Life was never easy for Beth. Yet as the struggles of life mounted she always seemed to rise to the occasion. She was timid and shy, yet confident in her own way. Between the paralyzing bouts of anxiety and memories of the brutality of her youth, she had truly risen from the ashes. Her husband had never fully understood the connection between her promiscuous sexual appetites and the abuse of her childhood. But it was clear to me, and there in lied the problem.
Beth and I had been casual friends for years now. An old high school friend of my wife, Beth had found her way into my sphere of friends. She had dated my best friend briefly and he used to tell me stories of how kinky she could be in the bedroom. I used to lay awake at night and think how lucky my friend was to be able to hold her that way. She was slender, slightly taller than average, with a mousy voice and pleasant smile. Her eyes were a beautiful hazel, and her skin was pale and smooth. Her body was a bit of a marvel. Her slender frame supported a magnificent pair of breasts. Full and heavy, an F cup or larger, they were the only thing most men saw when they looked upon her. Her hips had a slight flare and the curves of her body concealed a magnificent ass. It was neither too big nor too small. It had an inviting curve, yet was not overstated, Many times I found myself staring when she would turn to walk away.
Life began to get complicated when my wife and I divorced. I suddenly found myself displaced, and recovering from a significant financial blow. As people in these situations sometimes do, I found my rock bottom. A moment that will not soon be forgotten. I found myself living in a van parked on a friend's land. It was December, a few days before Christmas. I was following my nightly routine of drinking half a fifth of Jameson and trying to keep warm in front of a small space heater. The depression was starting to get to me, and I was teetering on the edge of making a foolish decision. As I drank, I rolled over all of the foolish decisions that had brought me to this point. The wife I had loved had left me for my best friend. She had her reasons, all of them legitimate, and I had no one to blame but myself. As the bottle continued to disappear, I reached under the air mattress I was lying on. There was a hard plastic case, and with a trembling hand I retrieved it. Inside was a beautiful handgun, my beloved .45 automatic. I was drunk and so depressed that I could barely find the energy to open the case. I was at my end, and I had no desire to see another sunrise. I still remember the sound it made as I chambered a round, I still remember the aroma of gun oil and the flavor of the finely polished steel on my tongue. It was the end, I prayed a silent prayer for God to forgive me if it was right for him to do so, and I squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. I sat there stunned for a moment, fully expecting to be in the next world by then. As my wits returned I realized that I hadn't deactivated the safety. It seemed ironic that the safety had saved me from myself, for a moment anyway. I thumbed it off and sat for a second considering what it was I had started. That was when my phone buzzed. The sound seemed so foreign in that moment, I guess I hadn't expected to hear such a sound again. I checked the screen and saw that it was a number I hadn't stored in my contacts. I checked the text wondering who had interrupted my last night on earth. To my surprise it was Beth.
"Hi, It's Beth. Can you talk? I need a friend right now."
After a moment, I realized she was actually talking to me. Someone needed MY help? A switch flipped in my brain, and so to did a safety reengage.
"Yeah B, I can talk."
I typed slowly. Had I really just drank a fifth of Jameson and tried to kill myself? It was only seconds ago, yet it seemed a lifetime had passed. Ten or so seconds later my phone began to vibrate again. I answered it and heard the quivering voice of a crying female on the other end. She too had been drinking and had inadvertently told her husband that she had cheated on him. Josh was a hot tempered son of a bitch, and hearing news like this less than two years into their marriage was more than he could handle. He had stormed out and promised he would never see her again.
Beth loved Josh, and this wasn't the first time she had cheated on him, but she was being starved for attention. She had also learned at a young age that men were easy to attract, and her beauty meant she could trade sex for her own comfort, a warm body to keep the nightmares away when her own husband went away on business. She never felt good about it, but her need to be held outweighed her guilt. It appeared however, that such a decision would be the death of her marriage.
We talked for hours that night. I learned of her childhood, and of the abuse that she had received. There was a part of me that wished to put the .45 in my lap to more constructive use, but that wasn't what this poor woman needed right now. What I didn't realize was that she was giving me something I needed as well, a reason to live.
Months passed and Beth and I both got back on our feet. I found a shitty little apartment and she, being of better means found a nice townhouse in a nice area. We texted regularly and tried to hang out once a week at least, but life tended to get in the way. One evening I was just getting into bed when my phone buzzed. It was Beth asking if I could come over. Apparently she had suffered a miserable day at work and needed to blow off steam. My heart raced a bit. I knew by no this was how she operated, she would lure a man to her house to blow off steam, get drunk and throw herself at him, and feel miserable about it for weeks. It had been nearly a year since I had been with anyone. The thought of her body against mine really got my blood boiling in a way I had forgotten. Could I trust her intentions here? Could I trust my own? I knew what this was, I knew what was coming, and I knew that what she really needed was a good friend who wouldn't take advantage of her, but could I be that noble?
I arrived at her place an hour later, a six pack of good dark beer in hand. When I knocked on the door, I could hear her cursing at her dogs and stumbling into things. Finally when the door opened, I saw her there, her perfect figure, her flowing blonde hair, her adorable librarian glasses, and those firm heaving breasts. I also saw a sling on her left arm.
I came in and we sat down on the couch, she explained that she had dislocated her shoulder at work when she had stumbled into some shelving. She seemed embarrassed, but she was known for being clumsy, we always joked that her center of gravity was all wrong. When I pointed that out she laughed and hefted one of her exquisite bosoms in her good hand, then agreed they had their own gravitational pull; like every guy's eyes in a room. I could feel energy transfer to the secondary command cortex in my loins. She was finally starting to smile between winces. A sign that the prescription pain killers and the alcohol were working their magic. She was touching my arm as we talked, and staring deeply into my eyes, all the things that signal a man that she wants him. As hard as I was trying to resist it, the tent in my trousers was growing.
