Thank You to My Ex-Wife… One of the biggest complaints I get from readers is the criticism of too many orgasms by hands and mouth for the women in my stories, so I’ve gradually cut these down. However, like most writers, there are pieces of me in almost all of my stories, and the orgasms are one of those pieces. No one seems to criticize other writers for their male protagonists cumming three or four times every time they have sex, but I’m getting killed for my women having six to 12 orgasms by hands and mouth. You can look this up folks, but it’s much easier to get a woman off 12 times than for a guy to come three times. If you know what you’re doing and have the desire to do it, getting a woman to orgasm by hands and mouth isn’t that tough. Total truth here, many times I have gotten more than 20 orgasms out of a woman in the span of several hours, particularly when the women are younger. And, as a woman ages, the intensity of her orgasms increases, but the frequency drops, probably a homeostasis kind of thing.
So for this story, I’ve gone back to factual. I apologize to those who can’t keep up.
That said, I hope you enjoy the following.
*****
Chantel was riding me cowgirl with wild abandon, bouncing up and down on my hard dick like a Russian gymnast at the Olympics. Her eyes were closed, the look on her face appeared to be a combination of pleasure and pain. Her soft moans intensified into an animal-like, shrill squeal as orgasm overtook her body, making her writhe like a marionette being controlled by someone with palsy.
She collapsed on my chest when she was done, breathing deeply, while I lay there smiling, moving softly inside her, still buried hard and deep. After about a minute of recovery, she sat up on my dick, smiled contentedly, and resumed sliding up and down, with my hands on her waist. Super-excited by her orgasm and the resulting flailing, I lasted only about two more minutes before I came, squirting my load up inside her wonderfully tight, young pussy.
She rode me until I got soft enough to slip from her pussy, then she laid back down on my body, with her head on my chest. She was a little bit of a thing, maybe 5 foot, 110 pounds, with porcelain skin, shoulder-length dirty blonde hair and pretty good size tits for a little woman.
She was also 24 years old, almost young enough to be my granddaughter.
We had started off the evening with me putting lotion all over the upper half of her body, slowly rubbing it into her tits and nipples. She loves the feel of me playing with her nipples, and they showed their appreciation immediately, pointing out like arrowheads. I then trailed the lotion down her stomach, stopping just above her completely shaven pussy. I found her hard clitoris with my thumb and index finger, and 15 minutes later she was three orgasms deep and had four fingers from my left hand deep inside of her. I brought her off three more times with my hand, then straddled her stomach and started rubbing my hard cock on her slick tits. I then moved up further and stuck my dick into her waiting mouth, and she sucked on my hardness for about five minutes before I pulled out of her steamy mouth. I moved back down to her hot slit and resumed my attack on her clit, bringing her to four more hard, noisy orgasms. I then slid further down the bed until my mouth was aligned with her pussy, and I had an ass cheek in each hand.
At that point I drove my tongue into her for everything I was worth, licking first deep inside of her opening and then finishing up with a lick and a suck on her clit. That’s when the screaming started in earnest, as did the bucking. She kept trying to buck away from me, but I had handfuls of asscheeks, and wasn’t letting her go anywhere. Six more orgasms later we were both exhausted, so I flipped her over, set her on her knees and took her doggy, which earned me yet one more orgasm of appreciation before I blew my load.
I came about as powerfully as I can these days, not being a kid anymore, and after half-resting on her body and half on the bed, I slowly slid out of Chantel and cradled her against me in my arms, giving her a passionate lip-lock as I did so. My nose was a little sore from her literally banging my face, and I could feel that my lips were swollen for the same reason. Chantel had a look of exhaustion and bliss on her face, and I knew that my efforts were more than appreciated.
“Life is good,” I thought to myself as we both drifted off to sleep. “Sometimes you do find the light when you head into a dark tunnel.”
++++++++++
Let me introduce myself. I am Mickey Olerud, 60-year-old divorced average guy, father of two grown children, grandfather of two who are a little younger than my partner of the other night.
About that partner … Chantel is the youngest of my regular sex partners. I’m not bragging … well I guess I am … but I’ve got four women whom I sleep with on a regular basis. There’s nothing serious with any of them, although I know of at least two that would like to get serious, but it’s just good — no make that great — sex, no strings attached, almost any time I call and want a date, or they call me for the same. I know, it sounds too ridiculously easy and uncomplicated, but that’s because it is. And I owe it all to my cheating ex-wife, Traci, for opening up the door to this great life.
Fifteen years ago, I was a happily married man with a kid having graduated from college and one a sophomore in college. My beautiful wife, Traci, and I were still getting used to this empty-nester thing, and at 45 we were enjoying a sexual renaissance, if you will. With no kids around, we were free to fool around whenever the mood struck us, like we did before we started having children, and we never had to worry that Traci might get a little too loud, which was always a concern because she was a bit of a screamer. With no kids around she started to really turn it loose, and once encouraged, I tried even more to pleasure the woman I loved. For the last 18 months or so we had to keep the windows closed and the air running in the house during the warmer months because we didn’t want the neighbors to think I was killing her.
Traci and I met in college in our sophomore years. We started dating as juniors, and got married a few months after we graduated. I honestly don’t know how I wound up being lucky enough to land her. She was gorgeous — long blonde hair, blue eyes, about 5-5, 120 pounds with big firm boobs and a cute bubble butt. She was definitely above my pay grade, but despite all of her admirers in college, she chose me — a skinny 6-footer with a mop of unruly hair who was majoring in electrical engineering.
I got a job with a major engineering firm on the East Coast soon after we were married and Traci, who got her degree in finance, went into management at an investment firm. We made good money and were living pretty nice. Lauren came along two years later, and then Molly was born two years after that. Since I was making pretty good money, we could afford for Traci to be a stay-at-home mother, which she was until both kids were in school. She then rejoined her old firm, and with two incomes, we decided to move to a fairly big house in a somewhat expensive neighborhood.
Life is what it is, and you deal with stuff and move on. As the kids got older life got more hectic because of their sports and clubs and what-not. I had my stuff like my golf group, and Traci had her stuff, like her theater group. I never kept close track of her comings and goings too much because I had complete trust in her, the way I assume she had complete trust in me because she never asked too many questions when I told her I was going to the bar for a couple of after-work drinks, or hitting the links with my golfing group.
How I found out Traci was cheating on me was cliché — I surprised her by getting home a day early from a business trip. I didn’t travel much, maybe three times a year, but for this one trip I was supposed to be on the West Coast for an entire week. But business got concluded a day faster than we anticipated, and my boss and I flew out of LA a day early, getting back into town at about 7 p.m. I figured I would surprise Traci so I didn’t tell her I was getting in early. As far as I knew Traci didn’t have any plans for the weekend, so I figured I’d catch her binge-watching NCIS or some other favorite show. She didn’t tell me when I left she had any plans.
Before we headed for our respective homes, Bob, my boss, and I decided to stop at a place near the airport he was familiar with for a drink or two. Our trip had been very successful and should pay big dividends in the future, so he was buying. I was in for a couple of drinks.
We took a table near the center of the bar and we both ordered a Monkey Shoulder over ice. I had never been in the place before but Bob has, and he said they did a nice, quiet business catering to those who were on their way up and were trying not to be too ostentatious about it. Serving Monkey Shoulder told me they understood good but not overstated Scotch.
After about five minutes, I watched Bob’s eyes get big as saucers as he looked at someone or something behind me. Not really in the mood to turn completely around, I asked Bob to tell me what he was gawking over.
He quickly dried the drool from the corner of his mouth and said, “Holy shit, Mick. This young guy just walked in with this babe who’s probably old enough to be his mother, and she’s walking around with her big boobs practically hanging out of her dress. I bet this kid’s banging mommy seven ways from Sunday! Jesus!”
With that build-up, I just had to turn around and look. Bob wasn’t exaggerating. She was built like the proverbial brick shithouse, and her big tits were falling out of her dress.
“I hope she’s not banging that kid seven ways from Sunday,” I deadpanned to Bob, “Because that’s my wife, Traci.”
I slowly turned back around in my chair as Bob literally spit up his drink.
“Smooth move, Bob. She’s not looking over here now, is she?” I asked.
“No,” he replied while reaching for a napkin. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Jesus, Mick. What are you going to do? I suppose you could go over there and break the little bastard’s neck. I think you can do that and get away with it in this state — call it under extreme duress.”
I work out lifting weights on a regular basis, and at least on the surface it appeared I probably could break the bastard’s neck. But being an engineer, I’m more prone to analyze things carefully than react emotionally, and while a small part of me wanted to beat the guy to a pulp, a large part of me wanted to shake the shit out of my wife and found out what was going on — and why. So I made Bob sit there with me and drink while the two of them had a nice meal. Bob could see everything going on at their table, and reported everything from hand-holding to an intimate kiss. When they finally got up to leave, Bob paid our bill, and I told him that I wouldn’t be in tomorrow before I followed the lovers out at a safe distance.
“R-r-right. Gotcha,” he stammered.
They had apparently come to the bar together, because Traci got into his car and they left, with me following in my car. They drove to what I’m guessing is his house in a pretty good neighborhood. I made note of the address as I drove on by and went to our house. It was 8:30 p.m.
Traci never made it home that night. Since she didn’t expect me until around supper time tomorrow, she didn’t have to worry about going home.
I obviously didn’t get much sleep that night. I tried to sleep in our bed, but the more I thought about what I had just witnessed, the angrier I got, so I went downstairs to the family room sofa and slept fitfully there. Before morning, I took my car back out of the garage and parked it down a street a bit, knowing Traci wouldn’t see it because she wouldn’t be looking for it.
The garage entry into the house leads into the kitchen, so about 7 a.m. I made myself a big pot of coffee and some toast and sat down at the kitchen table, facing the doorway, with the lights off. I was three cups of coffee in when I heard the garage door go up at about 9, and Traci came waltzing in about 20 seconds later.
The look on her stunned face was priceless as I snapped a photo of her with my iPhone. In fact, she was so shocked to find anyone in the kitchen, let alone me, that she screamed and fell back against the door that she had just closed behind her. When it dawned on her that it was me in the kitchen, she screamed again, but this time it was the words “Holy shit!”
“What the fuck are you even doing home?!” she half-asked, half-ranted at me.
Then she must have realized what she looked like. Her lipstick was mostly rubbed off, her eye makeup had run down on her cheeks, her hair was completely disheveled, and was that a little bit of dried cum at the corners of her mouth? Why yes; yes it was. And then there was the hooker dress, which I had never seen before last night.
“It’s not what it looks like, Mickey!” she started to shriek at me, but I quickly held up both hands like I was the victim of a hold-up, and she shut up.
“I’m sorry, Traci, but it’s exactly what it looks like. Young Jack Axelrod and you must have had yourselves quite a time of it last night. I bet he’s even going into work late this morning, too, at the university.
She stammered, staggered, stammered some more, and finally ran upstairs and into the master bathroom. I heard the shower going soon after, and while it was running I quietly unlocked the bathroom door, found her used panties on the floor, put them into a plastic bag for evidence if I needed them, and left the room, all without her knowing I was there.
++++++++++
I started the evening off with Stephanie in a somewhat uncomfortable “69,” gently playing with and licking her pussy. I say somewhat uncomfortable because at my age, getting into and out of a 69 is not so easy anymore. But Stephanie really likes it, so to me that’s all that matters. I’m doing it.
At first I rubbed along her pussy lips, which gets her motor going, then I inserted first one, then two fingers into her steamy pussy. Two orgasms later, I started using my tongue along her lips while still fingering her engorged clit, and she started her bucking bronco act. She had four more orgasms this way, with each getting progressively bigger, and she started to get louder with each one. At this point I figure it’s time to move down to the end of the bed and get my face in there, and although she is somewhat rough on me, the four really hard orgasms I got out of her were more than worth it. A few minutes later, I got another Big O, but I could feel that her body was tiring out, so after the last one I climbed up next to her and we both caught our breath for a bit. She didn’t mind that my face was covered in her juices as I kissed her passionately. She jerked on my cock to get me back as hard as I was earlier, and when I thought I was ready, I plunged into her in one quick stroke because she was wonderfully, sloppily wet.
Ten minutes later, I was making unintelligible noises myself as I emptied my load into her. I moved off to the side and we laid facing each other, entwined in each other’s bodies and playing kissy-face like teenagers.
At 51, Stephanie was just coming into her own, I felt. Sure, she no longer had the body of a 25-year-old, but considering she’d had two kids, the time she spent in the gym in the last several years had definitely paid dividends. The little bit of sag she had in her boobs was natural and turned me on way more than it discouraged me. She had medium-length brown hair surrounding an angular face, with sparkling blue eyes.
And while she didn’t have the body of a 25-year-old, she was a confident, mature woman who was ready to be someone’s lifelong partner if they were smart enough to see it. Me, I saw it, but no, I wasn’t ready to go the lifelong route, so for the time being Stephanie and I were very good friends, with great benefits.
Stephanie and I have been … ahem … dating for the last six years. With a little bit of help from yours truly, she has become an amazing sex partner, and can give as good as she gets. She can be both demure and aggressive, but when she gets wound up, you’d better be ready, because she is physical enough to put a hurt on you with that toned body. Added to this is the fact that she is a screamer, and when we’re rolling I sometimes get worried that some neighbor will call the cops on us.
Stephanie was married for 15 years to her high school sweetheart before he decided he wanted a younger model when Stephanie turned 35. We’ve been dating since she was 45, and I think she gets hotter every year.
“Life is good,” I thought to myself as we both drifted off to sleep.
++++++++++
Traci contended that she didn’t have sex with Jack Axelrod that night. She explained that her makeup was smeared because they went dancing and she was sweating. She explained that she didn’t come home that night because it was late, and since she didn’t expect me home, there was no sense for her to be on the road that late, so she slept on Axelrod’s sofa.
Yeah, right.
When I didn’t say anything, she took that as a sign of weakness, and went on the offensive.
“How do you know his name? You’ve been spying on me, haven’t you,” she shrilled at me.
“Actually, I haven’t, but that’s not a bad idea,” I replied. “I saw you two last night at the bar and then I followed you two to his house.” I held out my hand. “Phone. Now!”
Traci reluctantly handed me the phone from her purse. I knew she didn’t have it password protected because she is bad at remembering passwords and she knew I’d never betray her trust by looking at her phone without permission. But that was before yesterday.
There were three phone calls and four texts from Jack Axelrod from the last month. All indications were that this affair had been going on for at least that long.
“Well at least he’s not married so only one of you needs a divorce,” I sneered.
“Oh, no, Mick, we don’t need a divorce. I told you, we didn’t have sex. We just danced. And those texts are not about what you think,” she said, surprisingly upbeat.
“So you’re telling me that when I have your panties from last night tested, I’m not going to find Jack Axelrod’s sperm in them?” I shot back.
Traci turned bright red. So much for 24 years of marriage.
“For God’s sake, Traci. He’s 28 years old. That’s only five years older than our oldest child. Do I not do it for you anymore. Don’t you love me anymore? How could you do this to me?”
“But I do love you, Mick,” she responded tearfully. “I don’t love Jack. This was just sex with a younger guy with a bigger dick. This means nothing. I was always planning on coming back home to you every night.”
Yes, I did catch the phrase, “bigger dick.”
“So because he’s got a bigger dick you just figured you didn’t need me anymore. What about all those orgasms I give you with my hands and mouth? What about all those screaming orgasms? Does none of it count?”
“That’s great and all, Mick, almost magical, but what his dick does to me is magical. I get so wound up it’s like I go off to another world for a while before I float back to earth. You don’t do that to me.
“But you’re still my husband; still the man I love; and if you can have a little patience with me I’m sure we can work this out.”
“You must be fucking nuts if you think I’m letting this continue,” I said as I grabbed my car keys and headed out the door.
++++++++++
Livie ground her pussy into my face with wild abandon while my tongue worked its magic. She was dripping her juices and the KY lube I had used on her down my face and neck, and she was making little grunting noises as she got closer to her third orgasm of the night. Her knees were on either side of my head, and her small boobs were jiggling in pace with her movements. My hands were on her hips, then with one quick movement I darted my tongue directly into her love canal. She gave an otherworldly moan, stiffened her body, then began to writhe about like someone was hitting her with a high-powered taser. Her eyes rolled back in her head, she squirted all over my face, and despite the fact that she was drowning me, I gave out a quick laugh.
She collapsed onto my chest and face for a few seconds while I gave her a chance to come down and breathe, then I restarted my tongue-work. Two more amazing orgasms followed in the next five minutes before I flipped both of us over onto her back, with my face still buried in her pussy. But at least now that I was on top, she wasn’t pouring fluid into both my mouth and nose, so I wasn’t as concerned about the very real possibility of drowning. But, oh, what a way to go! I’d be a legend!
I sucked her clit into my mouth at that point, and she started a low growl which went on for about a minute as her body shook violently. Damn, I love this shit!
I gave her a few more minutes rest, then I mounted her missionary at full hardness. Ten minutes later she was cumming again, and just a few seconds later I joined her, pumping for all I was worth. She made me feel like a kid again!
The object of my affection, Livie, is a 60-year-old woman, the oldest of my partners, but she can still rock and roll. She came into my life about four years ago. She’s about 5-7, 150 pounds, and her body could be mistaken for that of a 45-year-old. Her boobs are small, but her ass is just the right size, and she still has the flexibility to wrap her legs around me from time to time. And she has the desire of a nymph! Her first husband, who was 10 years older than her, died about a dozen years ago, probably with a huge smile on his face. She wasn’t as good about picking out a second husband, though, and she divorced him after just three years because he just couldn’t keep up. If it wasn’t for the 2.5 mg. of Cialis I take daily, I’m not sure I could either. The only concession she’s made to age is the use of lube to get her started. Works for me, and it definitely works for her.
We were both sweaty, the bed was a mess, and I was practically encased in Livie’s fluids and KY. But clean-up would have to wait. Livie turned over on her side, I spooned right in with her and we drifted off to sleep.
“Life is good,” I thought to myself before I fell asleep.
++++++++++
I had Traci served with divorce papers on the grounds of adultery in a month. Until the tests came back positive for semen from one Jack Axelrod, Traci kept to her story of not having sex with him. She turned a nice shade of crimson when I gave her the lab report to read.
“It’s just sex, Mickey. There’s nothing else to it. Let me have my fun for a while — what do you guys call it — a hall pass, and then I’ll be yours for the rest of our lives. And I’ll be so grateful you gave me this gift that I’ll be repaying you forever,” she said, with emphasis on the last word.
“Traci, that’s never going to happen,” I said as sincerely and calmly as I could. “I won’t share you with another man. When I said ‘I do,’ I meant that for life. If you were to tell me right now that you’d quit this foolishness, I’d welcome you back with open arms, despite the fact that you’ve plunged a knife deep into my very soul.”
Traci put her eyes down and started to tear up. Her lack of answer told me everything I needed to know. OK, on to the divorce.
Lauren and Molly weren’t very happy when I informed them of the divorce, and they were less happy when I informed them why. I didn’t feel the need to gloss over anything nor cover up for Traci. She was the one who cheated; let her worry about the consequences. Lauren asked me if I had any proof or was this supposition on my part. I told her about seeing her mother enter the bar with another man, then leaving later with the same man and going over to his house and spending the night. I also told her that I had physical proof of the infidelity if she wanted that, too. Molly asked me about why I didn’t just confront them at the bar, and I told them that I didn’t because they would have just lied their way out of it and not have given me proof of what I was pretty sure was more than a one-time thing.
“Besides,” I added. “Murder is still illegal in this state.”
They both apologized to me for doubting me at all.
Traci didn’t fight the divorce and we split our assets down the middle. The divorce was finalized in four months.
++++++++++
Like most evenings with Erica, this one started off with low lights and light conversation before we moved on to intertwined bodies, kissing, and gentle petting. We gradually worked up to deep, intimate kissing and fondling before clothes started coming off. I gently rubbed her large boobs, paying particular attention to her sensitive nipples. She was moaning into my mouth with my tongue stuck deep inside her mouth.
Of my current four girls, Erica has been with me the longest at just over nine years. She is a 38-year-old mother of twin girls who has been divorced for 12 years. Seems her husband also had a thing for a neighbor a few houses down, and I guess it was a nasty divorce that left deep scars. I know that a night with Erica is going to require a slow, gentle touch to gradually release the goddess within. I’m willing to take that time, because once you get to the soft, creamy center, so to speak, it’s all worth it.
Erica is a long-haired brunette with big brown eyes, 38DD tits and an ass in proportion to those big jugs. Her waist looks tiny in comparison and she draws a lot of looks from the men, and some women, it seems. She could date a lot more than she does, but then, there’s that scar tissue left over.
I took my tongue out of her mouth and slowly licked my way down to those boobs, licking and nibbling on her areolas and nipples. When she started to purr like a cat, I knew it was time to lick my way down to her pussy and get things rolling, which usually starts with my flattened tongue licking up against her opening a few times before I stick out my tongue, tighten it up and insert it as deep as I can get it into her. I felt her first orgasm wash over her in waves, and I let her ride it all the way out before she stopped writhing about a minute later. I then repeated the procedure twice more, each time getting a stronger orgasm in response. By the end of the third orgasm, she was holding on to my hair with both hands, pulling my face into her sex.
After that I moved beside her and started inserting fingers into one very wet, willing pussy. A minute later I had all but my thumb inside of her, rubbing her velvety smoothness in a circular motion. I waited until just as she started to cum again before clamping on her mouth with my mouth, trying to get my tongue into the back of her throat. She bucked wildly through that orgasm, and I stopped kissing her and gave her a little break for breathing room. I then started rubbing around and on her clitoris, eliciting two more orgasms and a small gutteral growl. I then moved back down between her legs with my face and licked her to another orgasm before sensing she was running out of steam. I scrambled to my knees and got between her thighs, sinking my incredibly hard dick between those pussy lips in one bold stroke. Ten minutes later I shot my load, but I stayed inside her semi-hard for another few minutes, supporting myself on my arms mostly, while we said unintelligible things to each other. It’s part of her process — I don’t understand it — but I know she loves it, so we do it. I then slowly removed myself from her, and we laid there awhile facing each other, smiling.
“Life is good,” I thought to myself as we drifted off.
++++++++++
I don’t think I even looked seriously at another woman for two years after the divorce. None of the usual “what if” when I spotted a good-looking women. Nothing. It was like that part of me was dead. I did my job and went home to an empty apartment after we sold the house. At least I learned how to cook, so I didn’t have to grab some fast food or Pop Tarts every night. I even thought about buying a dog for companionship, but that would have required a commitment that I just wasn’t ready to make.
Then one Saturday after Bob and I had just finished a round of golf, we were sitting in the bar when a 20-something-year-old goddess walked by unattached.
“Jesus, I’d love to stick my dick into that,” I said almost under my breath to Bob.
Bob looked up from the scorecard he was reading and said, “Well, why don’t you then? You’re single. You can fuck anyone you like … if they’re up for it, too.”
And that’s when it hit me. I was single. And I could fuck anybody I wanted … providing they wanted me to.
“You’re a God-damned genius, Bob,” I said to him as I got up from the table and followed the goddess into the clubhouse dining room.
The goddess, whose name turned out to be Avery Billings, said yes to my request for her phone number, and then three days later said yes to my request for a date. I’m not sure why she said yes. I mean, I was a decent-looking 47-year-old man who hit the gym regularly, but she was an absolute goddess: long, silky blonde hair, large blue eyes and a well-proportioned and toned body. She kind of looked like Christie Brinkley in her heyday. Those are not the kind of women who should be going out with Mickey Olerud, but she said yes.
Bob was perhaps more shocked than I was when I told him she said yes. We had discussed my lack of interest in women several times over the last two years, and he seemed genuinely concerned for me as a long-time friend. Hell, his wife, Sierra, even offered to fix me up with one of her single friends so I could get a jump-start on the dating scene, so to speak.
I took Avery to the best Italian restaurant in town, as much because the way the booths sit they are fairly private, as for the food. Seems the goddess was a 28-year-old scientist with a government agency in our city. She was smart, funny, and engaging, with her brains being every bit the match to her beauty. I sat there enthralled with her stories about plant pollination, not understanding a whole lot but completely captivated by the sound of her voice.
She seemed to be somewhat taken by me as well. I kept my small talk upbeat and intelligent, and resisted the urge to drool all over her. She noticed that I wasn’t wearing a ring (neither was she) and asked if I still lived with my mother or was divorced. I told her the truth but kept the information sparse because I didn’t want Traci intruding on my night.
We walked through our city’s downtown entertainment district after finishing our meal. Five minutes into the walk, she reached for my hand, and I easily slipped her small hand into mine.
When I took her home, she invited me in for coffee, and I accepted. We sat in her kitchen and talked for about an hour before I figured I’d better not wear out my welcome, so I stood up and said my good-nights. She walked me to the door, and when I told her I had a great night, she got on her tiptoes, reached up and gave me a soft peck on the lips.
“That had better mean I get a second date, mister,” she said softly but clearly.
I think I floated to my car and I think my car floated its way home that night. I don’t remember driving home.
We didn’t make love until our third date, and we did so at her apartment after a night of food, drink, and dancing. I’m not a magician on the dance floor, but Avery wanted me to go; I think maybe as some sort of a test. Hell, I would have walked through fire for this woman, so dancing was no big deal.
We were on the floor almost the whole time we were at the club — fast songs, slow songs, it didn’t matter. A couple of times a guy tried to cut in on us, but I stopped him the first time and
Avery took care of it the second time. At least to me, it seemed like it was just us, and no one else mattered.
I think we both knew what was going to happen when we got back to her apartment. I have to admit, I was pretty keyed up. I hadn’t been with a woman since before I divorced Traci, and at 47 I wasn’t exactly a kid anymore.
“I might be a little rusty,” I said to Avery as she slowly undressed me.
“I’ll be gentle with you then,” she responded back.
Apparently Avery’s interpretation of gentle and mine are two very different things. After I licked up her body from her knees to her neck with my tongue, she surprised me by grabbing me by the shoulders and rolling us both over. She then climbed on board cowgirl, taking only a few strokes to get herself impaled on my dick as she was already hot and wet. I reached up and squeezed her gorgeous melons in my hands while she rhythmically pounded me, so to speak, until her eyes rolled back in her head and she writhed in orgasm for what must have been a minute. When she finally finished, much of the middle part of my body was soaked in her juices. She put her face down on my chest and seemed to fight for her breath for a bit, but just as I was getting concerned that she might pass out, her breathing regulated and she lifted her head off of my chest. She then slowly started to ride on my still-hard dick, and five minutes later I had my own moment in heaven, pumping everything I had saved for two years inside of her.
She climbed off of me and laid down next to me, and I felt like a damn kid again as we laid there and nibbled on each other’s lips. After about 10 minutes of that, she looked at me with hungry eyes and asked how much longer it would be until I could get hard again. When I told her it would probably be close to an hour because she completely drained me, she scoffed, and looking me right in the eyes, said, “Way wrong answer, mister.”
Just as I was thinking I was about to disappoint my goddess, she slid down to my crotch, took my soft dick in her mouth, and showed me that I was way wrong. Five minutes later I was rock hard again, she was on her knees doggy and we were going at it full speed. Since I had come only a little earlier, I was good for a pretty long time, and we were able to slip in missionary position for a while before we reconfigured as she put her heels on my shoulders, allowing me incredible access to her incredibly hot pussy. I thought my head was going to explode when I came that time.
I had never eaten pussy on a woman previously after cumming inside her, but I felt since she had sucked me hard again with both of our juices on my dick, that I should return the favor, especially since I knew how I did my “best” work. So once I got my wits back about me, it was my turn to slide down to her crotch. Once there, I started by nibbling on her outer lips, and she sprang back to life almost immediately, giggling throatily as I started to work. Between both of our juices, she was drenched, and soon so was my face as I put my tongue as deep into her love canal as it would go. As I started fucking her with my tongue, she helped matters by bucking on my face before squirting a geyser on me. I was shocked, and at first I thought she peed, but the taste was all woman. I was never able to get Traci to squirt, so this was new territory for me, and once I figured it out, I really liked this new wrinkle. I made her do it twice more over the next half-hour before she pleaded with me to stop because she was exhausted.
“Holy shit, Mickey,” she said as I kissed my way back up her body. “I’ve never done that with anyone before.”
“Well, I guess I’m not just anyone then, am I?” I asked smugly.
After a few quiet minutes, Avery asked softly, “So, if you’re this gifted, how did your ex-wife ever give you up? Are you a serial killer or something?”
We really hadn’t talked too much about my marriage before, and although she made a joke out of it, I sensed that Avery wanted to hear more of the story. So, I told her.
“Seems I’m not gifted below my waist, and her boyfriend was,” I stated flatly.
“So you’re the victim of BDS? You never told me your ex-wife is an idiot,” she answered.
“What’s BDS?” I queried.
“Big Dick Syndrome, you dumbass. I thought everybody knew what that was. That’s where a woman finds a guy with a big dick, falls in love with it, not him, and usually doesn’t live happily ever after.
“It’s sort of like when a guy marries a woman with big boobs just because she has big boobs. Might be fun for a while, but sooner or later …
“Now I’m not saying that’s it’s not great to be filled to the brim with hard dick, but there’s more to sex — and life in general, than a partner just having a big dick. When that becomes apparent, those relationships usually end up on the trash pile. I know you guys very often don’t believe it when a woman says that size isn’t everything, but it’s the truth. Look at you, you’d be a great catch for any woman …”
“Hey, I’m at least average in dick size,” I interrupted.
“I didn’t mean it that way, stupid. But besides having at least an average-sized dick, you are a world-class pussy eater, and you pay attention to what’s going on in the moment. That’s worth three inches of dick right there. From what I’ve experienced and what my friends say, most big-dicked guys think it’s all about them. If the woman gets off because he’s got a big dick, that’s great, but many of them wouldn’t think of being as unselfish as you just were.”
“Wow. I never knew that, nor would I probably have thought about it that way. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she responded. “By the way, did I hear you correctly? Is your wife no longer with Mr. Big Dick?”
“According to my kids, they broke up after about a year. I’ll have to believe them. I don’t speak to her nor follow her escapades. That love started dying the day I caught her cheating, and by this point might be at embers stage. It was a great run while it lasted; well for most of while it lasted, but pretty much now all she is to me is the woman with whom I had two amazing daughters.”
“Kind of proves my point, doesn’t it?” she inquired.
“Wait a minute,” I spit out in shock. “So you think I just should have waited for her to come back to me after having her fun with Mr. Big Dick?”
“You didn’t listen to what I just said, you dope. Her giving him up after a short run because there is more to a relationship than just a big dick is what I said. But no, no man should have to wait on a woman to “come to her senses” before he moves on. Some men can and do, some men can’t and won’t. Everybody is different. While I personally have my views on what is right and wrong, in general it’s nobody’s decision except the cuckolded party.”
“And from your personal standpoint?” I asked.
“While I’m sorry for your pain, her loss is my gain. I think she’s an idiot.”
Did I say Avery was a goddess?
I moved in with Avery after three months of dating, and six months later I bought an engagement ring. My daughters had met her several times by that point and both fell in love with her. It seems the karmic shift in the universe had come back my way. I intended to give her the ring at an intimate dinner I had planned for Saturday night.
And then karma shifted away from me. Thursday afternoon Avery called me at work to tell me she would be a little late, but she had a big announcement and she was paying for dinner. We set up dinner for 7 at a fancy restaurant, and when I got there Traci was already seated at a table, with a guy about my age sitting at the table across from her. They were smiling and laughing, and both had flutes of champagne. My immediate reaction when I saw them was anger, and I thought about turning on my heel and walking out, but then I resolved to go to the table, and, if it was what I suspected, this time I was going to kick the shit out of the guy.
I told the woman at the desk whose table I was looking for, and she led me to Avery’s table. As I got close, Avery spotted me, jumped up and practically threw herself into my arms. She planted a big, deep kiss on my lips in front of whoever this was, so at the least I knew this wasn’t a literal kiss-off.
“Mickey, this is Dr. Ken Otani, director of XYZ Enterprises, one of the leading scientific communities on the West Coast. He just offered me a spot on their team in San Diego. I’d be working on plant-based research for a cancer cure.”
Dr. Otani stood up and we shook hands. I tried to look as happy as Avery seemed to be, but in the back of my mind I knew this was the beginning of the end for us. This was Avery’s dream job, the major leagues of her profession. There was no way she was turning this down to stay here with me, and unless I was ready and willing to pack up my life and go with her right now, it was best that I do the right thing and set her free.
The champagne flowed and the evening was great. Avery and Otani laid out her job for me, told me all about the huge salary and tremendous perks. The salary was even larger than the $250K I was pulling down. Everything sounded great, but after an hour I was tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“So when do you start?” I asked finally.
Avery kind of blanched at the question, the first time I had ever seen that reaction from her in our relationship. She’d already made her decision, without discussing it first with me. That told me everything I needed to know. She might love me — even deeply — but not deep enough for me to have a say in what was probably the most important decision in her life. Apparently my love for her was just a little deeper, because in my pocket was a sign that said she would have a say in every decision in my life from now on. But apparently that sign was going to remain exactly where it was.
“Nov. 2. A month from now,” Avery answered deadpan.
I didn’t say anything, just kind of sat there and stared blankly at her, before Otani, not reading the dynamic of the situation at all, offered a toast to “the next XYZ superstar.”
We all three touched glasses, and Avery joined right back into the festive mood that Otani was in. The party was over for me, however, and I don’t think I said 50 more words the rest of the night.
Avery was still on her high when we got in, and between her news and the champagne she was ready for some action. I, on the other hand, was nowhere near ready for action, and, in fact, I seriously needed to talk things out. Avery tried her very best to get me ready to go, but what’s the expression about beating a dead horse?
“So this is how it ends, then,” she finally said. “Can’t we at least talk about this first?”
“That’s exactly what we should have done, and could have done,” I responded. “But you made the decision first. Now we’d be talking about it second … and there doesn’t seem to be any reason to do that.”
“You could always come with me to San Diego. A guy with your skill and intelligence could find a job easy and be making big money in no time … West Coast dollars big money as a matter of fact.”
“Believe me, I thought about this all evening while you two were yucking it up. But it always came down to you making the decision for you, and not us making the decision for us. I’m second in command at a solid company, and someday I’ll be numero uno. I’ve been with this company for more than 25 years, and maybe, for me, this is my dream job. But you never gave that a consideration. Apparently I overestimated your feelings for me.”
I tapped the ring box at the bottom of my right-hand pocket. I didn’t reach in and pull it out. Avery had no idea I had been carrying around her engagement ring with me for a week. The gesture wasn’t for her anyway. It was for me.
It was quiet in the apartment for the next couple of days as neither of us did much communicating. Finally, on the third night, after dinner, Avery came over to my La-Z-Boy and crawled in on top of me. She put her mouth up to my right ear and whispered, “I’m sorry. I was incredibly selfish. Can’t we do some negotiating on this?”
“No,” I responded simply. “You need to do this — be Otani’s next XYZ Superstar. Set the world on fire. Take no prisoners. I know it. You know it. Now get off Little Mickey so he can grow and we can finish this in the bedroom.”
We made love and fucked like it was our last time for the next several weeks, until it truly was our last time.
Avery took several trips out to the Left Coast and picked out an apartment and had her stuff and car shipped out there prior to leaving. On our actual last night together, I gave her my best five-star performance. She squirted several times during the course of the evening and night and had about a couple dozen orgasms. I’ve done more, but not with that kind of intensity. Despite the fact that my heart was breaking, I wanted her to know that she was loved.
When her alarm rang in the morning, we both got out of bed really gingerly. She walked a little bow-legged, and I had what was basically a concussion headache from all the banging on me she was doing with her bucking pussy. But we were both smiling. I washed her entire body for the last time.
She had one more gift for me as she was leaving.
“Mick, can you do me one more favor,” she asked gently. “A co-worker … well, I guess now a former co-worker, hasn’t really had things going her way since she divorced her louse of a husband a couple of years ago. Could you maybe give her a call, and take her out for a nice meal … and if things work out maybe show her she’s still a desirable woman?
“She already knows all about you and your magic hands and mouth because I bragged about you all the time, so don’t make me a liar, OK?”
“Promise,” I said as I held up my right hand like I was swearing in to office.
She handed me a piece of paper.
And then I stuck my magic tongue as far as I could into Avery’s mouth for the last time.
We both had tears in our eyes when we broke the embrace. She carried her small bag to the waiting taxi.
Avery’s last gift to me turned out to be Kathy Alspaugh, a 43-year-old redhead with a solid body and the skinny legs of a 5-10 stork. She had a 16-year-old son who she shared custody of with her ex-husband, a former middleweight boxer who occasionally smacked her around until she had him arrested for abuse. She was married for 12 years and had been divorced for the last 10.
Avery’s last gift also turned out to be the first of my “girls.” Kathy and I dated on and off for about six years, and during that time my current lifestyle came into existence. Since neither Kathy nor I wanted to be tied down, we both agreed that we would date around, but while we were bareback between us, if we started seeing others, we would both make sure condoms were used until we could get a doctor’s report from them. All one-night stands would need to be with condoms.
The system turned out to work well, although I have to admit I got stupid for a while and had a string of girls. Now 49, that proved too much for me to handle physically, and I quickly figured out that four was a good number. I could basically see all four within a two-week period, so nobody felt left out. I also found it much easier to keep track of just four women’s desires and likes.
Every now and then I lose a “girl” to some other guy when they’d go exclusive, and I’m good with that because, honestly, I want all my partners to be happy. I can’t fault any woman for leaving me to be exclusive with somebody else. We always leave as friends, and I will always cherish the memories each has given me.
Who knows? Maybe someday I’ll be the one going exclusive, and then …
++++++++++
There’s an old saying about revenge that says something like “the best revenge is a life well lived.” I never really gave that too much thought until a couple of years ago, when I got a call from my younger daughter, Molly. I keep in regular contact with my daughters and their growing families. I’m a very proud grandfather. And they know of my dating arrangements. In fact, through the years, they’ve both become attached to several of my “girls,” and have sometimes taken a rooting interest for one.
“Hey, Dad, Mom wants you to call her,” Molly said after the opening pleasantries. “Said she’s ready to settle down and grow old with you.”
“Wh-what the fuck?” I stammered.
I was at a complete loss here. With the exception of a few grunts when we had family get-togethers that I just didn’t want to miss, I hadn’t spoken to my ex-wife in 13 years. While it’s tough to just stop loving somebody cold turkey after being married more than 20 years, I was doing my best to do just that. There were no occasional conversations, no notes, nothing. I just acted as if she no longer existed. What the hell was she talking about; growing old with me? Why screw with me after 13 years?
After her affair ended with Jack Axelrod, Traci dated around some before finding husband No. 2, a real estate broker named Steve Gillespie, about three years later. He was a few years older than her at 52, and both my daughters told me he seemed to be a good guy. I never met the guy. I wasn’t invited to the wedding, which was good, because I wouldn’t have gone anyway. When he came on the scene, I stopped going to the family gatherings that I knew Traci would be at. Let them have their grandparent time with no pressure from my presence. I would show up about a week later, sometimes with one of my “girls” with me. They especially liked Stephanie.
About the only good thing I can say about Steve Gillespie is that he wasn’t Jack Axelrod, and I didn’t want to punch him. Oh yeah, when Traci married him I stopped having to pay alimony.
The marriage went seven years before they divorced. The girls mentioned it to me, but they knew better than to try and discuss it with me.
“You still there, Dad?” Molly asked, breaking me out of my reverie.
“Yeah, kid, still here. I’m sorry, got lost in my thoughts.”
“I’m sure you did, Dad. You going to call her? What should I tell her?”
“Tell her that I don’t have her number, and wouldn’t let you give it to me. If she wants to talk to me, she can call me. It’s the same number I’ve had since she and I were married.”
“OK.”
We talked about several other things before she hung up. Apparently she delivered the message, because two days later, Traci called me.
“What the hell do you want?” I growled as I answered the phone, figuring that the phone number I didn’t know was probably her.
“OK, Mickey, you win. You outlasted me. You punished me. Now can we quit all this nonsense and grow old together, like we originally planned about a hundred years ago? Don’t tell me you still don’t love me. I know you date a lot, but I know you’ve never been able to replace me in your heart, the same way I’ve never been able to replace you. Let’s face it, we belong together.”
“Traci, this is the second time you’ve misread me completely,” I said. “The first was when you figured I couldn’t live without you and would let you fuck Jack Axelrod. Now you think that I’ve never remarried because I still love you. I’ve had a great life since we split, Traci; especially wouldn’t trade the last 11 years for anything. We had a wonderful run up until you ended it, and after a few rocky years, I’ve had a wonderful run since. I might eventually want to settle down and grow old with somebody, but you gave up that option when you spread your legs for another man.”
I didn’t say goodbye. I just gently hung up the phone.
++++++++++
Rings are circular; you know, the circle of life thing. I reached down to my right front pants pocket and with my right hand tapped the small box holding an engagement ring. In my left hand I held Stephanie’s small hand. I put my right hand back on the small of Stephanie’s back as we made our way around the dance floor at Avery’s wedding.
I received the invitation in the mail two months ago. I haven’t talked to Avery too much in recent years — a stray text or email — but I was thrilled to get the invite. She was a pivotal presence in my life at a critical time, and if things had worked a little differently she would be Mrs. Mickey Olerud. Instead, at the ripe old age of 42, she was going to be Mrs. Joachim Nagel, a first marriage for both. She had gone on to live up to her potential as one of the world’s top plant pathologists, and had met the esteemed Dr. Nagel through her cancer research work. The two good doctors hit it off, and the rest, as they say, is history. I almost couldn’t be more pleased.
My invitation was for a plus-one, and after several weeks of thinking about it, I decided to ask Stephanie to join me on the trip. And then I got to thinking … and it just clicked for me. It was Avery helping me out one more time. She was the one who played a part in starting my current lifestyle, and she was the one playing a part in possibly ending it.
I never told anyone about buying an engagement ring for Avery all those years ago, not even her. I didn’t want that to become an issue. I knew I had to let her go. So I quietly took the ring back to my favorite jeweler, but I never got a refund. I don’t know why, but I told him to just hang on to my money, and someday I’d come back in and buy something else. Two weeks ago, I bought that something else, and I’ve been carrying it around ever since.
Stephanie and I both took two weeks off and drove out to California for the wedding, taking some detours around to hit some museums and zoos. I’ve often told people that one way to check your compatibility with another person is to take an extended car trip together, and this trip pointed out to me that I was making the right decision.
We got to San Diego a couple of days before the wedding and got to spend some time with the happy couple. I received a bone-crushing hug from the bride-to-be the first time we met up, and was introduced for the whole time as her “most special friend in the whole world.” I’m sure she filled in Joachim as to our past, but since I came out with a date he didn’t seem threatened and was actually a very nice guy — probably the kind of guy I would have chosen for Avery if I couldn’t have her.
I had filled in Stephanie about Avery years ago, stopping just shy of telling her about the engagement ring, so Stephanie knew that Avery and I shared something special. If she seemed the least bit bothered by this she never let on, and in fact, she and Avery seemed to hit it off very well.
++++++++++
My wife Stephanie was riding me cowgirl with wild abandon, bouncing up and down on my hard dick like a Russian gymnast at the Olympics. Her eyes were closed, the look on her face appeared to be a combination of pleasure and pain. Her soft moans intensified into an animal-like, shrill squeal as orgasm overtook her body, making her writhe like a marionette being controlled by someone with palsy.
She collapsed on my chest when she was done, breathing deeply, while I lay there smiling, moving softly inside her, still buried hard and deep. After about a minute of recovery, she sat up on my dick, smiled contentedly, and resumed sliding up and down, with my hands on her waist. Super-excited by her orgasm and the resulting flailing, I lasted only about two more minutes before I came, squirting my load up inside her wonderful pussy, which was still pretty tight for a 52-year-old.
“Life is good,” I thought to myself as my wife and I slowly drifted off to sleep. “Sometimes you do find the light when you head into a dark tunnel.”
Added by Hooked1957