Utter_Rotter
Member
Posts: 125
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I am a great fan of Don Jetman, and truly believe that his caps set the gold standard on this site. I also believe that he writes extremely well, and his recent writing has inspired me to try publishing something here, that I have previously published on an alternative site. I wouldn't be so presumptuous to believe that I am capable of competing with 'the Don', but I'd like you to see for yourselves.
The first three chapters are written, and will be published here over the next few days, if there is interest in seeing them. If cuckoldplace.com readers like these, I will develop the story further, and publish here. Let me know what you think.
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My wife is a sexy woman! There, I've said it. I always believed it, but I've recently begun to discover just how much sexier she is than I had previously given her credit for.
We've been married for 15 years, each in our mid-to-late thirties. I've never had cause to complain about our sex life, not in all of those years. Whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it, it was available to me. No questions, no headaches, no restrictions. She was ready for anything, at any time; responsive, available, experimental, occasionally initiating things, but not over-demanding. When work colleagues or friends would occasionally moan about their own partner's limitations in that department, I would smile inwardly. Everything in my own marriage was as I thought I wanted it to be, a bed of roses, and a veritable bowl of cherries.
Six months ago, if you had asked me, I would have said that I was entirely satisfied with our sex life, and I would have bet good money that Yvonne would say the same thing. How wrong I would have been, on both counts!
But I'm getting ahead of myself. The last six months has been a revelation to both of us.
It started simply enough. Yvonne got an opportunity for a package, as part of a restructuring, from the company where she had worked for the whole of our married life. It was an opportunity too good to be missed. A once-in-a-lifetime chance to leave with an excellent package, an excellent reference, and to seek a new challenge elsewhere. We discussed it and agreed that she should take it. The offered package gave us a financial buffer for up to 12 months. Yvonne was smart, bright, and talented and her skills were in demand. It was a no-brainer decision.
Her old company couldn't have been more generous to her. Nice gifts, nice words, nice leaving parties, nice promises to stay in touch from everyone from the MD down. After the last party, a lavish dinner in a local posh-nosh restaurant at which Yvonne was the guest of honour, Yvonne awoke the next morning to the start of the rest of her life. Our plan was that she would take some time off in order to regroup and gather her thoughts before she started looking for a new job in earnest as the summer ended.
That first morning, when she woke as an independent woman of leisure for the first time in her life, she seemed a new person. Free. It marked the start of the change in both of our lives.
She rose with me that first day, determined to make the most of the day. As I got ready for my normal day at the office, Yvonne readied herself for a morning at the gym. It was a luxury for her to be heading to the gym during "working hours". She usually had to squeeze her exercise regime into her spare time in the evening, or at weekends. Her plan was to do her workout, have a swim, and then spend the afternoon making me a rare weekday treat, in the form of a nice home-cooked dinner, instead of our usual staple weekday fare of pre-prepared ready-meals purchased from the supermarket for convenience.
I kissed her goodbye and hoped that she would enjoy her day, and I made my normal commute to the office, already looking forwards to a nice dinner with my lovely wife when I returned that evening.
When I got home that evening, everything was as I expected it, or even better. Yvonne met me with a kiss as I came through the front door. She was dressed nicely, hair and make-up like a Stepford Wife. The house was tidy, the smell of my favourite dinner wafting from the kitchen. I remember thinking to myself "if this is what having a kept woman at home is all about, then bring it on!"
Yvonne's lips lingered on mine slightly longer than a normal welcome home kiss. When she eventually pulled away and took my hand to lead me through to the dining room, where the table was already laid, I followed like a loyal puppy, my metaphorical tail wagging with the pleasure of being welcomed thus. A cold gin and tonic was placed in front of me, and my perfect wife sat with me and asked about my day, half listening to my long lazy answer, before fussing into the kitchen to serve up our meal.
Dinner was delicious, washed down with a decent bottle of red which we shared, and Yvonne kept up the perfect wife impression by keeping a lively conversation going. This was new territory for us, actually sitting together for a meal on a weekday. In the past we had invariably rushed down a TV dinner in the lounge, squeezing it in between work, bedtime and whatever chores or other activities we needed to get done in the few hours of so-called leisure time that we had.
I questioned Yvonne about how her day had gone, but the questions were gently by-passed, but in such a way as to not arouse any suspicion or concern on my part.
After dinner, Yvonne cleared away, refusing to accept any help from me on the basis that I was the busy breadwinner, and shouldn't be expected to have to do domestic duties when at home. Whilst she cleared up the dishes, I retired to the living room with the remains of the Rioja, and settled in front of the TV to catch the 9:00 pm news.
Thus far, it had been a perfect evening and we had each played our part as one half of our perfect domestic scene. I felt entirely satisfied, but with a faint niggling suspicion that things had been too perfect. I think in the back of my mind, I was wondering whether things had been so perfect because Yvonne was trying to show me how great things would be if she didn't return to work as we had previously planned.
My intuition and suspicion turned out to be right, but for all the wrong reasons.
Yvonne came to join me on the sofa, and curled her legs under her as she snuggled against me, her head on my shoulder, her left hand resting innocently on my thigh. I remember being aware of her breast pressing against my arm. Our heads turned instinctively towards each other, and I kissed her and thanked her for preparing dinner and looking so lovely. She kissed me back enthusiastically, and told me that she had been looking forward all day to my coming home so that she could see me and take care of me.
We watched the rest of the news together, terrible stories about the ongoing troubles in the Middle-East, a mass shooting in a small-town America shopping mall, and happier news about a recent UK lottery winner that had given half of his winnings to charity.
We shared the last glass of wine, and it was when I asked again how her first day of freedom had gone that things started to change.
At first, it was all innocent enough. Yvonne explained that her day had gone to plan. She had done her work-out at the gym, had a swim in the pool there, and then headed home early afternoon to spend time pampering herself with a nice bath, ex-foliation, and then she had enjoyed having the time to do her hair, nails and make-up without any pressure of time, before she started preparing dinner. When everything had been readied for my return home, she had repaired to her dressing-room to get dressed in time for me to get home around 7:00pm. She said it had been really nice to have the time, and to spend that time on her own, doing as she pleased.
I was genuinely delighted that her day had gone well for her, and I had certainly benefited from the way she had spent it. However, her next comment opened the door to the next six months of discovery that would change both of our lives, although I didn't recognise its significance at the time.
"You know," she said, "there is an entirely different population of users in the gym during working hours to the people I have seen over and over again in the evenings and at weekends."
I asked her what she meant. How were they different?
"Well, I didn't see any of the faces that I usually see, everyone was completely new. And the atmosphere is much more relaxed during working hours. The people take their time more; there are fewer people there and more machines to go around, much less rushing and pressure to complete your routine."
I commented that that must be a good thing, and she agreed.
"It is, definitely. Somehow it felt much friendlier, more intimate. I liked it!"
Whilst I had always been a bit of a gym- and salad-dodger myself, Yvonne had been a regular attendee after work, and had once won the award as "member-of-the-month", giving her a free month's membership and her picture on the "rogue's gallery" on the stairs. She had often told me about some of the regulars that she saw there; the older couple who always exercised together, the middle-aged guy that had worked hard to lose 20 pounds in weight before he lapsed for a few months, and when he returned he had found it all again, the small gang of young men who trained together after work, mostly with free-weights, and talked incessantly about diet supplements, the prima donnas who seemed to go mostly to pose, but didn't really do a lot of working out, and nor did they look like they needed to.
Now, with the benefit of six months' hindsight, I sometimes wonder to myself "if I could take back my next question and not experience everything that has happened since, would I?"
I asked her if there was anyone interesting in the "new gang".
She was hesitant at first, and when I, looked at her, she looked slightly flushed (I thought it was the wine), and she seemed to be debating with herself. I waited patiently and she eventually answered me.
"Well, yes actually. There was."
I looked at her quizzically, waiting for her to expand.
"There was one guy, very fit, I'd say late forties. He obviously works hard at keeping fit, but he seemed to take an awful lot of interest in what I was doing."
My interest was raised, both by what she had said, but also by the apparent reluctance and shyness that I had noticed before she answered me. All face-to-face conversations are a combination of verbal and non-verbal communication, and despite the apparent innocence of her spoken comment, I was definitely picking up some non-verbal signals that were hinting at something more.
"How do you mean, 'taking an interest'?" I pressed her.
"Well, he seemed to be close to me a lot, working a similar routine, often on adjacent machines or apparatus. I could feel his eyes on me a lot of the time; he was certainly watching me more than he was watching the TV screens on the wall or on the equipment."
"Did he bother you?" I asked, "I'm not surprised that he looked at you, I know how hot you looked in your gym kit when I left this morning."
"Don't be silly" she said, giving my thigh a playful slap. "He didn't bother me so much, didn't actually say anything to me. But I was very aware of him watching and looking. It affected me rather than bothered me."
"In what way did it affect you?" She paused again for a moment before answering, as if debating with herself how much to tell me, or how to respond.
"Well, being aware that he was watching was kind of disconcerting. You know how vain we girls are. I kind of thought 'well if he's going to be looking that hard, I'd better try to look my best'. He was quite attractive, and he seemed to be interested in me. I suppose I reacted to that."
She looked up at me as if for reassurance, and we kissed again before she continued.
"Anyway, I found being watched like that made me work a little harder than normal. I upped some of my weights, and increased some of the repetitions. I found myself being much more aware of what I was doing; caught myself holding in my tummy, or arching my shoulders a little more. It was quite strange; I'm usually so much into my own space when I work out, and now it was more like a performance, and I was aware that I had an audience. I felt like I was posing for him."
For some unaccountable reason, my cock stirred slightly at this statement. I remember being surprised by that reaction, and part of my parallel processing brain searching for the reason why that had happened to me. At the time, I think I put it down to the vision that was forming in another part of my cortex, a picture of my wife in her fairly skimpy outfit posing as she worked out. Any man would react to that vision, and here was I reacting. I'm also sure that, at the time, no part of my reasoning was based on the fact that she was doing this posing for another man. I have since learned better.
To encourage her to say more, I inanely commented "Well anything that encourages you to work harder must be a good thing, isn't it?"
"Well it certainly made a two-hour work-out pass much more quickly than it sometimes does." She paused again before going on, shyly. "However, I think I began to enjoy it a little too much."
My cock stirred again at that, and my interest in hearing more ramped up faster than Yvonne's weights and reps. had done. Without saying anything, I turned down the volume on the TV and invited her to say more.
"I found that I liked posing for him, exaggerating my movements, holding poses, knowing he was watching me. In the wall mirrors, I watched myself as if with his eyes. I liked what I saw, and I liked that he was seeing it. It began to turn me on a little."
Now my cock was definitely reacting to this confession. I know it sounds unlikely, but I had never even considered Yvonne reacting to another man; she was mine and we were happy. I was aware of course that other men found her attractive and they often took the opportunity to look at her when circumstances allowed, but I took that as an inevitable part of being married to such an attractive woman. And now I was starting to get turned on at the thought of her getting turned on because some stranger was eyeing her up. It was new and weird.
But I was intrigued, and wanted to know more.
"So it was turning you on? Striking poses for this guy and letting him look at you?"
"I'm ashamed to say that it was," she confessed. "I know guys have checked me out in the gym before, but I've always ignored them and got on with my routine. To be honest, it always felt kind of creepy before. But this morning, and I don't know why, it was different. I wanted him to look at me, and I wanted him to enjoy what he was seeing."
I shifted slightly on the couch, partly to turn towards her to look at her as we talked, and partly to hide the growing and surprising bulge in my pants.
"Just how turned on did you get?" I asked.
"At first, I wasn't really turned on, just tingly. I was aware that I was reacting differently this time, but, you know, it was innocent." She paused again. "Or at least, innocent-ish!"
"And..."
"Well, as things progressed, and as he became a bit more blatant about looking at me, I started to get more excited by the situation. I started to change my routine a bit to see if he would follow, and he did. It was like I had him at the end of a piece of string. Where I went, he went. I started to feel like I was influencing him, controlling him, and to encourage him more, I started to pose more for him."
Yvonne kissed me again, and this time our tongues probed each other briefly.
"Are you OK with me telling you all of this?" she asked. "I didn't know whether or not to tell you. I wasn't sure quite how you would react."
I answered her by reaching down and sliding her hand, still on my thigh, upwards and over the bulge in my pants.
"Oh my God!" she exclaimed, "Is this turning you on as well?"
She wrapped her hand around my bulge and squeezed my length gently, snuggling in even closer.
"I'm so glad you aren't upset," she continued, "I have been as horny as hell all day thinking about this, trying to understand it. If hearing about it is turning you on, then I can stop feeling guilty and we can enjoy it together. Do you want me to go on?"
I indicated that I did.
"Anyway, by now, he was getting quite close and openly watching me, and he must have been aware that I was putting on a show for him. Do you remember what I was wearing?"
I nodded again, remembering the little white UnderArmour bra top and brief gym "skort" that she had been wearing when I left for the office. Whilst perfectly decent, the top left most of her midriff and her navel exposed above the brief skirt with its built-in shorts beneath.
"Well I went over to the bench press and got my weights ready, taking my time whilst he finished a rep. and came over closer to me."
As she continued to describe her session, Yvonne started a gentle manipulation of my cock through my trousers.
"I deliberately stood astride the bench facing him, one foot on either side, and sat down with my legs open before I lay back on the bench and reached up to take the bar off its stand. As I adjusted myself on the bench, I looked across at the mirror and could see that my skirt had ridden up, and my shorts were stretched tightly across my crotch, fully visible – the shorts I mean, not my crotch." She giggled at that. "He must have had a perfect view up between my legs from where he was. That's when I really started to get excited."
Yvonne shifted her bum down the couch away from me, until her head was resting almost in my lap, her hand still stroking me gently.
"I felt really wicked as I let him watch me do my presses. My legs were open, and all that covered me was the thin material of my shorts. I could even feel myself starting to get moist, and I remember hoping that my wetness wouldn't show and make my excitement more obvious."
As she said this, and I quietly listened to her account, her hand stopped stroking me and her practiced fingers reached for my zipper. Once open, she reached inside for my now erect cock and manoeuvred it to stand erect and exposed. Her hand then unsnapped the button of my pants and sensuously returned to the naked skin of my hardness, where it coolly circled my hot cock and stroked lovingly up and down its length.
Yvonne looked up at me and asked me if I wanted her to continue. I was in a daze of confusion and excitement. This was way beyond anything I had ever experienced before; her story was pushing at the boundaries of my passion, and I was completely unable to explain to myself why I found this so incredibly arousing. I swallowed hard and nodded that she should go on.
"As I was doing my presses, as I got to the end of the last set of repetitions and the strain had built up, I found my tummy crunching harder and my feet occasionally lifting from the floor with the strain of each press. I used the rhythm of the movement to plant my feet even further apart when I relaxed again, so that when I had completed my final press, and dropped the bar onto the stand, I was laid back breathing hard, and with my legs stretched as wide apart as possible. I just lay there recovering and let him take it all in."
She had continued to stroke me slowly and now turned slightly and took me in her mouth, sliding her wet lips smoothly down my length until the head of my cock was pressing against her throat. I had never felt so turned on, and shifted my own position to make it easier for her to caress me.
After a few seconds, she surprised me by taking her lovely, warm and wet mouth off of my erection and, planting a quick kiss on the head of my cock, she jumped up from the couch and stood legs apart, staring down at me. I looked at her, perplexed by this sudden change of situation.
Her voice took on a slightly commanding tone, one that I was unfamiliar with.
"Right, I've been randy all day, and it is now your turn to do something for me. If you want to hear any more, I suggest that you shut things off d
Utter_Rotter
Writer and decadent
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Utter_Rotter
Member
Posts: 125
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"Right, I've been randy all day, and it is now your turn to do something for me. If you want to hear any more, I suggest that you shut things off down here and lock up, before you join me in the bedroom."
Wow! I thought. What is going on here? For a few seconds, I looked at her in confusion and surprise. Then she bent down and kissed me as her hand gave my cock a reassuring squeeze.
"Come on lover-boy. I think you'll enjoy what I have in mind."
With that, she turned on her heel and flounced of and up the stairs towards the bedroom with a wiggle in her step. I quickly switched off the TV, tucked myself away in my pants, and took the empty wine glass into the kitchen, before locking up and following her upstairs.
By the time I entered the bedroom, she was stripped down to her underwear and I again marvelled at her beauty and elegance. Her underwear wasn't significantly different in terms of coverage to what she had worn earlier at the gym, and I couldn't help imagining what she had looked like on her back on the bench-press bench, with her legs akimbo, and her chest rising and falling after her exertions with the weights.
I came out of my shocked inertia and quickly stripped out of my own clothes as she finished removing hers, and we jumped naked into the bed at the same time, pulling the covers over us, and snuggling together in our familiar way. She immediately reached down for my still hard cock and resumed her teasing chat.
"So, my husband likes the fact that I have been exciting another man. What should I make of that I wonder?"
She kissed me again, and then whispered into my ear.
"If you help me to cum, which I have been waiting for all day, I promise that I'll finish the story and return the favour. How does that sound for a deal lover-boy?"
I reached for her breasts in silent agreement and found her nipples were hard and extended; a sure sign of her own arousal.
"I need your tongue, now!" was all she said as her hands came up and pushed down on my shoulders to indicate her intentions.
I wasted no time in sliding down the bed, pausing only to kiss her hard nipples, before I had to move out of her way to allow her to open her legs and grant me access. Climbing between her legs, my erection pressed between my stomach and the bed, I had my mouth on her shaved pussy lips before more than five seconds had passed.
I found her already soaking wet with excitement, her labia already opened like the petals of a flower, and her hard little nub of a clitoris standing and poking from beneath its sheath. As I tasted her essence for this first time today, her hands came to my head and she pulled me into her in desperate need. A moan escaped her, and her eyes closed and her body tensed with her concentration.
"Oh that feels good!" she whispered, and I concentrated on doing those things that long familiarity and much practice had taught me would please her. After licking, and savouring her excess sweet moisture, I used my lips to nibble lightly at her button, before sucking that into my mouth and squeezing it with my lips whilst the tip of my tongue played a dance on its tip. My nose simultaneously pressed against her mound, increasing her pleasure, but making it difficult for me to breathe.
As I settled into our familiar routine, she continued to speak between the appreciative moans and interruptions caused by my actions.
"Oh! I have waited so long for this."
"MMMmmmmmn!"
"I have wanted this all day long, since he watched me this morning."
"You are so clever; so good at that!"
Yvonne had never before been as verbal as she was being now. As I worked on her, concentrating on her needs, and as she continued with little titbits of half sentences, I had time to reflect on all that she had told me so far, and all that she was now revealing, about her adventure and about what she was feeling.
"He was hard!"
"Oh yes, yes, that feels so good."
"When I got my breath back and looked at him in the mirror..."
"Mmmm!"
"...I could see that he was getting hard..."
"...as he stared at me."
I released her hard nub and licked at her lips and below, stiffening my tongue and pushing it into her. First into her still soaking pussy...
"oh yes, oh yes"
And then, pushing her knees up towards the ceiling, down over her arse, pressing at her other hole.
"I could see him trying to hide his erection..."
"mmmmmm"
"...and when I thought about how I had caused it..."
Deep breathing and her hands pulling me away from her arse and back to her desperate pussy and clit.
"...it made me even wetter."
Yvonne's climax built and crashed upon her. Her legs tensed and lifted her buttocks off the bed, pushing her mound into my face, and she moaned and cried as the waves rolled over and through her. I sucked on her hard button as she came, until the sensitivity got too much for her, and she pulled and shrank away from my lips as she had done so often before.
As she quietened and relaxed, I blew gently on her hot sex, and lapped gently at her clit and lips, causing little aftershocks and spasms to flicker through her. Her hands, still on my head, would curl and grasp my hair and pull me away from her whenever the sensitivity got too much for her, but eventually, she got used to my attentions, and she allowed more and more contact, until after a few minutes, she was ready for a repeat.
Then she pulled me into her again, and we built quickly to a new orgasm for her. This cycle repeated several times until she was satisfied, and until I was tired and breathless, catching my breath in great gulps when she released me, and feeling my straining cock pressed between my midriff and the bed.
Eventually, I pulled myself out from between her legs and up to lie alongside her, where she looked at me with love in her eyes, eyes which sparkled with her post-orgasmic satisfaction.
We kissed and cuddled until her body had relaxed again, and she turned to me and cupped my bursting balls, and I knew it was my turn to experience the considerable best that she could offer.
"Thank you" she said, "I needed that."
Her head moved to my chest and her hand from my balls to my shaft, and looking down my body as she manipulated me, she started to talk.
"Did you enjoy hearing about my day?" she asked. "I have never felt anything so powerful before. I loved him looking at me. I loved me wanting him to see me. I loved the effect it was having on both of us. Do you mind that I enjoyed it so much, and that I told you about it?"
I leant forward and kissed the back of her head by way of reassurance, and told her that it had been as hot for me to hear about it as it must have been for her to experience it. This made her turn to face me and kiss me before she renewed her stroking of me and continued to talk to me.
"So my horny hubbie likes me showing off, does he?" She scooted down my body and kissed the tip of my cock.
"How would you feel if I went to the gym again in the morning, and showed off some more?"
She engulfed my cock-head in her warm wet mouth, and I groaned with appreciation at what she was saying and doing to me. Between sucking and licking me, she posed a number of rhetorical questions, all designed to make me even harder, if that were possible.
"Today was a happy accident. I'm sure if we planned it, we could make it much more exciting for him. And for me!"
She licked beneath my glans, before swallowing a sizeable portion of my hardness again; and then releasing me to continue.
"Would that excite you too, if I planned what to wear to let him see even more of me? If I deliberately invited him to look at me and get turned on by what he sees?"
My mind was in turmoil, wanting her to go on talking to me like this, wanting her to go on exciting me, wanting to be in her mouth again. Two conflicting desires; she could hardly continue the provocative and thrilling chatter with her mouth full of my cock, but that is where I wanted my cock to be. What an exquisite dilemma.
I started to imagine what she could do in the gym that she could get away with. I started to want her to further excite this stranger. I started to want him to see my wife in a sexual way; a way that thrilled him. And I started to want to collude and conspire with her to encourage it, and to make it happen. Before I could even begin to imagine what sort of scenario might work, she started to describe it to me.
"I've been thinking about how it could work." She sucked me briefly again, interspersing her speech and her other oral skills in a delightful assault on both my mind and on my body.
"I could wear my leotard, just my leotard, with no underwear." I knew immediately which item she was referring to. My mind instantly conjured a picture of her wearing it. It was skin tight stretch lycra, and when I say skin tight I mean skin tight. When she wore it, it hugged every curve of her body, every part of her body, so that it looked like she was really naked, that it had been body-painted on. Her nipples and even the little bumps on her aureoles were outlined by the thin fabric, and without underwear, it was possible to see the perfect outline of her sex between her legs. You could even pick out the few hairs above her sex that provided her perfectly trimmed landing strip. It was so revealing, she had only ever dared to wear it without underwear when she originally modelled it for me, and she only ever wore it when working out at home. It had never been worn in public such was the blatant exposure that it produced.
Her mouth was sucking hard at me as I imagined her wearing it for this fit, attractive and older man. My brain was wondering why I found the thought so exciting. I wouldn't be there. I wouldn't be getting the benefit. But I wanted her to want to do it. I wanted her to expose herself to this guy. And I was certainly getting the benefit at the moment.
She pulled her head reluctantly from my cock and turned to look up at me.
"Do you want me to wear it tomorrow darling? Do you want me to go to the gym at the same time as today to see if he is there again? And if he is there, do you want me to just wear my leotard, and to let him look at me again?"
I couldn't swallow. My lovely and usually reserved wife was asking me if I wanted her to expose herself to another guy. One that she had admitted was fit and attractive, and that got turned on by watching her work-out in her sexy gym clothes. Her hand was still stroking me gently as she waited for me to answer.
"I don't know why," I said, "but yes, I'd like for you to do that."
As I said those words I could hold back no longer, and I felt my orgasm hitting me, and the charge of my built up ejaculation starting its surge along my cock. She felt it too; felt my hard cock strain and twitch as I came, almost in slow motion, the first powerful spurt breaking free and shooting across my belly and up to my chest, near to where her head was. She looked back down in awe as rope after rope of my cum shot from my twitching cock, to land on my belly or chest. As the spurts subsided, and the remains of my ejaculate seeped from my cock-head and ran down my shaft over her fingers and hand, she looked back at my face with a wry smile.
"Oh yes! I think you do want me to show myself to him. I think my hubby has just discovered a part of himself that he didn't know was there. I think we have discovered a part of ourselves that we never even suspected existed."
My immediate reaction was one of shock; that I had lost control of myself so suddenly and so completely and so unexpectedly. I was ashamed of the lecherous thoughts that a few moments ago I had been thinking and using to excite myself to reach this point of no return.
Yvonne reached up to kiss me, and I think she saw some of the concern in my eyes.
"It's OK honey. It's OK. We have both surprised ourselves. Don't worry. We still love each other. We won't let this get out of hand."
If only we had known the depths to which we have since descended, I am sure that she would not have tried to be so reassuring or sounded so positive, and I am equally sure that I would not have been so reassured.
Xxxxxxx
I know that this will not be everyone's ideal story, but I wanted to try an exercise in believability; a real story with real characters, and with things happening in a real and credible way. Hopefully, those seeking instant gratification will have stopped reading some time ago, bored with this slow development. Hopefully, for those of you that remain, we can continue on this journey together. One thing I can promise; despite a slow start, things very quickly start to happen very much faster.
Utter_Rotter
Writer and decadent
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