I knew the black dress I was looking for. She never threw anything still wearable away. She hadn't worn a certain black dress since we'd dated. It was...very chic, expensive, and short. It was her come fuck me black dress, that went with the heels she had on tonight. The dress wasn't in her closet.She had no earrings on when she was in the bathroom earlier, but she always wore her diamond studs with that dress. I checked her jewelry box. The studs were gone. My wife had gone out allegedly with. She smiled and took the card, said "thanks" and walked out to her car, feeling the eyes of several boys and men on her as usual. Since she was twelve or thirteen, she had been able to tell when men were staring at her, undressing her in their minds. The feeling was not completely unpleasant; in fact it sometimes made her tits tingle. She tried to walk without hip sway, without jiggling. Marcie knew she was pretty; felt as if she had always known that, enough people had told her. And it was. "Shit, Donald. If I was fully in command of my faculties, I wouldn't bloody-well be here. I'd be out at the house loading one of his damned shotguns ready for the bastard to arrive home again. I've only got through these last few weeks by staying drunk most of the time."Then she staggered across the room and collapsed onto the bed in a heap.I had some difficulty equating the woman who'd so confidently walked into the hotel bar just a short time before, with the inert figure lying on the bed.. Joan said, "Tomorrow afternoon." We walked to the restaurant. We were several minutes early for our reservation so we headed for the bar. The bar was warmly lit and decorated with several antique Spanish swords and shields. We sat on the high back chairs and ordered our martinis. There were several people seated nearby. Our drinks came and we "cheered" each other. The bartender smiled at Joan and gave her a full body once over. Joan's cropped top ended just below her breasts and her skirt ended.
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