“Hey bartender, I’ll have another one” 

I watched as Lara rolled her eyes at me, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile before she turned to tend to her customer. He was in his late forties, his nose reddened from drink, his face flushed a happy pink. He pushed the glass forward, the ice clinking loudly, a desperate plea to keep it from tumbling onto the counter.

“Another sour, Fred?” she asked sweetly, leaning forward to offer a clear view of her cleavage. Every eye in the place was drawn to her curves as she flipped her hair back and picked up the glass. She poured out the remnants of the cocktail, the froth swirling down the sink as she began to prepare another.

“Yesh!” He slurred, his phone clattering to the floor as she sauntered back over, flashing me a smile. She plucked a bottle of bourbon from the bar shelf, her eyes gleaming with mischief. With a delicate touch, she picked up a small glass bottle, its handwritten label faded, and tipped a few drops into the shaker.

“What is that? Are they homemade bitters?” I asked, leaning forward as I watched her breasts move beneath the short-sleeved shirt, her tidy ponytail agreeably as she mixed the cocktail. She glanced around, beckoning me close with a finger, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“It’s something I made - earlier today, just to see what would happen.”

Her vanilla and citrus scent filled my nostrils as a stray strand of her hair tickled my face. Her lips were a dark red, and she bit into the lower one, indecision flickering in her eyes as she stared at me, contemplating her next reveal.

“Fred loves my special whisky sours. I’ve just never told him what my special ingredient is.” 

My eyes followed her fingers as she slid the glass bottle back behind the counter, the careful cursive of her name in blue ink disappearing from view.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice still hushed, as she returned after serving him the drink. Her hip leaned against the counter, a hand on my arm as she told me her secret. 

“It’s my pee,” she said as I felt my cock stir uncontrollably at the shock of the revelation. 

“What?” I said, my gaze meeting her glittering eyes as we both turned to watch Fred sip the drink. He gave her a happy thumbs up, the whisky sour leaving a foamy thin mustache behind as he set the drink back down on the counter.

“It’s just for fun, it won’t hurt anyone” she shrugged, a playful smile on her lips as she started to pull away. “It won’t hurt anyone.” But I held her arm, my fingers wrapping around her wrist like a vice.

“Wait. Make one for me.” I said, the words tumbling out, driven by a sudden intense urge. The scent of her neck lingered close as she paused, her eyes searching mine with a mixture of curiosity and concern. 

“I’m serious. I have always wondered what it would be like.” 

Lara pulled away, and an icy fear gripped me. Would she call the police or the bouncer, and have me kicked out? I turned around, but the bar was quiet now, most patrons had already left.

I watched her walk to the end of the bar, the tiny bottle in her hand, and vanish into the ladies' room without a word. I downed the rest of my whiskey, the burn in my throat a harsh reminder as I gripped the bar top, knuckles white with silent tension.

“Are you ready?” I heard her say as she pulled out two whisky tumblers, filling them with ice cubes effortlessly as she poured the rich amber-hued liquid from the jar into the glass. The ice cracked quickly, steam rising from the sides of the glass. Her eyes met mine as she pushed the glass towards me, raising one in her own hand. 

I took a deep breath as I felt the warmth of it radiating against my lips. It was fresh, the scent rich and musky with a hint of rose and vanilla. I held my breath, my eyes locked on hers as we both held the glass to our lips. Her gaze was intense, watching me with a fascinated curiosity as I tipped the glass back. As the salty-sweet liquid filled my mouth, it ignited something primal in me. I could feel my body responding, a tightening in my jeans that was impossible to ignore. 

“Drink it,” I said, my voice firm and steady. She hesitated, her lips parting slightly as if my words had a physical weight. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of happiness and nervousness, like a person standing on the edge of something new and uncertain. We set the drinks down on the counter, the soft thud echoing in the quiet space between us. I reached behind the counter, my hand moving with a sense of purpose, and grabbed a pen. The scratch of the pen against the receipt paper seemed loud in the silence as I wrote down my phone number, each digit feeling like a small, deliberate step into the unknown.

“Next time, I want to taste it from where it comes from,” I said as I folded the receipt in half, pushing it to her and folding my hand over hers.  I recognized the flush in her cheeks, the way her eyes remained fixed on my lips, still wet with the liquid she had made. There was a charged silence between us, a tension crackled like a live wire.

“If you're good," I continued, my eyes darkening in arousal. "I’ll fill that pretty mouth of yours with something you deserve too."