The Great Fumar
10-11-2008, 03:11 PM
A woman went up to the bar in a quiet rural pub. She gestured alluringly to the bartender who approached her immediately. She seductively signaled that he
should bring his face closer to hers. As he did, she gently caressed his full
beard.
"Are you the manager?" she asked, softly stroking his face with both hands.
"Actually, no," he replied.
"Can you get him for me? I need to speak to him," she said, running her hands beyond his beard and into his hair.
"I'm afraid I can't," breathed the bartender. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Yes. I need you to give him a message," she continued, running her forefinger across the bartender's lip and slyly popping a couple of her fingers into his mouth and allowing him to suck them gently.
"What should I tell him?" the bartender managed to say.
"Tell him," she whispered, "There's no toilet paper, handsoap, or paper towels
in the ladies room."
Fumar
should bring his face closer to hers. As he did, she gently caressed his full
beard.
"Are you the manager?" she asked, softly stroking his face with both hands.
"Actually, no," he replied.
"Can you get him for me? I need to speak to him," she said, running her hands beyond his beard and into his hair.
"I'm afraid I can't," breathed the bartender. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Yes. I need you to give him a message," she continued, running her forefinger across the bartender's lip and slyly popping a couple of her fingers into his mouth and allowing him to suck them gently.
"What should I tell him?" the bartender managed to say.
"Tell him," she whispered, "There's no toilet paper, handsoap, or paper towels
in the ladies room."
Fumar