More Than Time Can Heal a Broken Heart (a Memory)
Copyright© 2026 by BethanyBelow
Chapter 6: Across the Table
True Story Sex Story: Chapter 6: Across the Table - This is a SLOW BURN story with the real sex only in the last 1/3 though some masturbation in earlier parts. While graphic the sex is very vanilla. This story focuses on when I was newly 18, inexperienced & insecure and my boyfriend of 4 years dumped me. The main purpose is to give those of you reading my Infidelity/Cheating series some background on me. This can be read as a stand alone. It is also not necessary to read this in order to enjoy my Infidelity/Cheating series.
Caution: This True Story Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual True Story Oral Sex
Everyone was already sitting when I came in. Sue was setting the last of the food down with the unfussy competence of a woman who had fed this exact configuration of people a thousand times. Kevin had the head of the table without making a production of it. Carrie had the chair she always took. The only open place that did not require me to climb over someone was directly across from Andrew.
Of course it was.
I sat. The shirt slipped off one shoulder, and I tugged it back like the shoulder had committed a crime. Andrew had changed out of the airport clothes into something softer. The tattoos were still there. The hair was still there. The problem was still there. Sue passed a bowl and started the ordinary machinery of a family dinner. Andrew, who had apparently decided I existed and wasn’t a lump, kept trying to fold me into the conversation instead of letting me sit there like a decorative ornament.
“I almost did not recognize you in the pool,” he said, not unkindly. “You look really good. The weight, I mean. It took me a minute to realize it was you.”
The compliment landed in the exact place compliments always landed, which was somewhere between my throat and the urge to disappear. I felt my face go hot. I mumbled something short that might have been thanks and might have been a noise. Carrie kicked me under the table. Not hard. Hard enough. When I glanced at her, she gave me the stop-being-lame look she had patented sometime in middle school and had been revising ever since.
So I tried. I answered when people asked me things. Not well, at first. Then better, because Carrie had a second kick in reserve and I could see it in her posture. School was fine, I said, and then I made myself add a sentence about a teacher who assigned reading like it was a personality. Community college in the fall, I said, and then I added that I wanted nursing because I liked the idea of being useful in a room where useful actually meant something. Justin’s name came up once, and I did not fall into it. I let Sue change the subject with the skill of a woman who had been changing subjects since before I was born.
Kevin poured wine for Carrie, then looked at me with the bottle still in his hand, an eyebrow asking the question so I wouldn’t have to invent a speech about being eighteen in a house that had decided I was staying.
“You can have a glass if you want it,” he said. “With food. I am not running a nightclub.”
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