A Storm In A Wine Glass

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Anal

I sat at the bar uncomfortable, slouching over, my lower back sore. Behind me, the tawdry lights pumped and pulsed, a sea of bodies writhing together, the air hot and smelling of sweat, other human smells such as fake tan, makeup, various colognes, and perfumes permeating the very fabric of existence inside the club. It was inescapable. My two girlfriends had long been lost to the night, and I was left at the bar, bitter, awkward, and alone, with only the very brave venturing over to try and chat me up or hit on me.Amusingly, I had eye-fucked a good-looking young man early on in the night, debating with myself whether I grab him by the powder-blue collar, throw him in my car, use him, abuse him and then lose him. But I had not been quick enough. Out in the jungle, the slower animals often lost out, and the only real difference between me and an angry lioness playing the waiting game was that my jungle was the club dating scene, and hers was the savanna.In the end, the young cub I eye-fucked had been caught by the older cougar, and as I downed my fourth gin of the night, the alcohol seeping into my system, I decided I’d rather be bitter, angry, and miserable at the world, alone. I didn’t even attempt to look for Ember or Sara and tell them I was turning in for the night, I left them to their partying. No doubt, they’d have more fun without me.It was like I was pushing myself through a blizzard of bodies, there were limbs everywhere, some attached to people, and others flailing around as if disconnected from their owner. I made it out alive, and once safe in the foyer, I took a large, gulping breath in, and then out. My leopard print skirt stuck to me, I could feel sweat running down the backs of my thighs, tickling me. Mumbling a, “have a good night,” the security guard opened the door for me, and I felt a blast of cold, early winter air on my body. Involuntarily, I shivered, but I welcomed the crisp air that held the promise of a good frost in the morning. I stood there for a moment, weighing up my options. I had changed my mind in between the time it took to walk through the club to the outside world; I didn’t really want to go home and be all alone, but then I also did not want to be around people and sweaty humping bodies under club lights.There was a late-night coffee club just around the corner where talentless hopefuls often played acoustic sets or spewed stand-up comedy at the small crowd of insomniacs that circled around to listen. I considered that option for only a second or two. Did I really want to listen to slam poetry about someone else’s menstrual cycle? No, I did not. Standing there, caught like a deer in the headlights not knowing where to go or what to do, I heard a familiar voice grow louder as it approached, and then the soft, throaty laugh of a flirtatious woman.I turned to leave, but instead of making my escape, I was now faced with the familiar voice. The woman with him was late thirties, petite, no more than five foot two. She had squeezed herself into a red dress that looked like it came from the teenage girls’ section of the mall. Natural blonde, round face that gave her almost a babyish appearance, B cups at most. Exactly his type. He noticed me as I was mentally cross-examining Tiny blonde. It was small comfort to see that he also bore that same, panicked look on his face. His expression held a similar shock to how I felt on the inside. Quickly I turned, trying to escape in the other direction, my feet unsure of their destination or where they were taking me, but moving nonetheless.“Jade,” the voice said. My feet stopped. I wanted to keep walking, perhaps even run away. Run away from here and never be seen again, but my feet halted, and I had pulled to a stop until he caught up to me. “Jade,” he said again.Slowly I turned, taking a deep breath in, and then out, willing myself to keep my composure and dignity. Any anger I felt, I had to swallow down. I found that I couldn’t quite read him. He wore an odd expression, slightly pleading, but also awkward. Tiny blonde was staring at me too, looking me up and down and smirking. I felt like a giant compared to her, all leggy, awkward, and ungainly. I questioned everything in that moment. His type was almost exclusively petite blondes, so what had he seen in me? Or had it all been a ruse, something to be able to finally one-up his older brother? Had he played me? I wasn’t his type, so why did he try, and succeed with me? I had been the foolish one. The thought crushed me, before slowly sinking deep down inside me, to the bottom of my stomach like lead. “Why don’t you go inside?” Anthony mumbled to Tiny blonde. She strode past me confidently and entered the club.The chill of the night ran like a bolt up my spine, and I decided I had stood there long enough. With a lead brick in my stomach, and my feet feeling clumsy, I walked past Anthony, still not knowing what I would do for the rest of the night or where I would go, but I walked. “We need to talk.”Again I stopped and turned, wondering if I had doomed myself to spending my entire night in this state, walk, stop, turn, walk, stop turn. Groundhog night. “There is nothing to talk about,” I said, managing to squeeze out the words, my throat feeling tight.“There is bahis siteleri everything to talk about.”“What is there to discuss?” I asked. “You told me you loved me and then left the next day, doing what you always did, Anthony. I didn’t know where you’d gone, or how to get in contact with you. I tried, but… nothing. I found out a few months later that you’d gone back overseas again. So no, there is nothing to talk about.”Cursed to stay in the state of limbo that was my night, I started to walk again, until Anthony then called out, “I heard you divorced Stan.”I stopped, and once more I turned. I was really getting my steps in tonight. “Yes, we did.”“And?” He asked, walking towards me.“And what?”“And, how did it happen?”“I confronted him a week after he returned from his business trip. He denied nothing. The split was amicable.”Anthony’s brow creased in question, no doubt frustrated at my lack of context. My story was patchy on purpose, I wasn’t about to go into full-blown detail about my divorce standing on a cold street. I had to have this one. I had to keep it to myself, I had nothing left to lose, really, but I couldn’t let Anthony win. What he would have been winning, I didn’t know, but my pride was bigger than any ego the man had. This one was mine.  “Does he know that it was me who told you?” he asked.“No.”“Does he know that you and I-”“No,” I said, interrupting him. I couldn’t bear to hear him say it. I couldn’t bear to hear those words come out of his mouth. In my anger, I had suppressed the memories of that night, almost convincing myself that it hadn’t happened. If he said it, confirming out loud that it had indeed occurred, and it wasn’t a figment of my imagination, I didn’t know what I’d do, or how I’d react.“Did you get anything in the divorce? Have you been well provided for? Are you living okay?”“You’ve never concerned yourself with my well-being before, Anthony, so don’t start now, it’s disingenuous.”“Jade…”“Goodnight,” I said with finality. For the last time that night, I started walking down the street, emotions pricking at the surface, the lead brick in my stomach feeling somehow heavier.My immediate reflex had always been anger. I had always been the choleric type, quick to fire up and jump straight to conflict. I had gotten better in the few years I had been with Stan. In a way, he had tempered me, calming me down in those moments when I felt that first quick flash of hot anger. He taught me a lot about life, and I was no longer quick to rage or verbally assault others with my tongue, but with Anthony, I was my old self. He bought out something in me that had to be sassy and ill-tempered, always answering back with a sarcastic quip or argumentative point.In the two years since we’d had sex, or what I referred to as ‘the incident’ I had managed to push aside any thought of Anthony and what had been between us. I thought I had done a good job at learning to cope with my anger towards him, but as was Anthony’s habit, he came back into my life without warning, and a mere glimpse of him made my emotions topsy turvy. Calling it ‘the incident’ was a way for me to downplay everything and give it a label that wasn’t sexy. I suppose I was trying to delegitimize what had happened. Nullify the act and in a way, return it to something base. If I referred to it as ‘the incident’ then I didn’t have to think too hard about it or deal with the feelings that came along with it.Stan and I split not long after ‘the incident’. I had confronted him about his affair with Jules after he had returned from that business trip. He denied nothing. He had asked how I knew, and I gave some bullshit about the house staff letting slip. I was no tattle-tale, and I didn’t want to implicate anybody. I very easily could have told him that Anthony had been the one to tell me, but I didn’t. In some strange way, I had wanted to protect him from Stan. I don’t know why. After everything he had done to me, I didn’t have to protect him from his older brother, but I did.Our split was easy. Stan was good to me. The house was sold, and the profits divided, with Stan leaving me most of them. I had protested, but he had insisted. I questioned whether he knew anything about me and Anthony, and what had transpired. Some days I thought he did know, and his being nice to me and giving me sixty percent of the house sale was his way to take a jab at me somehow, let the guilt consume me, but then other days I knew that he suspected nothing. It was a rollercoaster of emotions. In some ways, it would have been easier had he known about Anthony and me. The inevitable nastiness and arguments would have made the divorce easier on me, but his being nice, and the guilt I felt clawed at me, eating away at my insides.I hadn’t had a relationship since. I was glad to be free of my marriage once the divorce was underway, but my feelings of bitterness and resentment about Anthony and what he did to me, and that he had run away after our night together felt as if it tore at my flesh. I was still young, only thirty, but in many ways, I felt as if I had aged on the inside. I felt like my emotions were all knarled and twisted up, dead like rotted tree roots. My general aura was one that said, “piss off,” so why would men want to canlı bahis siteleri try anything with me? I was cynical, jaded, and burnt out.  Sex and my needs as a woman had been the last thing on my mind, the last thing I was trying to look for. True, there were some nights when the horny was almost too much to bear, but pornography and my vibrator helped.Truth be told, the sex with Anthony was good. Excellent, in fact. I had never had those physical feelings or reactions with anyone else ever. I was scared. Scared that if I went out and found sex or a quick hookup, that my body would forget Anthony. That my mind would forget how he’d made me feel. In my weaker moments, I clung to those memories of his body on mine, of how his tongue had explored, and how his fingers had slid inside me. ———–I shut the front door and heaved a sigh of relief, closing my eyes. I was freezing, my limbs heavy and feeling like they’d turn to icicles any second. I had walked home from the club, too foolish and proud to call a cab or uber. My feet ached from the forty-minute walk through town in my heeled ankle boots, my toes stiff and cold inside the leather. Never mind that anything could’ve happened to me, or that it was unsafe to be walking alone at eleven o’clock at night, no, I didn’t want to call for a ride, instead choosing to stew in my unhappiness and frustration at Anthony.Easing myself under the stream of scorching water, I felt my arms and legs slowly return to life and loosen up. I rolled my shoulder blades back, enjoying the hot droplets of water running down my skin, the cold melting away from my body, the club, and the street corner outside feeling like a distant memory.I spent an age in the shower, meticulous about cleaning every inch of my body several times over. My feet, and the tiny spaces in between my toes had never been so clean before. I felt fresh from the soap, and relaxed from the hot water, feeling as if seeing Anthony had had no effect on me. It was one small thing, and I had overreacted in my anger. It was nothing. He was nothing.I felt like I was a baby being swaddled as I sat down on the sofa in my biggest, fluffiest dressing gown. The thick material was all-consuming and I was at risk of drowning in the layers of the garment, but I felt warm and snuggly. I felt at ease as I sat back and relaxed into the sofa, taking a load off, the stress of the world leaving my body.Closing my eyes, I breathed in and out deeply. In, and then out. In, and then out. In… out.I was lain down gently, on a leather sofa that felt familiar to me. My legs were parted, a cock slowly penetrating me, the cockhead parting my pussy lips. When I thought about our coupling, I had imagined it to be hard, horny, and fast, but the man inside me was surprisingly tender, his thrusts slow and measured, his soft groans turning me on. I wrapped my legs around him and drew him deeper inside me, the full length of his cock fitting inside me perfectly.My senses felt alive. I could feel everything. I could hear the rain on the roof, as well as the wet sound of my pussy as he pummelled me deep, the slap of his thighs against mine, his grunts, and my moaning, everything was mixing in together. It was dark, I couldn’t see anything, but I didn’t need to see. I could smell wine on his breath, and taste it faintly in his mouth as we kissed. A familiar deep voice mumbled something into my ear. “Gonna cum,” the voice said. I knew the voice. I’d heard the voice plenty of times before, but it was a faceless voice. I felt a hand on my left tit, the nipple being pinched and rolled. I felt it then. I felt his cock twitch and pulse inside me, and I heard his loud moans as he came deep in my pussy.The faceless yet familiar man sat back, easing his weight off me. It was somehow darker now, I couldn’t see anything or even make out his form or presence beside me. “I love you, Jade,” the voice said.”Anthony?” I asked. I sat up, trying to feel around, but there was nothing there. “Anthony?” I asked again. There was nothing.My eyes opened suddenly, and I felt disoriented. I felt hot, sticky, and sweaty. I peeled myself from the couch where I had fallen asleep and sat up properly. A dull headache thumped at the base of my skull. The thick, fluffy material of my dressing gown now felt heavy and coarse.Untying the belt, I shrugged off the polar bear-like layer, and felt almost instantly better, the cool air hitting my skin. In the darkness, my eyes managed to find the wall clock. It was just after five. I had slept for longer than I thought, yet my dream had felt so short, over so suddenly. This was not the first time I’d had that dream. Transported back to the night of the incident, the dream always seemed to end the same way, with me not being able to see Anthony properly or find him in the dark. In the dream, unlike in real life, the power never came back, and the light never returned. Aimlessly, my hands would wander, wanting to find a trace of the dream man who had been inside me, but no, I was always unsuccessful.Once, I’d had that dream not long after Stan and I had first separated. I was in the big house all by myself, the staff mostly disbanded. In that version of the dream, Stan came back early and caught us in canlı bahis the act. Words were said, punches were thrown until finally, we were both kicked out, naked. I had been so convinced that that version was real, and not a dream.When I awoke, I was convinced that Stan was still in the house somewhere and that I had managed to break in somehow and sleep without him knowing. Foolishly, it had taken me a full week to realize that Stan didn’t know, he hadn’t caught us, and Anthony wasn’t around. I’d lost count of the exact number of times I’d had that dream, but I knew it to be less than five, as I was certain I could count it on one hand. This time had been different, though. I hadn’t woken up angry, feeling that same rage and hurt all over again, I felt alone. And sad. I felt as if I wanted to cry, but the tears would not come. I was mournful, but then I asked myself, what did I have to mourn? Not my marriage or divorce, no. That had passed me by, and what little sadness I felt for that, I dealt with. Stan had been good to me, and it had helped immensely. Was I sad because I was thirty? My youth slowly slipping through my fingertips like the sand from an hourglass? No, not that either. I was living independently, something I had only dreamed of growing up. I was finally self-sufficient, with friends around me, a good-paying job I enjoyed, and a place to call my own. So what, then? What was I all of a sudden so sad about? Anthony. It had never worked out between us. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to.From the first time we met when I had danced, to the incident, it had never worked out between us. The universe had obviously already decided our fate, and this was some cruel joke being played. I was stuck in limbo, bound to run into Anthony for all eternity but never having a resolution. Jade’s inferno, perhaps? Or Jade’s purgatory. It certainly felt like I was stuck in an emotional ring of hell, bound forever to pine away for him, but never have him, or get over my feelings for him.I sat on the sofa, staring at the blank-screened TV for what felt like an eternity, the soft sounds of the early morning world waking up just beyond my window. The dawn’s morning chorus started up, birds twittering and chirping their daylight songs. It didn’t sound cheerful, though; it sounded cruel and mocking. Here we were, another beautiful morning, and yet I was stuck, frozen in time.By mid-morning, I was feeling better. Caffeine and painkillers were pumping through my system, and I had moved far away from the sofa and from the dreams of the night before. Tiny blonde and Anthony felt like a distant memory, nothing more than a small blip. Today was a new day. I would make it my fresh start. Look out world, Jade Gallo 2.0 was here.Jade Gallo 2.0 lasted little more than an hour and a half. I had arranged the week prior to have lunch with an old friend from school, but she had canceled at the last minute. Bitter, and once more alone, I considered alcoholism, as once more I felt that humanity had let me down. It was only eleven-thirty, though, and probably too early to crack into the vodka or gin. I decided on ordering Chinese food instead. I needed something greasy, something that was hot, salty and spicy, Chinese food seemed perfect. Perhaps it was my need for fast food nourishment or comfort, or perhaps it was a protest for Maia, who always chose the nouveau cuisine; nothing on the plate but everything on the bill. Maybe this was the universe giving me another sign that I should retire from the world and become a hermit? Become a recluse altogether. The idea had some appeal to it, I had to admit.A quick knock on the door broke me from my daytime wet dream of living a life of solitude and thinking that the food I ordered was here in record time, I opened the door to find Anthony on the other side. I didn’t know what to do. I was torn. Torn between my prideful desire to slam the door in his face, but then also wanting to see him. Wanting to hear his voice, hear what he had to say.We stood there staring at each other. I made no move to invite him inside off my doorstep and out of the cold, we just stood there awkwardly, silence filling the void between us. He may have been right in front of me, but I had never felt so far away or disconnected from him. “Jade,” he eventually said.“How’d you find where I live?”“I found your friends last night and asked them.”‘So,’ I thought. ‘Betrayed by my own friends.’“They shouldn’t have done that,” I replied.“I had to find you. I had to talk to you, and I recognized one of them from your wedding, so I asked. I had no other way, Jade.”I stared at him. He still looked damn good. His face bore more fine lines and thin wrinkles around his eyes, and there was no doubt that he had aged in the last two years, but it suited him. Like a fine wine, he had aged well. He was a man on the precipice of fifty, yet he carried his middle-age well. I felt my heart thud in my chest and the faint yet distinct rising desire in my panties. Despite myself, I stood aside and invited him in.I stood with my back against the door, watching Anthony walk in, my gaze on his ass in his tight denims. I bit my lip. He did have a great ass. I watched as his eyes flicked around the room, appraising everything he saw. I wondered if he liked what I had done with the place, if he appreciated my taste in furnishings. A small voice piped up in the back of my head, telling me that it didn’t matter what the man thought of my decorating skills.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir cevap yazın