The Loser S Table

THE LOSER'S TABLE

It hadn't been a very good day anyway, but it got worse very quickly when I got home. I was pretty much down in the dumps that day, and on my last legs as they say. If you want to know, I was feeling shitty, but then it got really bad, because she had just left that afternoon. Just took all of her stuff and moved out while I was at work. No warning, no bitter argument, nothing but a note. Stuck the note on the end of a spear on a skin diving trophy and it basically said, "See you. Don't look for me. It's over. Bye." Not a 'love, Jill,' a 'kiss my ass,' nothing but a 'Bye.'

That kind of a farewell fucks up a day pretty well for a guy like me who didn't see it coming and reads it off a note stuck on a diving trophy. Fucks up a seemingly happy life in one fatal swoop. "So, what are you going to do today?"

"Oh, I think I will stay home and mope, feel sorry for myself, and perhaps cry a bit. Or maybe I'll watch Dancing With The Stars. Just joking. I don't give a fuck who wins DWTS. Maybe I'll just stay in bed for a month and cry myself to sleep each night."

At work people would say at the end of the day, "Let's go get a beer."

I'd say, "No thanks. Got stuff to do." What I didn't say was, "I got to go cry my fucking eyes out over my wife leaving me without a 'see you later' or a 'kiss my ass.'"

When some dumb ass said, "How's the old lady?"

I just said, "Bitchin...'" Not, "Fucking somebody else. Don't know who. Just somebody new."

I was in no mood to explain she'd left my ass and I am going home to an empty house, a full refrigerator, and a cold, empty bed. Not an announcement I wanted on the six o'clock news. Sooner or later people were going to have to learn the truth, though, I just wasn't ready for any of that 'truth' yet.

"She's fine," I'd say

"Haven't seen her much," they'd say.

"Staying in a lot," I'd answer. "Under the weather."

Weather my ass. She was under somebody else. I was not sure what I would say when word got out that we were actually broken up. That was a strange phrase to me. We weren't broken and we surely weren't up. We were split. Severed. Apart. We were no longer a unit. I was one. She was one. We were no longer two.

So, would I say we had decided to split up? Could I say she had decided to sleep with someone else? If she no longer wanted me inside of her, could I tell people she had dumped me like a sack of crap? Well, I would have to find out, wouldn't I. The test is in the pudding.

What I did have to do is find a replacement. It is not that easy to do. People hear you've been replaced, they want to stay away from you, like they may catch what you've got. Anyway, for three weeks I watched reruns of tv I could not remember much about as soon as it was over. Finally, when the last beer was drank and the last tv dinner consumed, I actually took a shower and put on my best cowboy shirt, string tie, and went looking for diversion. I had no idea what I was looking for, but I knew it wasn't another three weeks of old television or bare walls and a cold, empty king-sized bed.

When I drove away I had no idea where I was going. I just knew I wasn't there. I also knew it had to be someplace where people didn't know me. I had enough of 'Oh, she's fine,' so I drove to the next town and looked for an interesting looking place to look for her replacement. Not a dive, but not necessarily the Ritz either. What I found was a place that looked newly opened, recently remodeled, or just new.

There were new plants at the door and what looked like a newly painted front entryway and a big sign that said, "Grand Opening." That was a big hint. I could hear music playing from inside and I went in to see a packed house and a good many couples dancing on a floor too small for much of a crowd, so people were packed in tight. I stood at the bar and ordered a drink and nursed it and looked for women who couldn't resist me. I didn't see any, since most were with somebody else.

By eleven-thirty I hadn't been hit on by any stunning women hungry for my body or my conversation. At midnight I began to lose confidence, and at my age I didn't have much to lose. I left at one, thinking I had been foolish for the hope that a deserted husband would attract much attention from the distaff side of the bar and one of them would take me home to her silk sheets and fluffy pillows and voracious libido.

Discouraged and defeated, I went back to the same bar two more times in the next couple of days. Feeling worse than I had when I first decided on the place, I sat nursing a drink at the same table near the back.

"Don't you know this is a loser's table?" someone next to me asked. Stunned out of my own thoughts, I looked around to see who the speaker was. A good looking woman stood in front of me holding a drink. She smiled as if she had just said an obvious truth that everyone knew. She was tall, with long blond hair, and a smile that could revive a guy without a heart beat. She had a dress just a little tighter than a snake's skin, and had obviously no underwear on or very silky panties. Her dress had a slit up the side that went all the way to heaven or just below.

"You chose the loser's table," she said again. "Not sure if that's because you're a loser, or just picked wrong, but you look like you just lost your best friend. Am I close? How long has she been gone?" she asked.

"So it is that obvious?" I said.

"Well, you could hold a sign that says, 'She just left me,' I guess, but besides that, you couldn't be much clearer. So, how long?"she asked again, sipping her drink and taking the stool next to me. "Is this empty stool taken? I am assuming no, right?"

She set her drink on the table, put out her hand, and said, "Clarissa. You are?"

"Todd," I said. "Todd Johnson. Yes, she left less than a month ago. I watched television until my eyeballs glossed over," I said. "Slept a lot, cried some, decided I needed to get out. So here I am," I said. "Looking for a replacement."

"Do you dance?" she asked.

"Dance?" I said as if I didn't speak the language.

"Yeah. Move around to music with your body pressed romantically against another person's," she said. "You ever do it?"

"Not very well," I said, "but I do, yes, occasionally."

"I am not asking for you to be on Dancing With The Stars," she said. "But if you would. I like to do that, and I might even do it with you real seductively," she said. "It might help you get out of this funk you find yourself in."

She took my arm and led me to the dance floor. We began dancing and kept doing it until nearly midnight. Finally, she stopped and looked up at me. "Drinks are a lot cheaper at my house," she said. "And there is no loser's table at my place," she said with a chuckle. So without further ado, we went to her house in her very new car.

"So, why did she leave you?" she said, coming right to the point.

"You don't mess around, do you," I said.

"You have an affair, or did she?" she asked with a smirk. "Or you not help around the house? You a slob? She a slut? Got to be something," she said. "What do you think?" she asked as she stood really close to me touching her body parts to mine.

"You want to come in?" she asked with a grin. "I have soft drinks, wine, whiskey, vodka, or orange juice. What do you like?" She stepped a little closer. "Or do you want to dance?" She smiled. "I can do any step you want," she said. "Standing, sitting, or horizontal?"

She opened the door and stepped in, pulling me by my tie into the room. With her foot, she closed the door behind us, pulling me close and kissing me firmly on the mouth. Her tongue reached for mine. When she found it, she closed her lips around my tongue and sucked gently. She pulled away and looked at me.

"Not too forward for you, am I?" she asked as she pulled away to take a breath. "I got just the thing to cure loneliness,"she said. "You game?

"I am," I said. "I think you have already cured almost every problem I have," I said. She began unbuttoning my shirt.

"Could I give you a little help?" she said. As I was taking off my shirt, she was undoing my pants. The weight of my wallet and belt pulled my pants to the floor and she reached into my boxers and gripped my already growing cock. "My, you are a man in a hurry to please," she said.

"Let's take this discussion to a better room, shall we?" she said pulling me towards her bedroom.

I kicked off my pants before I tripped and stepped out of my boxers. Connected by a kiss, we made our way to the bedroom. As we went down the hallway, she shed her clothes on the way. First she slipped out of that dress in one practiced move, slid her very sheer panties over her hips, then she tossed her lace bra on a chair. By the time we got to the bed we were both naked and very ready for anything physical.

She stretched out on her back and pulled me on top of her. I was fully erect and when the tip touched her moist petals I slid right in. She moaned as I entered, and she pulled me tight against her. "Oh, my," she cooed. "Yes, like that. Oh, God, yes," she said. "Fuck me, baby, fuck me good."

I did as she asked, at least as good as I knew how to do. She began to cry out, telling me over and over to do her harder, to go deeper, and faster. I did everything I could and she pulled at me, kissed me, and came with a animalistic rush.

"Why would she ever leave that?" she asked. "You are wonderful. She must be nuts," she said, sounding nearly exhausted.

In the morning we got up at ten and fixed breakfast, but we didn't get dressed. "I don't wear clothes at home," she said. "I hope you're not shy." I told her I loved being naked and it was fine with me.

She fixed waffles and eggs, and we ate in the kitchen at the table. "You work?" she asked. I told her I was an engineer and worked for the city of Manhattan Beach. "Do you think she had an affair?" she asked, going back to her favorite subject.

"Maybe," I said. "I don't know. I never thought about it. Could be. I didn't."

"Until me," she said. "Technically, you are still married, right. We are actually having an affair."

"True," I said. "Technically, you are the other woman."

"I have always wanted to be the 'other woman,'" she said with a giggle.

"So this is your first affair?"

"I guess so," she said. "I am married. He is out of town for a week," she added. "You have six days to fuck my brains out," she said. "Then he comes back and I go back to being a horny little housewife who masturbates herself to sleep. Does it bother you that you have been fucking a married lady?"

"Not if it doesn't bother you," I said.

"No. I think he is having an affair of his own anyway," she said. "This is my way of getting back. I may tell him I just fucked a man I met in a bar," she said.

"Serve him right,"I said.

"You're damned right," she said. "Maybe he is fucking your wife right now. I wouldn't put it passed him. The fucking asshole."

We began to laugh at the absurdity of it all. I stayed with Clarissa for five days and we fucked in every room of her house. It has four bedrooms and we christened every one, fucking on each bed, the floor, and standing against the wall. She has a master bath with a huge walk-in tub and we used it multiple times, fucking in it in many different positions and splashing water all over the damn place.

On the last day I was there I ate her on the kitchen sink, while she sat facing out with her legs open and her hands on my head as I knelt in front of her with my face tight against her splayed and very wet pussy. I licked up and down repeatedly and she cooed and groaned as I ate her.

She was right. Fucking another man's wife has a healing affect on your sorrow, and by the time that I left I had nearly forgotten that my wife had moved out just over a month before. I put the house up for sale, closed the deal in two weeks, and bought a one-way ticket to St. Croix with four hundred thousand dollars in my pocket and a clean slate.

And to think she picked me up at the Loser's Table at a new bar in Hermosa Beach. Well, you never know, right?