“How many drinks did that guy buy you, Wifey?” “Like three, but whatever, he’s gone.” She stroked her hair. “So, Hubby, are you going to m...ke love to me tonight?” “Of course, Honey, I love you.” “I love you too.” She got up, gave me a kiss, and went to the bathroom. Shortly after she returned, I asked if we could go back to her place for “a beer.” She rejected the idea—something about her fussy roommate. Instead she suggested the following: “Let’s go check out underneath the pier.” There comes. I longed to have him out of his jeans, hot and hard against my hand! I slid backwards across the seat and pulled him toward me. By sliding to the edge of the seat, he could lift his leg up to run alongside me. It was a little awkward but it allowed me to tug down on the zipper of his jeans and unbutton the snap. He held his breath as I pulled the opening apart and reached inside. I slid all the way off the seat onto the floor and he slid closer to me as I stroked the hard length of his thick. I think he was not a good fucker at all, but he was my husband and I could divorce him on such ridiculous reason! In all other cases and situations he was a very good man, careful and loving, solicitous and attentive. But concerning sex, he was so weak, it made me cry sometimes. After a few years, we moved to another city, near my native village where I was born and grew up. It was very sunny and peaceful place, buried in verdure and green. The city was very good, but my husband could not take. This was no ordinary box, rather one covered in golden glitter that reflected the light cast by the Christmas tree lights and the fire, tied with an extravagantly wide, long, black silken ribbon that ended in a perfect bow, the ends of which cascaded down over her left wrist. Watching her, transfixed by her, as she knelt on the dark patterned Oriental rug gracing the living room floor, his eyes flicking between her hands and her eyes and the beautiful curve of her waist, the spread of her wide.
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