Author's Note: This is a pretty simple betrayal and recovery story. However it's unique for me since this will be the first time I've attempted to write a graphically explicit sexual encounter. It's also the first time I've ever used one of the ladies found here on Literotica as one of the main characters. My thanks to Debbie for her very candid replies, they enabled me to create an authentic character with very real responses.
Thanks to dirty_debbie, findingmyvoice, Mostera1, and outofshadows for their beta reading and input. Also a special thanks to findingmyvoice for her editing. All of them helped this story turn out to be a hell of a lot better than when I first wrote it!
Birds flying low, you know how I feel.
Sun in the sky, you know how I feel.
Reeds driftin' by, and you know how I feel.
Feeling Good – written by Anthony Newly and Leslie Bricusse
Performed by Nina Simone' (1965) and various others including Joe Bonamassa
A strategy, that's what I need.
It's always important to have a plan, to know your next move.
From where I sat, perched high atop a hotel barstool, I could see three possible moves for the evening. I could go outside and call a cab. It could drive me back to my dreary home, back to a condo full of memories and broken unfulfilled promises. It was a place that showcased a woman's touch. From the new furniture and wall hangings to the freshly re-decorated interior, the house screamed of high class style. In short, the house reeked of Candice Whitmore.
I shuddered thinking about that option.
Another possibility would be to simply go back up to the private hotel suites that housed the unofficial reception portion of the evening. I'd survived the annual Ajax Corporation Christmas Party banquet. I'd shaken the right hands, kissed the right asses, and had generally made the type of impression expected of the newest and youngest director for the company.
Most of the older executives and spouses had now left, leaving it to the Millennials to celebrate. A few of Ajax's customers provided an unofficial party in some of the business suites. Those parties were more than a little over the top. I wondered if Ajax's management knew how much celebrating was going on upstairs. Actually I'm sure they did since they made sure to protect themselves from what happened at those parties.
I shook my head, deciding against the wild chaos that was brewing up there.
That left me with my third option, to sit here in this hotel bar with a glass of Dickel's, and claim this barstool, at least until I fell off of it. I knew at that point they'd send some bellhop who would wheel my inebriated ass up to my room and dump me inside.
Can't have guests sprawled out in the open now can we? I laughed to myself.
I was settling in with that intention when I heard a familiar voice behind me.
"Sven? What are you doing down here, man?"
I knew who it was first by his voice but also because he's the only one who calls me Sven. It was my best friend of four years and fellow employee, David Nasser.
Turning around I looked into the darkest brown eyes I've ever seen, I'd swear they're almost black. They always reminded me of a shark, appropriate since he was an Account Manager over in the Sales Department. I asked him once if they rolled back into his head when he made a sales call. He laughed and said only when he was closing the deal. I tended to believe him.
Of course, with his olive skin, Middle Eastern features, and natural good looks, they only enhanced his appearance. At least that's what the ladies in the office have told me.
Dave's almost a full inch taller than me, something he enjoys reminding me of, but has a very slight build. Black wavy hair, impeccably well-groomed and clean-shaven, and always dressed in the most stylish, European fashions completes the persona he shows to the world, but I know the real Dave. He's a pervert and a pussyhound, plain and simple.
"Sven? You still with us?" He laughed, bringing me out of my reverie.
I suppose I should introduce myself.
I'm Brandon Svensson, Director of Marketing for Ajax Corp. We provide custom shipping and mailing containers worldwide. If it doesn't fit in a standard Fed-Ex type of box then it's probably going to be shipped using one of our containers. We're in a wide variety of vertical markets, ranging from electronic components to distilleries to adult sex toys. Yeah, hell of a range isn't it?
Oh yeah, why Sven? Well beside the last name, my father was Swedish and my mother French so I've got the muscular, blockish build of a Viking and the brown curly hair and facial features of a Frenchman. Not too bad of a combination, I certainly could've done worse. Also I preferred Dave calling me Sven as opposed to his other favorite, d'Artagnan, due to my moustache and goatee.
"Damn dude, what are you doing down here?" he said, pulling up a seat beside me at the bar.
I lifted my glass of rye whiskey and looked at him.
"That's a rhetorical question right?"
He grinned from ear-to-ear. It was his norm. I realized I've never met anyone who smiled more than my best friend. Hell, he smiled even when he was being an ass!
"Dude, you've got to find a way to move on."
"I'm working on it," I lied.
"Bullshit!" he laughed. "Sitting down here slowly getting drunk isn't moving on."
"I'm reevaluating my options," I said, grinning sadly.
"Oh shit! You're not turning to the darkside are you? Damn, I should've sold you my sister's used Prius! You're in love with me aren't you?"
I snorted causing the alcohol to go up my nose. The burn brought tears to my eyes as my friend laughed his ass off.
"You wish," I was finally able to croak.
"Nah," he said with that damn perpetual grin. "I keep telling you, dude, you're not my type. You've got an extra piece of equipment that just doesn't do a thing for me."
"Asshole," I replied.
"Nope, I'm pretty sure you got one of those even though you are full of shit most of the time. I was talking about the other side of the coin. Now what the hell are you doing down here, bro?"
"Plotting out my strategy."
"Oh please," Dave groaned, "like you did when you cancelled your own party a week ago? Who the hell cancels their own thirtieth birthday party? I know you're still in mourning but dammit, dude, you got to find a way to move on somehow."
I just stared at the amber liquid in front of me.
"You know that bridge is burned, right? I know Candice would jump at the chance to get you back but do you really want to go through all the shit of trying to rebuild a trusting, loving relationship with someone like that?"
I continued to stare at my drink, admitting we both knew the answer to that question. An amazing thing happens when the love of your life shits all over you, your rose-colored glasses come off. Things you'd always overlooked are now glaring flaws.
Yes, I'd put Candice on a bit of a pedestal. I think all lovers do that early in their relationships even though we know they can't stay up there for long. But it's always an ice cold dose of reality when our lover not only falls off the pedestal but then proceeds to pick up said pedestal and beat the shit out of us with it, leaving only our bloodied hearts and hemorrhaging memories in their wake.
"Besides," Dave laughed, bringing back from my psychobabble musings, "I'm pretty sure her family wouldn't be happy about seeing you two back together."
"And whose fault is that?"
My best friend grinned evilly.
"Well I'm fairly certain I won't be getting a Christmas card from them, either!"
"You think?" I snorted.
He was silent for a minute before he answered. His voice was calm but serious.
"You know I've already apologized for that. Brandon, I was just—"
"Dave," I interrupted, "it's okay, and I don't blame you for anything. I know you were protecting me, watching my back."
"That's right," he said, his grin reappearing. "And that's what I'm doing now as well. We need to go upstairs and loosen up. Hey missing your birthday party is one thing but missing having Melanie from accounting flashing those huge tits of hers is another!"
We both laughed. Being flashed by Melanie was quite a sight and had become a holiday tradition.
"It's also possible Sarah might be convinced to give you a birthday lap dance."
"In your dreams," I snorted, "only in your perverted dreams."
"Yeah," Dave said, smiling evilly and sat there obviously envisioning the fantasy.
"Why don't you just ask her out, you perv?" I laughed. "You fantasize about her all the time. Are you scared she'll turn you down?"
"Dude, I'm in sales. I'm used to rejection. No, I'd be more afraid of her agreeing to go out with me."
I stared at him in obvious confusion.
"She'd probably hurt me," he laughed, "and in ways I can only dream of!"
"She's probably more likely to sacrifice you on some black altar to a dark god!"
"Well," he grinned, "there is that!"
We both laughed.
"Listen dude, you do what you need to do," Dave said as he stood up. "However if you do choose to join the land of the living and go upstairs, I guarantee it'll be memorable!"
"Okay, I'll consider it."
"Try considering it before you have another one of those," he said, pointing at my drink. "We wouldn't want you seeing double."
He grinned knowingly at me. It was evident I hadn't followed his warped reasoning.
.... There is more of this story ...