I met Anoushka as she stood behind one of several windows in the county clerk’s office.

It wasn’t lost on me that, just four years earlier, I had stood with the woman I loved to pick up our marriage license and here I was, the day of our anniversary, filing for divorce. I would have said it was ironic, and my soon-to-be ex would say it wasn’t. She had the annoying habit of arguing about stupid shit like that. She also had the annoying habit of fucking my younger brother. But that’s their story, not mine.

Back to Anoushka. Anoushka had a body that, even through double panels of bulletproof glass, I could tell was fucking glorious. Civil servants, man. A steady gig, reasonable pay, and two panes of reinforced glass to foster that healthy, I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude. It looked good on her.

It was February 14. Did you know that, of marriages that begin and end on the same day of the year, February 14 is the winner by far? But I wasn’t really thinking about that. I was thinking more about how I hadn’t been interested in sex lately, and that Anoushka was changing my mind. She turned to staple the forms, revealing tight, clean Levis. Civil service. You can wear what you want. I was also thinking about how my divorce paperwork cost more than my marriage paperwork by like 80 bucks.

“I got married three windows down,” I said.

“Yup, that was probably Karen,” Anoushka said, checking my pages. “I’ve seen ten Karens today.”

“Whaddaya mean?” I asked.

“Ten people whose marriage licenses Karen processed. She has to buy me lunch now.”

“Jesus Christ,” I said. “That’s so cold.”

“I’m sorry,” Anoushka said, pressing her tits on the countertop like she knew it would cheer me up. “You’ll find somebody new. You’re young and you’re hot, right? You know when I buy lunch for Karen? When at least ten people that I ran the divorce paperwork for show up for marriage licenses again on the same day.”

I felt her nails on my balls and her hot mouth slicking my shaft.

“How many times has that happened?” I asked.

“Like thirty times,” Anoushka said. “I’m getting Karen fat.” (And at that moment I remembered Karen, who was already pretty fat four years ago.)

There was something about Anoushka’s sunny but no-bullshit behavior, and her willingness to talk to a member of the unwashed public, that made me go for it.

“Can I take you out after work?” I asked. “Unless you think I’m damaged goods.”

Anoushka looked me over for a length of time that made me doubt my resolve, but then she gave me the first yes I’d heard in a long time.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think that would be nice.”

We met at a steakhouse downtown, the type of place that had been really classy back in the forties but now, with nighttime business reduced, was a little seedy. And that was fine. Anoushka was a little seedy. I was a little seedy.

Speaking of seed, I wanted to spread some of my own when I saw her walk in the door. All the curves from earlier in the day were on display, but now there were just fewer clothes (and no bulletproof glass) to cover them up.

“Thank you,” she said to the waiter in Farsi when he took her jacket.

“They know you around here?” I asked. “Or did you know he was Persian?”

“They know me,” she said. “I bring dates here.”

I gotta tell you that her candor made me relieved. She was treating me like a date, like the most normal thing in the world, rather than some rebounding loser, which was how I felt a lot of the time. She slid closer to me, as if acknowledging this, pressing her full, taut thigh against my leg.

“You showered since I last saw you,” she said.

“Yeah, I’m kind of reclaiming the house, moving furniture,” I said. “I got a little gross.”

She found something to play with in my hair, and brushed her fingernails lightly against my scalp.

“Out with the old,” she said. “Just remember to always make your bed, no matter how depressed you get. It helps. Plus, you never know who’s coming over.”

Well, we had a great dinner. She told me about her own divorce ten years ago, her economical solo travel (augmented by the hefty alimony she got from her ex, whom she said was a bastard but they were still friends), and how she just meets so many interesting people in her divorce line at the county building.

Beyond anything, I was having a great time. The meal was delicious and the company was beautiful and high-spirited. Men passing our table checked her out and threw half-smiles at me, like I’d just scored. And I had!

We split the check ("See you again, Anoushka,” the waiter said) and walked to the parking lot.

“I brought you a gift,” she said. “Walk me to my car.”

Her car was a late-model red SUV, something that you could only afford if there were other sources of income than stamping divorce paperwork, processing DBAs, and filing zoning easements all day.

“It’s in the back.”

We walked to the back of her truck and I really did expect her to pop the trunk and give me a box of candy or a getting-through-divorce book, like she was just a chick with a heart of gold who recognized a lonely man when she saw one. Instead, she leaned against the hatchback of the truck, draped her arms around my neck, pressed her chest against me, and kissed me. She put her whole body into it, and her scent filled my nostrils.

When we broke the kiss for a moment (it was me — my erection was pressing through my pants into her ribcage and it was fucking embarrassing), I said, “Whoa.”

“‘Whoa’ good or ‘whoa’ bad?” Anoushka asked.

“‘Whoa my pants are uncomfortable,’” I said truthfully.

She looked me over again and extended a surprisingly gentle left hand, cupping my balls through my pants.

“Oh, baby,” she said. “Looks like you’re ready to burst!”

And with that, this Middle Eastern bombshell dropped to her knees, expertly unbelted and unzipped my pants, and had my solid cock bouncing free in the cold night air. Anyone exiting the restaurant would have to look closely to see anything untoward, as Anoushka’s candy-apple SUV was blocking everything but my surprised face.

I felt her nails on my balls and her hot mouth slicking my shaft, and I slowly leaned against her SUV as, across the parking lot, two elderly busboys and the waiter suddenly found the need to take a smoke break, staring over at the car and smirking. I didn’t care. I didn’t care how many men Anoushka had blown in the parking lot. This was exactly what I needed. I thought: I’m going to come down a woman’s throat like I didn’t in four years of marriage. But then Anoushka surprised me again.

“You’re too big, Godzilla,” she said (I’m not too big, but she was saying all the right things). “I want you inside me.”

Of course she had a condom ready. It was on my cock in seconds (and my brand, too! What, did she run a credit check on me in the office or something?) and she turned around and planted her small hands in the prints of mine on the window. I pulled up her dress, moved her panties aside, and found a cunt that was swollen and ready. I eased into what I thought was a tremendously claustrophobic blast furnace and immediately knew I was in trouble.

We hit a rhythm fast and, within two minutes, I could feel the whole tumbling machinery of her pussy quivering around me. It wasn’t me. It was her. She just liked fucking. She was coming now, and her body was trying to push me out, but I wouldn’t let it. I held on to her great ass and fucked another orgasm out of her. Then I was ready for mine.

“I want to come on your ass,” I said.

Anoushka’s cheek was pressed against her dirty rear window. “Give me one more and you can come in my ass,” she said.

Suddenly I felt that my hardness get notched up to 11, and I drove into her with a ferocity that bordered on violence. Consensual violence with a stranger. Her orgasm started churning, her breath fogging the glass, one hand’s nails scratching my thigh, the closest surface she could reach. Of course I wasn’t going to take off the condom, throw my cock in her ass, and come there (we say all sorts of things when we’re fucking, don’t we?), but I did pull off the latex shield and send what seemed like six sad months of pent-up seediness onto her ass and back.

Anoushka immediately stood up and straightened her dress over the hot pool on her back. I picked up my pants and folded myself back into them. I tossed the condom into a garbage can that was nearby — had she thought of that, too?

I suspected this was a once-in-a-lifetime thing, but I couldn’t help but imagine, in that moment in a cold parking lot on Valentine’s Day, that Anoushka, so kind and sexy and funny, was the perfect woman for me.

“Will I see you again?” I asked after we kissed warmly.

She looked me up and down.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But definitely come see me before you see Karen again.”

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