The Swing-Inn.

So let's cut to the (lemon garnish) chase here. I've been fucking my boss.

Not just a little. I've been bent over the bar, screaming his name more than once after closing.

Now, there's many disadvantages to copping a pounding from your charming co-bartender and manager. The first one is that when you are a bartender, you are also a professional flirt. I drip sex appeal when I work behind a bar, it's part of the system; boys come here, girls, you go to him. I don't want to make your martini's. I want to pour a pint of beer and smile and watch this guy think he can make it happen with the bar bitch. That's kind of our system at Bar #1. One male bartender, one female. Even split of customers. Everyone is happy. The issues are pretty thick;

1) cut shifts. He prefers not to work with you to see you flirting with others.
2) when you DO work with him, patrons recognising the fact you've been fucking.
3) "office" chortle. Har-har, chef.

I guess you're wondering what the advantages are. The advantages are just as good.

1) you get to fuck on the bar.
2) you get to fuck on the bar.
3) you get to fuck on the bar.

It's worth it. The reason why being is if you've ever worked in a high-energy environment before, constant moving, you CANNOT switch off. As soon as you hear those words "you can go now", quickly sign your name out and find yourself in the carpark, your body is still buzzing. Your mind is still churning orders. You're on full-tilt. It takes an hour or two to simmer down, OR you could just close that night and take it like a champ over the bar, probably mistaking the spillt beer on your Southern Comfort uniform for "his good job." Sex is the best simmer down.

I'm currently juggling three men. One is my ex-boyfriend, whom I dated for a year. The other is my bar manager. The last is an ageing married rockstar. A lot of the stories you'll find here are balanced on raunchy tales stemming from who I meet at these bars, as well as actual bartending stories.