The Tales From The Tavern: Revenge, Bitch - Sex Stories

The Tales From The Tavern: Revenge, Bitch

... breakable, unfortunately. Just for the record: the first girl I tried to date after Em had broken up with me turned out to be the one I had cheated her on with. So no serious relationship after our break-up it was. And her? She as well hadn't waited too long to find her a substitute for me either. She still was with him for all I knew, but wasn't exactly what you'd call faithful and honest. I had heard more than just once that she was still fucking around as she had wanted while she was with me, but her boyfriend was just too damn naïve to see through her, although he knew perfectly well. So there I was: walking home, thinking of that sweet time we shared. That was – like what? – three years later or so? We hadn't really seen each other since. Maybe in the mom-and-pop store, in a bar, or downtown somewhere, crossing each other, saying hello, and avoid being awkward by immediately breaking eye contact and simply keeping on walking, pretending to have shit to do. Don't blame me, right? She acted just the same. But often enough had I thought of her. I had missed her real bad, and sometimes still do. To be honest: sometimes she still is the reason why I can't really bond with someone, I guess. But still... However good the memories of her and our time together were, and however often I absent-mindedly thought of her – every time I did so and still do, actually – that dark shadow of the way she ditched me still hangs over these precious memories, churns up my stomach, twitches my ...

... belly, and leaves me with a bad feeling in my guts; even now so. That time, however, was different. Was it the little alcohol I'd had? Much unlikely so. Or was it some kind of anticipation? Perhaps an expectation? I don't know. I just walked home, and thought it would be funny to meet her. Maybe even to walk her home, for the old times' sake. That thought made me smile a bit. But let's be honest. What were the odds? Considering that she had moved away from her mother's to another town two years before, the chances of her paying a visit to her mother, and thus of bumping into her this very night were rather slim. I had almost reached the edge of the woods already – a quarter mile from home, one half at max – when I decided to sit down on that bench at the very end of the woods, and enjoy the view of the night sky for a while before I'd finally make it home. When would be the next time I'd enjoy it so much, I thought. Winter would be coming soon. Winters were cold at my place, not the most attractive conditions for a night under the stars, not that there were many of them to see through that gray, thick, hibernal cloud cover that usually hung there. Guess what? That bench was already taken. ---------------- The young storyteller addressed his next question to his audience: “...and guess by whom?” He took the last sip of his pint, which immediately got replaced by Big ol' Tom, and ran his index finger over the bar, looking at the crumbs of consumed chips and peanut curls. He was ...