My fling with Sandy was a drop in the bucket. It was short lived. She was hot for the married draftsman in the office and frequently attended his sex parties. I was never invited to one and although she didn’t divulge much about her goings on with him to me, she dropped enough hints and innuendo to piece together that she provided the asshole that everyone in attendance got to fuck.
Knowing the draftsman, his wife and a few of the characters he hung out with, my imagination runs wild seeing Sandy tied up in position with multiple guys lined up to rape her ass for hours on end. She would have been perfect for that. Her history of having her first husband take her ass multiple times a day for years, plus her submissive personality and desire to please, all convince me that lots of guys had their dicks deep in her ass, pounding it mercilessly for hours on end. She must have taken quarts of cum shot up her ass.
What I would have given to be single and invited, even just once. The thought of getting to pound a sloppy, cum filled asshole, seeing someone reaming it, others lined up stroking their dicks, watching the cum stream out before the next cock appears; these images turn me on. Big time.
Once Sandy was out of the picture, I went several years again with twice a year, missionary, uninspired sex. No blowjobs, no spontaneous pussy licking. Just me and my hand every chance I got. First thing in the morning and several times a day at work, I’d scurry off to the bathroom and jack off. With so much practice, it never took very long.
It was when I hired in at Kaeleigh’s office and that fateful flat tire that changed things dramatically. Kaeleigh was an uninhibited slut who adored giving blowjobs and loved getting her pussy fucked and pounded hard. She had a hard time saying no to any possibility of sex with just about anybody. We had some mind-blowing sex on a nearly daily basis for almost two years before it ended.
Then things turned ugly. My older son was diagnosed with leukemia at age 13. He passed away a year later. I was 50 yrs old. Sucker punch. We tried our best to carry on, stiff upper lip and all, but the joy was gone.
A year after his death, my wife began training to run a marathon as a fundraiser for the National Leukemia Society in memory of our son. Her training took a whole year during which time she started to develop health symptoms. Against her doctor’s advice, she went ahead and completed her marathon.
It wasn’t long after that when she was given her diagnosis of a genetic, incurable liver disease. She passed away three years after our son. Her death certificate reads “end stage liver disease” but I’m convinced that she actually died of a broken heart. Double sucker punch.
I spent the next year in a cocoon, moving through the stages after such a loss. I tried hard to keep a job and tried to make our home life as stable and positive as possible for my remaining son, then a junior in high school. I had some support from neighbors and one very close friend, Gretchen.
For the first year after my wife died, Gretchen (who, incidentally had been a previous neighbor and had a son the same age as mine) would pick my son up from school and take him to her house along with her son. She would task them to get their homework done and feed them a snack. After work, I would drive to her house and take my son home. Every day, for an entire year, the neighbors on our block would leave a complete meal for us in a cooler by the back door. The after-school latch key provided by Gretchen and the daily dinners delivered to our back door helped immensely.
Then an unusual situation occurred. Call it stars aligning, fate, or however else you see it. Both my son and Gretchen’s son played on the high school football team, BFFs. Games were every Friday night, and I attended every one of them, even the away games.
At one Friday night home game, all the adults were sitting together in the stands when a storm blew in. The officials called the game off as we all scurried under the stands to keep dry. There was a circle of people and I knew all but one of them. As is my custom, I gave everyone a hug, including the mystery woman. After some chatter as to where to go, Gretchen, who lived only 2 blocks away, invited us all to gather at her house. The storm passed and we all gathered on her outside deck. The mystery woman just sat across the table, not saying much.
Eventually, the party dwindled. I ended up in the kitchen with only Gretchen and the mystery woman. We were introduced although I have no recollection of ever having met her before. Gretchen informed me that she and mystery woman have known each other since high school. When my boys were young, these two would take them out to mystery woman’s family cottage on the lake. She had known my wife and both my boys for years but had never met me. Go figure.
We stood in the kitchen as Gretchen cleaned up the dishes and I interrogated this new mystery woman, trying to find out all I could about her. She was a couple of years younger than me, beautiful olive skin, radiant and expressive brown eyes, petite height. She gave off a strong sex vibe with an overtone of “I don’t know how to say no.”
It turns out that her name means Honorable in Italian. But everyone just calls her Rina. She and her biological sister were adopted by a local couple. They lived in a veritable mansion, three full floors, the top being a self-contained apartment (kitchen, full bath, bedroom, dining El, and a huge living room). The mezzanine level of the mansion had two bedrooms and a private bath, connected to the downstairs country kitchen and the main second floor by hidden stairs and doors so that the live-in help could remain largely unseen.
Rina’s adoptive father had passed away at an early age. When I met her, she was living with her mom in the huge mansion, just the two of them. Her sister lived in a nearby city. After I had pumped as much information out of her as I thought appropriate for our first meeting, I offered to drive her home. She only lived 2 blocks away, but it was after midnight. I dropped her off and went home thinking nothing more of our meeting.