Again, I would like to thank blackrandl1958 for the invitation to participate in
this event
, and her help with this story. I hope you enjoy.
In real life, calling a woman a bimbo is NEVER a compliment. The term is used for an attractive but stupid woman. A bimbo is great for dating, but most men don't want one for a wife.
Apparently, I am not most men. I married one... and I couldn't be happier.
She is actually my second wife. I tried conventional for my first wife, finding a beautiful, smart woman who was also sexy. That worked for seven years, until I found out she had been cheating on me for a year. A little over a year later, I was a divorced guy just looking for a new start...
I watched her unnoticed from my spot at the end of the bar.
This was the first time I had ever been in that particular establishment, and I was slowly getting the lay of the land, so to speak, figuring out who were the regulars, who was there to drink and who was there to party.
Most of the time she was sitting at a table with five other women, but she would occasionally leave the safety of the table to dance with one of the young men milling around the bar, laughing and drinking. She caught my eye because she looked out of place. She looked to be about 15 years older than the others at her table, and her partners on the dance floor as well. They appeared to be in their middle to late 20s; she looked like she was about 40. She looked good for 40, very good actually, but she was still noticeably older than her acquaintances, despite the fact that she was dressed in the same style as her younger friends.
Her little black dress was mid-thigh length, perhaps a touch or two short for someone of her age, but she had the legs to back it up. It was also cut perhaps a bit too low in the front for someone of her age, showing off a generous amount of what looked like sizable boobs. Her long blonde hair was done up in a high ponytail and hung down to the middle of her back.
Upon further inspection, she looked like someone's older sister trying to blend in with the crowd. She was just barely pulling it off thanks to her killer body, but I've seen much worse results.
I watched as some dark-haired youngster approached her at the table, obviously asking her to dance. A slow song was playing, and I saw the youngster pull the women close to him and gently run his hands up and down her sides, occasionally detouring to rub her ass or the side of a breast.
She didn't try to stop his roving hands and the smile never left her face. It appeared like this had happened before, she expected it and was used to it. As I looked around, I noticed the same thing was happening with her younger friends. Maybe this was a common occurrence these days. I have been out of the game for 10 years.
Reflexively, I glanced at my left hand, for the thousandth time seeing the barren spot on my ring finger, the spot previously occupied by a wedding ring. The spot had been bare for the past year, my divorce becoming official six months previously. Since then, I had been making the rounds of various bars in the city, having a few drinks and listening to those around me living their lives. I wasn't trawling for female companionship, it was way to soon for that, but it was a way for me to avoid the emptiness of my small apartment.
God, I missed having the life of a married man with two young kids. I loved coming home from work every day to the hustle and bustle of my household: my wife, Traci, preparing dinner and my children, Stevie, 5, and Wanda, 3, charging toward me at the door. I hated being a part-time dad, seeing my kids every other weekend.
I looked up from my shot of Angel's Envy rye to see the youngster grab a full handful of the blonde's ass as the song ended. He whispered something in her ear. I saw her gently shake her head, although the smile never left her face. I wondered how many times she nodded yes to the same question from other men. I noticed she wasn't wearing a wedding ring either, so I figured she was free to nod yes whenever she wanted.
Nodding yes, or at least saying so, was the reason I was sitting in this bar in the first place. My then-wife apparently had no problem saying yes, repeatedly, to her lover of more than a year. I didn't find out for almost a year, then it took me some time to figure out what I needed to do. I didn't want to become a part-time dad to my munchkins, but I knew that staying in my marriage would probably be worse for my kids because I wouldn't be able to hold back on my anger for what would be more than 10 years until the youngest was out of the house. I knew that being the responsible parent would hurt me beyond belief, but you make sacrifices for the ones you love. My wife apparently didn't understand that concept.
I never questioned Traci for a minute... until I questioned her. We dated for almost two years and had been married for seven and I never had a clue we weren't in it for the long haul. When I finally had my suspicions, it didn't take long to confirm. She really wasn't trying to hide her affair, apparently figuring that I couldn't keep up with her superior intelligence.
I'm not sure why the older blonde with the younger women intrigued me. Yes, she was a very good-looking woman, beautiful even, but she gave off the vibe of being a "veteran" bimbo, not something you see every day. Think about it. The two things you never see: baby pigeons and older bimbos.
I stayed around long enough to see the blonde and her younger friends leave all together. That pleased me, although I wasn't sure why.
Although I was mixing it up among the city's many bars, I went back to the same place the very next week, honestly hoping to see the older blonde and her younger friends. An hour after taking the same seat I did the week previous, the same six women came in and grabbed a table. "Blondie" had her long blonde hair in a couple of high ponytails and was again dressed on the edge of too young for her age, wearing a tight red velour dress, maybe just barely reaching mid-thigh, and unbuttoned enough that her frilly red pushup bra and her large boobs were peeking into view on a regular basis. I know my eyes almost popped out of my head when I saw that look, and I could see that I was not the only one who noticed. The dance floor was going to be slick with drool.
I'm not much of a dancer, but I yearned to be closer, so after a while I worked up the guts to ask her to dance. I'm pretty sure I embarrassed myself on the fast dance as I had a tough time keeping my eyes off of her bouncing tits, but the second dance was a slow one and I got to pull her luxuriant body into mine. Unlike the young guys last week, I kept my hands where they belonged. Blame my mother for bringing me up with manners.
I invited her back to sit with me at the bar and she agreed. I was drinking Eagle Rare bourbon and she was drinking a mojito. I did my very best to look at her vibrant blue eyes as much as possible, although she did catch me peeking at her twin peaks several times. She sort of blushed but continued smiling. I guessed she was used to being ogled, especially when she was dressed to impressed as she was.
I found out her name was Jessica Arnold, and while she looked 35 and I had guessed 40, she was actually 45, making her 13 years my senior. She was the trophy wife of a rich business executive until he died four years ago, leaving most of his estate to his two children from his first marriage. After being a kept woman for 18 years, her art degree wasn't very useful and she wound up working in the office of one of the nation's biggest sanitary chemicals companies, along with her friends at the table.
From talking with her, I don't think she realized her personal style was both sexy and perhaps a little young for her. I got the feeling that her late husband enjoyed showing her off. After all, why have a trophy wife if you can't show her off.
I also got the impression that while she seemed to be an incredibly nice person, she wasn't necessarily the brightest candle in the pack. That actually worked for me, because I had seen enough supposed brains in the time I was married.
Traci and I both had college educations and good jobs. I always figured we were probably a good match in terms of intelligence, but when Traci got two advanced degrees online, I started to detect an air of superiority coming from her. Although I actually made more money than she did as an IT director for a defense contractor, she practically threw her doctorate into any room before she entered, expecting everyone to ooh and ahh over Dr. Traci Elliott. That probably worked in her world, as she served as a professor of philosophy at the local college, but it didn't carry an extra ounce in my world, which was based on the ability to do, not theorize.
I loved my wife, but a doctorate in philosophy? All it meant for me was that I had to do more around the house and with the children while she was earning her master's and doctorate.
Forgive me if I seem a little dubious about her degrees. Looking back on it, I can see that her realizing her goal was also the beginning of our marriage unraveling. In her mind, that doctor title made her more important--pronouncing both "Ts"--than anyone in the room who didn't have that title.
Jessica and I talked for about an hour before she figured she should go back to her friends' table, at least for a while. She was back there for about five minutes when a young blond guy asked her to dance. She hesitated but finally said yes and went to dance. I'll admit to suddenly feeling jealous, even though neither of us had made any kind of commitment to each other.
She never came back to my corner of the bar because she spent the rest of the night on the dance floor with various partners. I wasn't alone in spending the rest of my night watching her shake what God gave her on the dance floor. I was nonplussed when she allowed dance partners to rub various parts of her body on the slow songs.
I showed up at the same place the next week, knowing this time I wasn't going to let Jessica get away from me. The six women showed up about 30 minutes after I did, and as usual, Jessica was dressed in what I was now calling in my mind "sexy questionable." Her dark blue dress was even an inch or so shorter than last week's dress, and I figured that her panties would be visible to a lot of the club almost any time she moved. The top was unbuttoned to the middle of her big wonderful boobs.
