After months of his sickening cycle and months of her taking care of him without complaint, he’d realized he didn’t deserve her and he’d left her, moving into a motel room with bad lighting. There he’d stayed for six weeks until he took home a woman from the bar. As she kissed him in his motel room, he was stricken with guilt. Of all the things he’d done, he couldn’t do this. And when he knocked on her door and she answered, he saw the pain on her face just of seeing him again- seeing him completely fallen apart. All he could get out was ‘I don’t know what to say.’ She let him in anyways. And now she shuddered under him, desperately wanting the pace faster, but let him do what he pleased. She knew he needed this. He pushed into her deep, lips sliding along her neck. He wished he could tell her everything he was sorry for: sorry for not explaining to her what happened in that desert, how he wasn’t able to save his friends, how he felt guilty for being the one to make it home, how he. I was at this bar every weekend. I knew everyone and it was pretty unlikely that I would get laid with this crowd. I figured I could take a quick ride over to another club I knew of. It wasn't as quiet and friendly, but I knew there would be plenty of straight guys there, which was what I was looking for. I needed to be manhandled, not caressed. Just as I was about to turn and start walking toward my car, two guys walked past me headed for the door of the bar. I hadn't seen them before and while they both took a good long look, one of them smiled and said to me, "It's a bit cold for that skirt, honey." I just giggled as they walked into the bar. My luck had changed, perhaps one of these guys would take an interest in me. I thought for a moment, I couldn't let all this work go to waste. I needed a fuck, so I took a deep breath and strutted through the door, my slim body instantly starting to thaw as the warmth enveloped me. I walked over to the bar and sat down, my thighs exposed.
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