Rowenta (mature content)

Well, this is it. I'm putting on my lipstick, staring at myself in the mirror and thinking 'finally. He is finally gone.' I have waited for weeks.

It's not that I don't love him. I truly do. I have loved him since the moment I met him, and I still get a quivering in my stomach when I think about that day. The day he approached me in the parking lot at Hannaford and handed me a T-bone steak.

Who the fuck does that?

It was the weirdest thing anyone had ever done for/to me. I didn't say anything. He broke through the silence and said "I had to make sure you weren't a vegan. I could never date a vegan." I laughed under my breath, but our eyes were locked and I smiled. "Look", he said, "I have another steak in my bags. How about you come over for dinner and I'll cook these up for us."

That was 9 years ago. Shit, in two months it will have been 10! The time seemed to board a fighter jet and it just flew right the fuck on by.

Jesus, Sarah, get it together. Tonight is your night. It's time for you to forget him, go out, and have a blast as a single lady! And be honest with yourself, you need to get LAID! The same dick for 9 years, progressively getting more and more vacant as time went on? Fuck that!

Suddenly the bathroom door swings open and I have to jolt myself back to reality. The smell of women's perfume reenters my senses, the deep beats of club music reenter my brain, and my buzz comes back. Jesus, how many have I even had tonight?

In the mirror, though, there is not a lady. It's a guy. A very handsome guy. I think I remember him, I'm pretty sure I was just dancing with him. I don't know him at all, and I don't really care to.

He stands in the middle of the ladies bathroom, with a nervous look on his face.

"I'm not supposed to be in here", he blurts out, "so if we are going to do something lets do it."

I bite my lip and think 'whatever, go for broke'. I walk up to him, grab him by his button down shirt and pull him into the stall.

He is clumsy. Slobbering all over my neck, trying to get my shirt off. I help him out, but I just have questions running through my mind.

Is this it? Have I been waiting over 9 years just to get fucked in the bathroom of a club that I even particularly like?

I should have just taken him back to my place. But I can't. I wouldn't want him to find my husbands now decomposing corpse in the closet.

Will I remember this? Shit, will HE? When he sees me on the news because they have arrested me for bludgeoning my husband to death with an iron, will he say "hey! That's that woman who I screwed in the bathroom last Friday!"

Whatever. I guess I'll just live in the moment for now.