Hot at 41
For Mary, the only thing worse than turning 40 is turning 41. On her birthday, she has a minor midlife crisis. She feels that she's married a boring husband and has boring children. Of course, she'd never tell them that. To work through her angst, she buys a sexy black dress, hits a night club, and hooks up with a younger man. More
For Mary, the only thing worse than turning 40 is turning 41. On her birthday, she has a minor midlife crisis. She feels that she's married a boring husband and has boring children. Of course, she'd never tell them that. To work through her angst, she buys a sexy black dress, hits a night club, and hooks up with a younger man.
WARNING! This 4000 word short story contains graphic and explicit depictions of sex between consenting adults. It is meant only for mature readers over the age of 18.
In between songs, Cheryl visited the bar to get us another round of mixed drinks, and she snared the attention of some guy. I breathed a breath of frustration. It was like many other times I went out with her; she’d all be about girl power until the first guy showed her any attention. Then, I’d get ditched in favor of him. However, I wasn’t really mad at her – I was more peeved that she was single and I wasn’t. She could get away with such indiscretions, and I’d always get back to being the wallflower with an identity crisis. So, I went to the bar to get my own drink.
I stayed on the barstool, too. By now, about an hour and a half had passed. More and more people were filing into the club. Strangely, I found myself sitting on the stool with the best back posture I could muster. I was making sure my breasts and low-cut neck line stuck up and out more. What am I doing? I asked myself that and many other questions. Maybe it was the alcohol, but I started wanting a man's attention. I wanted to endure sloppy pick up lines – even if I was married with two kids. My husband had stopped treating sex as something special; for him, it was the Friday-night chore as routine as washing the car. It had been a long time since I felt pursued, conquered. Only, I tried to tamp down that desire. Normally, I didn’t think of myself as a cheater, and I was surprised that this sudden urge came over me. So, I silence, I just stirred my gin and tonic with my straw. I tried not to even look at Cheryl. She was on the dance floor and danced – practically dry humping – the guy that had just talked to her.
For awhile, I just people watched as patrons milled around the bar or danced amidst strobe lights and a fog machine. I saw a number of hot guys, and in the back of my brain, I wondered what it would be like to have a man other than Andre. I mean, I had 15 years of monogamy – two as a couple before I became pregnant with my daughter. The more I thought about it, the more I just wanted to drink. Sure, I wasn’t unhappy with life; I felt bored more than anything. Maybe I was just trying to overthink happiness and unhappiness. That was before a question snapped me out of my gloom.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I turned my head, seeing practically a boy sitting next to me. He couldn’t have been much older than 23. That, I was sure of. He wore tight jeans and a black shirt that practically looked glued to him – it stretched over the contours of his muscles rather nicely. I thought to tell him to go away, but when I opened my mouth, “sure” came out. Even worse, when he turned his head to order from the bartender, I found myself slipping my wedding ring off and dropping it into my tiny clutch bag ...
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