The Days After

When you enter the bar it is little more than an abandoned husk left to freeze in the damp, morning dew. From the entrance you spot only two patrons, both women, and the barkeep, Jack, who you know quite well as you visit his establishment more often that you'd like to admit.

“Set me up,” You tell John.

Approaching the counter, you take a seat in one of the many vacant stools while John rushes you out a glass of brown liquid. You take it in your fingers, swishing it around for a moment, admiring it's simplicity before taking a full swig. It's strong, burning your throat upon entry. Just the way you like it after a day of torment.

“Hit me,” You say, sliding the empty shot glass across the table.

John raises an eyebrow with an inquisitive expression. “Had one of those nights?” He questions.

His curiosity brings flashes of memories you'd like to forget as soon as possible. You see the woman you loved with her greedy hands around another man. Then, you find out that not only is she cheating on you, but she's cheating on you with your brother. Even now you don't how the heartless little shit accomplished this behind your back. If not for the nagging sensation in the back of your mind telling you harming your own brother was bad, you would have strangled him to on the spot. But, like the levelheaded man that you are, you chose to walk away without a word. And why would you? They didn't deserve your recognition. All you hope is that they're happy together knowing what they did.

John frees you from your scrutinizing activity when he slides another glass toward you.

“You don't know the half of it.” You sigh, taking a glance around the room. Again, you see the two women.

The one closest to you, also sitting at the counter, is a woman in her twenties with long, cascading oil black hair that runs far past her shoulders. Her pale skin contrasts with her defined physique. Adorning her chest are two melons. Her thighs small. Her rear filling out her jeans with the perfect round shape that you loved. For a moment, you see her look at you and grin. But you conclude that may have just been your weary eyes deceiving you. Just by looking at the way she dresses in a black dress, she would be a woman hard sought. Definitely a lady far out of your league.

The other woman, sat at one of the many tables, appears to be in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. With a glass tankard in hand, she drinks it down in several large gulps, breathing a sigh of satisfaction, and calling for a another refill. Something strikes you that this is the kind of woman who would let you take her out back for some unadulterated, slaphappy enjoyment. Her brown hair is medium in length, falling just shy of her shoulder blades. She has a set of blue eyes. Fat breasts grow from her chest, puffing out her thin, red shirt. Meaty thighs freely exposed underneath her flashy skirt. Moving her legs, you catch a glimpse of plain black panties. At first glance, anyone would assume she was just some tubby hick, but when you see her flat tummy, you think otherwise. From here you can't make out her ass, but you can assume that it would look like the rest of her chunky portions.

Your eyes dance between the women.

Perhaps one of these fine women would assist in mending the broken heart of a man?