Ain't Nothing But A Divorce Party - Sex Stories

Ain't Nothing But A Divorce Party

... thought it’d be funny to have two branches with the same name at similar-sounding addresses.”

“Oh Jesus.” Tara held her forehead and paced.

“How far out is that from here?” Cassie asked.

Cliff grimaced before he said, “About a two-hour drive.”

Cassie released a few choice expletives, whereas Tara sat and dropped her face into her palms.

“Really sorry, ladies,” Cliff said.

“You heard that?” Cassie asked, directing her question to her phone.

“Yeah. I’ll talk to the girls here and ask what they want to do,” said the lady on the other line. “No matter the answer, I’ll be there for you gals.”

After the ladies said their goodbyes, Cliff nodded at his surveillance feed behind the counter and said, “There’re some youngsters on the cameras out there looking like they’re unsure if they can come in or not. Choice is yours.”

An irritated Cassie stomped behind the bar – to the stammering of Cliff’s weak protests – and her demeanour grew positive as she viewed the live footage and said, “Daaamn.”

“What?” Tara asked.

“They got some fine-ass looking men out there. Look young, though. Probably college boys.”

Tara shrugged at Cassie. “So what?”

“I think we should let ‘em in.”

“The girls may still be coming, though.”

“Even if they do, it’ll take two hours. And somebody besides you and Cliff needs to be seeing my fine ass like now. No offense.”

Tara sighed. “Sure, why not? Girls’ night’s screwed anyway.”

“Come on, Tar, don’t be like that. ...

... Lemons outta lemonade, remember?”

Tara turned to the bar and ordered another Vodka and Cranberry while the bassy voices of young males grew closer when Cassie opened the entrance. When Tara swiveled around on the stool, the youngsters were drawn to the visual of the sexily dressed ladies, but on top of that were layers of confusion.

“Hey, is Dave here yet?” one from the entourage asked.

“No Dave here, son,” Cliff said.

As if a Xerox copy of the divorce party’s situation, the youngster called his mate, and at that point, Tara and Cassie were convinced their lives were scripted.

“We’re at the wrong fucking spot,” said the youngster, which made his comrades groan. After Cliff explained it would take two hours to get to the correct location, they grumbled.

The blame game was thrown every which way between the twelve young men, and Tara sulked, craving the divorce party she felt she so rightly deserved. The celebration of her newly reclaimed freedom slipped through her fingers with every passing second. Almost like the fading pulse of her marriage before she, along with Cassie, discovered their husbands’ mutual cases of infidelity. During this cloud of self-pity, she locked eyes with a handsome youngster who sat quietly, unlike the others, and observed the happenings like she did. They shared a light giggle from across the room, but that one tender moment out of a thousand fuck ups was interrupted by Cassie’s yelling.

“Enough!” Cassie shouted. “Look, it’s clear as ...