Cara sighed heavily as the last tea light flickered out and darkness settled around her like a dive in the ocean. As she sat in the darkness the clock started chiming: two-thirty in the morning and still no sign of David. All that preparation for the most romantic night of her life gone to waste. Her emotions had run the gamut, from anticipation while cooking and cleaning, to concern as the arranged time slipped by, to anger when she received the text message that he couldn't make it, to rage when she called his mobile and heard the party in the back ground. Now she was just numb. Stood up by another asshole. She sighed again as she crawled out from under the fuzzy blanket on the couch and padded across to the kitchen, put her dishes in the dish washer, added soap, turned it on then headed down the hall.
In the harsh light of the bathroom she regarded herself in the mirror. She never considered herself beautiful, but she never considered herself ugly either. Her nose was a bit crooked, her lips full and pink and her skin pale but smooth as it stretched over her high cheek bones. She ran her hand through her shoulder length auburn hair that glinted red in the light, looked into her green eyes, scratched a small blemish on her chin then shook her head. "No sense getting worked up about it," she said to her reflection, "there'll be others." She grabbed her tooth brush, squeezed a dab of paste on it and started brushing.
Ten minutes later she was laying in her bed, staring at the ceiling. "Fuck!" she shouted as the anger started building up again. "Fuck! fuck! fuck! fuck!" She rolled over and stared out the window into the dimly lit street. "Why the fuck do I always pick such losers?" she thought. "Why can't I find a man who will actually treat me right? Show up for dinner, talk to me (not at me), watch TV with me, laugh with me then fuck me silly?" This last thought set her to giggling. "Yes, fuck me silly!" she said out loud.
She thought about the last few times she'd been fucked. None of them were very satisfying. The last time she'd had a stellar orgasm was with Christine, and even that ended up in a bit of a disaster. She chuckled as she thought about Christine's husband, Tom, walking in on them and getting all pissy because she wouldn't fuck him like she would his wife. It was a freak evening that brought them together in the first place. A little too much wine, conversation turning dirty, a random touch then all hell broke lose as they explored their individual passions. She had not been with a woman before, nor since. Thinking about it started getting her a bit turned on. She thought about the taste of Christine's mouth, the smell of her skin, and as she did her pussy started getting wet. She reached down and slipped her finger into her panties and stroked her clit. Then the image of Tom busting in and getting crazy shoved its way into her head, and the moment was gone.
"Fuck. Can't even get myself off tonight," she moaned. Rolling over she closed her eyes, focused on her breathing, and was soon fast asleep.
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A bright beam of sunlight crept across Cara's bed, working its way up her leg that was kicked out from the duvet, over her t-shirt covered body, and finally blasted her straight in the eyes. With a moan she rolled over and looked at the clock. Ten-thirty. "Good thing it's Saturday," she thought as she rolled out of bed. After her morning ablutions she dressed in shorts and a tank top, hopped on her bike and rode over to her favorite coffee house.
