A Bowl of Cherries Ch. 03

Of course, now that they had finally been together, Richard is unavailable again (at a physician's conference in San Diego). To drown her sorrows Molly orders a large jar of sake with her sushi combo. Although she is a bit wobbly as she gets up she decides to walk home instead of taking a cab.

Still depressed, she walks into an Irish pub, hoping that a nightcap will improve her mood. A Guinness and a Bailey's on top of the sake wasn't the most brilliant idea, since they probably didn't mix well, but they did have the effect of making her positively tipsy. Stumbling into the street, Molly almost dives off the curb in front of a taxi (wouldn't that be ironic?) Luckily she is able to grab onto a signpost and twirls around it a few times, laughing in the face of death.

Molly should probably know better, but a couple blocks later she passes, or rather doesn't pass, a sports bar - reasoning that she should rest her feet since she was wearing heels. She was way overdressed for the place and when she walked in all eyes were on her. Molly's first stop was the restroom where she also paused to adjust her dress and maximize her cleavage.

Taking a seat at the corner of the bar, she ordered a pitcher of whatever domestic swill was on special. Pretending to watch hockey on the big screen, Molly played her little game (looking back at the men who inevitably stared at her). Even though she was dating Richard exclusively she could still have a little harmless fun. Every time she would glance back they would turn away like they had been slapped in the face. At least two of them caught shit from their wives/girlfriends over it.

Men today are such pussies, Molly thought. A beautiful single woman sits alone at a bar and no one hits on her. So Molly turned up the heat, twisting her barstool sideways with her legs crossed she kicked in time with the music, her left shoe dangling from her toes. Until it went flying and she had to awkwardly snatch it out of the air, almost knocking her pitcher over in the process. Embarrassed, Molly quickly pays her tab and heads for home, until she comes to the French restaurant on her block and convinces herself that she needs a glass of Cabernet to complete her pub crawl.

Finally arriving at her apartment, it must have taken Molly five minutes to find her keys in her purse and get the door open. She couldn't remember ever being this drunk, but still feeling sorry for herself, she made a Manhattan (with extra cherries, of course). Sitting on the couch she thought about Richard and their encounter in the car, and the dream that started it all, right here on this couch. Taking another sip of her drink, Molly ran her hands over her breasts and sighed. Preparing for what was to come, she flipped the ruined side of the middle cushion back up and grabbed a towel from the kitchen to lay on. She had cleaned it the best she could but it would need to be replaced eventually.

Molly kicked off her heels and peeled off her short black dress. Molly usually fantasized about her current lover or some movie star when she played with herself, but even though they fucked, Molly had not even seen Richard's cock yet. Besides, she was too intoxicated to think clearly, so she decides to just enjoy herself tonight.

Molly began by stroking her hair and caressing her face and neck. Then she gently ran her fingertips up the inside of her outstretched left arm. Skipping over her breasts for now Molly slid her palm down her stomach and swirled her index finger around her belly button. Continuing onward but wanting to save the best parts for last, Molly raised her leg and stroked her inner thigh with the backs of her fingers.

Having had made herself wait long enough, Molly cupped her breasts with her hands, flicking her nipples with her thumbs until they stiffened. She took the left one into her mouth, which she always seemed to favor. Was it possible to be left-breasted? She giggled at the thought. Releasing her nipple from between her teeth she stuck her thumb in instead and sucked on it. Oh, yeah - she was getting some tonight.

Molly moved her hands to her crotch and spread herself open. When she stuck her fingers inside she was reminded by a sharp pain that she had French tips put on the day before, so she would have to "think outside the box." Being careful, Molly lubricated her fingers and alternated between sliding them over the tip of her clit and pressing down on it and rubbing in circles. Occasionally she would tug on her inner lips and tentatively finger herself.

After what seems like forever, Molly stops. Her pussy feels numb - that had never happened before. Reaching over to the end table for her drink she accidentally dips her fingers into the glass. Taking a gulp, her juices combine with the bourbon and cherries to make the perfect Manhattan. Returning to work, the alcohol stings briefly. Molly realizes that she literally and figuratively has "whiskey clit." Thinking she may be dreaming, Molly glances at her watch - it is indeed 11:03, just as it was the last time. Trying to get things started again, she begins slapping her pussy.

"Wake up, kitty"

Still nothing, then harder.

"Bad kitty!"

Returning to her clit, Molly realizes that in addition to the loss of sensation she has gone completely dry. That is also a first for her. Checking her watch again, it was difficult for her to tell the time as all the alcohol she drank continued to enter her bloodstream. With some concentrated squinting she was able to determine that it was 11:07 - so this wasn't a dream after all.

Also, that would mean that she had been going at it for over an hour. She was going to need some assistance if she was going to finish. Struggling to stand upright, the room spinning wildly, Molly resorts to crawling to her bedroom.

Just climbing into bed felt like a major accomplishment. Reaching into her nightstand she grabbed her favorite toy and some lube (it was two months expired, but she was too drunk to care). Applying the buzzer to her clit, Molly realizes that even this is only vaguely pleasurable and pointless, like a Sunday drive. She inserts the vibrator and closes her eyes until the battery runs out. Finally admitting defeat, Molly passes out face-down in her pillow.