I walked into Tucker’s, and noticed it was as run down and seedy as I had been led to believe. It was out on the highway about five miles out of town. What appears to have been a gas station at one time back maybe in the 1950s, then changed multiple times until it is what it is today. Cinderblock walls housing a place around a thousand square feet, with the bar in the area where the cash register had been. And the main lounge and dance area where the service bays once were.

In other words, a hick singles bar where people met up for one night stands. Like so many of those lovesick cowboy songs my husband liked to listen to. Jolene by Dolly Parton, Lyin’ Eyes by The Eagles, Daytime Friends and Lucille by Kenny Rogers. This place seemed to incorporate all of those tropes and more. And sometimes I wondered why I left the big city and followed him up here to the middle of nowhere.

And the last month or so, our sex life seems to have fallen to almost nothing. Between the kids and his traveling out of town all the time, I was feeling very neglected. Well, both neglected and fucking horny. I now understood what they meant that women peak in their thirties, a decade or so after men do. Once we had done our job for kids and procreation, we women wanted sex now for fun, to get our rocks off for the pure enjoyment of getting fucked. And at the same time, the libido of men slows down. It was just not fair.

That is, unless they are sticking it to their secretaries or somebody else other than their wife. Which for some reason society accepts, even if the husband before leaving his wife is sticking it to a girl almost young enough to be his daughter. But society accepts that for some reason, while a gal that decides she wants some young meat is a tramp or a slut.

Which is why places like this were stuck out in remote areas, away from the prying and gossiping eyes of the more reputable members of the community. I took a seat at the bar and felt like slapping myself when the bartender asked me for my order, and I asked for a Cabernet Savignon. He was maybe around twenty-three, and said he did not know what that was.

Yet another strike against this town, no respectable bar when I lived in San Francisco would not have had several choices of wine available. So I shook my head and ordered a Miller, the least detestable of the brands of beer they offered on tap. And with my glass in hand I turned to watch what was going on.

And it was about what I expected. About half the thirty or so people in there were college kids, mostly guys. Most of them fairly young and fit, just barely at or above the drinking age. But a fair number of older ones also, ranging from my age to those even into the bracket they would be living off of Social Security.

And the women, I was both surprised and not surprised to see that most were about my age. Either just starting to creep into Middle Age, or on the far side of it. A few of them I even recognized, and I know for a fact that two of them like me were married. And I was not incredibly surprised when one that came up and stood next to me was Kelsey.

Now Kelsey I knew from work, as she kinda worked under me. Not directly under me, but in my department. And I remember that when she started she was married, then going through a divorce. And having to take several days off of work, rumor saying it was so she could go to Nevada. Not to finish her divorce, but for an abortion. And that she did not even know who the father was according to the hushed rumor I overheard. I tried to ignore the office gossip mill, but some things I just could not help overhearing.

Kelsey seemed startled to see me sitting at the bar as she ordered a pitcher of Coors, and smirked at me as it was handed to her. And she did not even get glasses, as when I saw her carry it to the table, there were already two glasses there. Along with a guy young enough to have been her son, if she had been very precocious and had a kid at the time she was entering High School.

However, I had to admit as I looked at the garish Christmas Lights strung around the bar and DJ booth in July that at least the music was good. Mostly slow songs from the 1980s. The kind we liked when I was young as we could almost hump each other at school dances and get away with it. Even if it was more heavily country songs than New Wave or New Romantic. Not the fast Booty Music most places played these days. And of the dozen or so couples I saw on the floor, they almost were humping each other out there.

I watched all this, and was now starting to regret deciding to come here in the first place. What in the hell was I doing here? I was a mother, a wife. A respected member of the community, yet here I was at the local singles bar. What in the hell was I thinking?

I sipped my beer, and was fascinated at what I was seeing. Kelsey had now gotten the guy she was with to join her on the floor. Guy, hell. He was almost a boy, if he was even twenty two I would eat my own panties. But his hands were all over her ass in her short and tight red dress, and even pulling it up so he could rub her ass through her panties. At least I had to admit she had the taste to wear matching panties. But likely just cotton from the discount store, not silk like I was wearing.

And as I turned back to face the bar I uncrossed and recrossed my thighs the other way, and admitting the silk of my panties were nice. Much nicer than the cotton I normally wore growing up. Yes, a good marriage had me living far beyond where I had ever imagined I would be at one time. Not quite the ghetto, but I could see it from where I lived growing up. And learning secondhand from my older sister that the best way to get ahead in life was to latch onto a man that could get you things.

Which in a round-about way I had done myself. While not as bad as my sister who would jack off any guy for a dinner or arcade games, I did it with boyfriends for dinner and arcade games. Most times. Then when I graduated college for the most part gravitating towards older men. Those that made better incomes than I did, quite often a decade or so older than I was. And I discovered I would do and put up with a lot for that stability.

And unlike Kelsey who I think was wearing a dress she got from a discount department store, mine was by Halston. A nice teal that hung to the very top of my knees, and had just enough of a V neck to show a hint of cleavage but not my bra. A dress that probably cost Kelsey at least two or three days pay.

And thinking I had finally broken free of all that. Getting with a guy closer to my age, only to find myself here in the sticks. With a husband out on the road far more than I liked, but stability. A man who I now realized seemed prematurely old, even though there was only a couple of years difference between us. Even the first guy I lived with who was in his forties when I was barely into my twenties, but he sometimes seemed younger than me.

Well, at least he pretended to be. Looking back, even when Frank and I went out casually, he always wore long shirts and ties. And as much as I enjoyed the touch of gray at his temples, his taste for kinks was an awakening. He was the first to realize my submissive side. And that he could order me onto my knees and to suck his cock for an hour or more. And I would do it, even though my jaw would be aching by then.