Hipster Spinster: Louisiana

Note: This is going to be a series of stories told in a first person perspective by a lonely spinster woman. I felt like it would be more personal this way and that her stories would seem realistic even though they're made up. Just imagine this as one of her diary entries. I spend a lot of time thinking about how a woman like this lives her life and most often times, it's not the introvert librarian who's a closet nympho or the crazy cat lady down the block that's secretly an S&M domme. Sometimes she's just a normal person. A lot of people are alone in this world and although her stories aren't your typical fantasized eroticism, they're still sexy to her.

*****

A Rainy Day in Spring:

It'd been such a long time since I felt the hot caress of pure lust. The raw passion that comes from a heady man and a needy woman. That oophm and aaah, fading off into the early morning. I didn't think I was capable of it anymore. I know as a human being, I'm capable of a lot of nasty freaky things even in the day light, but it'd been so long.

Long. And hard. So very hot and hard.

My mind buzzed as my body still sparked, tiny jack hammers tripping from my sensitive nips down to my wet hungry pussy. How dare he just hold back? How dare I hold back too!? I mean I didn't mean to. I don't know if he meant to either. All I could focus was the memory of his smooth fingers stroking my sweet spots inside and his breath on the back of my neck. He even let me rake him. My finger nails dragging across his flesh, digging into his arousal. Never had I known someone to respond to me so well.

I shook my head. No. It was over and he was only adventurous because he was drunk. Maybe I was too. We're just friends. I would never lay my arms around his neck and plead for him to take my misery away with cheap booze and quick pity fucks. He would never reach out to me. Or so I thought. I don't know what happened. I unlocked my front door and kicked off my heels, my tired feet wondering why I was still doing this kind of shit. I told myself I wasn't going to be out there anymore in the crowds with all the hungry and thirsty people. I didn't feel that way. Almost all of the nights I'd hit the bars or had gone out it was to catch a drink and people-watch. I promised I was never going to be that girl one drink too many and let my inhibitions go or that other girl on the dance floor shaking her ass like she needed love to wreck her.

I wasn't.

Louisiana invited me out for a co-worker's birthday party at a bar. I didn't even want to go. It was almost eleven pm and I had already gotten ready for bed. You know the rule, bra was off. That meant I couldn't go anywhere. I don't know what convinced me to go out. Its not like I liked this guy personally. Sure, I'd developed a small crush on him when I'd first met him, but my sister had a thing with him. A fling. A rendezvous at two, a little voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir. I judged her for it. She had a habit of trying to fuck all my guy friends when she was single. I'm not calling her a hoe, but I certainly wasn't going to make my true feelings known after that. It was only after they hadn't spoken in a year because she had a boyfriend that I started talking to him again. Our friendship restarted off sour. I couldn't see him as any more than a piece of meat that my sister fancied for a week or two. He was fuck-boy Louisiana.

I am a well guarded person, what you'd call a cold hearted-bitch. If I was anymore bitter, you could make an old fashion out of me. I have trust issues from my share of broken relationships and I thought of myself as a self-respecting woman. Intelligence was my greatest weapon. I hardly played around and kept to myself, creating a bubble of rules and expectations.

I have those rules for a reason too and when I explain them out loud I know I sound conceited, but they're there to remind me of my limits. I can't help myself that I get easily aroused and I cum fast. When I get intensely excited I squirt and there's a lot. I can squirt enough to drench a twin bed not to mention, splash my partner and myself. Its messy, I'm loud, and I love it. I crave for sex, for the touch of someone that excites me and can push me beyond those limits. I'm not afraid to make it hurt either. I love primal play. The scratching and clawing, the biting and deep growls rumbling in our chests as we cum together. That's my favorite. I love cream pies. In my slutty mouth and my lewd pussy. I need the punishment. The regular beating, the beating of my pussy and my asshole. I don't care if its by a cock or tongue. I don't care if its by a woman or a man. I've learned to enjoy and love both. These rules... I don't like the feeling of being completely powerless to my kinks and fetishes, but at the same time. I never fight them.

I'm just as tempted as any other woman when it comes to a sly wit and a juicy cock or moist twat. For the right man or woman, I'd become anything. A submissive house pet, letting my master/mistress fuck me as he or she pleased. On all fours or in the open window for the neighbors to watch and wish they could have a taste. A fiery goddess, commanding every mortal to kneel down on their knees in hopes that when I finger-fucked myself to squirt. The splash back would grace their wagging tongues, blessing them with a pleasure they could only imagine. A sweet and sensual vanilla morsel. I'd hit any spot he or she would want me to and I'd do it over and over again until their love-cream coated my face.

I'm just waiting for someone who's my equal. A freaky deviant with the smile that could even deceive the Devil, but at last. I've grown tired of waiting and I'm not holding my breath. He or she will come my way when they do. Otherwise, I've already prepared myself to accept the fact that maybe my soul mate perished on someone's back while their daddy pulled out or spurted him or her down a throat hole. Maybe he or she was splattered on the sheets during the pull out or was left to drip-dry out of a freshly gaping asshole. My mind gets creative when I'm bored and desperate.

He dropped me off at the bar so he could park his nice little sports car at home and walk over. Even as nasty and perverted as his habits are, he wouldn't drink and drive. I walked in to the bar and for a Friday, it was pretty dead. We live in a small town. When its busy, its worse than a Mardi Gras in New Orleans and when its desolate, you can hear the crickets even in the winter.

But I'm pretty sure that if you could hear those imaginary bastards chirping, you're probably drunk and you should just accept your fate which is to be permanently sitting at a bar stool, hunched over the counter. You've become a husk of a human being and you're probably going to hate yourself as well as everyone around you for the rest of your alcoholic life.

The sad truth is, in this small town. We're all alcoholics. Every damn one of us. We drink, we drive, we have drama, and we fight. Then next weekend, we do it all over again. So you can see why I lack the enthusiasm in the local bar scene. If I were to fuck someone, there's a good chance they wouldn't even remember it. Let alone appreciate the art in my sex craft and I'm not getting any younger. I don't just want mediocre sex. Fuck, I don't even want great sex. I want the best. I want that leave me shaking and wobbling, can't walk- can't talk, can't even think- can't comprehend if I'm dead or not. That "WORTH" sex that fucks your soul right in the pussy because someday when I die alone. I want to greet death and when he takes a look at my life, he's going to see those moments and blush.

Louisiana takes his time getting to the bar. By this point, I had a few drinks. I slip into my normal role of watching, the birthday party celebrating among themselves. I've always been a loner and I assure you, I'm not one of those girls that pretends to be strong and alone. I am strong and alone. Though I don't like emitting that independent woman vibe. Its suppose to be empowering, but in the mentality of a small town it only attracts bigger and dumber predators. So I kept to myself, quietly sipped my beer, and entertained myself with the latest cat videos on my facebook wall.

There was a time when I enjoyed this kind of scene. Carelessly downing what I could just to prove that I could do it and then regret it in the morning while I was scantly clad in something a savory twenty-one year old would wear. No fear. No limits. Not a care in the world. The thought of leaving silently crossed my mind. It always did. That hesitant insecure thought before the alcohol hit me and made me think otherwise.

Louisiana finally showed up and greeted the party with warm hugs and friendly bro shoulder pats. By the time he made it over to where his roommate and I were sitting, I finished my third beer. I paced myself, trying not to look too eager to drown out my antisocialness. We chatted for a bit and he continued onward being distracted by everyone there. I wondered why I decided this was a good idea. Its not that I felt alone or jealous of him giving everyone else his attention. I just didn't understand why I was invited only to be ignored. Most of the party crew worked together with him. I had no business being here. The people there hardly knew me, not that I blamed them. I was selective with who I associated with, trying not to draw attention to me or my reputation. I never liked having the spot light over my head.

He tells me not to be such a party pooper. I tossed him a grimace and wandered around, greeting people I had nothing in common with aside from drinking. Its been a long time since I had a conversation with most of these people anyway. Some of them were young, I remembered seeing them hit puberty and now they were old enough to drink at a bar. The others were my age or older.

I hated the fake smiles and small chit chat. Where do you work now? Haven't seen you in a long time, what are you up to? Still single? Still hiding inside your house and your room? Still drinking and waking up alone? Okay they didn't ask those questions, but they might as well had. They didn't have to say it directly, but their tone conveyed much more passive aggressiveness then their initial questions. I know there was a good chance that it was all in my head, but that gelatinous organ in my skull was what got me out of situations like this. So I trusted it. I lingered there from one end of the bar to the other until Louisiana tells me I should go outside to smoke. I declined because I didn't bring a jacket. Plus it was cold and rainy. Maybe a minute or two passed before I received a message from him.

"Crying girl"

Obviously, that meant help. I gathered up my stuff and headed to the outdoor smoking area to see what the issue was. I find a babbling fragile and petite, dirty blonde clutching him tightly. Clearly she was upset, about what? I could care less. That's when I finally realized why I was invited last minute. I didn't mind being a lady bro wing mate. Sometimes men get overwhelmed by a crying girl at the bar and need a little feminine assistance. Now I don't like playing stupid, but it always seemed to work at bars. I guess its easier for people to assume you're just a dumb cunt than grasp the idea that maybe, just maybe you're a person. I defused the situation and after we all headed in, Louisiana gave me the heads up that her ex was here and he didn't want her clinging to him or her exes.

I don't know what that meant. In fact, I will never know what it means. Yes, her ex was obviously physically there, but I don't know if that was good or bad thing. It wasn't any of my business. I casually slipped in that we were here for a birthday, assumed that the birthday girl was a friend. So she shouldn't waste her time crying and for one night celebrate someone's life. Fuck that guy, all of the guys who were her exes to which she replied that two of her other exes were there as well. I'm a bit surprised by this, but its a small town. Its easy to fuck someone's ex. I don't know if its a small town thing, but I've noticed ever since I was a child that the whole dating in a circle of friends is a thing. I had close friends who did it, just people fucking each other and each other's others. And then some more others. Then that one other who's just a mistake in general and a horrible idea, but got fucked anyway because why not.

I huffed a breath of air, not nearly being drunk enough to deal with all of this. I asked her what happened and why her other exes were here. She explained to me that one of them was currently dating the birthday girl, I barely remembered the second one. She later tells me that her last ex broke up with her the night before. I don't know how some people get into these situations and provided if I was more drunk. I would've laughed and thought it a cruel ironic twist. Or just bad decision making on her part to have sex with people that all know each other and work together as well as hung out together. Word of advice to anyone reading this, never date a keg of bros. Yeah, that's a real thing. Keg, the collective noun for a group of bros. You're welcome.

I tried to calm her down, did the girlfriend thing of telling her to forget them all and just think of her own happiness tonight. She whimpered, tells me that she truly loved her recent ex and that the break up was abrupt. Now I'm not one to judge. I hate everyone equally (yeah, I'm that kind of bitch). As an adult, she can fuck anyone she wants and just because she's not afraid of exploring her sexuality doesn't mean she's loose. I consoled her with the knowledge that I was invited at the last minute so I was the odd-ball out too and that if it gave her comfort. She could chill with me. I didn't mind.

Here was a heart broken girl, the party casting down ward looks on her because three of exes walked into the same bar. To be honest, I'd fuck her too. How dare she have wild and reckless sex with three decent looking guys who all had that redneck stud muffin air about them? How dare she be so confident as to smile in front of all of them full knowing she's tasted each of their cocks and squeezed cum from their balls? How dare she enjoy getting her nether licked from clit to crack and enjoy it so much so that others might be secretly turned on?

How dare anyone really? I licked my lips although they weren't dry.

My thoughts smoldered in my head as I tried not to stare at her cleavage. She had small tits, but I wondered if her nips were pink just like the delicate lips on her face. How they quivered when she talked about her exes. There's something about the vulnerability of a woman, the coo for help. I'm also not one to prey on those experiencing a weak moment in their life, but I could fantasize about it. No one had to know the secret thoughts that passed through my inner man on down to my lady boner. Of how I wanted to slide my chilled hands onto her face, grip the back of her neck, and soothe her sorrows. I could kiss better than any of those dick mannequins, I knew I could. I'd eaten only a few pussies in my life, but I'm a quick learner. I knew where the most tender parts of any woman's lips were rather if they were pouted on her head or hidden in her panties.

Maybe she wasn't wearing panties, I'll admit the curiosity crossed my mind. I knew I wasn't wearing anything underneath my leggings because I'm modest enough to wear a long enough top to cover my ass. Was she wearing any? Were they lacy or were they cute boy shorts? Was it a thong or g-string? I savored the thought that she might have been as naked as me, letting the cool air of the night tickle her twat just ever-so teasing her and leaving the dew of twat goo coating her inner lips.

Yet, I rarely act on those questions. If I did, I wouldn't be any better than her exes. Personally, I don't care about how people meet, but I would never catch someone on the rebound. Its cowardly. Where was the thrill in hunting something that was already wounded, laying down without a fight? If I wanted something easy, I would've just stayed home and made some Kraft mac&cheese.

Bar close was approaching, most of us were buzzed or drunk including Louisiana. He was drunk. I don't recall ever seeing him at a bar sober. Shocking, I know. A small group including the crying girl decided they wanted to dance before the night ended so we headed to a different bar on the strip to catch some beats. The brisk walk sobered me up and by the time we got to this other bar, I'm aware that regardless of dancing or not. I was going to leave fifteen minutes early to avoid the hassle of after-bar drunks on the street. I was never one to stay past bar close just to stand around and risk public intoxication.

We danced and laughed, I could see the tension sliding off her shoulders like the slender noodle strap of her top, revealing that she wasn't wearing a bra. A few of her friends joined us on the dance floor. Its always loud so we have to lean into each other's ears if we want to be heard. She leaned in to say something, I didn't hear. I was too busy focusing on her perfume. Floral notes with a hint of sweet musk. I wondered what her sweat tasted like. Would it be as salty as the tears she cried on Louisiana's shoulder? I liked salty especially after I'd been drinking. There's nothing like the taste of a hard-working woman's grime. The thick coat of pussy frosting, staining the inside of her under garments.

I looked at her and she pointed. My eyes moved up and behind her, some tool was grinding on her. He wore a greasy white t-shirt and his pants hung so loosely around his bottom, that I could practically see the outline of his cock. A black snap back barely hung to his sweaty head. I could care less what race he was (and yes, he was Caucasian), but he looked like a slob. I gently placed my hand on her back and pulled her close, shaking my head at the guy. He placed his hands up in mock surrender and moved on. She smiled at me then, her eyes lighting up. I love that look. That rainbow smile after the tears, the one that says life sucks, but I'm going to live it anyway.

I wanted to kiss her then, seize her lips when the lights came on. I silently cursed myself, I hardly get distracted enough to forget my own rules. I finished whatever was left of the drink Louisiana got for me and convinced myself that not leaving early was a huge mistake. Everyone knows that when the lights turn on at bar close, the magic of alcohol wears off. Like Cinderella, we're all just standing around in the shock of what we really look like in the light. Ratted, incoherent, dummies fumbling around to close our tabs and catch a cab or find friends.

I left first, trying to use the distraction as a getaway, but Louisiana caught up. I suppose even drunk, he wasn't as stupid as I thought he was. He asked if I was planning on leaving, I needed to gain enough distance before people started talking about an after-bar party. I didn't want to get dragged along seeing as I wouldn't have a way home. We regrouped with whoever was left from the birthday party and decide on who's after party was more inviting. On the way out we were slowly herded towards a taco truck on the strip. Its the spot everyone stands at even if you're not getting Mexican food. In our town, we have a saying "Taco truck and home to fuck".

Louisiana and the other guys wandered off to find a spot to piss. Seeing them do so subconsciously triggered my bladder to want the same. I hadn't used the bathroom the whole night because I was distracted. At first, with my own sullen attitude about not wanting to be out and then by the crying girl. I stood there doing the pee pee dance for ten minutes before Louisiana noticed and tried to lead me to a good peeing spot. Take in mind that the local bar strip is on a rather popular avenue here so the cops are driving around. I'm only wearing leggings and I would rather piss in my mouth than get pee on myself and have to wear that around until the group decided what they wanted to do. I remembered hearing my sister tell me that Louisiana lived near by so I turned to him and pulled the wing man card. I pleaded with him, I distracted the crying girl from trying to follow him home to console her heartache so he could at least do me a solid and let me use his bathroom. It took a bit of arguing to convince him, but he eventually agreed.