Mandy - The Complete Story - Book 1
Copyright© 2013 by AJ Martin
Chapter 1
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.
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Consensual Romantic Heterosexual First Oral Sex Masturbation Petting Nudism
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 she’d risen to the senior executive level in the Telecommunications Field since their divorce and was earning a median five digit monthly salary, well over 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.
