Submission

**Editors' Note: This guest post came in from "Running On Thin Ice," which is an apt name given that after this story happened, ROTI ran home in a snow storm rather than wait around with the woman and her boyfriend for ROTI's ride home. We only know this because we picked him up on the side of road..**

That title sounds like this story is going in a different direction than it really is.

I have something of a sordid, lascivious history with this woman. We worked together at the same restaurant for about a year and worked together well. There were instances where the place was short-staffed and she and I had much more responsibility than anyone making $3 an hour + tips should ever have, but we made it happen and meshed well as drinking buddies, co-workers, and eventually fuck buddies. Problem: she was on her third husband and has three kids to boot. I am a free-wheeling kid fresh out of college at this point with zero job prospects aside from that which a bachelor's in psych can afford (read: waiting tables, digging retaining walls, etc.). She is much more attractive than she gives herself credit for, and that has always been a turn-on for me, as it complements my joking self-aggrandizement well. Still, I don't wish to be Homewrecker Miles as I have been down that road and have scars and concussed memories to prove it.

That honorable intention lasted maybe a month and we were between the sheets. Things fall apart, and between me moving across the country and her other life we lost touch for a while. Fast forward to more recent times and we are back in touch... promising to connect and drink ourselves silly as a late birthday celebration for her.

I show up at the bar we left when we first got together all those years ago, and there she is, looking fantastic and with a 6'4" boyfriend with arms as big as my thighs in tow. He also happens to be much better at pool than me, which doesn't happen everyday, in addition to being an extremely well-paid engi-nerd. Sigh. Tequila flows freely with Mr. Buff picking up I don't know how many rounds in a row, and all of a sudden Miss Thing and I are talking about what it was like exploring each others' nether regions back in the day. She is sneaking this conversation in when Mr. Buff isn't close enough to hear, but she is getting into my personal space bubble and I don't think Mr. Buff was too excited about it. Thankfully there were a bunch of their friends around to distract him while Miss Thing and I step outside. Then we're kissing. Then we're getting into HIS truck. Then...

It's as good as I remember, even if I am sneaking looks over her shoulder at the bar door waiting to see if Mr. Buff is running in my direction with a pool cue / tire iron / gun. He is not. This is pretty hot, even if my life could be in danger. I wonder briefly if he will smell the sex in his truck.

We hurry back inside and nobody seems to be the wiser. Miss Thing is even audacious enough to go up to her man whom I just cuckolded and give him a kiss. Scandalous. But who am I to talk?