Just a story told from multiple vantage points.
No burnt bitches. Well, not burnt by another character. Karma on the other hand...
No costly reconciliations.
Like most (maybe even all) of my stories, the ultimate goal is happiness for our hero, the male protagonist, whatever that may entail.
I debated about whether to put this in Romance or Loving Wives and Romance ultimately won out.
*****
CHOICES
She made hers, and I made mine.
*****
It was a beautiful sunset. The sun glowed on the horizon and turned the sky and clouds into an incredible kaleidoscope of orange and purple. The temperature was warm, like you'd expect to encounter in Southern California. It was Saturday night and the occasion was our weekly get-together with our friends. The attendees were friends my wife and I had known for 20 years. Well, she had actually known them a little longer than that.
We were gathered tonight at Scott and Andrea's house. Scott owned a number of fast food franchises, which was ironic since he never touched the stuff himself. He was something of a health nut. He had gotten involved in the industry as an investment opportunity and it had been very successful. He spent most of his time just doing surprise inspections, looking for other business opportunities, and managing his investment account. Andrea worked the front desk at the local elementary school, though mostly just for something to do. They had 2 kids: Holly, who was 15, and Matthew, who was 13.
Bill was a vice president for a local sporting goods supply company. He had actually played baseball on the college team and had an outside shot at the pros before a freak accident damaged his knee and ended his career. He'll tell you it was fate, because that led to the sales job at the same company he works at now, and that's also where he met his wife, Lisa. She works in the accounting office there. They have just one daughter: Tasha, and she's 14.
John owns a couple of car dealerships around town. He makes good money. His wife, Marcie, had been a stay-at-home wife and mother until she passed away from cancer just over a year ago. She was just 41. They have a daughter, Savannah, who is 21 and currently at university.
My name is Henry. I am a Master Electrician though I currently work as a project manager for a large electrical contractor and do very well, earning 6 figures annually. My wife, Gina, is also a stay-at-home wife and mother. We have an 18-year-old daughter, Natalie, who recently joined Savannah at the university, though she is a freshman to Savannah's senior so they rarely see each other on the large campus.
We've all known each other for years, and we use these weekly gatherings to stay connected. In fact, everyone but me knew each other in college, and I met my wife (and then her friends) shortly after they graduated. It's been a stroke of good fortune that we've all managed to stay in this area and still be successful.
As I divert my attention from the sunset I take note of everyone's location. My wife is chatting with John near the patio table, Scott and Bill are manning the grill, and Andrea and Lisa are inside putting the finishing touches on the side dishes. I've long enjoyed these events. I can think of few things better than a relaxing night spent with a wife you love, food you enjoy, and longtime friends. Of course, Marcie's passing last year has cast something of a pall over the gatherings; there's just something missing, and I mean for all of us, not just John.
He stopped attending for a while, the pain of seeing the remaining couples a reminder of what he'd lost, but he'd eventually rejoined us as we made a point of making sure he wasn't allowed to simply withdraw from life. The guys made sure to keep pestering him to join us for fishing or golfing or whatever, and the ladies pestered him to get out of the house as well, and also did some shopping for him and pre-made some meals. Otherwise he probably would have just eaten, coincidentally, fast food from one of Scott's places.
John and Gina were talking quietly, sometimes casting a glimpse in my direction. Nothing struck me as odd about it at the time, but in hindsight...
*****
I was awoken in the most pleasurable way possible; at least I think so. The warmth and wetness of Gina's mouth was enveloping my shaft and I was happily enjoying it, once I realized what was going on. Gina didn't do this a lot (a few times a year) so I reveled in it when it came along. It's not that she was a prude or anything. She would just prefer to be fucking rather than sucking.
Once I was awake it took only a few minutes for me to blow my load. Gina had no problem swallowing it but didn't care for it shooting into her mouth, so she tended to 'let 'er blow' and then lick it up. Then it was her turn. Oral sex was one of my particular favorites, and burying my face into her thick, brown bush was something I did as often as she would allow, which I am happy to say was often. Between my tongue on her clit and my fingers in her hole it rarely took me long to get her off, and today was no exception. I felt the telltale pressure of her thighs squeezing together, followed by her hands on the back of my head as she climaxed with vigor.
This morning I climbed right on top of her and put my resurrected manhood deep inside her. We both preferred missionary; enjoying looking into each other's eyes as I thrust deep into her. Doggy-style felt good and we did it occasionally but it seemed impersonal. It was mostly used when we were just fucking instead of making love.
Gina's legs were pushed back near her head; she remained very limber for a 41-year-old woman. I peered into her green eyes and she returned the look into my browns and I thrust into her slowly but rhythmically. The top of my shaft was rubbing against her clit and she came again, though I continued my pace. After a few minutes things picked up in speed and soon I felt the swelling in my loins, which was of course followed by me emptying myself inside her as she had her third of the morning. After 20 years we were pretty good at having our last one at the same time, and this morning we had done it again.
We showered together, as we usually did on weekends, and then I dressed to go into the garage to start working on my car while Gina did whatever tasks she had for around the house.
Sunday mornings are typically reserved for me to work on my car. My current project is a 1965 Chevy Malibu SS Coupe. I bought it 2 years ago after it had been found in a barn that was being razed. It had been in terrible shape but I just about it had it back to stock. I prefer going for the original look; I know a guy who's into Mustangs, but he tends to focus on newer models and he puts all kinds of aftermarket parts (oversized brakes and spoilers, superchargers, etc.) on them, to the point where it's barely a Mustang. Sure they look good, but it's more like Franken-Mustang or something. I see him at the car shows occasionally. He has a disdain for GM products, but we're both able to appreciate the work the other does.
"Honey, before you go into the garage, I'd like to talk about something."
I simply shrugged my shoulders in an 'okay' and we sat at the kitchen table. Communication was one of our strengths and conversations like this are commonplace. I thought nothing of it. But this one would change the course of my life dramatically.
"So, how's the car coming?"
