Large Lad’s Jealousy and The Bartender’s Next Scandal

Large Lad’s Jealousy and The Bartender’s Next Scandal

Large Lad sat on his usual wobbly bar stool the next evening, nursing a double rum and coke, his massive belly pressing against the sticky bar counter. His sunburned face was sourer than the limes floating in his glass.

Across from him, Ingrid sat perched on the bartender’s lap, giggling like a teenager in love. She wore a thin white sundress that clung to her curves, golden hair tumbling down her back, eyes sparkling with youthful lust.

Large Lad snorted. “What’s she even see in him? He’s old enough to have built the pyramids.”

The bartender heard, of course. He always did. He tilted his head back and roared with laughter, his chest rumbling beneath Ingrid’s hands as she clung to him shyly. He patted her thigh possessively before turning to Large Lad.

“She sees what real women see, Large Lad. Experience. Strength. A man who knows what he’s doing.”

Ingrid blushed furiously but didn’t deny it. She leaned in to kiss his neck, her lips brushing his leathery skin as she whispered something that made him grin even wider.

Large Lad slammed his drink down. “I could take her out too, y’know. Buy her a cocktail, a steak dinner. I could show her a good time.”

The bartender raised a bushy eyebrow. “You could try, Large Lad. But your belly wouldn’t let you reach her before I had her screaming my name again.”

Ingrid squeaked, burying her face in the bartender’s shoulder, half-embarrassed, half-thrilled. Large Lad’s face turned purple with rage and humiliation.

“Fine,” he spat. “Enjoy her while it lasts. Bet she’ll get bored of your old wrinkly face soon enough.”

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. Because as the night wore on, he watched them: the way Ingrid traced her delicate fingers over the bartender’s thick arms, how she laughed at his crude jokes, the hungry way she looked at him when she thought no one noticed.

Around midnight, the bartender closed up early. He lifted Ingrid off his lap with ease, slapped Large Lad on the back hard enough to nearly send him face-first into his drink, and led her out the back door.

Large Lad stumbled after them to the alleyway, curiosity and jealousy gnawing at his gut like angry rats.

There they were – Ingrid pinned against the faded brick wall, the bartender’s strong hands on her hips, her moans echoing down the quiet street. Her head lolled back, golden hair swaying as her body trembled under his rough, expert thrusts.

Large Lad’s mouth dropped open. He couldn’t look away.

Minutes later, it was over. The bartender pulled back, zipped himself up with practiced ease, and gave Large Lad a wink.

“Good night, Large Lad,” he said with a grin. “And remember, lad… some things in life just can’t be bought.”

Ingrid giggled breathlessly, adjusting her dress, eyes glazed with pleasure as she clung to the bartender’s arm. Together they walked off into the night, leaving Large Lad alone in the alley, his drink-sodden belly heavy with bitter envy.

Because in Africa, he realised, the real kings weren’t measured by their wallets… but by the women they made scream.

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