Chapter 1

Trisha blinked twice as she walked through the saloon-style doors. She smiled slightly as they swung back and forth, enjoying the 'clunk, clunk, clunk' sound that they made.

Other than the noise of the doors swaying black and forth and the light hum of the fridge behind the bar, the room was completely silent. Even Trisha's flats didn't make a noise as she walked across the wooden floorboards. The demure woman was dressed in a knee-length skirt which served to conceal most of her attractive bare legs, and a cardigan on top of her shirt that masked her almost-total lack of breasts.

Odd, she thought. I didn't know that real bars had doors like that - I thought it was just a movie thing.

It wasn't surprising that Trisha was unaware of what a real bar should contain - the closest she'd ever gotten to one was the occasional Cheers re-runs she'd caught on television. A mother of one who had married straight out of high-school (and fallen pregnant shortly after) she'd never even had a drink, aside from one glass of wine she'd been offered at a dinner party.

Unsure of what had compelled her to enter the empty bar, Trisha walked over to the bartender. "Kent", his name-tag read. He was standing directly between her and the bar's mirror, blocking the view of her own shoulder-length brown hair and light, tasteful make-up as she sat down.

Trisha ordered a glass of wine, and after admiring the skill with which the bartender poured it, found herself staring at a drink that she didn't really want, wondering what she was doing sitting in the dim room at 3PM on a Monday afternoon.

Her brain couldn't supply an answer, so after a few seconds of awkward silence, Trisha picked the glass up and took a sip.

Well, she thought, when in Rome...

Countless movies had taught Trisha that the man behind the bar was the perfect confidant - she opened her mouth to share her problems with the bartender, but nothing came out.

The trouble, she immediately realized, was that she didn't really have any problems to share. The middle-aged woman had been on her way home from dropping a box of goods to her local church when she'd decided to stop and get a drink, and she didn't have to pick her 19-year old daughter Julia up for more than an hour.

Trisha's life wasn't perfect, but she'd been happily married for almost twenty years, Julia was a perfect daughter and a model student, and Trisha had nothing that really required advice.

What a problem to have, she thought with a smile. Seems like a wasted opportunity, really.

Just as Trisha had decided to finish her drink and be on her way, the bartender spoke for the first time.

"Looks like there's something on your mind," he said in a slow Southern drawl, further reinforcing the accuracy of filmic bar scenes to Trisha.

As soon as he spoke, Trisha realized that he was correct - she'd been lying to herself about having a perfect life. Before she could share what she'd come in to discuss, however, he continued.

"Let me guess - it's about the cheating."

Trisha gasped at the bartender's astute guess. For as long as she could remember, she'd been cheating on her husband Roger. It wasn't even as if she was unsatisfied at home - her and Roger had regular intercourse ... sure, it had slowed down the longer they'd been married, but for any normal woman, it would have been perfectly satisfactory.

But Trisha, she'd realized over the years, was no ordinary woman. There was something about the rush she got from cheating that nothing else could compete with - since she'd entered the bar, she had been checking Kent out, wondering if he had a back room they could sneak into, wondering if his penis was proportionately as thick and veiny as his neck.

Twice in an hour would have been a new record too, she'd realized; after dropping the goods off to the church, she'd taken the teenaged volunteer working there out into the back room and given him the ride of a lifetime.

"Gosh," she'd cried out as he pounded into her. "Gosh, this is excellent! Oh my word, yes! Please continue to have intercourse with me!"

(Though she cheated at the drop of a hat, Trisha's religious upbringing had taught her that bad language was uncivilized, and even in the heat of adulterous passion, she couldn't bring herself to swear.)

Trisha loved her husband, but she somehow didn't feel complete unless she was engaged in the taboo act of cheating. It would crush poor Roger if he knew, she realized that, but she couldn't bring herself to stop. She'd tried, once, but her will had been broken the first time a new delivery-man rang her doorbell. Roger was just destined to live the life of a cuckold, unaware of it though he was.

"How did you know?" she asked the man behind the bar, sipping her wine in worry. He was polishing a glass, and she stared at it, wondering why he continued to clean it even though it was obviously spotless.

"With a top like that, I could tell you were looking for action." he replied slowly, taking the time to enunciate each word.

Oh good, it's working she thought with a broad grin upon her face. She broke her eyes away from the man's cloth, running over every inch of the glass over and over, and checked out her own cleavage.

She'd been generously endowed since she was a teen, but it wasn't until she'd discovered the joys of cheating that she'd really begun to advertise the fact. Now it was rare for her to leave the house with anything that didn't show off as much of her breasts as possible.

For her thirty-fifth birthday, she'd bought herself implants. She'd told Roger it was for his benefit, and he'd lapped it up, but the true recipient of the gift had been herself ... and the hundreds of men who had gotten their hands on them since then.

Her new front seemed to defy gravity, and she only ever bothered with a bra when it served to further emphasize her chest-puppies.

"I'm glad you noticed," she said with a saucy smile, intending to look up at the bartender's face and see if he had that intense "I want to make love to you now" look that she so often saw on men's faces. For some reason though, when her gaze reached his hands, she stopped there, and continued to stare as he polished the already-gleaming glass.

"Well, it looks like you're cheating plenty, but ain't hidin' no bad feelings about it." the bartender drawled, and pausing to spit on the glass in his hands. Trisha wasn't sure that was hygienic, but didn't want to tell the man how to do his job. "So what brings you in here today?"

Tricia searched her brain, trying to remember why she'd come in to unload upon the stranger, but came up blank. She was genuinely happy with her life - her ample bosom helped ensure that she had a regular line-up of men to make love to, and Roger didn't suspect a thing. She'd come to terms with it long ago, and no longer even felt an inkling of guilt as she slept with strangers, even taking them home and cheating in her marital bed whenever she could.

As she was thinking, the bartender continued to stare at her, and just as she was going to admit that there was nothing wrong, he once more spoke for her.

Chapter 2 »