It was barely past five o'clock. Bill Jenkins sat at the bar sipping his drink. His second. The ironic part about this was, Bill wasn't a drinker, until now anyway as he sat there thinking about it. "When was the last time I was even in a bar?" he wondered asking himself. And he probably wouldn't be here now if it weren't for the fact he'd gotten tired at staring at the walls in his office. Three days of doing that, saying you were working late when you really weren't, staring out the window, reading magazines, pacing about the darkened halls after everyone else had left. Three days ... now four ... of bullshit. So here he was, drinking. Ordering his third Johnny Walker Black. Already he could feel it, time to slow down or he'd never make it home.
Home. He thought about that. Home. Home where is wife would be waiting for him. Home. A place he once thought of as sanctuary, a place where he and his wife Mandy shared a life together. He still loved her. He knew that. And he felt like she still loved him too. But lately, especially lately, all they did was fight. Fight about stupid things, things that years ago wouldn't have upset either one of them. Now ... everything did. Especially the stupid things. Like their fight this morning just before he left for work. It was garbage day. It was his job to take out the garbage, which he did. But he'd tipped over the kitchen garbage just prior to taking it out. He'd dumped some coffee grounds on the floor, scooped up what he could, and then carried it out to the trash, and from there the trash to the curb. By the time he'd come back inside the house to grab a cup of coffee and head out, Mandy was waiting for him. If looks could kill.
"I'm not your maid," she'd said handing him the dustpan and the small broom. "Clean it up."
"I'm going to be late, you clean it," he spat back a little more authoritatively than he should have. He was irritated, it wasn't that big a deal. He'd taken the trash out just like he always did, a little spillage that would have taken two seconds to sweep up wasn't worth fighting about, yet ... here they were doing just that. He could have done it. Perhaps should have. The same two seconds it would have taken her to do it, he could have done it in as well. But he was already rationalizing in his head, "If it hadn't been spilled coffee grounds, it would have been something else."
"Home," he thought once again as the bar tender brought him his drink.
Mandy was fuming by the time Bill left. "Fucking coffee grounds!" she said to herself, taking the two seconds it would have taken her husband to clean up his mess. She dumped them into the fresh sack that Bill had actually put on the garbage can for her, just like he always did. She could have said thank you, perhaps should have, but his demeanor when he told her to do it herself had set her off. It was downhill after that, just like everything else seemed to be doing for the past three months now. Three months where the two of them hadn't even been intimate, the first two weeks of that where Bill had slept on the couch. He'd eventually moved back into the bedroom, but they might as well have put up a brick wall in their bed for all the good that did. Though that was partially her fault as well. Mandy usually slept naked, a subtle hint when she did that if he was interested ... but he'd shown no interest. He was still pissed, still belligerent. Well, she sure as hell showed him hadn't she? She'd worn pajamas, or if not pajamas, something anyway, and nothing ... nothing even remotely sexy or alluring. That was her signal. "Not tonight, don't touch me ... don't bother me." He hadn't. Not for three month's now. "That's ok ... fuck him," she thought. "If that's the way he wants it."
She was already running a little behind, no big deal really, she was after all the head of her own department. She had an important meeting this morning with a new client, someone that could make her a nice fat bonus if they landed the account. She looked at what she'd chosen to wear, typical, non-attractive business attire. "Fuck that," she said once again. She flipped through her wardrobe looking for something else. "Not too obvious," she said discarding the low-cut white frilly blouse, one of her favorites, but definitely not for work. She couldn't remember the last time she'd even worn it out. She could only remember once when she had, she and Bill had gone out to a nice place for dinner, celebrating her new promotion. They'd had a fabulous evening, best food ever. Afterwards, they'd gone out to the parking lot to go home, Bill had stood at her door, opening it for her. She had started to get in, he'd grabbed her, kissing her passionately. It was crazy, it was wild ... and it was perfect. She'd felt his lips on her neck, kissing her bare flesh, working their way down. Standing there in the open door of her brand new Mercedes. She'd felt the grope of his hand on her breast, teasing and toying with her nipple through the shear material. She glanced about the parking lot, not worried about someone seeing them, realizing what they were doing, but actually hoping someone would. She was hot, the thought of being seen, even if all they were doing was a little groping, passionate kissing, just the thought..."
She pulled out the black short skirt, still professional looking even if it was a tiny bit shorter than it should have been perhaps. The white semi-sheer blouse, though the double layer of material in front would only give hint at her very lacy, very sexy bra. Besides, the matching jacket would hide most of that anyway, unless of course she took it off. Which she might do ... over lunch."
Bill was in no rush to get home. His wife wouldn't be there anyway, not for several hours yet. She had told him over a week ago she'd be working late tonight, just as he supposedly was. "Maybe she is ... maybe she isn't," he thought, and then felt the need to pee, leaving his drink on the counter, ordering a forth before going back to use the restroom. He'd stood in front of the mirror washing his hands. At forty-four he was still reasonably attractive. A full head of hair, just a hint of grey starting to show at the temples, not too much ... just enough to give him a look of maturity, experience, style. His deep blue eyes were his best feature, next to his dark thick hair, at least that's the way he saw it. Though several women had commented on his eyes in the past too. He worked out, twice a week. And though his body would never again be the way it once was, he was still proud of the way he looked and had gotten more than one appreciative look from the girls at the office. Young girls in fact, girls he now found himself fantasizing about, thinking about, to the point he'd done the unthinkable, closing his door, and then sitting there masturbating while thinking about their smiles and what they could lead to. Well ... in his mind anyway. "And why am I doing this?" He'd asked himself after spilling his seed into his back pocket handkerchief, tossing it into the trashcan beneath his desk like he'd done and been doing now almost every day for a solid week. "Because Mandy wore pajama's to bed, that's why!" He told himself. She wasn't interested in him anymore and was making it pretty damn obvious. "Well, fuck her then!" he told himself. "If that's the way she wants it!"
Bill came out of the restroom heading back to the bar, to his seat. He stopped dead in his tracks almost tripping over himself. There was a very attractive woman who had taken the stool next to where he'd been sitting, the bartender just then placing her drink, "A long Island Iced tea by the looks of it," he thought to himself. "Pretty stiff drink," he considered, though he was in fact feeling the effects of the three he'd had himself. He sauntered over back towards the bar wondering as he did if he should scoot over another seat, give her some distance between them. His fresh drink sat waiting for him. He realized then, she could have picked another seat herself, farther away if she'd wanted to. It wasn't that crowded yet, well ... not at the bar anyway, though most of the booths were now being taken up. Still...
Bill sat down, caught her smile. He smiled back feeling a little foolish, nodding his head. Neither one spoke. He glanced over towards her appreciatively once more, taking a sip of his scotch, using the subterfuge in doing so to get a better look at her. She was thirtyish perhaps, on the far side, damn good looking, nice tits ... from what he could tell anyway. A thin lightweight sweater that hugged her curves, a hint of a nice deep tanned cleavage, soft looking breasts swelling up to meet one another, dark brown shoulder length hair that perfectly molded her face. She was looking at him again, looking at him, looking at her. She smiled. He smiled back. She took a sip of her drink, he noticed she was wearing a ring. But then again so was he. He turned the ring around on his finger with his thumb still holding his glass, wondering stupidly if he should remove it. "Why? He was married ... she was married, they were just two people in a bar having a drink. Hell, they hadn't even exchanged pleasantries for hells sakes and he was already imagining himself fucking her!"
He sighed, heard himself sigh, saw her turn towards him once again. "Long day?" she asked.
"Ah yeah ... it was," he answered. It was the perfect opportunity, he introduced himself. "Names Bill," he said extending his hand. He was surprised when she turned, taking it.
"Susan," she offered back. No last name, but then again, he hadn't given her one either. "Me too," she then added, still smiling, though friendly now, more so than before. "Haven't seen you in here before," she then offered, wondering.
.... There is more of this story ...