April Acquires Two Lovers

April Acquires Two Lovers

By

Donald Mallord

Copyright September, 2023

9,500 MS Word Count

Forward

Occasionally, you want to write and read something that rises above the 'smut' label or that cringe phrase, a 'stroker story.' I believe this is one such story. Its theme evolved from a 750-word tongue-in-cheek story for the National Nude Day event in 2023. This version expands the loving relationship between husband and wife and her evolving friendship with the mailman. The style attempted for this endeavor is more like the classic, descriptive-laced epics of romance writers from a long-past generation — still stamped with a Literotica handprint.

My thanks to Kenjisato, a Literotica editor, for his grammatical review and corrections.

________________

Fuming Before Breakfast

Damn him! That smug, handsome man swaggered out the front door just like he said he would. I watched his smooth-as-a-baby's-butt ass stroll down the sidewalk like he hadn't a care in the world. I tried to get him back, even pleaded for him to turn around and take back his ultimatum.

Earlier, clad only in my frumpy housecoat with its thread-worn ties hanging loose and my breasts freely accessible, I had cried out in a huff as I stood at the kitchen table, "Johnny, for goddamn sakes, don't make me do this!" I even stomped my bare feet in angst like a little pouty girl with her curly bangs bobbing as I shook. I was so mad.

He just smiled and watched, as my tits jiggled.

Then I screamed harsher words, trying to reason with him, but those stuck in my throat like gravel in a hen's craw; I was too choked up in despair to respond to his last words before he went out the door.

He just grinned that dazzling-white, dentist-ad smile and said, "Sorry, sugar. It's like this from now on!"

Earlier, I babbled in utter confusion over what he demanded, while he stood there looking in the hallway mirror, straightening his tie, and checking out his perfect mesomorphic physique. Damn him and his great looks! I felt a wave of guilt for trying to jinx him. It is, after all, one of the many reasons I married him. Mama had said we were meant for each other. Me looking like Doris Day, and him like Rock Hudson; except when much later in life, I had learned that that hunk was gay. Not that there's anything out of place being that way.

"The world has gone nuts, Johnny," I had declared earlier when he sprang the news on me; I stood staring at him so wide-eyed. My jaw must have dropped for over a minute like it does in bed for his pleasure when he has his 'Ph.D.' moments. No, not the educational one — you know — his 'Pretty hard Dick' moments.

"Peanut butter or almond butternuts?" he quipped. Then, he stood smiling his Colgate Toothpaste smile while watching my face turn red, and my eyes widened in shock at his declaration.

"Get with the times, honey," he breathed with a sigh, almost like it was an afterthought and I was some — prude.

I couldn't believe it. The look on his face — that damned million-dollar smile with his high cheekbones and ruddy-looking face that so matched his red tie this morning. He didn't even seem to care about how I felt about it. He just... kissed my cheek, turned, and walked out the front door, swinging that damn leather briefcase in his hand. Still sputtering, I watched him through the window, strolling down the sidewalk in his flip-flops to his shiny-new convertible, putting the top down, and driving out onto the street, like it was an everyday event.

He'd given me an ultimatum.

"Try it."

Try it, hell!

How was that supposed to work? Who does that kind of shit?

"Just try it once," he ordered, mocking my dismay with his hands over his eyes and feeling his way across the room like a blind man as though that gave me a clue and helped me feel any better. After calming down a bit, I did get his hint later. 'Act like no one would see.' I think that's what he was getting at anyway. I was still pissed.

I could feel my heart beating faster. I looked at myself in the mirror as he went out the front door — a frowning face stared right back, though still youthful and gorgeous, I figured, despite the pouty look. I'd been in a rush, grabbed my old, comfortable, frumpy housecoat earlier, and went to the kitchen. In my exasperation, staring at the mirror, I realized he hadn't even reached inside my open housecoat to play with my tits like usual as I vented against him. Damn, I needed coffee urgently before I showered and got dressed for work.

Crazy, right? The second year of marriage, and we just had our first ... Shit, was this happening? I needed coffee, dammit! I was past borderline pissed at that point.

_______________

[Coffee is a stimulant; you're probably trying to tell me. But I'm not in the mood to listen if that's your advice.]

I needed it to calm myself down, as crazy as that sounded. Thank goodness Johnny had poured me a cup and left a blueberry muffin on a plate with two strawberries. At least that part of the world hadn't been turned upside down this morning. I sipped the dark-mellow roast blend, letting the aroma trigger the feel of coffee euphoria in my frazzled brain. My eyes closed, savoring it, and then I took a hearty swallow and replayed the morning again in my mind. How had it come to this?

"So, just put on something that makes you feel — in control," he had said when I objected earlier.

"No!" I declared as emphatically as a child being told to eat her peas at dinnertime.

"Not to the office, Johnny!" I cried when he ordered up his will over mine.

"Then somewhere!" he grew emphatic; that look on his face wasn't kidding. Despite my earlier vehement declaration, I knew he expected me to follow his ultimatum. Eventually, he knew I would, like a child, be eating my peas at dinner.

I love him too much not to. Besides, no peas, no dessert.

"You can do this," he whispered as he hugged and kissed me goodbye.

_________________

"Wear something ..." I mused as I stepped out of the shower. "Wear what, and still meet his demands."

In a flash of inspiration, I remembered how everyone's eyes seemed to focus on my favorite sexy golden choker when I wore it. That was a real security blanket thing for me. It's the one Johnny likes the most — his favorite slutty roleplaying one. I searched for it in my jewelry box, slipped it on, and went to the full-length wall mirror by the front door. I sucked in my breath and froze, staring at myself. How the hell was this supposed to improve my confidence level?

"Like this?" I asked, staring at the youthful, curvy, calendar-quality woman in the mirror with her hands touching the golden choker around her neck. She looked shocked and frightened, as though someone had just said, "Your husband is cheating on you."

"Hell no!" I backed up from the mirror and turned away.

More coffee, maybe with something in it for my nerves. I returned to the kitchen, grasping the choker for added comfort. I couldn't ...

I looked at the clock again for the fourth time--almost nine o'clock. Too embarrassed, I called in sick to the office. It's not like they would criticize me for missing one day out of the year, right?

What now? Johnny's ultimatum was looming. I couldn't fail him. I loved him too much. I was petrified and planted myself on the couch, watching ... hell, I wasn't watching anything on TV. My mind was so focused on knowing Johnny was expecting me to comply that nothing on the screen registered, not even the damn thing about today's special day celebration.

I'd worked myself into a state of object anxiety and added another cup of coffee to hold that at bay. Then inspiration, again, struck gold; the mailman comes at a quarter past two. Maybe I could do this. It was just the mailman, not someone that I really knew. I could, right?

I could go out that far--just sixty feet. The front door camera would catch me, proof for Johnny, right?

One last look in the mirror. Breathing deeply, I stood there summoning up a girl's newfound courage.

Shit, I did look good in that choker. It was at least something for a symbolic sense of comfort. That and five cups of coffee, a blueberry muffin, and two strawberries helped. Johnny always did that, put two strawberries on my plate — yeah, usually smirking something about matching the shapes, firmness, and color of my nipples.

The warmth of the sunlight felt good as I stepped out. My nerves were tensing. My head was on a swivel as I surveyed the sidewalk. Thank God, it was just me — until George came.

"Afternoon, April. I love your choker," he smiled, his eyes roaming over me while handing me the mail. "I believe a bit more sun would help even those tan lines. Sun would do you good; lots of vitamin D, you know."

I smiled shyly, barely able to answer, "Thanks, George. You ... know it's National Nude Day, right?"

"Do tell," he remarked playfully, "I'd forgotten all about that! Post Office says we had to wear the shirt at least. Got to look the part of a letter carrier, you know?"

He shifted the carrier strap around his neck to the left as he spoke to show me. He needed some sun himself. The parts above his knees, which his uniform shorts usually covered, were as fair complected as my parts traditionally covered by my bathing suit.

I could tell by how he meted out his words that he appreciated what he observed. Yeah, the tan lines on my neck and arms didn't match the rest of me. But I don't think he thought that mattered. George was probably thinking more about firm, ripe strawberries and peaches for breakfast as he checked where the sunshine didn't tan my hide. My heart raced, knowing George's eyes roamed my body like a guy caught up in discovering a vintage, tattered copy of Playboy.

Before it got awkward, he nodded, "Have a nice day, April." Then walked toward Mrs. Wilson's mailbox, singing the words to Simon & Garfunkel's song, 'April Come She Will.' You know, that one about how a girl's mood can change.

I had tried it. It wasn't so hard to do after all. National Nude Day was all right. Standing there naked in front of George was sort of a turn-on, even fun; now that I got that out of the way, my confidence level began to surge. Johnny would be proud — I did it — not to the office, but somewhere at least!

I sat on the front porch swing, enjoying the breeze flowing over me the rest of the day and waving to my neighbors as they came home later.

"National Nude Day!" I cried out, as they turned to look; most smiled as I stood up to wave. The breeze felt good, flowing between my legs. My supple, toned, and milky thighs twitched like vice-grips with a sense of daring anticipation as the moisture below seeped, stirred by a fingertip or two.

When Johnny's red convertible reappeared in the driveway, I noticed his red tie was gone. As he got out, he stood spread-legged in his Superman pose. On the sidewalk, the sun cast his shadow onto the grass. I could see he needed some sun, too, to blend those tan lines.

"Tried it," I casually remarked as he strolled up the steps looking like a smiling Cheshire cat, totally nude and looking as bare-butt handsome as when he left.

"You look lovely in that golden choker, Miss Nude Day contestant," he smirked as his middle leg grew a little firmer.

"You too, Mr. Nude Day winner," I giggled, seeping a little more as he got closer.

"Come here and claim your prize," I giggled, spreading my legs on the front porch swing.

"I think there should be a Make Love to Your Wife Nude on the Front Porch Day," Johnny breathed, as his shaft began to ease into me.

I was oozing with anticipation. It pooled on the swing beneath me. I was oh-so ready and limbered up by the sun's warmth. Oh, so prepared, flushed with wanton lust. I pushed forward as he grabbed my bottom and sank his entire length inside me.

"Lost your tie?" I hissed, between clenched teeth, as my legs squeezed in response to his rapid invasion.

"No," he grinned, "asserted my confidence."

"Me too," I gasped, as he plunged to his full length. I always love that rapid-sinking movement.

"I can feel that, too, you wonderful naked woman."

My sharp gasp and his groin smacking into my wet cunt urged him to speed things up.

I closed my eyes in bliss, and as my strawberries bounced, I relished each firm thrust of Johnny's Ph.D. — you know — Pretty hard Dick.

My mind wandered to thoughts of my neighbors driving home, watching us as we slammed together on the front porch swing. Behind closed eyelids, I had lusty images of George's eyes roaming my body, him licking his lips, and a smirk appearing on his charming mailman's face when I told him it was National Nude Day. I could tell he liked that idea a lot. Two years of mail delivery, and I had no idea he could sing that well as he walked away. There was a great deal about George I didn't know — like the size of that substantial swell pressed against that letter carrier bag, for instance.

Johnny's strained voice cut into my dazed, lustful thoughts. "Sugar, it's going to be like this from now on!" he burst out with a long-feral-guttural sound.

Then my John closed his eyes and lost control of his Ph.D.; I moaned as well as we came in a drawn-out series of huffs and gasps.

And that's how Johnny sprang the news on me about the fact we have to celebrate our National Nude Day from now on and how that day indelibly altered my life.

________________

As days turned into weeks, I stepped out of my comfort zone. At home, nudity became the style du jour. My going out meant wearing more revealing outfits and, of course, my go-to flashy choker. I found my outfits were barely passing the mall-cops' standards for admittance, and, at work, no one objected one bit. It was about embracing a newfound sense of confidence, an assertiveness that I never knew existed within me. The request that Johnny had given me had become a catalyst for change for personal growth.

For the first time, I took an interest in Johnny's clients and started conversing with them, striking up friendships I had never imagined. And, of course, I saw George, the mailman, in a new light. I found a growing desire to come home early more often to receive the mail personally. Our sidewalk chats became a regular part of my routine. George, I discovered, was a man capable of inspiring deep thoughtfulness, an artist, and, of course, a great listener and conversationalist. Our talks were usually light-hearted, often sprinkled with playful banter and genuine laughter. He made me feel seen and appreciated for more than just my role as Johnny's trophy wife.

One afternoon, George suggested we visit a nearby art gallery that had just opened. I hadn't done it in years, but with his encouragement, I agreed. As we strolled through the gallery, discussing the artwork and sharing our interpretations, I felt a connection beyond surface-level pleasantries. There was a depth to our conversation that I hadn't experienced in a long time. George's persona was the ying to my yang, while Johnny was ... Johnny's was the real-world, tangible side of business and sex, the image of life with which I started in marriage.

You know, like that song by Crosby, Young, Stills, and Nash about a home, two cars in the garage, and two cats? Anyway, it went something like this: "Our house is a very, very, very fine house. With two cats in the yard. Life used to be so hard. Now everything is easy 'cause of you." It was the perfect life Mama had envisioned for us.

As weeks turned into months, my interactions with George continued to evolve. Simple conversations transformed into heartfelt discussions about life, dreams, and fears. George made me feel comfortable in my skin, encouraging me to explore facets of myself that I had long neglected.

But amidst this newfound connection, there was a growing turmoil within me. My feelings for George were becoming more than just friendly affection. The emotional intimacy we shared bordered on something more profound that made me question the life I had built with Johnny. The ultimatum that had initially felt like a frivolous challenge, was now reshaping the very foundation of my marriage.

_______________

"Babe, I'm leavin'," Johnny called out as he stood at the front door. It was a whole week away this time, Las Vegas.

"I could have come with you," I whined, as I saw the happy look on his face. I figured he was going to have a good time as well as presenting some damn software thing he wrote.

He saw my pout and tried to cheer me up. Trying his best, he broke into a terrible rendition of a John Denver song, "So kiss me and smile for me. Tell me that you'll wait for me. Hold me like you'll never let me go because I'm leavin' on a jet plane. I don't know when I'll be back again. Oh, babe, I hate to go ..."

I put my fingers in my ears and ... grimaced with a stupid, pain-faced, cross-eyed look. He laughed at my clown face, and I did as well; I felt better. Both of us knew he couldn't sing worth shit. Not like George; he could sing. He could dance. He could ... Well, anyway, I gave Johnny a goodbye kiss and smiled as he went out the door — to Las Vegas. At least he tried to lighten the mood, imitating John Denver. He knew I would feel anxious in his week away from me.

Mid-week, George came by after he got off from work. I must have looked shocked when I answered the door and said, "George, what ..."

"April, you looked a little down today when I brought your mail. And when you said John was away for a while, I thought perhaps I'd visit and ... we could talk ... maybe cheer you up a little."

George's thoughtfulness did pick me up, along with his bright smile. It was so considerate of him to think about my despair when he delivered the mail that afternoon. We found ourselves sitting on a park bench by the jogging trail, engrossed in conversation as usual. Only this time, the air was thick with unspoken emotions.

"April," he spoke during a lingering pause, "I must confess that day I saw you dressed only in that golden choker, I wanted more than to deliver the mail."

Gently, he leaned over and touched my arm. It was the first time we had made physical contact in our conversations, except when he invited me to join him for some dance lessons he had won at a raffle. Quickly, I learned George really didn't need the lessons. He could have been a great instructor, and he did teach me quite a few new moves during that week. Those touches felt different than his current caress. On that park bench, I trembled as his fingertips lightly stroked downward to the back of my hand.

"I know that, George," I replied politely. "I saw it in your eyes and that wonderful smile that lit up your face. I thought you were such a gentleman when you handed me the mail on National Nude Day. Johnny would have fucked me ... Oh! Shit! ... I'm sorry, George ... I didn't mean to ..." I gasped, having startled myself, and was amazed at going into some intimate recesses in my mind in a moment of weakness.

George smiled again and, with a light laugh, replied, "I wouldn't want to intrude on your life like that, April. Though I am an immoralist, I think enough of you not to push those boundaries."

"No, George, boundaries are important; some lines shouldn't be crossed, right?" I replied, though the thoughts in my head were mixed on that subject. My legs twitched in reflex of those thoughts as his hand lingered upon my hand. The sensations coursed up my core, and my arm jerked in response. George felt it beneath his fingertips.