Oliver and I had been together twelve years when we agreed that a divorce was the only way to go. We’d met in our last year of college, and that had been that - we’d fallen in love, moved in together, and got a cat and an apartment and a ring. It felt right. It felt like everything I’d been told about the way my life should pan out was happening, and there was something very satisfying and comforting about that. Looking back, there were warning signs peppered all over the relationship. We didn’t fuck as often as I would have liked, we didn’t have a huge amount in common, and we tended to just sort of rely on each other to be our emotional safe houses. We fell into a routine, not in love, and that routine felt safe and comfortable, until it suddenly wasn’t and a profound, awful unhappiness had begun to rock our marriage to the core.
Yes, I get that we could have stood up and fought for our marriage, and that there are people who would criticise me for not doing that. But there comes a point where you’re just exhausted- exhausted by the monotony and the monogamy, the sterile sex and the constant questions of kids we both knew we didn’t want to have. I felt strangely numb after we’d made the decision, as if I couldn’t quite imagine my life without him after all that time together, but it didn’t take long for me to work out that we’d made the right choice. And yes, we were both hurting, and yes, it was horrible to cut myself off from his family and his friends, the people I’d become close to and considered part of my life, but those are sacrifices you have to make if you want to be happy.
Happy - yes, it was an odd thing to consider, but I was a lot happier now. I felt raw, as if someone had been rubbing onions up on my soul, but also free. I didn’t have to deal with those late nights awake, next to him, wondering if I should just wake him up and tell him that we shouldn’t be together any more. I didn’t have to masturbate every night just to get some kind of release, because Oliver couldn’t give it to me. That felt profoundly strange and strangely profound. I could go fuck whomever I wanted now, in theory, and I had every intention of exploiting that to the max. A little frisson of energy passed through me as I considered it - I was only thirty-two, and my libido had far from dropped off. I still looked good - curvier than I had been, sure, but I liked myself with a little extra weight. My legs looked strong and toned, and my arms were lightly muscled-hours spent at the gym working off pent-up sexual energy will do that to a person. And I wanted to show off this body to the fullest.
I guess part of taking this trip away was about getting out of a town where everyone knew me and had preconceptions about me. For years, in that little Michigan town, everyone had known me as his wife - I wasn’t my own person any more, but rather melded into him, an accessory for Oliver to take with him to prove his success. Getting out of town would give me the chance to explore what I was like when no-one knew who I was, or what I had been. And yes, I wanted to open up my romantic options as well. I wasn’t looking for another long-term relationship, but a good date and a screw would probably go a long way to fixing up my long-ignored libido.
It was a completely spontaneous decision, this road trip - I had loaded a bunch of my stuff in the car to move down to my sister’s place while I found somewhere to stay, and I just thought “No”. I didn’t want to have to rely on someone else, again, when I had just reclaimed my freedom and it was so exciting and so new and so different. So I grabbed a few clothes from my closet, stuffed my make-up bag and my wallet in the front seat, and took off. I wasn’t sure where I was going, or how long I was going to be there, but at least I would be doing something new. Some women give themselves a new haircut after a big break-up; I had just taken to the roads to see where they would bring me. It felt so good, and I wound down the window to fell the wind in my face. Sure, it was a cliché, but it was a cliché for a reason- it felt so damn good. I wanted to sing along to empowering songs and drink cocktails and have a fling with a gorgeous waiter. Why not? I was finally free from the suffocating sadness that had enveloped me in the last year. I wanted to make the best of it.
I saw the gas light flash on my dashboard, and cursed to myself. It was just like me to have to quit my feminist-empowerment diatribe to pull over and pick up some gas. I spotted a gas station a few hundred feet in front of me, and smoothly pulled in to the parking lot. As soon as I was done with this, it would just be me, my thoughts, and whatever I could find on the radio on the way. That sounded good. Filling up my tank, I did a little dance on the spot, swaying my hips and humming some jazzy tune that I’d had in my head since I woke up this morning and decided to actually do something today.
The roar of motorcycles caused me to look up; they were loud, cutting through the cool, quiet Michigan air like knives. There were two of them, a couple of young-ish looking guys who hopped off their bikes and shot me a look. I glanced away, nervous- I hadn’t so much as looked at another man all the time the divorce was going on, and I was freaked out - and excited - by the thought that these two guys might like me. They pulled their helmets off, and I couldn’t help but gape just a tiny little bit- they were both the kind of handsome you usually saw on billboards or in movies, not the kind you spotted filling up their classic bikes in a gas station in Michigan. One had short, tightly curled black hair that fell to his ears, contrasting with his light olive skin and green eyes, and the other was almost Danish-looking, with strikingly pale skin, blonde hair, and ocean-blue eyes that seemed to look right through me.
Shit, they were both looking over at me again! Looking down, I concentrated on getting my gas. Sure, I could have an ogle, but I didn’t want to be caught eyeing up these two guys lest they think I actually want something out of them. Didn’t I? The thought crossed, unbidden, into my mind, and it took me by surprise- I had never so much as French-kissed a boy in public before, but my mind was throwing me an image of getting railed over the hood of my car by the blonde guy as the dark-haired one looked on. And it was exciting - God, was it exciting. It was strange to feel my sex drive come back in such an instantaneous, certain moment, but there it was - spiking through me, making me squeeze my legs together under the flowing, 1950s style skirt I was wearing. I was glad I had my big, round sunglasses on, so they couldn’t see the nervousness in my eyes.
And so we carried on with that little dance for a while, with all three of us glancing at each other then glancing away again. It was high-school level flirting - an “I like you, do you like me?” question that I wasn’t sure if I wanted answered. I tried to push it to the back of my mind, convincing myself that all I was doing was having a look - I didn’t have to touch. After all, these guys were probably on their way somewhere, and didn’t have time to - well, actually, that was a good point. What exactly was it that I wanted these guys to do to me? There was no logical way we could do it here in the parking lot, without getting into a hell of a lot of trouble and what - was I going to invite them to the most cramped threesome ever in the back of my tiny Beetle? Yeah, sounded totally hot - bits of gearshift poking at the most inappropriate places. It was fine to enjoy a little fantasy, and even exchange a few dirty looks, but the reality was that there was no way I could actually hook up with these guys. They were cute, yes, and I little part of me was quite sad I wouldn’t get the chance to work out exactly what those smouldering glances meant, but I was an independent woman who didn’t need any man. Well, at least, not two bikers she’d picked up at a gas station. That didn’t seem to scream classy, elegant, independent divorcee. Maybe I was just being too hard on myself. Shaking my head, I snapped myself from my reverie and walked to the gas station shop to pay up, and maybe get an ice cream to enjoy in the unusual Michigan sunshine.
Handing my money over to the cashier, I stepped outside, holding my chocolate-coated ice cream in my teeth as I fumbled to put my wallet away. As I walked, I noticed a seedy looking bathroom attached to the side of the building - and felt a twinge in my bladder. Urgh, if I didn’t go here, I would just have to stop again later on down the road, and all this stopping and starting was really starting to mess with my vi
be. Rolling my eyes, I threw my ice cream in the car, thankful that it had a packet so I didn’t have to ruin the seats, and stepped inside the small, dingy cubicle. I tried the lock, but it didn’t work - oh well, I would just have to do without. No big deal. I doubted anyone would be trying to burst in hear anyway.
Pulling down my panties and my skirt, I was taken by surprise when the door opened.
“Someone’s in here!” I cried out, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over me. Someone must have arrived while I was fiddling around with my ice cream.
But then a head poked round the door, and a figure joined me inside the cubicle, I stood up, pulling up my panties, when I realized that it was the blonde biker from outside. My heart was pounding in my throat, and I could already feel my pussy moistening. No! This wasn’t the sort of thing I should be getting turned on by! This guy invaded my personal space in a totally over-the-line way, and-
Oh.
That’s when he kissed me. It was difficult not to feel my legs buckle a little bit as he pressed his lips to mine, his tongue firm and warm and reassuring. It was the kind of kiss that convinced me that he couldn’t be up to anything scandalous, because good kissers are always decent people. I loved the way his mouth felt against mine, his teeth catching at my lips, his body firm and hard under his leathers. His gloves were still on, and feeling their stiff strength on my body as he pulled me into him made my pussy ache even more. Damn, this was hot - this was the kind of hot that I usually only dreamed about. It was my first kiss since the divorce, and what a first kiss. I wanted to melt into him, completely forgetting that we were in a gas station toilet cubicle and that I didn’t even know his name, because none of that mattered any more, as long as there was this moment and this kiss.
He pulled back, using his teeth to pull off one of his gloves. He was even better-looking now I got a closer look at him - his nose was long and crooked, giving his face some character, and I wondered if he’d hurt it in a motorbike crash. He looked a little older than I thought, too - maybe around my age. Tossing back his head to move his floppy blonde hair from his face, he used his bare hand to pull me towards him, his fingers pressing against my ass through my skirt. I moaned into his mouth, lifting one leg up and placing it on the toilet bowl to give me some leverage to grind against him. I didn’t know how much was going to happen in here, and I wanted to make the most of it if it just turned out to be a kiss. Judging by the way he was fondling my ass cheeks, I doubted it would end here.
And, sure enough, he soon moved his hand round to my front, hooking his long, deft fingers around my panties and slowly pulling them down. I gasped as the fabric unstuck from my damp pussy, staring at him as he exposed me. Looking at him, I slowly hiked my skirt up so my long legs and shaven pussy were on display; I could have sworn he licked his lips when he got a look at it, his hand still hovering around my thighs. It felt so good to have someone want me like this again, to have someone crave and desire me. And his strong, calloused fingers felt divine on the softness of my legs. I was glad I’d shaved this morning. I knew there’d been a reason.
Running his fingers across my mound, he elicited a series of little gasps and groans from me, my body shuddering under his touch. I was aching to be feeling his fingers inside me, to feel him gently pushing his digits into my soaked pussy. But he was taking his sweet time, starting by using his thumb to reach down and caress my clitoris. I shuddered, visibly, feeling my legs weaken a little. He wrapped an arm around me and helped me stand, pressing me back into his body as his fingers moved across my cunt. Opening my eyes, I looked at him, and he stared back at me for a moment; both of us lost in that second of blissful mutual pleasure. I had never been more turned on in my life, and I knew that I wouldn’t last long. I could already feel the pressure building deep inside me, growing so it became impossible to ignore. And then his fingers slipped a little lower, pushing into my slit, stretching me a little. He was an expert with his hands, his fingers deftly curving so that they reached my g-spot, an area that Oliver refused to even try to find. My body buckled at the sensation, and I collapsed against him, allowing him to hold me up entirely. It felt good to trust him, to feel that wave of closeness to another person, even if it was only for a few moments.
It didn’t take long for my body to arch up against his, my breath hissing through my teeth as an orgasm tore through my body. It felt good; it felt better than anything I’d had before. It was an intense, serious, powerful feeling, a release from all the stresses and worries of my divorce. It was the start of freedom. It was the start of something new.
My chest was heaving as I pulled away from him, brushing my hair back from my face. He leaned forward and placed his fingers in my mouth, and I sucked them gently, tasting the evidence of my arousal on them. I had never even considered doing anything as dirty as this in my entire life, and it felt insanely good. He extracted his fingers from between my lips, pressed a short, chaste kiss to my cheek, and pulled on his gloves and left. I was left standing in that cubicle, dazed, for a few minutes, before I realized that I still needed to pee.
Chapter Two
It was impossible not to go about the rest of the day with a grin on your face when a sexy stranger has fingered you to orgasm in a gas station bathroom. Go on, you do it, and see if you don’t spend the rest of your afternoon smiling like an idiot. I just couldn’t get it out of my head, the look on his face, the feeling of his surprisingly gentle fingers on my pussy, the exhilarating knowledge that we could be caught at any time. It was…it was fucking hot, was what it was. I had never even imagined doing anything like that with Oliver, and here I was, only a few days after my divorce became official, doing dirty things with strangers in gas stations. Now, that was what I called free and independent.
My body felt like it had a gorgeous glow surrounding it for the whole day, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there had actually been something between us. Sure, we hadn’t even exchanged names, but sometimes something just clicks and you know that you’re meant to know this person better, you know? Sure, I could be getting that mixed up with the sexual connection we had, but I wanted to get to know him. I felt a little pang of sadness knowing that I would likely never so much as lay eyes on either of them ever again - let alone get to know the dark-haired one of the same intimate level as I knew his friend - but still. I could just hold on to that as a sexy-as-hell memory for whenever I wanted to get in the mood. I knew that when I was masturbating next time, it wouldn’t be about relieving sexual tension that had built up over months of bad sex-it would be about recreating the feeling of his fingers inside me, trying to capture the moment that had passed between us. I was already looking forward to it.
I still had no idea where I was going, but I resolved to drive until I got to the next big city - I didn’t know exactly where that would be, but hey, it was easy to get distracted when you’re trying to process the sexiest damn thing that’s ever happened to you, right? I saw a sign pointing me towards Detroit, and I decided that that’s where I was going. I had my bags packed, my libido out of control, and I wanted to hit up the big city like any good new divorcée.
So I followed signs that took me towards Detroit, wondering how long it had been since I’d last visited. My university had been just outside the city, but I didn’t make that many pilgrimages down there because it felt like too much hassle - besides, I had the boys and the bars and the drink all up on campus, where I stayed for the duration of my studies. I wasn’t that into hitting the city just to see what crazy things might happen - no, that sounded a bit too much like hard work for me back then. Maybe I wouldn’t have ended up with Oliver if I’d been a little more adventurous and had seen what the rest of the world had to offer. I scolded myself, again - there was no point treading back over old ground when I had all this fabulous new ground to stomp.
Hell, maybe I would even move here. The thought buoyed me; I still hadn’t got used to the fact that I didn’t have to worry about looking out for my shitty relation
ship any more. I could just go wherever the wind took me, and no one could tell me differently. And, hey, if nothing else, Detroit has a lot more men in it than my little town- a lot more men who don’t still see me as Oliver’s wife. The thought of being able to start over like that, in a completely new city, was intoxicating and a little terrifying. I could re-invent myself, throw in the job at the nail salon back home and start a place of my own, where I give manicures to newly- single women looking to get their mojos back. I knew it was the sort of plan Oliver would roll his eyes at me for if he had heard it, but this was nothing to do with him anymore.
It was difficult not to feel a little pang of sadness, though, wondering what he was doing now, if he was thinking of me. I think the divorce had been harder on him, overall, because he hadn’t necessarily been expecting it. I mean, he knew that we didn’t exactly work too well together, but he was of the school that thought you should just sort of suck it up and get on with it, because you were married now and that was the way it went. Hell, he’d even tried to fight me on getting a pre-nup, because he thought it was unromantic. I was relieved when I managed to convince him to sign it, and I think I probably knew it that moment that we would need it at some point. Six years, we managed, in total, after a laid-back wedding and a honeymoon that never happened. We were straight into married life, mainly because I didn’t want to blow our savings on a trip when we’d have the whole rest of our lives to see the world together, right? Even then, we both knew that we wouldn’t be going much further than the limits of our small town. It wasn’t our style. We had found a rut, but we were comfortable in it, and the alternative was to face up to the fact that we didn’t really work out together.
I pushed those thoughts from my head, and focused on getting the practicalities done for tonight. I would need a place to stay, first off, and I had no idea where was good and cheap in the area. And I needed a place with a decent bar nearby. And somewhere I could cram my face with pancakes in the morning. Call me greedy, but that sounded like the perfect way to spend the next twelve hours - with plenty of fantasising about my mystery motorcycle men, of course. I didn’t think they’d be vanishing from my brain for a long, long while. I had kept an eye out for them on the road, but no such luck- they must had headed in the opposite direction. Maybe they would set up shop in my old town - I imagined them bumping into Oliver out and about. Oh, yeah, your ex-wife, about this tall, with the long brown hair? I fingered her till she came in a gas station bathroom. The thought made me smirk, delighted. I could see the look on his face, and it made me seriously happy.
ROMANCE: THREESOME : Billionaire Brothers' Party (MFM Menage Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Threesome Short Stories) Page 30
