Concluding a Successful Marriage

Everyone having sex is over eighteen.

The kids were upset. We were getting a divorce. They blamed me. My name is Benton, Jack Benton.

I met Chiquita in a pick-up bar. She was out clubbing with her friends. I was acting as wingman for a friend. Yes, we were looking to get laid. I took her to Denny's for after the bar closed breakfast. From there it was a short walk to my room. She was five years younger than me, just starting her third year of college. We ended up talking until sunrise and then I dropped her off at her dorm. No sex.

Chiquita had thick dark brown hair and eyes so dark they seemed like black pools. Full lips a beautiful café au lait complexion. Her bountiful breasts seemed to always be on the verge of escape. Her wide hips were designed for childbearing. She was always surrounded by a flock of admirers. My grandmother called her a sexpot and told me that she was too much woman for me.

In high school and college, I went out for track. I was a long-distance runner. A skinny kid with a lot of endurance. I still ran a lot, but I was including a weight circuit in my routine. Working on the guns.

Whenever I was in town for work, I would try to meet up with Chiquita. Unless she had a major test or unbreakable plans she could not get out of, she would go out of her way to meet me. I had two things going for me according to her, maturity and endurance. I was only five years older than her but she was impressed with the difference between me and her peers. They had daddy's money. I had my own money. They were living in the ivory tower. I was working in the real world. When they flirted with her, they were trying to impress their friends. I was only trying to impress her.

The endurance thing was probably not as impressive as she thought. I was prepared to screw her brains out the night we met and she would probably have let me, but by the time the sun was rising she was practically nodding off. I wanted her fresh and lively. The second date, I was between flights and only had a couple hours. We ended up driving to Der Wienerschnitzel because she wanted a corn dog. It was fun. The third date I was in town for four days. I had met briefly with the client on Friday and would do my presentation on Monday. I took her to a nice early dinner, a place with tablecloths and cloth napkins. Chiquita had a project to post before midnight and I got her back to her dorm room before six. We did a little heavy petting, but I told her school came first. I somehow, I managed to keep the three-date rule.

Early Saturday morning, she knocked on my hotel room door carting fresh doughnuts, coffee and an overnight bag with her. The doughnuts kept our energy up. The coffee was even good cold.

When I was in college women had the bare pube look. Most emulated Barbie, a few had a tiny landing strip. Chiquita had a wild untamed bush of dark hair that covered and concealed her pussy. I had never been with a woman who had so much hair there. I loved running my fingers through it.

I mentioned before that she had a natural tan. I learned it was a lot darker where the sun hit it. Most of the women I had dated did not tan at all or tanned everywhere. When she took off her bra her back and shoulders blended in because she must have moved the straps. Her bountiful boobs were another story. She had large puffy chocolate nipples that stood out against her pale skin. I could easily see where her swimsuit top had covered her. It was like the area had been highlighted. When her panties came off her modest bathing suit bottom had left immodest tan lines. It was like negative panties spotlighting her naked ass and how I liked to play with that ass.

The front went from coffee and cream, to cream, to a rich thick chocolate frosting of pubic hair. Her pubic hair covered an area larger than most women's swim trunks. The college kids teased her calling it untamed wilderness. I found it shocking and erotic. I was so aroused the first time I saw it I went straight to missionary style sex. All the anticipation of this day must have been foreplay enough because I found her wet and willing. My hard cock was pumping her wet pussy. Her pussy was making all sorts of naughty noises and soon her mouth was too. I could muffle her moans with my kisses, but there was no way to silence her noisy cunt. She was a squirter and left a large wet spot on the bed. She claimed I gave her two small orgasms before she had an earth-shaking finish. She said most of the college boys were premature. She was surprised when I came with her.

There was a secret there. I took a shower shortly before she arrived. I washed down there thoroughly. A little too thoroughly. I had left semen flowing down the drain. For the next two years it became a part of my preparation for our dates. It would not be until our fifth anniversary that I admitted my secret.

My room had two queen sized beds. We moved to a dry spot on the bed and explored each other some more. When there were no more dry spots left, I called for housekeeping to make up the room and took her out to eat and shop a bit. She was surprised I left the maids a tip. I told her I always tipped maids and that I left them a little more because they would need to do a full linen change.

I bought her a sexy night gown. She only got to wear it two minutes. She did not seem upset though.

When things got a little calmer, I pulled out my old hair brush. It had soft short bristles and I had used it when I had a crew cut in track. I grabbed the old jar of hair gel as well. I pushed her legs wide open and began brushing her pubic hair, top to bottom. I think I made a comment about brushing it every night, one hundred strokes, that made her nipples stand up and made her quiver in anticipation.

At some point I parted her pubic hair and discovered her clitoris and labia. She was very wet and leaking. I used generous amounts of hair gel to paste her hair down. Everything that was hidden before was exposed to the light of day. Her labia major were swollen and very sensitive to my touch after all the gentle brushing. Her labia minor, the curtains, were the type that would not stay tucked inside. They were very dark and could stretch a great deal if gently tugged on, the left curtain normally hung a little lower than the right. Just playing with them was enough to make her come a little. Her clit was the largest I had ever seen. The ones I had encountered in the past stayed tucked away in the folds, sometimes barely poking their head out of their hiding place. Hers was like a little soldier standing up at attention. When I wrapped my lips around it, I felt it throbbing in my mouth.

I thought I had gotten pretty good at going down on women. Most of them smelled like mango. Chiquita smelled like woman. Swirling my tongue around her clit was enough to bring her off. In my previous encounters cunnilingual was like a checkpoint on a takeoff list. Oral? Check. The goal was P in V copulation and hopefully an orgasm that did not have to be faked. Chiquita was ok treating dinner at the Y as the main event. She would kiss my lips after I did it too.

I think everyone believes their generation invented sex. We ended up talking openly about what we liked and did not like. What we wanted from a lover. I told her about things that were popular when I was in school. She briefed me on the current trends.

I got the impression hand jobs were as common as handshakes. Blow jobs were not considered 'real' sex. That there was a lot of offsite fucking at keggers and house parties. I was not sure what she meant by offsite fucking. She decided to show me by lubing up her armpit and sandwiching it over my dick. She stimulated my dick a while that way and then titty fucked me. My throbbing cock was pouring ropes of hot cum on her breasts and neck when she told me, "That's offsite."

One thing that was pretty popular when I was a freshman was anal. Just the thought of it was a turn off for me.

"The hygiene problems?" she asked.

"More like my gay phobia." I admitted. "I imagine a hot young guy with his cock in a sexy cheerleader's bunghole, her tits swaying in the wind. All the time fantasizing he is fucking the quarterback, and it makes me limp." We laughed.

"I worried about the hygiene, and what would happen with a tear. Would it heal? Would it get infected? After a guy's been in the back door will he want back in the front door? I don't think I want that. What if he wants to fill all three holes? Shoot, most guy's won't even kiss me after I go down on them. Where will that lead? The whole thing seems problematic." She sighed. "My girl friends tell me it's not a big deal with the proper preparation."

"If I am going out, I have to do my hair, do my make-up, dress up and more to prepare. How long would an anal prep take? More than a couple of minutes, I am sure. Look at this!" she ran her fingers through her luscious pubic hair. "Would I really have a bush like this if I wanted to spend more time getting ready? I am still young! I want to get out and do things." That's when we started doing each other again.

Her junior year I let her know in advance when I would be in town. We would set up dates and I would remind her shortly before I got there. We were not exclusive. I had a couple of girls I saw in other towns. I stopped cruising for fresh pussy the day I met her. If an old friend drifted away, I did not replace them.

Starting her senior year, we agreed to be exclusive. I called and said my goodbyes to my old flames. Most of them wished me good luck. A couple pointed out that we could continue and she would never know. I stuck to my guns though. I also continued the practice of letting her know where I was and when my estimated time for arrival was. I would do that all through our marriage.

I proposed to her before graduation. Her family threw roadblocks in our way. "You need to get to know each other." Was what they said. I think the truth is that her father did not have the money for the wedding he wanted to throw for her. He was big on impressing friends and family. He did not have the money to put her through school either.

She moved in with me after graduation. We lived together for three months to prove we knew each other. Then I arranged the marriage and paid for it.

Neither one of us was religious, so it was not a church wedding. Her parents were Christmas and Easter Catholics, showing up in church twice a year. We would have to go through catechism to become catholic and then marriage counseling to qualify for a church wedding, then get our name on the waiting list. The process did not appeal to us. Instead, I rented the party center at my apartment complex. There was space for two hundred guests. I invited my immediate family. Mom and dad, sister and brother, my uncle and his wife. Two cousins I was fond of and two friends from work. I gave my wife to be one hundred and fifty invitations for her side.

I hired a wedding planner and Chiquita and I sat down and made plans for a quickie wedding. It would be catered. I would supply the wine and beer. There would be meat and vegetarian entrees at the reception. Chiquita was interested in pork and seafood, but I gently steered her away. I felt they were problematic. She selected a lot of finger food which made sense to me.

I had no interest in a best man and groom's men and elected to do without. I could keep track of the rings. Chiquita tried to do without Maid of Honor and bride's maids but her mother was scandalized and insisted, she ended up with five relatives she did not really like filling those positions. I felt sorry for her.

There are a huge number of traditions you can add on to your marriage. Some like pouring sand in a bottle made no sense to me. Some like tying fingers together, jumping over a broom or stomping on a wine glass seemed like they might be appropriate for an ethnic group we did not belong to. Henna drawings on the bride and guests seemed cool, but they were not a part of our background. That did not stop the planner from offering it though.

There was a money dance where the male guests would give the groom money to dance with his wife. I found the idea offensive. I guess I had images of lap dances in my head. The planner told me they could arrange it to have the money 'rain' or 'spray' on the bride. It was a hard no from me, Chiquita seemed intrigued but let it go.

We both wanted a wedding cake; I could not imagine a wedding without one. The planner insisted it was no different than the other things we had been discussing. My fiancé was excited about feeding me the first slice.

It looks like I was kind of a high-handed asshole, and to a degree I admit it. My bride did not just lie down and let me steamroller over her though. When we picked out engagement rings she wanted me to wear one too. I ended up with one that coordinated well with hers. We picked out wedding bands that coordinated as well at the same time.

When her mother and aunt pressed for a 'traditional' wedding dress she absolutely revolted. She refused to spend that much on a dress she would only wear once. Instead, she went for a limited-edition, custom-tailored designer dress. It was not even white. My family knew me and stayed out of the drama. Her family insisted I talk her into a traditional dress and veil. They were quite upset with me when I did not bite.

"You are already pussy whipped." Declared my brother-in-law to be.

"You are a cunt." My future father-in-law announced. I believe that was his well thought out argument for having my bride wear a wedding veil. I was not convinced. Chiquita happily wore her designer wedding dress for two Christmas parties and a formal dinner.

Despite my name, most of my heritage is Scandinavian. Having acknowledged that, there was not a single blanched almond in the rice pudding. The male guests did not line up to kiss the bride when I went to the restroom. Chiquita did not have spoons dangling in her hair. We would not have kissed under the table if everyone stomped their feet.

Obviously, Chiquita's family is predominantly Mexican. Although they have a longer history of being American than I do. We ignored something old, something new... Her godmother was invited but declined to come. Nobody knew where her godfather was, including his ex-wife. So blessings from them were out. Anything religious was thrown out.

Since we live in troubled times, instead of having her family act as ushers I hired one of the security firms my company uses. They were all women, which made sense to me, I felt they would go for nonviolent solutions. They derailed my guests from kidnaping the bride. Apparently, it's a family tradition no one told me about. The groom has to negotiate for his wife's release. I don't think they would have liked my negotiation techniques. Interestingly my wife had never heard of this family tradition either.

We did not throw garters or bouquets. We did not throw rice or birdseed. We did not release doves or butterflies. They did not vandalize my car. I did not actually have a car at that time. I could use a company car whenever I needed one. I did not need to own a car.

Two hundred fifty-six people signed our register. My uncle and his wife decided not to come, my friends also bowed out. my sister and brother brought plus 1s. The extra folks were on my wife's side.

We registered with a department store, better than K-mart, not as nice as Tiffany's. My folks were the only ones who used that feature. We asked people not to bring anything to the reception and still ended up with a dozen boxes with fancy paper on them. Her family seemed to like flasks because we receiver of three of them.

Her uncle got upset when we ran out of booze. He hopped in his truck and headed out to buy more. The food ran out shortly after that. I told the musicians to shut it down. The caterer was cleaning up as well. Chiquita and I began saying our goodbyes.

When her uncle got back, he had two cold kegs of beer and two dozen cases of beer in the bed of his truck. The party room was dark and the door locked. My wife and I were home by then. I am told he drove around aimlessly for a while. Looking for a vandalized "just married" car that did not exist? Security asked him to leave and escorted him out of the gated community. Our wedding was the first large party in her family memory that did not end in blood shed and emergency room visits.

The Bachelor party. I did not have one. I believe her dad and uncle went to a gentleman's club.

The bachelorette party? Chiquita decided to be sober for the wedding and did not go. Voted against there being one. Her mom insisted. Three of the bride's maids were AWOL at the wedding. The Maid of Honor muddled through. Fortunately, none of them were married.

When she was in college, we talked a lot about what we wanted from life. We both wanted careers. I had been plugging along really hard at mine. She planned to spend the first two years after graduating firmly establishing herself with a company. Then she would slow down a little to have kids. We wanted one of each, two point five kids, she was willing to go to the well up to four times to get our desire. Once the kids were all in school, she would press forward on her career and I would step forward on the home front.

She had been a latch-key kid. Relied on government food programs growing up. Her folks drank too much and did not always come home. She had a big family, but most of them were not very supportive. She questioned two hundred guests and three kegs to celebrate a child's first birthday.

I came from a home where my father made the money and my mother took care of the home. On most days he was at work when I got up, and I went to bed before he got home. My mother believed in transactional love. If I made my bed in the morning, I would get a hug and a kiss on top of my head. She did not love me as much if I did not do my chores. My father felt his only responsibility was bringing home money. Outside of immediate family the only relatives I knew were my dad's brother and his wife. My uncle came to dinner with his wife almost weekly. He was in business with my dad and they mostly talked about how to get more money out of the business. My aunt got along well with my mom and they talked about stuff they wanted to get.

My wife and I disagreed on some of the things we did not want. We were in strong agreement about the things we both wanted: a big house for our kids to grow up in. Knowing our neighbors. Going on scheduled vacations that we paid for in advance. Pay as you go. Having well rounded lives and balance with work, play and family. Raising healthy, happy, confident, competent, independent children.

After being married almost two years we stopped birth control as planned. A little over a year later Allen was born. We did not pause for long, slightly more than two years later the twins came along, Ava and Zora. All three of the kids had their mother's dark hair and rich complexion. Allen had her dark eyes. Ava had my blue eyes, Zora had unique green eyes (apparently eye heredity is complex). With their light eyes and darker skin, the girl's eyes seem to burn like fire.

Chiquita decided we were done making babies and I got clipped. Technically we could have had more, but we had one of each and a spare. I was feeling some pressure too. I had promised myself I would be more than a paycheck to my family and my time to shine was coming. The problem was that I had never had a dad who was a big part of my life. I had no practical experience to rely on. It scared me.

I got help from an unexpected quarter. My dad had reached the point of his career where he was a glorified advisor and his only real function at work was to rubberstamp the work of those under him. Suddenly he was interested in taking kids to the park. Imaginary tea parties with the girls. Playing catch in the backyard. He was a better dad as a granddad than he had ever been as a dad. Mom would ride along sometimes, but she was more interested in spa days and clothes shopping. Getting the kids ready for the school year was a big deal to her.