This story took place one week after the last.
It was Saturday night and I was sitting in the corner of The Riverside bar in Reading, UK.
On my left was my ex-gf Elizabeth, Beth for short.
We went to the same University but were on our industrial placement years, which had turned our loving 2-year long relationship into a long-distance one in our early twenties.
Unfortunately, during this long-distance period, Beth cheated on me.
In fact, she was actively cheating on me for several months with one of her new work colleagues. When I found out, we split up and I was initially angry, but that soon passed as my anger gave way to arousal and the need to have the girl I loved back in my life.
I'd forgiven her and was still desperate for us to get back together properly.
This had driven us into our current situation. Her cheating was out in the open. I was aware of what had gone on behind my back, what was still going on in fact, because she was still seeing him. I accepted it, encouraged it even. She'd tell me about her sex-life with Tom in detail, knowing how turned-on it made the both of us. He was old enough to be her Dad, and was engaged and lived with his fiancée, which provided my mess of a relationship with some protection.
Our previously dwindling sex-life was exciting again and we settled into the groove of her fucking Tom regularly, and last week - finally - letting me have her again too. I wasn't entirely happy about the situation. Given a choice, I'd rather have Beth all to myself like I used to, but sharing her with a faceless work colleague whose path I never crossed was the next best thing. I was still convinced Beth was 'the one' and would be my future Wife. Dumping her was not an option.
Our position in the corner of the bar was quite secluded. A table separated us from the main crowd at the bar and meant we could talk.
She'd invited me along to a big work party. They'd hired the place out. Everyone in the bar worked at the same company where Beth was doing her placement. It was a huge IT corporate, I didn't know any of them and she didn't know the majority. She'd kept her two lives very separate since she'd moved to Reading. I wondered if loverboy was here. I watched every middle-aged man with suspicion.
It was rammed and very noisy. I was glad that we were shielded from the main crowd by our heavy wooden table. We'd been handed a bottle of red when we arrived by one of her work colleagues which we happily polished off between us, and were now well into another. Tonight, wine was good - it meant I could avoid having to fight my way to bar every 10 minutes.
Beth was looking stunning.
As I've described previously, Beth wasn't a skinny rake. She'd grown into a proper, pretty, curvy young woman.
I'd always had a thing for girls with big tits and round bums. In Beth's case, she only had one of those two features. Her tits were on the small side for a girl of her shape. She was a UK size 14 dress size (12 in some of the more generous shops) but wore a 36A bra.
She'd curled her normally wavy hair, and her blond locks bounced neatly around her shoulders as the tips gently brushed the thin straps of a new electric-blue dress. The dress was quite short for her. She usually complained that she didn't like to show too much of her 'fat' legs. But tonight, the hem of her dress was hanging around mid-thigh, which was certainly a lot shorter than she was normally comfortable with.
To clarify for anyone who hasn't read my previous stories about Beth, she's not fat. At least, I don't consider her to be. She's curvy and marginally overweight for her height, but not fat.
Her legs aren't skinny, but any guy except the most shallow would be happy to see her in a skirt.
However, Beth has always struggled with low body confidence and would usually shy away from wearing short skirts and dresses because in her eyes, she WAS fat - despite constant reassurances from me to the contrary.
Since she'd started her placement, moved to Reading and hooked up with Tom, she was more confident. She seemed more willing to loosen up a little and took to wearing skirts regularly. She did it for him, she told me as much, so I assumed the short dress was for his benefit too. I certainly wasn't sorry she'd begun to gain a little confidence, even if it had been due to his affections. Again, I scanned the bar, wondering if he was here tonight, and if I'd get to meet him.
Her outfit was topped-off with her favourite grey suede ankle boots. They didn't necessarily go that well with the dress but Beth doesn't do open-toed shoes. I also suspected that wearing these was primarily because Tom - the engaged 40 year-old she was sleeping with - had told her he thought these particular boots made her look 'extra-fuckable'.
She'd confided in me in recent weeks that the first time she slept with him, she'd left them on throughout at his request.
As usual, I'd travelled up on the train. Normally I'd come on a Friday after work, but I had to go to a colleague's leaving drink, so I travelled up on the Saturday afternoon instead. I'd met Beth for dinner at quarter-past five, and we'd headed to the bar together for 7.30. It was now 9.30 and I wondered how much longer I would be able to avoid chatting to anyone. We were both pretty buzzed and I was hoping we'd be leaving soon to go back and maybe resume where we'd left off last week.
The second bottle of wine was now empty and our glasses were barely half-full. Beth was, as usual, quite tipsy by now. I can always tell when she's been drinking because she starts talking a little too loudly, slurs slightly and loses her inhibitions - chatting openly about subjects she'd never be comfortable chatting about when sober.
"...So you see that girl at the bar? In the green and white dress?" Beth asked me.
"The ginger?"
"Yeah, that's Alva. She's my closest friend up here, we work together a bit. What do you think?"
"What do I think about what?"
"About her. She's pretty, don't you think?" I wasn't sure where this conversation was heading.
"Yeah, I guess she is..."
She most definitely WAS pretty. She was slightly taller and slimmer than Beth, with small-ish tits and a superb looking bum, accentuated by the tightness of her dress. Her long ginger hair tied back casually in a scrunchie that matched her dress.
So, yes. She was pretty. Smoking-hot wouldn't have been an exaggeration. Beth knew I had a thing for gingers.
But I was still confused why I was being asked, then it dawned on me.
"Do YOU think she's pretty, babe?"
"Well duh yeah of course, I'd kill for her body".
"That's not what I meant and you know it... you fancy her don't you?" I said, more a statement than a question. Beth wouldn't consider herself bisexual, but I knew that her first sexual experience had been with a girl - her high-school friend Emma, and I often teased her about her same-sex history.
When I pressed her on the precise details, she confessed that they'd started by practicing kissing on each other. After a few months they'd progressed to fooling around, before eventually having sex - totally in secret - on a fairly regular basis.
They often slept over at each others houses, and always shared a bed, which was normal so didn't raise any parental alarm bells. They didn't stop even when Beth started seeing her first boyfriend and lost her virginity, at least not until they got really serious. I always suspected (or perhaps hoped) there was more to this side of her.
"Fancy her? That's not why I was pointing her out, I was just trying to show you some of the people I work with."
I noticed she didn't outright deny it.
"Have you... you know... done anything... with her?"
"You're obsessed! Of course not, I just..."
"But you'd like to?" I interrupted. "I bet you've got yourself off imagining her naked, haven't you?"
Beth rolled her eyes and decided to indulge me - she put on her exaggerated teasing voice.
"Oh babe, I don't need to IMAGINE what she looks like naked, I've seen her naked loads of times."
"And did you..."
"For god's sake, did I what? Did we jump on each other? You'd love that, wouldn't you? Sadly for you, no, we didn't. We usually get ready together before going out, so that's how I've seen her. She doesn't know about... what I told you... about Em."
"She looks a bit like Emma. I bet you would..."
She interrupted me and steered the subject back to where she intended it to be before I'd hijacked the conversation.
