By JK Jones
Viola squeezed my hand as we strolled off around the back of the bar, avoiding some piles of junk, and threading out way carefully back into a grassy field behind. The music, noise, and hub bub grew dimmer in our ears as we picked out way through the gravel and then dirt and grass.
An hour ago, I ran into her at Good Times, our local dive bar, sitting at the bar sipping a rum and coke, a petite, mousy little middle-aged divorcee, a cigarette burning in the ashtray beside her, the look of intoxication across her pretty face. We knew each other casually because we had lived in the same small town for a decade, but not that well, because we had never done anything together.
I was horny, so pulled up next to her and ordered a beer, and we made some small talk. I covertly looked over at her plump braless tits poking out of the top of an otherwise conservative sundress. Her long hair was auburn, and although her brows were too thick and she could have used makeup, her small slender form was enticing, and her eyes were lovely, although a little glassy.