TLDR: An unusual kind of harem, subverting expectations.
I will describe the ideal situation for me, ok? Please, don't hesitate to let me know if it's too tame/extreme for you. We are here to share our hearts and POW.
In this scenario I'm single, the bar is close to our work place, and the attendants, stewardesses, security girl-officers, and yours truly are finally done with another terrible, horrible, no good day of suffering entitled tourists and their unreasonable, abusive demands. That's why my hags and I (this is my fantasy, so they, and not I, are the token friends here) hit the pub with a vengueance, knowing we will only have that night to have fun, the following day to go through the hangover (30's suck) and a last one to rest, call Mom, regret our life choices, and cry about our dead-end careers, before returning to our soul-sucking job.
We are so tired and fed-up we don't even change our uniforms, so the moment we open the door, the other men turn to watch my companions -all dressed-up, discretely made-up, impeccably coiffed as required- parade through the place, as if they came out from some dream. They are all adorable, wonderful, charming in their own way, because in my country you only need good presence and competitive skills, not a specific size to be hired.
Those single men start perking-up, preparing for the hunt. They have failed so hard at Tinder they had to resort to traditional picking-up methods, risking frontal rejection. In their heads, they are going through all those seduction books, videos, and scam seminars that promised them to become the ultimate sex machines, trying to remember the negas, magas or whatever BS methods Tik-toker love gurus are promoting nowadays. They start to sweat, hands trembling for the excitement of a chance at IRL fornication.
They are savoring the girls already, counting them as good as f*cked, when they spot me, entering last... and boy, that stings them good. They were not counting on a guy. They meassure me up. Whose boyfriend/husband am I suppossed to be?
The moment they see me in the middle of those women, their potential prey, they hate me with a passion, especially when they witness how well the girls and I get along, the laughs, and easy conversation between us. Most of the bar patrons are the stuttering-babbling kind of dude, shy little things with broken hearts and a fragile ego; others lean towards the vulgar, crass kind of male, accustomed to make unimaginative jokes and to insistently rub their crotches against women's butts in a pitiful pretense of dancing (that allows to get them laid with some heavily drunk North-Europeans once in a blue moon, somehow). Chatty, 5'5/10 f-boy wannabes, you know the type, especially if you live in a South-European country as I do. A veritable plague, they are.
They count the chicks and do their math, all of them thinking they've got an actual chance at snatching one of my hens without getting pecked to death. How wrong they are!
Since I'm a gentleman, and also a terribly lazy excuse for a man, I go select the best table available, with enough seats for all of us, but not even one to spare. Any stranger approaching us will have to stand there, uncomfortable and looking like a waiter.
Some of the patrons try to chat the girls up, but my cute friends are too to used to receive all kind of propositions every day, and ignore them. They do their sorority stuff, and close ranks, actively ignoring the barflies. Plus, their feet hurt after hours of work, and they want to get the drinks and get a seat as soon as possible.
They bring me a soda, since I'm the designated driver for the night, causing our lonely chauvinists to choke on their Instagrammeable gin-tonics. A man that gets bought drinks by women? What kind of witchcraft is that? Have they been teleported to a different latitude?
The hostility is palpable in the air. The looks get angry and suspicious.
All but those of the waiter, whose eyes lighten-up. That guy KNOWS.
We'll come to him later...
The girls and I are too stressed to disconnect from work just yet, so we go through the contracts, payment sheets, and review the latest syndicate emails on the phones, while criticizing our superiors and absent colleagues for resisting to unionize to improve our working conditions. (Plot flavor) Any moron passing by would listen to the rant and won't find a single opening to break the ice. Females wouldn't be receptive to courting when they are angry.
A toast later, my companions start to drown their sorrows in alcohol. They joke and laugh with the typical gallows humor, which is the only thing standing between someone who works face-to-face with the public and suicide. A couple of them are lesbians and start making out after a while.
Our observers don't know whether to feel aroused or frustrated. Real lesbians do not offer men threesomes, so that means those are two chicks less for them. The pussy-pool has just been reduced.
Their brains go
Recalculating.
Recalculating..
Recalculating...
It still doesn't make them desist. One after the other, they try to single out the girls, separating them from the herd. As if. I'm a guy, too, a hunter on my own right (even though of a different game) and recognize that strategy. For years I have perfected my "eldest brother skills", elevating cock-blocking other guys to state-of-the-art, and I happen to feel very protective of my co-workers. They are grown-ups, but still, friends protect others from heartache and clamidia. We are a found family, you know? Real warmth, support & sh*t.
I don't drive those walking erections away. No. I'm too polite for that, so friendly and nice that they don't know how to react.
These poor f*ckers can't even begin to imagine how much of a b*tch I can be. Nobody is getting fun unless I do. They had expected animosity, a gorilla-like marking of territory of sorts, but they only find some reeeally verbose gent who monopolizes them and takes charge of the conversation every time they try to get the attention of one of my partners, aborting all their chances to sound witty and shine.
I ask them about their jobs, hobbies, family and friends, their pets, and their favorite football team. From the outside it may look like I'm helping the lad integrate within the group, but I'm isolating him, in fact. I do the same with all of the guys, forcing them to interact and talk to each other, and soon there are two groups, one of males (standing), and one of females (sitting) with me being the exception. They are physically close, but they don't ever mix.
Soon I catch one of the would-be seducers trying to cross the divide and sell my protegées a sob story. This recent father is being mistreated by his wife since the baby came, in spite of treating her like a princess and helping a lot with the little one. She's so mean... So unfair to him... He feels like he has become simply a wallet for her, because she won't give him a crumb of pussy, boo-hoo.
F*cking amateur, this one. Some women may love babies, but none of them would like to hear you whine about your suffering for another woman, you idiot! Simpathy is never won by arguing that a tired, hormonal new mother should be forced to satisfy her man-child husband no matter what, or he'd be "forced to look for love outside".
The drinks other men are bringing to the tables for the girls (which they wisely decide to reject once served, in case they come laced with some drug) I actually give them to this poor sod, as I offer him my shoulder to cry on. The free alcohol makes him feel a fake sense of solidarity from me. He's soon inebriated, so much he staggers to the toilets. I, still playing the quick-friend role, follow him after some seconds, under the pretense of being worried for him.
I watch him vomit, and help him with his coat, keep his head down, caressing his back in a manly, not commital way. I give him a wet wipe for cleaning his mouth and buy him a 1Euro disposable brush and toothpaste kit from the toilet machine. I lean on the wall as he brushes his teeth, patiently.
I can see the gratitude in his eyes. "I don't know what came to me" he says "I'm no alcoholic, but..."
"I don't judge" I say "you are going through a lot, mate"
"Thanks, truly... You are a good egg"
I can only smirk.
"Shall we go out again?" But he's too drunk yet, his balance isn't good. I convince it will be better to wait for a bit, just the two of us, side by side. Alone.
I keep on asking for his troubles, pretending to give a damn about him or them, fully knowing this will make him depressed once again. I want him close to crying, even when his masculine pride won't let him do it for real. I want him to feel as pathetic as I see him, to hurt.
When words of encouragement don't work, he starts looking for physical contact. Nothing sexual, just friendly closeness, like you would ask from a brother. I indulge him, savoring the moment, biding my time.
Once you have passed the skin-to-skin barrier everything somes easier. Wariness descends dramatically when distance closes and there's still no aggression.
Drunk or not, there's a very real chance he will punch me if I go too far. Fragile guys like me can never be too cautious.
I start with a tentative touch here and there, paying attention to his reactions. At least a part of his story is true: he's really pent-up, very, very touch-starved. The unhappy daddy is still somewhat rigid under my fingers, his muscles and tendons stiff, unable to relax. I don't worry yet, it's because he's unaccoustomed to the hands of a man, let alone a much taller one. For him, this is a first, an unexpected situation. But he soon learns a caress is a caress, and a kiss, almost always pleasant, no matter who it comes from.
I don't feel personally offended when he closes his eyes. I'm not that vain. This must feel really strange to him...
I feel tempted to shove him into one of the stalls and rail him for good before he changes his mind, but he's too nervous and definitively not clean down there. Things could get bloody and messy, and I don't want to make him scared. My pleasure will have to wait.
One must to go step by step with guys like these. I may be a bastard, but I'm no rapist.
I do the one thing I know he'll be slightly comfortable about. You see, when you are on your knees, the other person gets a faux sense of confidence. He still thinks he's in charge of the situation, even when you've got him literally by the balls.
He is very disorientated and confused right after. He can't yet believe a guy has just sucked him, and he came like never before. I have actually gone the extra mile for him, to pull him to the dark side of the force. This boy will get a boner every time he sees my company's logo, granted. Damn, if life was fair, I'd paid for all my services in favor of the brand!
I recognize the look he's giving me. He knows I haven't come yet, and he's afraid I'll force him to suck me or give me a handjob. And even more, he's afraid of feeling morally obligued to do it.
"This is not me, you know?" He stutters" I'm not a homo..."
Yeah, not a homo, not a drunkard either. Keep lying to yourself, piggy-boy.
I nod, instead "It's ok, don't worry. I won't tell"
"I've got a wife..."
"I know, you told me..."
And that only makes me harder, boy. I'm a despicable little thing that gets off to the idea of stealing men and destroying families ( and it's not like you were planning on remaining faithful, anyway...)
He's so exposed and vulnerable now it's almost endearing, but I have no love for cheaters. They need to suffer, to balance the pain they cause.
"Can I borrow you phone, please?" He gives it to me automatically, without thinking. His mind is somewhere else, probably trying to recall if he has ever felt attracted to a man before. Then he suddenly comes back to reality, and panics.
"Are you... are you going to take a photo...?!"
I'm not the blackmailing type, but I could pretend to be in the future, if this piggy likes fearplay.
"Nothing of the sorts" I ignore the big photo of the beautiful woman holding a baby he has as a wallpaper, and go to his agenda. Then, I add my number to his instant messager app, starting my name with an "0" so my contact is the first thing he will see whenever he opens it. I'm not certain he will call, but he will feel tempted to do it, and that's enough for me. His shame will bind us like a chain.
"There you go" I return it "Now be a good boy and go to your family. And let your woman rest, for God's sake"
I leave him there, gazing at his own traitorous crotch.
In the meantime, I go to the bar and ask for something sweet.
"For the aftertaste, uh?" As I said, the waiter knows. It takes one...
The sparkle in his eyes says he also approves.
I smile and lick my lips. "What do you recommend?"
"To stop wasting time with closeted bi guys, for starters. It never works..."
"We'll see about that. And to drink?"
The toilet door opens, and the unfaithful husband almost makes a run out of the bar, trying to avoid being seen. The barman and I share a laugh.
"A cup at my place. I'm pretty close to finishing my shift."
"I'd better go tell the girls they are going to need a taxi, then..."
And that's how MY harem begins
