Ain't Nothing But A Divorce Party - Sex Stories

Ain't Nothing But A Divorce Party

Tara wouldn’t normally wear a dress exposing so much cleavage, but as she busted through the door of a lightly decorated Roper’s bar to meet her bestie, Cassie, she felt like they were the sexiest women in the entire city. Cassie was chatting it up with the burly, white bartender while sipping from a glass filled with clear liquid. The ladies locked eyes and scuttled toward each other on their high heels before exchanging hugs and kisses on each cheek.

“Girl, you look the fuck good,” Cassie said, holding Tara’s shoulders at arm’s length. “Them big ass titties aretittying. Turn around, lemme see that booty.”

Tara raised her hands straight above and twirled while gyrating, with the “ooohs” coming from Cassie.

“I told you when you put everything together, this shit would hit.” Cassie held Tara’s hand and led her to the bar.

“Yeah, you were right,” Tara said. “Got to hand it to ya.” She pointed at the drink on the counter. “I know you ain’t start on them drinks already?”

“No, girl.” Cassie took a sip. “This is a Sprite.”

Tara nodded in greeting the just past middle-aged bartender Cliff. He smiled, scanned her voluptuous body and asked, “Now that you’re both here, care for anything stronger?”

“I’ll go with Vodka and Cranberry,” called Tara. Cassie mirrored the order.

They sat around, chatting in the empty space for another thirty to forty-five minutes, and periodically checked their mobile phones when Tara asked, “I might be overthinking, but shouldn’t some ...

... of the ladies be here by now?”

“Relax,” Cassie said. “You know the time on these invites is just to give people an extra hour before they finally start arriving.”

Tara decided to take Cassie’s advice, and they continued conversation about their plans going forward now that their divorces from their unfaithful husbands were official. The audacity of those men to run around with their tomfoolery for so many years was the most insulting part of it all. After a healthy session of bashing their exes, they checked at the ninety-minute mark of Tara’s arrival.

“Alright, even I think this is a little odd,” Cassie said. “Gimme a sec.”

Cassie called one of the invitees on her mobile and placed her on speaker.

“Hey,” Cassie said, “where you at?”

“We’re at the bar looking for you,” said the voice on the other line with some chatter in the background.

“I don’t know what bar you at, but me and Tara been here for almost two hours, and we ain’t see none of y’all.”

“We got here five minutes ago, and it’s just some dude grumbling about his idiot friends not being here.”

“Hey,” Tara chimed in, “we didn’t invite any guys. You sure you at Roper’s bar?”

“Yeah,” said the lady on the phone, “here at Pike Place.”

“It’sPike’s Place.”

“No, the invite said Pike Place, so that’s where we are.”

“Ah shit,” Cliff said, so Tara and Cassie spun around with querying looks on their mugs. “There’s a second Roper’s at Pike Place that my brother runs. When we were younger, we ...