Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Ma/ft, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, First, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Nudism, .
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Bob sits in his Ford F-150 crushed by the fierce verbal attack from his ex-wife. All he wants is to drink his sorrows away. There's a tap on his window. It's a young woman just wanting him to buy her a bottle. Follow them through their initial meeting and beyond. Note: One of my earliest stories, this was originally posted in several parts. Here they are rewritten and combined.
At 55 Bob Milton's life was a mess. He was literally broke. He'd had enough. "More than anyone could take," he thought as he parked his Ford F150 Pickup Truck in front of the liquor store.
He was a recovering alcoholic but tonight he just couldn't take anymore. His mind had stopped working. He couldn't think. He couldn't handle the thrashing he'd just gotten from his ex-wife about their financial affairs or for forgetting important things time and time again.
He was three months shy on his alimony. It was just beyond his means for him to live and also pay for her life too. She didn't care. She just wanted his money. Every penny she could squeeze out of him.
Even though he gave her everything she wanted in the divorce settlement she never relented. All she wanted was more money. Money to BLEED him dry.
In the divorce settlement he'd given her exclusive use of their very nice house and custody of their son, allowing him only meager visitation rights. Yet, she wanted more and more. It never ended. She never relented.
Even though since their divorce she'd risen to the executive level in the Telecommunications Field making five times what he earned, she wouldn't relent. He thought she epitomized the being of a Witch.
She didn't care what his hardships were. She just wanted every pound of flesh she could strip off his body and out of his wallet. Even though she was earning way more than him, she wouldn't give Bob a break!
They'd been divorced for over 30 years. He'd even financed her education after their marriage was dissolved. But whenever possible she happily found the time to disrupt his life.
When she descended on him, Bob always found his way to a bottle. Even though it only gave her more ammunition to fire at him, he always wound up downing a lot. At least through the neck of a bottle, temporarily he could escape.
He knew he shouldn't go into the liquor store, shouldn't buy a bottle of anything. Yet he knew he needed the crash and burn the liquor gave him. He just needed to escape. It was either that or just simply ... end it all.
But he had a son he adored so that wasn't an option. Crash and burn was. Then he could pick up the pieces. Start over again.
That was his only perceived option. Crash and burn. His head bowed to the steering wheel, "Crash and burn!" he sighed to himself.
His mistake this time was to let his son's birthday go by without a present or even a card. Being a guy, those events always seemed to slip by unnoticed. Not remembered. Couldn't be remembered.
Guys are just not good with appointments, meetings, birthdays, anniversaries, holidays or anything that had a date attached to it. Women on the other hand, remember everything; the time and date of their first kiss, their first meeting, their first everything, their last everything and all that was in between. They even remembered what song was playing when all the events happened. And seconds and thirds. Everything.
Girls ... Women ... can remember the most insignificant detail and chew a guy into little pieces, then spew him out all over the landscape when he forgets.
When a guy forgets, they haul him up by his soft parts. Shake his being as hard as they can then apply immense guilt for the crime of "Forgetting!" They're immediately there, Evil Witch Faced, features horribly stretched, howling, reminding him that it was a "Capital Offense," worthy of the death sentence no matter how small the infraction.
It was the bane of his existence, like most men, to forget things that women thought were important. Being 55, he knew no matter what the event, he would forget it. It had been the same all his life. Nothing was ever going to change that.
His ex-wife savored being able to catch him, berate him and toss in a huge helping of guilt. She was an expert at being able to push his buttons and drive him back to the bottle he so desperately wanted to escape. She reveled in the satisfaction that whenever she wanted, she could destroy him. She was truly a WITCH!
Tonight was not going to be a time where the bottle would not reach his lips. He had an AA Sponsor who helped when he was desperate, but tonight was not one of those nights.
He didn't want help. He wanted escape. It was the only way. He was vulnerable and he didn't care. He just needed the escape the bottle gave him. He wanted the escape.
His hands were wrapped around the top of the steering wheel and his forehead was pressed against his knuckles. He wanted to cry, but the tears would not come. He wanted to cry, but he was a man, so the tears would not come.
Things always seemed to come in threes. So in his despair, he started the routine of banging his head against his knuckles. He had told himself, when he was finished, he would go in, get a bottle of 20 year old Scotch and drown his sorrows.
Before he could beat his forehead against his knuckles the second time, there was a face on the other side of the window. Someone was there. Tapping on his window. What on earth could they want with him. He just wanted to get his Scotch, go home and commiserate with it.
There was another disconcerting knock. Then a shout, "Hey!"
Bob looked out trying to focus through his heavily encrusted window to make a face out of the distortion there.
The window handle had long broken off so the option of opening it was not the road to be taken. He tried to wipe at least a little of the grime off the inside of the window with the side of his hand. It only made the vision more blurred.
It was a female. At least he had that figured out. Short. Her chin barely came up to the bottom of the window. Young too from what he could see.
She was asking him, "Hey mister. Will you buy me a bottle?
"Please. I don't have any money.
"Please, just buy a bottle for me.
"Look. I'll do anything you want.
Bob got out of the cab, still wavering from the lengthy intense verbal thrashing he had just gotten from his ex-wife. To steady himself, he held onto the pickup's door as he very unsoundly planted his feet on the parking lot pavement.
The girl saw his insecure movements, instinctively reached out grabbing his other hand to steady him. Obviously concerned she asked, "You need help Mister?"
"No. I'm OK," Bob answered, adding, "But thanks."
That little exchange warmed his heart, like nothing had in hours. He'd hit rock bottom emotionally and that little ounce of concern somehow made him feel so much better. Someone cared. Yes, someone cared. Even if it was a stranger.
Head down, looking askance at her he asked her, "What do you want from the liquor store?"
"Anything," came the reply. "Rum's my favorite," She said. "Blue Flame's the best. But any brand of Rum is fine."
Nodding his head, Bob almost whispered, "Rum it will be," and started toward the store. With his back toward her, calling over his shoulder and with a wave of his hand he told her to get into the cab while she waited. She looked cold and didn't have on a coat, just a tattered T-Shirt and well worn jeans.
Bob bought a fifth for him and a fifth for her. When he came out, she was in the passenger seat waiting anxiously.
As Bob got back into the pickup truck's cab, before she could say anything, he asked her if she had eaten. She hung her head, shook it, looked over and told him, "No. Not today."
"Look," he said, "I haven't eaten since I had a cup of coffee for breakfast so I'm starved too."
Looking over at her he asked, "You did say, you'd do anything for the Rum.
"How about this. I'm hungry and my guess is you're hungry too.
"Look. We'll get pizza. Go back to my place and eat it.
"Then we can figure out just what you can do for me."
"Yeah ... Whatever," She said."
Bob pulled out his cell phone and called for a large pie for pickup. As they pulled out of the parking lot he told her they were about 15 minutes away from his favorite pizzeria, Sal's Pizza Parlor adding, "In the time it takes us to get there it'll be ready for pickup."
"How about giving me the bottle so I can take a swig," she asked.
Looking over to her as he started up the pickup Bob replied, "Why don't we wait just a bit for that. Beer is better with pizza. I have cold beer at home. After we finish the Pizza we can make Rum Boilermakers."
"What's that?" she asked. "What's a Rum Boilermaker?"
"A shot of Rum, followed by a swig of Beer to wash it down," He told her. "The beer chaser just makes the Rum go down smoother that's all.
"It just goes down so much smoother! It takes off the edge off the pure Rum. Washes it down so to speak."
"OK," she said. "Rum Boilermakers it is."
The pizza shop Bob often used was one of the rare places that had a Drive-In Window. To use it, you had to have an automatic billing account and you had to give them a permission slip, sort of like a contract, to use your credit card for automatic billing.
No cash went in, nor change out of the window. Long ago they had a problem with kids calling, ordering for pickup and pies wasted.
He trusted Sal's, their pizza was great and he had been using them for years. His pizza was waiting when he pulled up to the window. For regular customers they offered a free topping.
He didn't have to tell them anymore which topping he wanted. He was such a regular customer and always asked for mushrooms. All he had to say was, "This is Bob Milton. My Regular Pizza please."
Pulling away from the window she asked why he didn't have to pay. To make it easily understandable Bob simply said he had an account there. "It's great not to worry about having cash in your pocket to pay every time I want pizza," he said as he handed her the box.
"Mushrooms. Cool!" she said opening it. She grabbed a slice, wolfing down in a second flat. Then she grabbed a second piece.
Bob laughed. "I guess you were hungry."
"Yeah, thanks," she told him. "I actually haven't eaten in two days!"
"Oh. Sorry," he replied. Then as he approached his place, he wondered to himself if she had a place to sleep, a bed to lie in. Even more to the point he wondered if she had somewhere to live.