How to Mend a Broken Heart

How to Mend a Broken Heart

She wanted happy ever after, not a one-night stand, maybe both

Millie Dynamite

Time, here and now. Place, anywhere on Earth.

In all of my 42 years, I'd never had a one-night stand. In point of fact, I'd never considered having one. With my recent divorce, I lived in a constant state of dissatisfaction. I still had only made love to one man in my entire life. For some strange reason, my ex-husband and his new, younger wife didn't want me fucking him anymore. Or so he said.

Why she was so selfish with him when he'd fucked her cute face, adorable ass, and tight pussy for years behind my back was beyond my comprehension. In some ways, I felt turn about would be fair play. So, I offered him occasional consolation in my arms. However, Jimmy, being Jimmy, refused to cheat on her. Giving the little witch far more consideration than he'd ever shown me.

Oh, to be sure, he'll find another when her ass fattens, her beauty fades, or her willingness to do all the nasty things he loves ends. Her sexy little ass was in for a shock the first time he came home reeking of pussy and perfume. For some weird reason, I'd always ignored his dalliances. This wicked woman wouldn't.

Enough, move on, and tell the tale.

I'd done the shopping sprees, buying new clothes, shoes, and lingerie, hoping to relieve my depression. None of the usual fixes worked. Not even chocolate made me happy. Without pride, I'd cried my eyes out to girlfriends and a few less than friendly wives of our mutual friends. At some point, these couples took his side.

These wives worried their husbands might stray, their sympathy for me tempered by anger at me for making them fear their marriages might also fail. Ah, yes, the age-old issues. If you don't see it, it isn't real.

Well, what I needed was a man. Oh, my, yes, I needed a boyfriend. Conversation, companionship, candlelight dinners, cuddling, kissing, and the rest. Um, I desired a new life since the old one abandoned me. Uh-huh, that's what I longed for.

So, I hung out in bars, not dives, but beautiful clubs, places where you might meet someone, a special man, with who you might share some conversation, a dance, a drink, and fall into a relationship.

After weeks or months of dating, I'd consider taking the association to the next level. Well, such was my plan. As plans go, this one offered some comfort to me, a person longing for a connection, deep and personal, not some quick, carnal congress.

Man, oh, man, was I in for a surprise.

Having played the meet and flirt game for over a month, I came up dry with men interested in my plan. While no one laughed at me, they bolted when I said I wanted to take time to know them. Why wouldn't they? After all, women and girls, each one of them, left with someone most nights, no matter their appearance. Leaving only the gross, overweight, socially inept, or odd-looking men to choose from. Without exception, I passed on the field.

The night began as the others which preceded. Offers to dance, most from jerks I'd met in the club on previous occasions. Tonight, my mood turned sullen, fearing I'd never find someone interested in something real. Had the world fallen so far in the 18 years I'd been married? When my son left for college the month before, I'd held a marginal hope of happiness.

I pondered the distinct possibility of growing old alone. As far as lovely, pleasant thoughts go, this fussing muss in my reflections about loneliness didn't qualify.

Wow! Yes, I said wow, which I thought when I first laid eyes on him. Tall, over six feet, handsome, well beyond attractive. It might be better to call him gorgeous or beautiful, more precisely, to describe him. A young stud, not so young as my son, but still 18 or more years my junior.

I drank in the sight of him. Guilt, fear, self-loathing, and raunchy urges overtook my thoughts. With quick, fleeting glances, I studied him. Every woman descended on him. A vision of locust devouring every scrap of vegetation flashed in my head.

Raising my finger at the waitress, I ordered another Long Island Ice Tea and set my mind to drinking and watching the show. Because the sloven, trollop barflies would make a show of things. Drinking down the last of my current drink, expecting to glance up and see some young gal humping his leg on the dance floor like a dog in heat. When I peeked at the dance floor, he stepped to my table.

"Would you mind terribly if I sat with you?"

"Not at all," I said, laughing in a nervous, quivering giggle like one of the stupid girls who'd swarmed around him. Goodness, my head swam in a sea of confusion, unsure why such a cute man would want to be with me.

"I'm introverted, and these bold women frighten me," the man said.

"Difficult to believe," I told him.

"Oh, no, I'm being honest with you. Young women, women near my age, are mean, judgmental, shallow, and far too demanding for me to be comfortable with them. I prefer a woman who has passed the silly phase of basing everything on physical attraction. Not that you aren't attractive, you are stunning."

His words were, in a strange way, quite pleasant. The more he talked, the more I loved what he said. For an hour, perhaps more, we conversed. In the course of our conversation, I discovered he had foster parents. He found I was newly single. While I learned he loved Mexican and Italian food, he recognized my love of wine.

Without realizing it, as if by a spell, we were dancing. First, we gyrated to a hard rock song. After that, we danced cheek to cheek. We clung together, our bodies as close as clothing allowed.

Moving about the floor, his arms holding me, our fires deep inside, exploding into something hot, wild, and needy. His hands, the music, the other dancers, the flashing lights, and we, the two of us, melded into some crazy oneness.

One blue-eyed young woman, dancing alone, gaped at us with what, at first, I imagined was a glaring hatred. But as I glanced back at her, from time to time, I realized she stared with blankness. She appeared to consume us, sucking in our flirtations. Wonder and amazement filled me as she danced a sensual dance all by herself. Might she be a stripper? I pondered.

He maneuvered us toward a dark corner at the back of the dance floor. With a light, loving touch, his hand moved up my backbone, dancing on the zipper of my dress. When, at long last, he made his way to the top of my clothing. After a moment, he dragged the zipper down, exposing my bare back to the cool air blasting from the vent above our heads.

My attention returned to the single woman dancing alone in the distance. Her indigo eyes scrutinized us. Like a student readying a lesson, she studied us in minute detail. Her attention turned me on even more.

"Stop," I said. "Not here." Acutely aware the woman spied on us, I had to stop this before she had something to see.

"I'm ready, you're ready. The others, those mindless sheep, won't notice a thing."

The woman still consumed us with limpid pools of sapphire eyes. I wanted to tell him, but also I wanted her eyeing us as my secret. This was all exhilarating. Intoxicating me with all the fleshy erotic sensations. Being watched, being desired, it all bore into me. I knew this was a bad idea.

Reaching out with his left hand, he opened a door. It was some small room. Continuing our dance, we moved into the room and the door shut behind us. The room's light filtered from a fluorescent fixture high above. The dim, flickering light bathed us in a pinkish, dull glow.

With some insistence, he touched me, urging me to continue. Our mouths touched, white, fiery passion, firm lips, and wet tongues came together. While his hands roamed over my body, slipping my dress from my shoulders, and he touched my aching flesh, my mind reeled. Slow down, I thought, but I wanted to rush headlong.

Unhooking my bra, he discarded it to the floor, and his hands cupped my breasts. Kneading them with a delicate touch. His style seemed so developed for such a young man. Try as I might, I couldn't stop him.

When I thought of saying no, his mouth smothered my words. If I pressed him away, he pulled me tight into him. Opening my eyes, I gazed around the dim room. A single bed ran along the back wall, and we moved toward it. He shucked his clothes, teasing my body with his expert hands, while he guided me to bed.

Every inch of my body ached for more. My mind could think of nothing but this moment. Pressing me into the mattress, he lay on me, my legs parted, and the head of his member pressed on my labia. With one hand, he touched my breast, belly, face, and neck. With the other, he held his cock and rubbed me from clit to opening.

To be truthful, I was so wet before we entered the room. After a few moments, he thrust inside me, while our tongues danced in one another's mouths. Pushing close to all of him inside me in one deep shove. My hands explored his hard as a rock body as he plumbed by depths.

The springs squeaked to this ever-increasing beat. As the music from outside drove our lovemaking, we moved in a frenetic, horizontal tango. The slapping of our thighs provided a new tone of sweaty meat pounding together.

A soft screech, a prolonged creak, not unlike a cat's meow, told me the door opened. A young woman, perhaps his age, moved inside and shut the door behind her. Lifting her finger to her lips. The woman put her hand down her tight cutoffs. It proved impossible for me to take my eyes off her while she worked herself in a rhythm to our own lovemaking. But after a few minutes, our passion pushed her from my mind.

His aftershave merged with my perfume, and a distinct and different redolence was born.

Blue eyes gawked, and her hands, one in her shorts, the other on her breast, massaged her body.

Hot naked bodies undulated, twisting and turning in a rough unison of the delightful flames of voraciousness. Our breathing was raw and ragged, and our hearts pounded as hard as our lovemaking. Delicate beads of sweat covered us in a mist as our bodies burned in our rampage of sensual wanton abandon.

Azure eyes, in the yellow dimness, her body almost a silhouette, one hand on her mouth, the other inside her pants. With a fierceness that equaled ours. While we made love, sweet and impassioned, she fucked her hand. Muffling her moans and groans with her fingers clamped tight over her mouth.

Our lascivious coupling moved from pinnacle to chasm and back to the summit. We move in avaricious rutting, our bodies burning with desires consuming one another in the blazes of lustful appetites.

This woman's presence heightened my lust for a reason I can't explain. As I neared the summit, she, too, climaxed. Her legs shook, muscles convulsed, her exposed belly trembled, and we, her and I, hit all the right notes in harmony. Over the precipice, we moved. With her back to the door, and me in desire, throws with my new lover.

If only this might last forever.

I was the first to lose myself in the abyss. Emotions, yearnings, and the long-absent rapture overtook my body and mind, my body. Over the top, down into the depths, climax, or climaxes, lasted for some time. The young woman and I rose to heights of ecstasy.

As I descended from ecstasy, he pumped his seed into me. With murmuring grunts and groans, he rode his own orgasm. Rising, he continued to pump until he'd lost all he had to give me. He lay on top of me, out of breath, panting, and careful to put too much weight on me.

Again, the door's creak failed to draw his attention. I gazed at her, still enraptured.

This woman laughed without sound, wagged her fingers, and shut the door.

My body went limp.

He stood, dressed, and all the while, he smiled at me. Without warning, he opened the door and was gone. It took some moments for this to sink in. My lover left, just left. Without a word, he abandoned me. My heart sank. I thought, hoped, this encounter was more than a fuck.

A moment later, he entered the room, carrying two champagne glasses.

"I thought you might want to toast our first time," he said. "My name is Robert, but you can call me Bobby."

"I'm Adrienne," I said.

"Love your name," he said.

Sitting on the bed, we toasted our meeting. Afterward, I dressed, and we'd dance until last-call, and spent the weekend together in my home, in my bed.