September 17
th
, 2019
Dear Diary,
Where to start? How about I can't stop smiling? How about I've never been so thoroughly fucked in all my life? How about for the first time in years I feel wanted, desirable, and do I dare say it... sexy?
My pussy was so sore this morning I could barely walk, but damned if I can't wait for Ryan to get here so we can do it all over again. What started with me moping into a glass of wine turned into, well, the
best
night of my life. He took me back to his place and fucked me, and fucked me, and then fucked me some more. Sex has
never
(!!!) been like last night, even when I was younger. He absolutely ravaged me, and I loved every minute of it. It's a good thing today is Saturday. If I'd had to go into the office today, not only would everyone wonder why I was walking bowlegged, but I wouldn't get shit done for thinking about why I was sore, and how much I wanted to feel him inside me again.
He's going to pick me up about six and we're going to dinner. People will probably think I'm having dinner with my son, but I don't care. Despite what he said, maybe he's living out some kind of mommy fantasy, or maybe he's bragging to his friends right now about how he banged an MILF. I don't care about that either. I deserve to have some fun and last night... well... last night and this morning was the most fun I've had in years!
I'm getting sleepy after my soak in the bath. I think I'll take a nap. If he can stay up all night, like he did last night, I want to be well rested, so I can stay up all night myself. God! I'm getting wet just thinking about it! 52 years old and I'm panting over some guy just because he fucked me stupid
and
blind last night.
If I knew being divorced was this much fun, I'd have kicked Bob out years ago!
I jammed my laptop into
its case. It was Friday but that made little difference to me. It was just another shitty day in another shitty week in my shitty life. I shrugged into my coat and slung the laptop bag over my shoulder.
"Have a good weekend," I mumbled to Rachael on my way past. Just because I was in a bad mood didn't mean I had to take it out on the help.
"Thank you, Ms. Burkes! You too!"
There were still a few clerks and paralegals in the office, doing the grunt work that kept the office running, but I was the only partner. We didn't like close on Friday afternoons because if something went wrong we had no time to recover before the weekend, so the other partner, Paul Chelsey, always took advantage of the dead office and left between eleven and noon. Because I had nowhere to go and nothing to do, I stayed, but doing so invariably put me in a bad mood.
Well, a worse mood than normal,
I thought to myself.
Work had been my life for the past five years, but never more so than the last three, and most especially the last year. For the past year I came into the office, worked, and went home to an empty apartment. It sucked, and I hated it, but I felt like the classic third wheel. Since my separation and divorce I'd all but stopped seeing friends. Bob and I hadn't been social butterflies even before things turned completely sour between us, but we did occasionally go to dinner with friends. Now, however, being the single woman out with a married couple just felt wrong. Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed that wives who were once my friend were now looking at me differently than they had when I was still married. Maybe they thought I was going to try to steal their husband as mine had been stolen from me.
I chucked the laptop into the backseat of my C 63 before I dropped into the driver's seat, started the car, and sat as the air conditioning blasted to cool the interior from the late summer heat. I stared at the featureless brick wall of my office. My divorce had finalized almost two months ago, but I was still smarting, even though I'd tried to put Bob's treachery behind me from the moment he told me he was leaving me. I could have fucked him good in court. I could have tried to extract my pound of flesh, could have demanded half of his constructions company, which was worth two or three times what my half of the practice was, when splitting our assets, but I just wanted it over. After we'd signed the agreement where we'd agreed to keep our respective businesses, split the house and the rest of the property fifty-fifty, and ask for no spousal support, I'd turned my back on him. I'd moved out of our house into a nice apartment, bought myself some new clothes, and decided to extract my revenge by living well.
I shook myself out of my reverie and placed the car into reverse. Except it hadn't worked out that way. When I'd decided to move out, wanting to get away from the memories contained within the wall of the big empty house, I had visions of dating rich and handsome men and traveling to exotic locations. A divorce in North Carolina required a minimum of a year's separation, and rather than dating and traveling, I'd spent the year working longer hours and hiding in my apartment. I kept telling myself that as soon as the divorce was finalized I'd start going out more. My routine hadn't changed since I signed the papers that made me a free woman.
What's your excuse now?
As I rolled to a stop at a light, I could feel the tears trying to start. I willed them away with a soft, sighing gasp. I'd cried exactly once after our split, and that was all the tears that asshole was getting from me. I'd heard through mutual friends that Bob already had a live-in girlfriend who, according to the gossip, was at least twenty years younger than him, and they'd been waiting for the divorce to finalize before they married.
More power to them. I hope they live happily ever after.
Except I didn't. It wasn't fair that he was the one who destroyed our marriage because he couldn't keep his manhood in his pants, and yet he was the one who had moved on and was enjoying life. Bob had always been a selfish prick. I still couldn't believe that it took him cheating on me for me to realize that.
The light winked to green and I pulled away. I didn't want to go back to my lonely apartment, but I had nowhere else to go. I had nobody to share a meal or a drink with. I didn't even have a cat at home. I drove past De Jure—Latin for
In Law—
which was the local watering hole for the legal crowd. I rolled to a stop at the next light and glanced into the rearview mirror, watching a well-dressed couple open the door to De Jure half a block behind me before my view was blocked by an approaching pickup.
A polite toot of the horn from the F150 behind me brought my attention back to the moment and the green light that glowed. I waved my hand in apology as I pulled away. I drove another couple of blocks, leaving the downtown area where the law and investment firms had congregated.
I couldn't get the image of the couple out of my head. Were they dating, or were they coworkers enjoying an after-work drink before leaving for separate lives? Why was I so alone, unable to connect with friends? Nobody blamed me for what happened. Most said I was better off without him, but I wasn't sure. I surely didn't love the prick anymore. Any love I'd had for him had died along with the marriage, but living alone was no panacea.
Pinching my lips tight, I signaled and pulled into the center turn lane, waited for traffic to pass, and then made a left. A quick loop around the block and I was headed back to De Jure. As the three blocks passed, I considered turning around again, but instead of continuing past, I slowed and turned into the establishment's parking lot. I'd been to De Jure before, but after I claimed a parking space I sat in my car, the engine idling, wondering why I was there. Percy Sledge crooned away about how a man loved a woman on the radio and I snapped off the stereo in annoyance.
I placed my hand on the gear selector, almost selecting reverse and backing out of my space, but instead I switched the car off and opened the door, forcing myself to step out of the car. I tugged my jacket smooth as I made my way to the door, holding my head high.
De Jure was a low-key place, a cross between an Irish pub, mid-scale restaurant, and a pickup joint. I hadn't darkened De Jure's door in over a year, but nothing had changed. It still had the oak and brass that reminded me of a pub, the long bar occupied by young men and woman chatting each other up, and the double row of tables with the red and white tablecloths to the right side. The walls were covered with fake law degrees from various universities, pictures of the local courthouse through the years, and photos of stern looking judges glaring at the patrons.
It was a nice, upscale place, but as soon as I'd stepped inside, I immediately remembered why I didn't frequent the place often. The men and women at the bar were already engaged in the slow dance of seduction, with their too loud laughs and over bright smiles. I changed my mind about staying and turned to leave, but a pair of men entered before I could turn. I was causing confusion and bottling up traffic as three well-dressed women opened the door immediately behind the men and waited for the traffic jam I was causing in the door to clear. Flushing, I muttered an apology as I stepped away from the door and continued deeper into the room, claiming the table farthest from the door and deepest in the corner.
"Hi! I'm Jenny, and I'll be taking care of you this evening. What can I get'cha?" the waitress asked as she glided to a stop at my table.
I glanced up and forced a smile.
When did they start letting sixteen-year-olds work in bars?
"Chardonnay?"
She smiled. "Coming up. You want a menu?"
"Sure."
