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“And that was the last one,” Big ol' Tom said, “now we've got ourselves a decent candle lighting again.”

“Great,” replied Bethany, playing with the glass she had emptied for the third time. “May I ask you to fill that up again? Same vodka, please.”

She nibbled on one of the earpieces of her shades, leaving her attentive audience in a short instant of anticipation before resuming her narration. She grinned and chuckled a bit before she started.


I woke up first the next morning. The past night sprang to my mind. Our intense lovemaking had been long awaited by both of us. All the more had we been hungrily devouring each other until our lust was sated for the time being. Just the mere thought of it gave birth to the familiar tingling between my legs.


The narration was suddenly interrupted by one of the listeners. “Whoa, whoa! Lady! Hold it right there. I think you skipped something crucial here.”

Not really surprised by the interruption, the scarred lady looked at her complaining audience with a wry smirk on her face. She was amused by the situation.

“Oh, did I leave something out you wanted to hear? How dare I?” she inquired with mock surprise.

The audience nodded silently.

“You guys really wanna hear the kinky stuff, huh?”

The audience nodded again.

“You really wanna hear about the cripple-faced teenie girl getting laid? What naughty audience I have, but so it shall be.”

She folded her shades and put them on the table. She took a deep breath.

“Let me see... Where was I?”


Remember David confessed to me, and I made him the mother of a scene? Right. Let me just wrap that up real quick for you.

After his somewhat unexpected confession and my more than confusing rant, I sat up right next to him, my eyes still filled with tears, and demanded, “Will you please just make out with me already, you silly loved man of mine?”

He was just as nervous and shaky as I was. Hesitantly, he reached out for my scarred face and gently put his hand on my burn mark.

I hadn't allowed anyone to touch it before since it reminded me of those damn jocks back at school that had made that stupid game I mentioned a while earlier out of it; not this time, however. His touch was so delicate, so gentle. It tickled more than it hurt. I had to giggle a bit. It didn't feel bad. Not at all. It felt great – actually excited me; it felt like an electric touch. Eyes closed, I started squirming from his feathery touch, even moaning a bit.

As he stopped, I opened my eyes to see his face still a bit confused. I bit my lower lip and almost threw myself at him. I couldn't stop kissing him or sucking his lips into my mouth. Soon, his arms were wrapped around my waist, pressing my body closer to his, and his leg found a way between my thighs. My hands were roaming over his back, running through his hair. We lost ourselves in our mutual heat.

I wanted to feel his tongue on mine, his hands on my skin, his body close to mine, his manhood deep inside me, to be one with him. It was all so new, fresh, exciting. I wanted him. I wanted it all.

I got more daring as I felt his tongue brushing my lips, asking to be granted entrance into my mouth. My first French kiss. I loved every part of it. I moaned into his mouth, letting him know I was about to melt in his arms. I devoured his tongue, sucked on it, bit it, let it withdraw from between my lips, let my tongue follow his into his mouth, teasing him more.

I pressed my thighs harder around his leg, keeping it close to my crotch that I started rocking back and forth unconsciously on the rough fabric of his jeans. Heat rose from the very core of my body, a wetness slowly running out of my pussy, soaking right through my panties before hitting my loose hot pants.

I grabbed his hands and guided them under my tank top. He broke the kiss and let go of me.

He chuckled, “Whoa, Beth, you're so stormy. Don't you want to savor it a bit more?”

I pushed out my lower lip in a mock pout, grabbed his head and pulled it into my cleavage.

“I can't slow down. It's all so new and exciting. I've never done this before.”

I let go of his head and he looked at me, incredulous at the words he had just heard.

“You've never had sex before? You're a virgin?” he asked.

I nodded. “Well, not anatomically, no, but, um, technically, er, yeah. Kinda.”

His confusion was complete. “Now what's that supposed to mean?”

I dirtily grinned at him, and shot back, “You have no idea, what bananas are good for other than to be eaten, do you?”

His eyes told volumes about the pictures he had in his head. He swallowed down his slobber before it came drooling out of his mouth.

I decided to tease him some more. “Did you know, Mr. Jordan, that freshly fucked bananas taste best?”

I could see these words had the desired effect of turning him on.

“It appears to me, Miss Page, that you truly are one naughty girl. Did you really eat them?”

“You bet I did,” I replied, paused to teasingly bite my lower lip and release it again. “One can still peel the skin off a banana, you know? Just like one can peel the foreskin off a cock before sucking it, Mr. Jordan. Care for me to show you?”

I'll never forget his face when he heard me saying this. He brusquely pulled me closer again and started kissing and biting the right side of my neck right where my scar began. He went all the way up to my ear, licked my earlobe, nibbled on it and let his tongue travel over my jawbone where the scar tissue was most distinct. He gently brushed his lips over my burn mark. His kisses and his tongue left a trail of saliva over the rippled tissue.

His hot, yet suave touch sent shivers through my face, down my spine; electrified my entire body. I moaned in response and rocked my crotch into his jeans until the fabric of my panties brushed over my clit, intensifying my growing lust even more.

I slid one hand under my tank top that was sticking to my skin from the sweat my pores were secreting because of the heat I was in. I waved it up and down to have streams of fresh air hitting my body, thus making the heat I was in a little more bearable.

“Look at what you've done to me,” I moaned before standing up. I adjusted a chair so he could see between my spread legs and the patch of pussy juices soaking through the crotch of both my panties and hot pants.

I caught a glimpse of the bulge that was trying to poke out of the thick fabric of his jeans, testifying of his wanton lust, before he picked me up, and carried me the ten feet to his couch. There, he laid me down, making sure I would keep my legs open, so he could dive between them and put his face on my crotch. He sniffed my female odor. I felt his nose pressing against my clit. I grabbed his head and pulled him closer while grinding my pelvis into his face.

“You like that, Mr. Jordan?” I asked him, encouraging him to rub his nose against my clit some more. “You love that just like you love my scar, huh? Dirty boy.”

His answer, about how I was the wettest girl he'd ever had, came in approving muffled moans.

While he was rubbing his face into my crotch, his hands roamed over my half-exposed belly, inching their way up to my breasts. He found the front clasp of my bra and undid it, freeing my breasts. He moved the cups of my bra aside, exposing my tits to his hands. He fondled one of them with his left hand, all the while still sniffing my juices, rubbing the fabric of my hot pants, and pressing his face right into my covered vulva. As my moans got louder, he pinched my hardened nipple, causing me to abruptly arch my back and cry out in surprised pleasure.

He placed his free hand on my right thigh to slowly slide it up to my crotch in the leg of my loose hot pants. The tickling sensation of his fingers brushing my loins amplified my anticipation and excitement. His fingers hit the hem of my panties that were stuck between my pussy lips and caressed it gently before sliding under the panties to find the melting petals of my pussy. His fingers probed the folds of my labia.

He let go of me to lick off the juices on his fingers. I helped him remove my hot pants and got rid of my bra. My white cotton panties were drowned in a lake of my juices. He immediately got back to sniffing my sex and slid his fingers back under the crotch of my panties to explore my swollen pussy lips.

He teasingly licked around the hem of my panties while his free hand roamed my belly and searched for my breasts. The next time he pinched my nipple, I felt a finger glide into my pussy, making me bite my lower lip and moan his name in succession. He pushed my panties aside with his nose and started lapping the stream of my juices with his tongue, causing all the more vaginal secretions to flow onto his face.

He matched the strokes of his finger on my g-spot with his tongue that circled around my clit in smaller and smaller circles until he zeroed in on my erect little button and had me fill his house with my moans and cries of pure lust. The movements of his tongue against my sensitive clit were perfectly timed with his strokes against the spongy spot deep within my tunnel, leaving me to build up my first orgasm with a man.

My body began to tremble. My aching cries became louder, reverberating in his entire house. My legs were clenched around his head so tightly I was afraid I might break his skull, but he kept up the rhythm, not letting go of me. My spasms encouraged him to fondle me harder, lick me faster until my entire body thrashed uncontrollably as my climax exploded with a loud, roaring cry that emanated from the depths of my throat.

Seconds later, I lay there in the afterglow of my orgasm; spent, panting, a blankness in my head. David lifted his head from between my legs. His face was glistening with the result of my massive climax. Oh, that grin. Cheeky, victorious, boyish.

“You should become an opera singer,” he giggled.

I threw a pillow at him, shouting, “Just you wait, bozo.”

I ducked to dodge the same pillow that came flying back at me and reached for his belt buckle.

“Don't even dare to think you're gonna get away without proper revenge,” I whispered, kneeling in front of him, unbuckling his belt while looking into his eyes that carried the flame of desire by the sight of that scar on my face.

I slid both his pants and boxers down at once, exposing his stiff, veiny rod. With a crooked and amazed dirty smirk on my face, I allowed myself to touch it, run my fingertips over its length, feel its sensitive, thin skin under my fingers.

I enjoyed the sight of the twitching at my touch, the throbbing as I peeled back the foreskin, the purple head pulsating as it was exposed – it was my first ever cock, okay? How it looked, how it reacted to different touches at different places fascinated me. That thing up my snatch? No way this would fit; and yet, many were the tales and legends I had heard, the 'educational' videos I had watched on porn sites, proving that it was indeed possible to fit an entire cock into a pussy. The mere thought of it absorbed my entire attention and ignited a burst of fresh lust in my loins.

The head was already moist with copious amounts of pre-cum which I spread over his shaft and his balls, making his entire manhood slippery. Encouraged by his quickening and deepening breath, I kissed the very tip, lay my lips around the tiny slit and gently sucked on it, all the while playing with his balls.

When I released his tip from between my lips, I seized his shaft. I slowly pumped it, licked the underside all the way to the purple mushroom and looked into his eyes. I knew my eyeliner had to be smeared all over my face from the sweat. The sight of me licking his cock while staring directly into his eyes with that messy, scarred face of mine made him gasp and encourage me with dirty curses.

I let go of his cock and rid myself of my tank top and panties. I threw the sweaty top on his couch and the panties in his face with a lewd, "Here, sniff this, dirty boy," which he gratefully did. Then, I knelt again and slid his dick right between my titties.

He lustily moaned, “Mmh... what's that soft feeling down there,” and took my panties off his face to see me slowly rocking my tits up and down the length of his shaft as well as my tongue licking the tip. I looked up and teasingly winked. He moaned at the sight, and started slowly moving his hips to and fro. More pre-cum came oozing out of his cock and I licked every drop of it, keeping constant eye contact with him.

“Where did you learn to do that?” he moaned.

I paused the slow licking to say, “Told you bananas were good for more than just being eaten, didn't I?”

Then, I opened my mouth, and let his dick slip into it. I contracted my lips around his fleshy shaft, and swirled my tongue around the tip, keeping the base of his dick between my tits. He moved his hips faster now, in my mouth, out again, let the head disappear between my breasts, shoved it up between my lips again, repeated this, once, twice, a few times, then stopped with half his cock in my mouth.

He grabbed my hair and forced me to look up with his meat still in my mouth. I wrapped my fingers around his shaft and pumped it as hard and fast as I could while sucking and tonguing his helmet.

As I let go, he looked at me, mouth wide agape, and demanded, “Fuck, babe! Will you let me rub my dick against your scar? I so wanna cum all over your scar.”

I smiled a wry, coy grin, and put the tip of his cock on my scarred cheek. Doing so, I showed him how much I wanted him to share that scar fetish of his with me. With my hand still wrapped around it, he gently moved his rigid pole back and forth on the ripples of the damaged tissue that once had been my immaculate skin. The scar tissue felt red hot under the touch of his rock-solid dick; again the sensation of his delicate skin awoke this titillating electrifying feeling on my cheek.

I rubbed my cheek on his dick, encouraging him to pump it more vigorously against my scar. I loved it. He loved it. We both loved it. He was going crazy from the feeling of my scar on his manhood.

I can still hear him scream, “Fuck! Your scar is so hot! I want to cum all over it!”

His louder-growing moans announced his impending ejaculation. I wanted nothing more than to feel his hot, creamy cum all over my burn mark, so I encouraged him even more, ordering him to shoot all over my cheek. And he came, thick ropes of creamy white spunk splashing against my scar. One of them. Two of them. Three of them. All of them making me moan, and ask him for more of his cream on my scar. A fourth, smaller one. Then a few more droplets.

He fell on his couch, exhausted. His semen dribbled from my cheek onto my breasts.

“Hey, you can't fall asleep now, and leave me unfucked,” I shamelessly protested.

He chuckled. “Okay, but let's get into the shower first, shall we? My face is all sticky from your juices, and you've got cum all over you.”

I smiled, grabbed his hand and led him to where I knew I'd find his bathroom.


With these words the narrator finished her fourth glass of pure vodka with a considerably loud grunt; the result of the strong spirit burning her oral cavity.

“I bet you people liked that – especially the dirty scar stuff, huh?” she said, grinning as the majority of her audience nodded in approval. “Just as I thought, you dirty little pervs.”

She got her glass filled again and ordered a black double espresso to go along, adding, “Make it extra strong. Otherwise, I won't see the end of this story myself. Strong liquor's starting to hit my brain.”

She awaited her requested coffee patiently while grubbing in her purse for another cigarette – the last one in the pack. She looked at it, as though evaluating if it was worth keeping it for a while. Her coffee was served, distracting her from her last cigarette. Finally, she renounced the tobacco.

Stirring her coffee, she commented, “Now look at that, just as black as my heart.” She paused to take a sip, and resume her descriptions. “And also as delicious as the sex I had with David. And you guys? You in for some more of that kinky stuff?”

The audience cheered, letting her know about their thirst for closure – especially when it came to sexual matters.


Standing under the running water, we explored our bodies. We took our time to feel our flesh, every curve, and to kiss each spot. We soaped each other, fondled and kissed, and finally washed the soap away.

David seemed pensive, and a bit off when he handed me a towel.

“What's wrong, David?” I asked.

“Listen, Beth,” he began his explanation, an obvious hesitation in his voice, “are you sure you wanna do this? Shouldn't you be going home? I mean, it's true what you said earlier. I'm old enough to be your father. I don't think your parents would approve of this. Have you even informed them that you're still in my house?”

His words put me back into my place. They hurt me a bit, let me feel as if I wasn't the aim of his desires anymore. I was back to being the little, self-conscious girl – insecure because of her scars. I had ceased to be her for a brief instant as we shared our most intimate desires.

Had I been so wrong about him not being just another pervo that was lusting after girls with no self-esteem? With the question of that possibility arising, a feeling of guilt and abysmal foolishness crept up my throat. Please not.

I tried not to show I was deeply offended as I said, “They know I'm here. It's just the first time I'm staying for so long. You're right, probably. I can't imagine the drama they'd make over me having you as a lover, Daddy.”

He laughed over the Daddy remark, letting me gather some hope again.

“Hey, I'm not going away, silly. You can still come over, and get that fuck you want so bad, Miss Page. Even get as many fucks you like, 'cause I haven't yet run out of fucks to give,” he said with a smirk. “Do you think I enjoy letting you go home without giving you a proper goodbye fuck?”

That was a motherload off my mind – Oh boy! – and I had already seen the foundations of my world crumble for the second time in my young life.

“So why don't you keep me here with you tonight, Mr. Jordan, and fuck my brains out?” I asked with my most seductive voice, and let the towel fall to the ground.

He drank in the sight of my nude body, my feminine curves, my toned legs, my athletic figure, my natural E-cups, and, of course, my huge ass scar as I slowly approached him, exaggerating the swing of my hips.

Standing before him, I took a fistful of his hair, let my hand run through it, and my index finger trace the nicely groomed three-day beard on his jawline. I leaned in for a seductive kiss.

“I know you want me, you know I want you. I'm fully aware that some may not approve of our liaison, but I've suffered enough for having gotten so hideous. You make me feel cherished, desired and loved despite my face turned ugly. So take me like the man you are, and make me scream your name in pleasure. Make me yours tonight, David.”

Apparently, I was convincing enough, for he grabbed my buttocks and lifted me up. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist and put my hands on the back of his neck. I pressed my body closer to his, my breasts to his strong, masculine chest, and rested my head on his shoulder. His cock sprang to life. I could feel the hard shaft pressing against the length of my slit, seeking to be hugged by my pussy lips and to feel the wetness that started flowing out of me again.

David carried me to his bedroom with his cock sliding along the petals of my labia, thus rendering any foreplay futile, for as we entered his bedroom, his cock was pretty much coated with my love juices already. I could feel the heat from both our sexes between my legs – this hot, wet expression of pure carnal lust so intense I almost lost myself in this deep desire. I tried hard to keep focused, though, and to remember not to have David fuck me right away, as contraceptive pills were not on my diet so far.

Before he threw me on the bed, David planted an ardent kiss on my lips. At the sight of me, legs spread and pussy glistening from the result of the constant rubbing of his cock against it, he grinned lustily at me. I turned my face to show him my scar and bit my lower lip. I knew that sight would just make him crazy with desire.

Yet, I had to make sure he had condoms. “Hope you got a rubber, Mr. Jordan.”

He walked to his bedside table and opened its drawer. He presented me with a foil wrapper and laughed heartily. “Of course, silly. Did you really think I was going to screw a girl raw on our first fuck? I could be sick for all you know – and so could you.”

He tore the envelope open and took out the latex ring. I picked it out of his hands, smiling.

“Let me do this,” I said, peeling back his foreskin with my free hand. I cautiously placed the condom on the tip of his helmet and slowly slid his shaft between my lips until the condom was fully unwrapped.

Looking him in the eyes, I let go of his dick, and coyly asked with my girliest voice, “Wanna fuck your little scar girl, Mr. Jordan?”

He pushed me back onto the bed, and instantly lowered his head between my spread legs to kiss my swollen vulva. He slid two fingers into my watering channel effortlessly, seeking to stimulate my g-spot. My entire body convulsed from the welcome intruder, and first surprised moans came out of my mouth.

He had yet another surprise up his sleeve as he pulled his fingers out again. He sniffed them, enjoying the aroma of my juices. He didn't lick them, though, for he gently put them on my brown star to circle around my rear opening, thus lubing my anus. I lasciviously hissed from the unexpected stimulus and let out a pleased moan, almost laughing as he slowly pushed his probing finger in.

He hadn't expected the ease with which it entered my ass. “Has that banana also seen this hole?”

I chortled, “Watcha think, Mr. Jordan?”

My sultry words only motivated him to shove his finger in knuckle-deep which I commented with renewed moans. All this time, his tongue was darting between my labia, lapping the constant stream of moisture. I wasn't granted this pleasure for too long, nonetheless, as he wanted to give me another kind of orgasm. Thus he got his head from between my legs and crawled over me to lay down full length on my body, making sure his cock would come to rest in the folds of my pussy lips.

We instinctively ground our pelvises against each other. His cock brushed over my erect clit every time we moved. Our bodies were rubbing against each other, moist and slippery from our mingled sweat. The pleasure I felt was only amplified by his tongue that he had running all over my scar, examining every ripple, every fold, and every bump of my malformed skin. The electric shivers it sent through my face were like tiny pleasurable shocks that ran over my belly to the very core of my body.

Squirming, winding and uncontrollably thrashing my body under these constant stimuli, a wanton need to feel his thick steel inside the very depths of my womb urged me to slide my hand between our bodies and grab his superior dick.

“Now let's bring that cock home, Mr. Jordan,” I requested.

He obliged willingly, and let me guide the rubber-covered purple head to my entrance. He threw me a quick hesitant glance to which I only nodded. Seeing the lust in my eyes, he shoved his entire cock in balls-deep until it filled me completely.

Our lips locked together, and our tongues danced with each other as we started rocking our hips in a mutual rhythm. My hands roamed his back and grabbed his ass to assist his repetitive plunges into the very depths of my body as I screamed in lustful carnal joy. David kissed my neck right where the scar tissue began, licked all the way to my ear, tracing the borders of my scar. My hands found his scalp and pressed his head harder into my neck to increase the intensity of his teasingly gentle touch to my sensitive, damaged skin.

He changed to a steeper angle of his penetration, so every time he thrust his cock inside my lewd, drenched cavity, it would slightly brush the tip of my erect love button, stimulating me even more. In that position, he humped me with so much fury, his entire bed was moving along with our rhythm. Loud, rhythmic slapping noises filled the room alongside the dissonant cacophony of two people in the frenzy of their long-awaited sexual relief.

He stopped after a while and eased his arms under my shoulders. He lifted me up and adjusted his legs, so he sat on the bed, and I sat on his lap, his pole still all the way inside me. I moved up and down his entire length while he fondled my tits, and licked my nipples. I felt his teeth digging into my flesh as his fingers played with my nipples, pinched them, pulled on them, twisted them, all causing pleased hisses to come from between my teeth. He took one of my nipples between his lips to suck on it and bite it while I was humping up and down his pole, seeking my own release.

He let go of my breasts, and hugged me, thrusting his hips upward whenever I moved down. In this position, my pussy felt stretched to the maximum by his throbbing, pulsating cock darting in and out. I held him close to me and raked my nails on his back. He groaned from the pain of my nails tearing open his skin. In a moment of affection, he bit my scar tissue, returning the thrilling sensation of pleasuring pain. We groaned. We moaned. We screamed in our mutual ecstasy of pleasure and pain. And that's when my body got overwhelmed with waves and waves of orgasmic convulsions, and I came, sitting on David's dick.

He watched my face distort in the pleasures of my climax, fascinated by the way it deformed my burn mark even more. He kept touching it all the way through my orgasm, feeling how the misshaped tissue moved under the change of my facial expression.

As my orgasm subsided, I pushed him to lie down on the bed, making it clear it was my turn to make him feel good. I gyrated my hips on his cock to stimulate every spot at its time while his hands roamed my body, squeezed my tits, ran over my scalp and caressed my ugly scar. I took his hand that was touching my scar to press it harder against the burn mark and rubbed my cheek against it. Feeling the desire he felt for my scar running through the palm of his hand against my cheek reignited my lust. I lay down on him and let my hips do the thrusting. His facial expressions and his moans testified to the pleasure he felt.

I kissed his neck, bit him there, traced his jawline with kisses, dug my nails into his chest, wanting to hear him scream my name. His hands pressed my body closer to his; this sweaty, slippery, male body of his. His hands slowly moved down my back to grab my ass cheeks and spread them apart, exposing my brown star.

Suddenly, a new sensation. A shock. A new stimulus. His index finger up my ass. I playfully moaned, looking into his eyes. I felt his free hand on my face, on my lips. I sucked on his fingers, moaned on them. He ran them, covered with saliva, over my scar, raked his nails over it. Then, a new shock: a second finger asking for access into my tight rear hole to which I screamed up in desire for more excitement. He kept teasing my tight ass with one hand while digging his nails into my burnt cheek with the other. Feeling both these sensations in combination with his dick buried in my melting channel was just heavenly.

He withdrew both his fingers and his cock and made me turn around, so I was on all fours. I got to my knees, turned my head to throw him my most seductive look and present him my scar while I spread my ass cheeks with my hands and shoved two fingers up my little snatch, showing him where I craved his cock. As he approached, I seized his girth and pumped him a few times before guiding him into my opening.

Once he was inside, he moved slowly at first. I showed him how I sniffed my hand that had pumped his cock a few moments earlier and was now full with my own juices before smearing them all over my scar.

He, even more in heat by this sight, pulled my hair with his left hand so that I was forced to show him my scar. He resumed his violent pounding.

After a few thrusts, he grabbed me by my sides and lifted me to arch my back, so he could lick the juices off my misshaped skin. Keeping up the brutal thrusts, he hit my g-spot with full force, making tears shoot into my eyes. My screams grew louder and turned into cries of sexual agony. He kept licking my scar as if it was my pussy. He was kissing it, licking it, sucking its tissue into his mouth, sinking his teeth into it. His seemingly unquenchable desire for my malformed skin only did its part in inching me toward my next orgasm.

This time, I wanted him to cum with me. I wanted to seal our love with this impending mind-numbing orgasm, so I fondled his balls while he kept up the pace. All of this together – our aggressive thrusts, his mouth on my scar, and my hands fondling his balls – pushed us over the brink of our mutual climax.

Both our sexes throbbed in unison as the ever-increasing waves of our synchronized orgasms hit our bodies. With roaring cries of release, we satisfied our hunger for each other until we collapsed into a pile of human flesh, and his shrinking dick slipped out of my soaked cavity.

Spent and almost fainting from the post-orgasmic side effects, we allowed ourselves to lay in bed a while longer, enjoying each other's mere presence, exchanging love vows between our elaborate breaths.


“...and that's how I shared my first ever sexual experience with a man. I hope my humble narration could make it live up to your expectations,” the narrator said with her cup of coffee to her lips, and her listeners giving a short applause of approval.

She emptied the cup at once, keeping the last sip in her mouth for a while to savor its taste.

She commented, “Coffee is just best if you wait for it to have the perfect temperature and hammer it down at once. It burns you if it's too hot, and I'm not even gonna talk about cold coffee, right?”

“And what's the verdict to my coffee, young girl?” inquired Big ol' Tom

“It's worthy of mine – one of the greatest that's ever touched my taste buds, in fact,” the scarred lady replied smiling cheekily. “But I'll stick with the liquor – for the time being, that is. I can't keep up an acceptable buzz with too much caffeine running through my veins, can I?”

She twirled her glass of vodka in front of her face, thinking about announcing the last bit of her narration. “Folks, listen. So far, this story has been pretty great, right? Now I'll have to warn you. If you're not into sad endings, you should maybe go home.”

“Why?” interjected one of the listeners, “did he dump you?”

Bethany laughed heartily and replied, “If it were only that, dear listeners. Don't worry, I'll get there. So, um, we were still lying in bed, exhausted from our mutual orgasm, right?”


About half an hour later, I got up, and walked to the full-length mirror in his room to braid my disheveled hair; something I used to do before the accident, but never since, as the sight of my scar would prevent me from looking into the mirror. Oblivious to that fact, and since I was focusing on my hair, and my mind was still lost in the afterglow of our lovemaking, it took me a while to entirely realize what was bugging me about my reflection. I had totally forgotten about the scar that covered the better part of the right half of my face and my neck.

I stopped braiding my hair as reality kicked back in, and the realization of my forever-lost beauty turned the knife in the wounds I had momentarily forgotten. A tear left my eye. It was still there; that ugly, irreversible scar. I was still completely disfigured, and I would never get my face back as it once had been. I started crying, trembling. The pain remained the same.

No! Not anymore! I have to and I will live with this scar. With David by my side, I will be able to accept it as a part of my being.

A pair of strong, masculine arms pulled me to the torso they were attached to. David started stroking my half-braided hair, and whispered soothing words into my ear, “Shh... Why are you crying, baby? Didn't I tell you that you're the most beautiful girl? I'll always be here for you.”

I turned around, and replied, also whispering with eyes tear-filled, “It's a part of me, and I am willing to accept it as such. Will you help me gather my strength?”

Don't tell me, I know the line was insanely cheesy, but, hey, that's just what happens when your teenage hormones go all nuts.

Having found my true love in this man, I gradually started recovering. I eventually gained back my self-esteem and my confidence. I went out more, went to see people. I knew that whenever I'd feel the demons prey on my newly gained confidence, I could go to David – not that he was just my shoulder to lean on, he was way more than that. He was my safe harbor, my sanctuary, my love.

Of course, my parents were not easy with us being a couple at first, given that David was barely ten years younger than my father, or in other words, more than fifteen years my senior – twice my age, almost – but eventually they accepted it as they saw me blooming up again with him by my side.

When school started again, I was bold enough to join the cheerleader squad, and fight my way up to the top again. Guess what. Despite my being disfigured, my old rivals for the captain position – especially my archrival – still considered me a threat, and tried to crush me with names like 'scar girl' or 'cripple face.' Little did they know that this only fueled my ambitions to get back to the top.

Knowing about my qualities as the former captain, the gym teacher gave me his full support, even encouraged me some more. It was just a matter of time until I was back on top, and even became somewhat famous for being the 'scar girl,' the hallmark and showpiece of our squad.

As such drastic changes in one's personality don't pass unnoticed, rumors were spread. How does an ugly and formerly so insecure girl get so strong and confident? Some scar-crazed pervo had to be fucking her brains out on a regular basis.

I didn't mind the rumors; I had gotten used to way worse than these. Besides, nobody knew how much truth there was in these rumors; how I had hit the jackpot having David by my side. At a certain point, the humor faded, or they had found themselves another scapegoat to pick on, or whatever. What did I care?

My senior year of high school rushed by in a frenzy of love, making me feel like the queen of the world. I had a man more than fifteen years my senior who worshiped me, loved me for who I was, what I had, for my scar, showed me the beauties of love. I for my part was completely under his spell.

We never quite understood what we found in each other. I mean, How could a man almost twice my age find me attractive, me the little childish teenie girl next door with the huge ass scar all over her face. What did I have to offer? And what did I, a high school girl in the prime of her life and hormone-induced sexuality, find in that perverted old sack? Those things made our relationship so special. We didn't take each other for granted, didn't get used to the idea of having each other.

Still, I didn't get used to the sight of my scar in the mirror, and a part of me remained disgusted by seeing the reflection of my skin malformation and my eye turned gray. This remained even though my lover made it more than clear to me that I was beautiful, that he cherished me for who I was. I was also fully aware that my scar built the very foundation of our relationship. If it hadn't been for my scar, I would have most likely ended up with a lengthier list of unsatisfying lovers – jocks mostly, considering I was the big-titted captain of the cheerleader squad.

By the time the school year drew to a close, it was clear I'd be going to college and would have to move to the campus. A new chapter in my life. New people. A change of ideas. One thing, however, was clear to me. I wanted to keep the relationship with David - I needed him as much as he needed me.

One week before I moved out, he wanted to make me a goodbye surprise. He asked me to keep the evening free for him and to come over at six. What could he possibly have up his sleeve?

When I went over, a rush of adrenaline crept over my belly. By the time I rang the bell, something had sparked in me. The door flung open and David greeted me with a huge smile and a gentle kiss. The feelings that were stirring up my belly became stronger and stronger, almost unbearable, given I still couldn't put my finger on their nature.

He took my hand and guided me to the kitchen. A huge light blue parcel wrapped in a silver silken ribbon was on the kitchen table, waiting to be opened. David told me to open it.

My nervously shaking hands untied the ribbon, removed the wrapping paper, and slid off the top of the thick cardboard case. My heart was pounding in a renewed rush of adrenaline, rendering it nearly impossible for me to even think straight.

From that moment when I lay my eyes on the gorgeous dress that was in the parcel, the entire evening passed in a blurred state. I was so drunk with love for this man that I can't even recall what the dress looked like.

All I remember is that he took me to this expensive French restaurant and that the real surprise consisted of the envelope he handed me between the cheese plate and dessert. God, I had to look like some spoiled little teenie brat next to this well-mannered hunk.

I slowly opened it. In there was a paid check. My eyes simply popped out when I saw the amount that was to be transferred. I didn't understand. Why a check? What did this mean?

“Beth,” he explained, “this should cover the surgical fees for your skin transplantation.”

I swallowed and smiled wryly at that ridiculous amount, before stuttering a few words, “But... David... you... but... I thought you wanted me to keep the scar. I thought you loved it.”

He was obviously prepared for this kind of reaction; I even remembered his exact words. “Yes, I do. Touching your scar has been my greatest fetish ever since I saw you. But it's not the scar I fell in love with, Beth. I love you, and I see the face you're making every time you look into the mirror and have to see your scar.

"I see how much pain it still causes you, how it haunts you although you're trying so hard not to show it. As the man who truly loves you, I have no greater wish than to make you happy.”

Tears of joy ran over my cheeks. Picturing me without the scar felt so unreal. I had gotten used to being ugly to some extent, and now was I to be made pretty again? I started crying at the mere realization of how much David loved me. He held my hand and smiled.

We enjoyed our short instant of happiness over dessert but neither of us had as much as an idea that it would be the last happy moment of our lives.

The streets were empty when we were coming out of the restaurant. The parking lot was just a few steps away. Still drunk with a dopamine flood my brain simply couldn't handle, I didn't see the man coming straight towards me and didn't hear David telling me to watch out either.

It happened very fast: the man grabbed my purse and ran away. Me, too lost in my love-drunkenness, didn't realize what he was doing. The purse contained the check, so David chased right after him. I tried to stop him, I screamed 'no', but David didn't listen.

He hadn't seen the short blade in the thief's hand. He caught up with the thief. Before he could even reach out for my purse, he collapsed and curled up on the sidewalk. The thief escaped with my purse.

I ran to find David trembling, pale, heavily breathing in his agony, and his white shirt soaked with blood right where he pressed both his hands to his body. He tried to mumble a few words between his breaths that were becoming shallower and shallower. He tried hard to look at me through his weakening gaze. I tried to keep him awake, to talk to him, say comforting words with tears shooting up my eyes, knowing all too well it was too late.

Although I desperately tried to stop the bleeding, by the time the ambulance arrived, he was gone – and so was I. He to another world and I irreversibly retired into my shell. This catastrophic event pretty much killed me.


A single tear coming from under her prominent shades rolled down Bethany's cheek. She paused.


She hammered down the remains of the liquor.




She pushed her empty glass over the mahogany bar to get another refill.


“And after that?” asked a listener shyly.

She drew a deep and shaky breath.


As you can surely imagine, I failed rather miserably at college, being constantly absorbed by my numbness to exterior stimuli. That given, I had to make a living out of odd jobs. It was not much, but enough to make do, and live in a smallish, shabby apartment of my own. Sometimes I even had enough to save some to pay for that transplantation I longed for.

Lovers? Sure, I tried to fall in love again eventually, and actually had my share of lovers – most of them not even skilled enough to eat a pussy properly, some of them okay. The longest I dated after David was three weeks, I think. David was just irreplaceable. His picture kept haunting me day and night.

After ten years of living hand-to-mouth, I had finally saved enough money to undergo that surgery. Once I had the surgeon's offer in my hand, however, I turned it down. I simply couldn't afford to lose the memory of David that was so deeply burnt within these scars. I felt that correcting this defect on my face meant scrapping the memory of him and I didn't want that to happen.


Beth removed her shades, ending her narration.

Moved by the tragic ending, the audience sat in silence before the applause took over. Some of the guests wiped tears out of their eyes.

Beth emptied her glass again and slammed it back on the wooden counter.

“So you guys really believed me, huh?” she chuckled. “Scar story? I just made it up, guys. I had a friend make me that scar. Looks pretty real, huh? But look,” she said, running her index over the edge of the scar, leaving a trace of immaculate skin underneath it, “it's just make-up.”

The audience had mixed feelings. Some were pissed for having been messed around with, others were amazed by her sheer talent to make up such a story and tell it so convincingly. Some were simply perplexed, but all of them eventually left. The audience thinned out gradually.

In the end, there were only two people left: the old barista and the narrator.

Once he had washed, dried, and put away all the glasses, he leaned over the bar to the young lady who was still dreamily looking into her empty glass and asked her, “May I touch the scar, Bethany?”

She didn't look at him; just slowly shook her head no.

“Just as I thought,” he stated, “the scar as well as your story both were real. Do I get it right that you just powdered the edges and lied because just didn't want to start crying in front of everyone?”

She nodded, her eyes still glued to the glass.

The old man smiled.

“That's alright, kiddo.”

After a short instant of silence, he leaned in some more.

“Bethany, look at me. I got something to tell you.” He began to explain, “I've been running this Tavern since more than forty years, and I've seen the world change a lot ever since. I'm getting old, and I think it's time to leave this bar to the next generation.”

He paused, then resumed, “What I'm getting at is: would you like to be my successor? Otherwise, I'm afraid I'll have to close the establishment, and that'd be a shame, wouldn't it?”

Bethany looked at him, eyebrows lifted questioningly.

“If I got this straight, you're looking for a real job. This tavern gives a good enough return. With your talent to tell stories and that scar of yours, this place will be quite an attraction. I'm pretty damn sure you'll come up with legendary stories and episodes all about that scar alone, and you'll be notorious for them.”

Incredulous of the words he spoke, she looked at him. The corners of her mouth slowly lifted to a smile. She nodded.

“Alright then,” Big ol' Tom said, grabbing the half-empty bottle of vodka to fill Bethany's glass one last time, “consider this the last glass I'll ever serve.”

He put the bottle down, rummaged in the pocket of his jeans, and put a bunch of keys next to the freshly poured glass. The keys to the tavern. He then patted the young lady on her shoulder.

He walked to the door, turned around, wished a "Farewell, kiddo" to his successor and disappeared into the black of the night.

He was never seen again.

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