Octoberfest

 

234m

You weren’t sure you were in the right bar. The bar, in the heart of Munich, had been recommended by an online friend. At the moment, despite being mid October, it was as dead as a tumb. Then you saw her. A pretty, blonde Fraulein with braids, turquoise and white dirndl dress, flowers in her hair, big boobs fallen out, nipples hard And that wasn’t even what you noticed first. No, what you noticed first, was she was drunk, stumbling and staggering.

The air in the bar was thick with the scent of spilled beer and polished wood, the faint hum of a jukebox playing some forgotten Bavarian folk tune in the corner. You sat at your table nursing a coke, your eyes glued to the staggering figure of the blonde Fräulein. Her turquoise and white dirndl clung to her curves, the low neckline failing to contain her ample chest, her nipples hard in the cool air. The crown of flowers on her head bobbed as she swayed, her laughter loud and unrestrained, echoing in the near-empty room.

She caught your gaze, her blue eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and intoxication. A slow, lopsided smile spread across her lips, and she raised her own stein in a clumsy toast, sloshing golden liquid onto the floor. "Prost!" she slurred, her voice carrying a melodic lilt despite her drunken state. She took a step toward you, her hips swaying exaggeratedly, and you couldn’t help but notice the way her skirt rode up slightly, revealing a glimpse of creamy thigh above her white stockings.

You weren’t sure whether to laugh or intervene as she nearly tripped over a stool, catching herself on a table with a giggle. “Careful,” you called out, your voice low but carrying across the quiet bar. Her head snapped up, and she fixed you with a look that was equal parts playful and predatory.

“Careful?” she repeated, her accent curling around the word like smoke. She sauntered closer, her movements unsteady but deliberate, her eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe I don’t want to be careful.” She stopped just inches away, close enough that you could smell the sweet mix of her perfume and the beer on her breath. Her chest heaved slightly with each breath, the flowers in her hair trembling as she tilted her head, studying you.

Your pulse quickened, the heat of her proximity sending a jolt through you. The bar seemed to shrink, the world narrowing to the space between you and this bold, tipsy stranger. “You’re trouble,” you said, a half-smile tugging at your lips, testing the waters.

She laughed, a throaty sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Trouble?” she purred, leaning closer, her fingers brushing against your arm as she steadied herself. Her touch was light but electric, her skin warm despite the cool October air seeping through the bar’s open windows. “Maybe you like trouble.”

Her hand lingered, her fingers tracing a lazy circle on your forearm, and you felt the air shift, charged with unspoken possibilities.

“What’s your name, Fräulein?” you asked, your voice steady despite the heat building in your chest.

She leaned in even closer, her lips brushing the shell of your ear as she whispered, “Helga.” Her breath was warm, tickling your skin, and when she pulled back, her eyes sparkled with a challenge. “And you? Are you brave enough to keep up with me?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with promise. Your gaze flicked to her lips, then back to her eyes, and you knew—whatever happened next, this night was about to take a turn you’d never forget.

The dim glow of the bar’s lanterns cast flickering shadows across the worn wooden table where you sat, your fingers tracing the condensation on your glass of coke. The jukebox’s mournful Bavarian tune seemed to pulse in time with your quickening heartbeat as Helga leaned closer, her turquoise and white dirndl straining against her curves. Her braids were starting to unravel, loose strands framing her flushed face, and the flowers in her hair tilted precariously as she swayed, her drunken giggles filling the air. Her stein of beer, now half-empty, sat forgotten on the table, more of its contents spilled across her bodice, the damp fabric clinging to her skin and accentuating the hardness of her nipples.

“Brave enough?” she repeated, her voice slurring as she leaned in, her hand sliding from your forearm to your chest, her fingers splaying possessively. Her breath was hot and heavy with beer, her blue eyes hazy but burning with intent. “I think you are,” she murmured, her lips so close you could almost taste the alcohol on them. The bar’s quiet hum faded, the world narrowing to her touch, her scent, and the electric promise in her gaze.

Before you could respond, the heavy wooden door of the bar swung open with a creak, letting in a gust of crisp October air. You glanced up, startled, as your online friend, Markus, strode in, his lanky frame unmistakable. Beside him was a petite brunette in a red lederhosen, her cheeks flushed with a tipsy glow, her arm looped through his as she giggled and stumbled slightly. Markus’s eyes scanned the room, landing on you with a grin that widened when he spotted Helga practically draped across your table.

“Well, well!” Markus called out, his voice booming with amusement as he approached, his companion clinging to him like ivy. “Looks like you found the right place after all!” He clapped you on the shoulder, his eyes twinkling as he took in Helga’s disheveled state. “And made a friend, I see.”

Helga straightened up, but only slightly, her hand still resting on your chest as she turned to Markus with a pout. “Your friend is too serious,” she slurred, her accent thicker now, her words tripping over each other. “Drinking… coke.” She wrinkled her nose, then burst into laughter, nearly toppling off her chair. You reached out instinctively to steady her, your hand grazing the warm curve of her waist, and her laughter softened into a hum of approval as she leaned into your touch.

Markus’s companion, whose name you caught as Klara, wasn’t faring much better. Her red lederhosen was slightly askew, the ribbon lacing up the front loosened just enough to hint at the soft swell of her breasts. She giggled, her dark eyes sparkling as she tugged at Markus’s sleeve. “Let’s get more beer!” she declared, her voice bright but wavering, and she dragged him toward the bar, her steps unsteady but determined.

Markus shot you a knowing look over his shoulder. “Don’t let Helga scare you off,” he teased, before turning to the bartender to order another round. Helga, meanwhile, had slid closer, her thigh pressing against yours under the table, her fingers now tracing idle patterns along your collarbone. “Scare you?” she whispered, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “I don’t think so. I think you like this.”

Her drunken confidence was intoxicating in its own right, her body radiating heat as she leaned in, her breath tickling your ear again. “Stay with me,” she murmured, her voice low and sultry, her hand sliding down to rest on your thigh, her fingers squeezing lightly. “We’re just getting started.”

Across the room, Klara let out a peal of laughter as she and Markus returned with fresh steins, hers already sloshing as she raised it in a clumsy toast. “To new friends!” she called, her words slightly garbled, and Helga echoed her with a cheer, her own stein wobbling dangerously. Beer splashed onto the table, and Helga giggled, her free hand gripping your arm for balance as she swayed, her body brushing against yours in a way that sent sparks through your veins.

The bar was no longer dead—it was alive with the chaotic energy of these two tipsy women, their laughter and boldness filling the space. Markus caught your eye again, raising an eyebrow as if to say, You in over your head yet? But with Helga’s hand on your thigh, her breath warm against your neck, and Klara’s infectious giggles pulling you into their orbit, you weren’t sure you wanted to be anywhere else.