pink_silk_glove
Literotica Guru
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- Feb 6, 2018
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Tammara had drank three to my two. She was like that. I could never match her pace neither at drinking nor at life in general it seemed. Of course drinking was just something to do when being social, not a life skill to be honed like Tammara did (or so I had always been led to believe), so as she polished off her fourth and set the glass - still with its unmelted ice - down firmly on the bar, I yet had barely made a dent in my third rye and ginger and was already feeling tipsy. The occasion had been Tammara's mother-in-law visiting and the break that she had therefore needed from her begrudgingly entreated house guest.
"Well, better get back to the bitch," she sighed as she slid her skinny butt from her barstool to stand. Her burgundy micro polka-dot dress fit her tiny frame snugly. Tossing her long blonde streaked curls back she shouldered her purse. "Thanks for comin' out, hon," she said. "I needed that." Even on her feet she had to look up to me. Then she opened her arms for an embrace before grabbing her coat and folding it over her arm. "Sure you're gonna be okay?"
"I'll be fine," I assured her. "I'll just finish this and call a cab." With that Tammara whisked herself away to return to her husband leaving me all by herself at the bar. I wondered why I felt so alone. It wasn't like I didn't have someone there waiting for me. It was just that even with the bitch that Neil's mother apparently was, she was so much more happy with her life that I was with mine. She was married and I wasn't, but Barry and I had been together for four years, living together for nearly the last three. Tammara was outgoing. Things were always happening for her. She could wear anything and get attention just for the sake of it. I couldn't. I was shaped like a tree - a thickly trunked redwood with clumsy branches. She was a lifestyle magazine editor. I managed the deli department at the local supermarket. I couldn't say that I was jealous of her, but any glimpse of excitement in my life was always experienced through her, and I was a poor coattail rider at that.
I took another sip of my drink and replacing the glass to the coaster I saw my reflection. The wall behind the bottles was a mirror. In between the bourbon and the vermouth I looked back at myself with cloudy grey-blue eyes on a pale complexion. Plain brown hair with bangs hung straight to my collar, exposed by the boatneck cut of my light sweater, horizontally striped in ochre tan and copper. The sleeves only made it halfway down my forearm. Finding clothes that fit were always a problem that way. At least this top looked like it was meant to have shorter sleeves. The hips in my loose jeans that I would eventually lift from my barstool were much wider than Tammara's. 'You're a natural hourglass,' people would gush their affections upon me when they felt the need to say something nice. I supposed that it was true although it would take a century or three for the sand to fill my bottom glass. 'Wow, how tall are you?' was the most frequent question that I faced on a daily basis. 'Six-foot-one.' While other women would be told how beautiful or even how hot they were I would always be reminded that my face had great bone structure. I'd settle for my consolation every time. It just wasn't me to retort that great bone structure without the rest of the package doesn't get you anywhere nor anything. Dropping my eyes from those high cheekbones and subtly tapered jaw to the bits of ice nearly disappearing in my drink, I took more than a sip. I supposed that I should probably hurry things up. The longer that I sat there, the more pathetic of a scene I would likely be making. Still, there was some sort of odd curiosity tingling in the air.
"Well, better get back to the bitch," she sighed as she slid her skinny butt from her barstool to stand. Her burgundy micro polka-dot dress fit her tiny frame snugly. Tossing her long blonde streaked curls back she shouldered her purse. "Thanks for comin' out, hon," she said. "I needed that." Even on her feet she had to look up to me. Then she opened her arms for an embrace before grabbing her coat and folding it over her arm. "Sure you're gonna be okay?"
"I'll be fine," I assured her. "I'll just finish this and call a cab." With that Tammara whisked herself away to return to her husband leaving me all by herself at the bar. I wondered why I felt so alone. It wasn't like I didn't have someone there waiting for me. It was just that even with the bitch that Neil's mother apparently was, she was so much more happy with her life that I was with mine. She was married and I wasn't, but Barry and I had been together for four years, living together for nearly the last three. Tammara was outgoing. Things were always happening for her. She could wear anything and get attention just for the sake of it. I couldn't. I was shaped like a tree - a thickly trunked redwood with clumsy branches. She was a lifestyle magazine editor. I managed the deli department at the local supermarket. I couldn't say that I was jealous of her, but any glimpse of excitement in my life was always experienced through her, and I was a poor coattail rider at that.
I took another sip of my drink and replacing the glass to the coaster I saw my reflection. The wall behind the bottles was a mirror. In between the bourbon and the vermouth I looked back at myself with cloudy grey-blue eyes on a pale complexion. Plain brown hair with bangs hung straight to my collar, exposed by the boatneck cut of my light sweater, horizontally striped in ochre tan and copper. The sleeves only made it halfway down my forearm. Finding clothes that fit were always a problem that way. At least this top looked like it was meant to have shorter sleeves. The hips in my loose jeans that I would eventually lift from my barstool were much wider than Tammara's. 'You're a natural hourglass,' people would gush their affections upon me when they felt the need to say something nice. I supposed that it was true although it would take a century or three for the sand to fill my bottom glass. 'Wow, how tall are you?' was the most frequent question that I faced on a daily basis. 'Six-foot-one.' While other women would be told how beautiful or even how hot they were I would always be reminded that my face had great bone structure. I'd settle for my consolation every time. It just wasn't me to retort that great bone structure without the rest of the package doesn't get you anywhere nor anything. Dropping my eyes from those high cheekbones and subtly tapered jaw to the bits of ice nearly disappearing in my drink, I took more than a sip. I supposed that I should probably hurry things up. The longer that I sat there, the more pathetic of a scene I would likely be making. Still, there was some sort of odd curiosity tingling in the air.