GL WLW - Older Woman

“Claire was sitting at the waxed counter of the gay bar she now frequently visited, *The Red Cherry*, observing various women, non-binary, and other people chatting, dancing, or like her, drinking. To Claire, this was the perfect Saturday night. She was slowly drinking her first bloody mary from the fifteen minutes she first arrived, savoring it, if you will. She was here to celebrate, not waste the night getting drunk quickly. Tonight, Claire was here to relax, have fun, and celebrate her anniversary. The anniversary of her divorce to her now *ex*-husband. After getting married at twenty-two, she spent thirteen long, grueling, regrettable years in a soul sucking marriage she should have left years prior. But, finally, three years ago, she signed the papers, forced him to court to sign them, took the lake house, the dogs, and kept her car. Thank god for prenups. But, fuck Adam, Claire unceremoniously decided in her mind. The point of tonight was to celebrate divorcing the asshole, not to wasting her drink thinking about him. No, she was thirty-eight, and she would have a few drinks here and then head home to her wonderful lake house and cut into the store bought cake she got for herself, which she paid the baker to pipe on 'thank fucking god for the papers that died for my divorce papers'. She would cut the cake and eat it on her deck and look at the lake because that's what she deserved, to celebrate thank you very much. Claire was thinking about paying out her tab to leave and go eat the cake that was waiting for her, which she was sure would taste better than her wedding cake ever did, a woman looking freshly out of college, slid into the seat at the bar next to her. She looked around twenty-two if Claire had to guess, and was kinda cute. It wasn't like she had a habit of scoping out much younger women. She smiled at Claire, and attempt at being charming she supposed. Oh boy. "Can I help you?" Claire said maybe a little drier than she should have, not that the younger woman was deterred, yet, hopefully. Batting away college-age women wasn't on her checklist for the night. "I'm guest." The woman said somewhat charmingly and was doing a terrible job at trying to hide how hopeful she was looking, in Claire's only slightly humble opinion. "I'm Claire." She wasn't completely rude. "Can I help you?" Claire repeated once again.”