Author's Note: I realized after receiving many PMs that I should have made this clear when I wrote Chapter One: Cherry is a figment of my imagination. I am not her, and she is certainly not me. All of the characters in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Hello all. I have told you about my latest night out, and I am more than ready for another one. But first, I promised to introduce myself properly. So we're going to take a trip back in time so you can get to know me a bit better.
I'm Cherry. I grew up in a regular suburban home thirty minutes outside of Chicago. Pretty two-story house on a quiet cul-de-sac, two loving parents, and a protective older brother.
I knew at an early age that I was beautiful. Everyone told me so, from family and friends to strangers that would stop my mother in the grocery store to "ooh" and "aah" over me. She would beam with pride every time.
I had wavy blonde hair and bright, green-blue eyes framed by thick lashes. My complexion was flawless, even throughout puberty. As I became a young woman, I had a slim figure with curves in all the right places. I had full C, borderline D cup breasts by the beginning of my sophomore year.
I excelled in school without really trying. I was athletic and academically gifted. My senior year of high school I was the captain of the cheerleading squad, class president, and I graduated valedictorian.
I chalked it all up to good genes and great luck. I didn't take it for granted, but rather, I felt truly blessed.
I went on a few dates in high school, but never felt a spark or had any real connection with anyone special. That all changed at the beginning of second semester, my freshman year at Illinois State University.
Jake and I were randomly partnered up to complete a project together. We instantly became inseparable. He was so handsome, so sweet and sincere. He had longish light brown hair and hazel eyes, and the most adorable dimples. Within a week, I knew I wanted to be with him forever.
We had sex after six weeks of dating. He was my first. Jake told me that he had lost his virginity on the night of his senior prom, but it was over quickly and it wasn't with anyone special, so he considered me to be his first, too. It was pleasant, though I didn't understand why everyone made such a big deal out of it.
Jake and I dated exclusively throughout college, spending countless hours planning our future together. We would have a nice home and rewarding careers. We agreed on three kids-hopefully two boys and a girl. Jake was my world, and I was his. We had sex occasionally, and my opinion about it didn't change. It was okay, and sometimes it felt good, but I still didn't really get it.
Jake and I both graduated with degrees in architecture. I was class salutatorian, and he told how proud he was over and over again. We easily secured jobs after graduation, and moved into a small apartment in Chicago. We got married following winter, and within a year and a half, we had purchased a cute three bedroom, two bath home just a few miles from where I grew up, and where my parents still live today. I thought our sex life was satisfactory, though very vanilla. But I was perfectly content. We were building our dream.
Almost a year to the date after we moved into our house, sitting in a cold doctor's office, I discovered the fault in my genes. I would never be a mother. And more devastatingly, I would never make Jake a father.
We discussed the possibility of using a surrogate briefly, before I jumped into researching adoption. I tried to talk to him about it numerous times, but talk is all it would ever be. I could clearly see that Jake's heart was not in it anymore, and eventually, I stopped bringing it up at all.
Jake and I both dove headfirst into work to deal with our grief. My career jumped onto the fast track. Jake's did not. A year later I was earning twice his salary and making a name for myself while Jake floundered. The resent in his eyes every time he looked at me broke my heart. The pride he once had in me was gone.
I wanted to fix us. When I suggested that we take a vacation, Jake laughed at me, siting that he could not take time away from work. Next, I asked him to attend counseling with me. This made him uncharacteristically angry, and he shouted at me. "I don't need fucking therapy, Cherry! If you need it, then by all means, GO, but don't try to drag me into your bullshit!" He stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him. That was the first of many times that Jake spent the night at his office while I cried myself to sleep in our bed.
Through it all, I maintained hope that things would be okay, and Jake would find his way back to me. My good genes had failed me, but I was confident that my great luck would not. Then I got the call that changed everything. Jake had been in a car accident.
Now, hold up, before you get too torn up for Jake. He was fine. Mostly.
He suffered a concussion, several cracked ribs, and a broken wrist, among various bumps and bruises. It was enough to earn him several nights in the hospital.
I stayed by his side every moment, even though he told me repeatedly that it wasn't necessary. The morning following his second night there, I thought I would run home, shower and change clothes while he was passed out on pain meds.
After I cleaned up, I decided I would surprise him by bringing him his laptop. I knew he was stressed about missing work, and I thought if he could at least catch up on some emails it might make him feel better.
I went into our shared home office to fetch his computer. I popped it open to see if it needed a charge. And my world stopped.
Jake was halfway through the composition of an email, and it had nothing to do with work. This was a letter to a lover. My head spun as I started reading the words, hearing my husband's voice in my head, saying the words... "I can't stop thinking about the taste of your sweet pussy."
I closed my eyes as an old memory of a specific night in college surfaced. After having many conversations with my friends about what was happening in their very active sex lives, I asked Jake if he wanted to try going down on me. "Sarah said that her boyfriend really enjoys doing it..." I told him.
He did try, for about 12 seconds, poking his tongue around aimlessly, before telling me "It tastes weird". I tried to hide my disappointment. He offered to try again a few weeks later, but I declined. I didn't want to make him feel like he had to do something he wasn't comfortable with. Neither of us ever brought it up again.
I opened my eyes and read more: "I loved watching those big tits bounce when you were riding me." The tears that had been welling up in my eyes spilled down my cheeks as I thought of all the nights I spent on my back, wishing for some variety, but ultimately keeping quiet and settling for the same old missionary as always.
"My dearest Susie..." I read that letter at least ten times. He told her she had his whole heart, always...Exactly the words he used to write on Valentine and birthday cards to me. I backed out into his inbox and found at least twenty emails, most of them between him and Susie-she apparently loved the way he fingered her while he made her cum with his tongue. There were a few to other people, including one where he thanked someone named Starla for the "life altering blowjob."
