building where she lived, so getting home after was never a problem.

Opening the door, she walked in, closing her umbrella and placing it in the rack by the door. She removed her coat and hung it, as well.

“You can’t do that when I’m working. It’s bad behavior, even for you,” the bartender whispered loudly in exasperated fashion, looking downward.

“Excuse me?” Samantha asked.

The bartender looked flustered for a moment, his normally perfectly combed-back hair falling in his face, catching in his thick, dark lashes. He reached up and smoothed it back with one hand, his muscled forearm exposed to the elbow, shirt sleeves rolled up as if to say, I’m here to get my hands dirty.


“Talking to ghosts again, Charlie?” Samantha smiled knowingly.

“Maybe…” he laughed, but there was a hint of nervousness made obvious by his lack of eye contact and the deepening color in his cheeks.

“We all know the place is haunted, but talking to ghosts is never a good idea.”

Charlie rolled his eyes, and waved his hand in the air as if to say, forget about it.

“What’ll ya have, Sam? I was just about to close up, but you can stick around until I’m ready to turn the lights out.”

“Make me something sweet. I need a little sweetness in my life right now.”

He smiled at her, knowingly, “Another shitty date?”

“You could say that,” she sighed as she hopped on to the bar stool, placed her purse on the bar, and leaned back.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“What is it with you bartenders? Always psychologizing your patrons.”

“Actually, I have a degree in Clinical Psychology. I just find it so much more fascinating to do this. I could write book after book about the things I learn about people behind this bar.”

Charlie placed a tall glass with ice cubes floating in an iridescent pink liquid. Two, thin red straws and a maraschino cherry were its only accoutrements. Simple, sweet…right up her alley and exactly what she was craving.

“Seriously? You have a Psychology degree? Why did I not know that?”

“No one ever asks the bartender how his night was. It’s sort of the bartender’s job to ask how yours was. When you’re on the stool, you have the floor. I’m just hear to make you feel better.”

“Well, you do a lovely job of it, Charlie,” Samantha smiled, stirred her drink, and took a sip. And then she felt a sudden chill. The little hairs on her arms pricked up and goosebumps emerged. She rubbed both arms and hugged herself until they disappeared.

“Is it cold in here, or is it just me?” she asked.

“It gets cold around closing time. That’s when they come out to play,” he smiled at her wickedly, and raised his eyebrows.

“Oh…you mean the ghosts, do you?” Samantha gave him a your full of shit, but you’re adorable, so I’ll let you get away with it smirk.

“Actually, yeah.”

“How exactly do they play, Charlie?”

“Well,” he began, with a twinkle in his eye and his bar towel twisting between his hands as if he were gearing up to thwak someone’s ass with it, “they’re a little bit naughty.”

“Oh, do tell…” she rested her arms in front of her on the bar and leaned in as if he were telling her a secret.

He moved closer to her, rested his own arms on the bar and leaned in to continue, “They like to touch people…in ways that they shouldn’t.”

“Oh, give me a break…you’re fucking kidding me! I’ve been in here a hundred times late at night, and I’ve never had something I couldn’t see touch me where it shouldn’t,” Samantha leaned back in her stool, and waved away his unbelievable story, “I’ve had a few asshole men try it, though.”

She rolled her eyes. But it was late, and dark, and the chill returned. And Samantha was filled with just an inkling of doubt as the goosebumps rose again on her flesh.

“So you think you were really talking to a ghost when I walked in? Are you crazy?”

Charlie wiped down the bar and continued his rudimentary closing tasks as he continued the conversation, “No, I’m not crazy. Sit there long enough, and you’ll know what I mean. Besides, you’ve never been in here after closing, and that’s when they show up. When I’m alone.”

“So how do you know they’ll do anything if I’m here?” she inquired.

“I just have a feeling they will,” he looked at her from the other end of the bar, his hair falling back in his face.

“So you say they…who are they and how many are there?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, “but they’re a handsy lot.”

“Oh, pffft…you’re full of crap…” Samantha leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the two straws, pressing her tongue against them as she sucked up a mouthful of her cocktail. As she swallowed, she had the very real sensation of a hand lightly clasped around her throat and the heat of someone’s breath at her right ear.


She wasn’t sure if she heard the word or simply felt it, but her body followed the directive, and she found her legs being willed apart by some unseen force.

She breathed in sharply and nearly fell off of her stool.

“What the fuck!” She looked shocked and a little offended.

“Ahh….you felt them?” Charlie smiled knowingly, “I knew you would, they’ve come to play and they aren’t very good at taking no for an answer.”

“So they’re rapist ghosts?”

“No…I’d say they’re more like sirens. After they’re through with you, you won’t remember having told them no. And whether you want to or not, you’ll like it.”

“Once again…you are soooo full of shit.”

Charlie just winked at her, pulled the full bag of garbage out of the bin, and walked down the hall to the alley exit, leaving Samantha alone at the bar.

With her eyes on his back, she was once again overcome by the feeling of hands around her throat, then on her breasts. She gasped a little at the sensation, but she didn’t fight it this time. She was curious and confused and frightened all at the same time, but her curiosity won out and she remained where she was, breathing shallowly and swallowing audibly. Something gripped her knees and slid up her inner thighs, urging them apart. Her dress moved up her thighs as they spread, and a liquid warmth enveloped her sex. Vibrations hummed across her entire pelvic area and seeped inside of her, heating her and sending pulses in hundreds of directions.

Her cheeks flushed with the intensity and newness of the experience. She closed her eyes as she felt something touch her throbbing clitoris gently, and she let out her breath slowly. Her body felt heavy and she leaned backward into the support of something behind her. She felt like she was floating, her whole body immersed in soft waves of heat and touch, as if dozens of hands were massaging her and caressing her.

She moaned in satisfaction, as something pressed against her wet cunt, plied her open, and entered her. It stretched her slowly, and she could feel every ridge and crevice inside of her being touched and traced as it explored her depths.

She’d forgotten where she was. She’d forgotten Charlie, who was now seated on a bar stool at the other end of the bar, watching her. From his view, she was a writhing mess of wanton lust, alone in a chair, bucking her hips slowly and sighing with pleasure. She bit her lip and reached out to touch whatever it was that was there. She looked like a blind woman, desperately searching for something to hold on to.

He’d once had a girlfriend who could make herself come without touching herself. She would move against her own clothing, squeeze her thighs together, and work herself into a frenzy with only her mind to blame. It was fucking amazing to watch her do it. Just like this was fucking amazing to watch.

Samantha reached down between her thighs, touching herself and crying out just a little.

“Oh my god…” she whispered, “I’ve never felt like this…it’s so surreal.”

“It’s like floating, right?” He worried his words might break the spell, but she didn’t flinch.

“Yes, that’s exactly what it’s like. I can feel them touching me…everywhere…inside…”

She lifted her ass off the seat and pulled her dress up all the way to her hips. Then she lifted her feet up onto the bar, legs spread.

Charlie stood up and walked toward her side of the bar, so he could get a better view. He took a chair from a nearby table, turned the back of it to face her, then straddled it. His legs spread, he became instantly aware of his growing hard-on pressing against the suddenly tight fabric of his pants.

Angled impossibly backward, Samantha was halfway suspended in the air as she rubbed herself and spread herself wide to whatever was pleasuring her. Her slow bucking became more and more frantic until her whole body was thrashing and and undulating. She pulled at the front of her dress, stretching the fabric down to bear her breasts, nipples dark and erect. She tugged at them and grabbed them, arching her back, and crying out.

Charlie couldn’t help himself. He unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and unzipped his fly to release his painful erection. He wrapped his hand around himself, squeezing and rubbing and tugging, his own hips beginning to match Samantha’s hungry rhythm.

Every muscle in Samantha’s body was tight when the orgasm finally hit her, exploding from every point possible. She felt her cervix tighten, the walls of her cunt pulse wildly, her sphincter bite down, and her clitoris erupt like fireworks.

Charlie watched her shudder violently, feeling his balls tighten, ready to push his own orgasm up the shaft of his cock. He growled deep in his chest and felt his abdomen contract in preparation. He closed his eyes tightly as he came, his fist moving quickly up and down until the very last drop landed on the floor in front of him.

When he opened his eyes, Samantha was slouched in her bar stool, legs still spread wide, arms dangling toward the floor, her chest heaving.

Charlie grabbed a napkin off of the table and wiped the end of his cock before pushing it back into its cloth home and zipping it back in. He stood up and back from the chair, bucking his belt. He pushed the chair back in, grabbed the napkin, and walked back behind the bar.

“Need another drink?”

“Good god, yes…something stiffer. A real drink. Whiskey. I don’t know what the fuck just happened to me, but holy fuck, I’ve never come like that in my life!”

“I told you.”

“Do they do that to you?”


“I see why you stay.” She pulled her feet from the bar, pulled her dress back down around her thighs, and arranged her breasts back in the top of her dress. Her neck was deeply flushed, as were her cheeks, and her hair was disheveled.

He placed the glass of whiskey in front of her, which she took and downed in one gulp.


“No, but I might need a little help up the stairs. My legs feel like jello. Fuck…my whole fucking body feels like jello. I’m not even sure I can stand up.”

Charlie took the glass and placed it in the sink.

“Where are your keys?” he asked.

Samantha dug around in her purse, looking very much to the outside world as if she were heavily intoxicated. She pulled out a ring of keys and placed them on the bar. Charlie grabbed them and then walked back around the bar. He reached one arm under her knees as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I didn’t mean you had to carry me.”

“I know what it feels like,” he said, “and you need me to carry you.”

She grabbed her purse from the bar before he turned and walked toward the door.

“Can you stand for just a moment while I lock up?”

“I think so,” she replied.

He gently lowered her feet to the ground and brought her to standing, leaning her against the window by the door. Opening it, he took her hand, and led her out. He turned the open sign to the side that said closed, shut it, and locked it. Turning back to her, he lifted her again.


As they walked away, several hand prints appeared on the windows of the bar, creating a pattern like footprints in the sand, following them as they left.

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