Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT!
A/N (VERY IMPORTANT!): This story does no belong to me, it belongs to the awesome SweetestThing, writer from the website literotica. To whom I took the liberty of asking permission to borrow and SwanQueenize her story. To which obviously she agree, and here we are. So please give it a chance, trust me you're gonna love it! Story starts T but will end very M ;)
Also here is the link to the original version of the story if you will like to give it a read: lirerotica. com s/a-proper-send-off
CHAPTER 1
"When the going gets tough, the tough get going." It was something Emma's father had liked to say from the back of his auto shop when the work had piled up.
Emma had always taken the saying to mean that when things got difficult, the tough people of the world went about working on the solutions. Of course, as she slammed the metal door on the storage locker down, Emma realized that the cliché could be read another way. "The tough get going" could mean the tough folks simply took off when things got difficult.
As Emma turned the key to lock up the storage unit, she realized that for the first time in her life, she was leaning towards that reading, just bailing on her tough times. She'd had tough times before, more than most, Emma assumed.
Her mother had left the family when Emma was only three years old, leaving her to be raised by her father alone. What that had actually meant was growing up in an auto shop in a small town in Maine, raised by her father and around the odd collection of mechanics her father intermittently employed as surrogate uncles. Add in the fact that Emma had known she was gay from an early age, and she had definitely faced her share of adversity.
She'd always persevered. Before Emma was in her teens she'd taken every advantage of her surroundings. She was as talented a mechanic as anyone her father employed and soon he'd actually taken to assigning her work when there was overflow. There was something she found so soothing about the entire process, the way an engine was a simple collection of moving parts that could be diagnosed, repaired and restored. Emma found a power and a confidence in working with her hands that she'd never had in school trying to remember formulae and dates and times. If she was going to grow up surrounded by men who swore and talked sports and girls, Emma was going to blend right into that too. At nineteen, Emma was a match for any of the other grease monkeys when it came to talking football or how to please a woman. Emma even grew to love the bawdy camaraderie that existed within the place.
Then her world fell apart. Emma's father died suddenly of a heart attack. Still reeling from the loss of her father, Emma learned that the business was in bad shape to boot. She'd tried to keep what her father had started going; she was as capable of running the garage as anyone, but the shop was too deep in debt. Emma soon learned that a nineteen-year-old girl who'd barely made it out of high school was not high on any bank's list of preferred customers. All of her efforts to secure the necessary financing failed and, still in her teens, Emma had found herself parentless, unemployed and without much in the way of prospects.
Again, Emma had persevered. On the last night that Emma had gone drinking with the other mechanics her father had employed, one of them had mentioned that the Army was always looking for talented mechanics, especially with a war on. A few months later, Emma found herself at a recruiting office. It wouldn't be easy. Aside from the regular tensions and stresses of active duty life, the military's "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy meant that Emma would have to keep her sexuality a tightly guarded secret. It meant that no matter whom Emma might meet, they'd either have to have a brief fling or conduct themselves in private, risking discharge if she was discovered.
She managed basic training and specialized training with surprising ease. Emma had always been tall and with a few extra pounds but the rigors and challenges of army life soon had her in the best shape of her life. Emma found the physical challenges exhilarating and reveled in meeting them and exceeding them. She ran every day, first for a mile, then two, and now she was at almost five a day. By the end of her first deployment, Emma didn't have an ounce of unwanted fat on her, her arms were toned and powerful, her legs long, lean and strong. She even had a halfway decent six-pack going when she really went at it.
To top it off, Emma found working on Humvees to be as easy as civilian cars, found a vaguely similar sense of camaraderie with the men and women of her unit as she did in the shop-though she did have to artfully deflect more than a few advances-and even bought into the nobler aims of her job. She was serving her country, protecting the land she loved. True, she was well aware of the hypocrisy of protecting freedoms that were, in certain cases, denied to her, but Emma still dedicated herself to it. In her first three years Emma received several promotions and commendations for her almost superhuman work ethic.
Then, on her first stretch of extended leave in years, something wonderful happened. Emma met Ariel, a pretty, slight brunette. Ariel and Emma didn't have much time before Emma would be overseas again, but they made it count. They had an intense, thrilling, wonderful few months together. By the end of it, they were saying their "I love you's" and making plans to live together as soon as possible. Everything Emma owned was left at Ariel's house on her next deployment and they were, in all ways, a couple.
That led to new stresses in Emma's next deployment. Now she did have something to hide and Emma missed home powerfully during the long, hot days and the lonely, cold nights. She and Ariel tried to make it work and were successful for two years. Things were looking up. Not only was Don't Ask, Don't Tell repealed, but Emma was nearing the end of her six-year enlistment. Only one more deployment stood between her and civilian life with her girlfriend. Emma had come back to the states just a week earlier on her two-week leave. It would be the last time she and Ariel would be together before they were together for good. Emma had come home thinking that they would spend the first week in bed, as they usually did, and then would spend the next week planning the rest of their lives together. Emma had even considered buying a ring and proposing, taking a trip to the nearest state where the two of them could have gotten hitched. Emma laughed at that as she walked from the storage facility. She'd come home thinking about wedding bells. She'd come home, instead, to find her life fall apart yet again.
Ariel had told Emma, in no uncertain terms, that she had no interest in waiting another year to be in an actual relationship with someone. Emma had tried to explain her situation, tried to convince Ariel that she loved her and that she was going to be back shortly for their life together but Ariel was having none of it. She'd made up her mind. Worse yet, Ariel had told her there was someone else. Emma didn't hear much past that. Feeling numb, she'd left Ariel's house, checked into the only motel she could afford, and had spent the last few days in a daze, getting her few meager possessions out of Ariel's house and into the storage unit.
As Emma walked the streets of the downtrodden area the storage unit was in, she shook her head at her situation. Again she had nowhere to go. The city was the one Ariel lived in and even then Emma had only grown to know the neighborhood she shared with Ariel. Emma didn't recognize any of the street names of the blue-collar area. Emma felt exactly as she had when her father had died, only this time she was in her late twenties with no prospects and no home. She had four days left before redeployment.
As Emma idly walked through the streets in the direction of her motel, she realized that she needed a drink worse than she'd ever needed a drink before. After a few blocks, Emma found what seemed to be what she was looking for. It wasn't much to look at. A small, grimy, two-story brick building with dark windows and a heavy door. It didn't look like much, but then again Emma wasn't looking for much. The sign above the front door read "The Rabbit Hole" and a smaller neon sign pronounced that they had cold beer. It was enough for Emma. If she was going to spend her last four days alone and miserable, she might as well spend them drunk.
Pulling the door open, Emma was even less impressed with the interior of the establishment than she'd been with the exterior. At least the bar itself was nice; near ten feet of long, dark wood in front of what looked like a pretty varied collection of liquor bottles. The rest of the place did not do as well in Emmah's estimation. Weak looking tables surrounded by varying numbers of chairs, a few beat-up looking booths. The best seats in the place by far seemed to be the sturdy looking stools in front of the bar.
Not that vast seating seemed required. Emma knew that even the busiest of bars would not have been packed in the afternoon on a Tuesday, but The Rabbit Hole seemed especially deserted. There was only one other person in the bar from what Emma could tell. An old, rough-looking man in what Emma guessed to be his mid-fifties sat on one of the bar stools, sipping at a beer bottle and watching the small TV above the bar.
Emma shrugged and took a stool on the opposite end of the bar. She was no snob, she'd been drinking in dives before, and this place seemed especially reflective of her current mood. The idea of being surrounded by young, happy, successful people making a lot of noise made Emma sick to her stomach.
The man in the bar took no notice of her. Emma sat idly for a second, wondering if he was the bartender or just a patron, before the small door at the back of the bar opened. Walking out of it was what Emma assumed to be a woman with what looked to be nice legs. Emma had to guess as the person was carrying several stacked boxes of beer, obscuring her completely from the waist up. Confident that service was forthcoming, Emma turned her attention upwards to the TV. Some sort of trivia show was on. Emma idly watched as she waited to be served.
"What'll you have?"
Emma looked up, intent on ordering a shot and a beer, and was immediately sent reeling. Standing in front of her was the most jaw-droppingly beautiful woman she'd ever seen. She was of average higth, Emma guessed her to be almost five foot six, with a thick, luxurious tumbling of silke hair. Emma wasn't much for colours but she'd have gone with a deep reddish-brown to describe it. More than that, there were wide, deep chocolate brwon eyes, a cute button of a nose and thick, full, bright red lips. Her face had a nice tan and smooth look and made her look to sophisticated to be in a bar, let alone working in one.
And as beautiful a face as it was, and it was a beautiful face, it paled in comparison to the body beneath it. The bartender was wearing a silk black buttom-up shirt, with to undone bottom on the top, giving a glimpse to what looked to be two of the largest breasts Emma had ever seen. They sat high on her chest, almost ballooning outward from her frame. Despite their size and heft, they didn't seem out of place on her. Skinny was not an appropriate word to describe the rest of the girl. Her stomach was flat but soft looking and a narrow waist flared out into hips that brought to mind the curved highways of her home state. The pencil skirt hugging them struck Emma as the luckiest garment in the world. Smooth, shapely legs completed the package, trailing down behind the bar to a pair of killer fuck-me heels.
Emma barely had a frame of reference for how good the girl looked. There was nothing fake or plastic about her like a porn star and she knew the girl wasn't a size zero like most of the supermodels some guys preferred. None of those models had curves like her anyway. Emma stared in amazement for a second before she caught her composure.
"Shot and a beer," Emma eventually managed to squeak out.
The woman smiled at her, nodded and turned around to face the bar. As she did, Emma got a glimpse of a backside that, if anything put the front to shame. Full and round, curved and toned, Emma again had to marvel at just how well put together she was.
Emma could feel a strange level of desire build within her. Even if she hadn't gone without sex for a year she'd have felt the heat just from being in this woman's presence. Emma wasn't much for flowers and hearts. When she looked at this girl, she didn't want to date her or get to know her better; she wanted to fuck her. Emma wanted to grab her, bend her over the bar and fuck her nonstop until she dropped from exhaustion. Emma wasn't averse to her own pleasure, but she took a special interest in bringing her lovers to orgasm. There was something about the look, the feel, the taste of a woman as she quivered and screamed with pleasure that drove Emma sexually crazy. Whenever she saw a woman she found sexually attractive, Emma immediately would begin fantasizing about how they looked in the throes of climax. Emma had never wanted to see a girl cum more than the girl behind the bar.
"Here you go," the bartender said as she returned with the drinks, flashing Emma a sweet smile. "Want me to start a tab?"
Emma nodded, still dumbstruck. The mystery woman again turned from Emma and walked to her other patron.
"How're things, Leroy? Need a fresh one?"
"Still working on it," the older man replied. "How're things with Daniel or Robin or whoever it is you're dating these days?"
The pretty bartender frowned. "Over. And I'm the better for it."
"True." He nodded sagely. "He didn't seem up to the task,"
"Ugh, I need a man," she said in exasperation. "I mean, look at me." The bartender stepped back from the bar, waving her hand over her torso. "How is it that none of the guys I date are able to take this on?"
Emma grimaced a little. The woman was straight. Of course she was. Emma's troubles returned to her in full and she turned her attention to her drinks, gulping the cool, bitter beer down.
"It's because you date young fellas," the man answered. "Raised on tofu and video games instead of red meat and national service,"
"Mmm, so I need an older man, is what you're telling me?" the bartender said flirtatiously as she leaned towards her patron. "Think Astrid could share you for a night?"
"Kiddo, she'd tear your arms off," Leroy chuckled mournfully.
"Poo." She pouted before turning towards Emma. "How about you? Know any good, available men that you don't want yourself?"
"I legitimately don't." Emma knocked back her shot of whiskey.
"Figures," the bartender moaned. "Such is my lot, I suppose. An instrument such as myself and no Hendrix or Page to make it sing."
Emma smiled weakly as she ordered another round. The rest of the afternoon went much in the same way. Emma drank quickly and copiously as the bartender and her other customer talked and flirted. When the bartender flirted with him, he'd beg off and when he propositioned her she'd giggle and call him a "dirty ol' perv."
It seemed to Emma like a well-practiced routine. Emma was in no mood for it though. She wanted to drink. She wanted to forget Ariel and the Army and her life. As the evening went on, she even managed to do a halfway decent job of it. The bar remained nearly as empty through closing. Emma and Leroy stayed and every now and then another person would come in for a drink or two.
The night drew to a close and Emma got up, her head spinning slightly. She'd been drinking solidly for hours and she'd come very close to forgetting every relevant detail of her life.
The bartender noticed Emma's movements and walked towards her. "Done for the night?"
Emma nodded. She was drunk, but she knew that anything she said would have made her sound ridiculous. Even knowing the girl was straight and man-crazy didn't make Emma any less self-conscious about looking stupid in front of her. Emma just reached behind her for her wallet as the bartender put a bill in front of her.
Emma grasped the small piece of paper and flipped it up and immediately saw there'd been a mistake. She'd only been charged five dollars for what Emma guessed to be at least a dozen beers and just as many shots.
"You undercharged me," Emma blurted, trying to keep her composure.
"No I didn't," the bartender said confidently as she wiped down another spot of the bar.
"But I was drinking all night," Emma drunkenly protested,
"And that right there is the military price for doing so in The Rabbit Hole," the brunette said with a wink and a smirk as she turned her head back to Emma.
Emma shook her head. She hadn't mentioned what she did all day or to anyone. She wasn't wearing a buzz cut or any military paraphernalia either, her sandy blonde hair was just tied behind her in a tight ponytail and she was in jeans and a sweatshirt.
"Don't be ridiculous, I can pay my bar tab," Emma kept protesting,
The beautiful woman shrugged. "It's bar policy, nothing I can do. Especially not this time of year."
Emma had to struggle to figure out what the last part of the sentence meant for a second before remembering that Veterans Day was a few days away. It actually fell on the day Emma was shipping out. Emma had remembered thinking that it would be apropos that her last night with Ariel would have fallen on the holiday.
The thought brought Emma back to her problems for a second and she glumly nodded, reluctantly accepting the bar's patriotic policy.
Steeling herself, Emma straightened herself up and allowed the dark haired bartender to catch her eye once more. She'd stolen glances all through the day but this time she took a long, lingering stare as the woman went about the business of running the bar.
Emma didn't know if she was trying to make sure the woman was real or was just storing up a mental image for a masturbatory session or some mixture of the two. Either way, the two women's eyes caught. Emma nervously turned her head as she was caught, the bartender just smiled to herself.
"Well, I'm off," Emma said nervously, realizing the ridiculousness of announcing her departure to a bar of strangers.
"Have enough for a cab?" the bartender asked.
Emma nodded.
"And you're definitely not driving?" she inquired sternly
Emma shook her head. The bartender looked her over for a second with a probing eye, as if she could tell if Emma was lying just by giving her the once over. Apparently satisfied, the bartender gave her a smile and a wink. "Alright then, have a good one."
The next morning, Emma found herself in the same spot at the same time. Her hangover had worn off and her desire to drink away her day had returned powerfully. When she woke, she'd briefly considered doing what she could to find a gay bar, maybe try to pick a woman up, but the truth was that even if Emma were the type to hit the gay bar scene, the possibility of running into Ariel made her want to throw up. So she'd caught another cab to The Rabbit Hole early in the afternoon. Emma didn't know if the same bartender would be there but she figured it was a win-win situation for her regardless. If it was a new bartender, Emma could sit in the quiet bar and drink. If it was the same girl, Emma could spend another day admiring the most sexually appealing example of the female form she'd ever laid eyes on. Pulling open the door, Emma was pretty sure which of the two options she'd prefer.
To her pleasure, nothing seemed to have changed from the day before. The same older gentleman was on his stool at one end of the bar, the same trivia show was on the TV he was watching and, sitting on the bar with her back towards the door, was a girl that Emma could instantly recognize as the same one who'd served her the day before. It was just that spectacular an ass.
