Dumping Sheila On Valentines Day

Valentine's Day surprise leads to a real eye and mouth opener when cheating girlfriend gets caught giving another man a blowjob.

"So, Paul, you didn't tell me. Where are you taking me for Valentine's Day?"

Sheila looked as hot as a house fire. She always acted so coyly innocent whenever she looked so sexually arousing, especially when she knew she was in for a surprise. Only, in the way she was acting, she didn't look so innocent wearing that dress. She looked guilty, like someone trying to talk her way out of a speeding ticket.

She was wearing her short, tight, red dress, the one with the plunging neckline that showed she had tits and that hugged her body like a Corvette doing ninety while negotiating curves. Only, we weren't in a Corvette doing ninety, we were in my pickup truck parked in our driveway. Nonetheless, in the way she was dressed and in the way she looked, she made me feel as if I was in a two-seater, stolen, sports car. My being with her dressed like that and looking like that, I felt that I was breaking the law, violating the speed limit, and traveling fast when just sitting beside her.

"I'm not telling you where we're going. It's a surprise," I said with a smile. "This surprise is your Valentine's Day gift," I said pulling her to me by her arm and kissing her. She made me feel reckless and encouraged by how she looked, I was as free with my emotions as I was with my hands. I couldn't stop staring at her. I couldn't stop touching her. I couldn't stop feeling her.

She surprised me when she surrendered me her tongue. When she kissed me with such passion, in the way she hadn't kissed me since we were dating, I knew she was not only excited about her Valentine's Day surprise but also excited that I was taking her out somewhere, anywhere. We've been housebound too long, not going anywhere but food shopping and doing nothing but arguing for months.

We resented one another. I resented her for not giving me sex and she resented me for not helping out more around the house and for being incommunicative, her words, not mine. I think I'm a very communicative guy. I always tell her what I want whenever I want it, a blowjob.

We've been in a rut lately and our relationship cooled before it stalled. The lust we had for one another ended shortly after we moved in together and bought this house. Once we got comfortable enough with one another to not care if we skipped a day without showering and/or passed gas, our daily routine replaced the magic of our romance. We were no longer about kissing, cuddling, and making love, now we were about working, paying bills, and doing household chores. We needed a push, a jumpstart, and I hoped that what I had planned for her tonight was just the ticket to get us to make a U-turn and get us back on the express lane of love.

We both have kids and ex-spouses from failed marriages. Too often life, with emergency phone calls and running endless errands, especially around the holidays, gets in the way of trying to stoke the fires of passion. Sometimes too tired to even summon the energy to talk, we've been spending too many evenings staring at the television before retiring to bed and waking up to do the whole boring routine over again. Weekends weren't much better with housecleaning and with the errands that we didn't have the time and/or the energy to do during the week. There was always something that we had to do individually that ate up our time and stole the energy away from maintaining the sexual interest as a loving couple.

I reached over and felt her full breast. Her nipple was already erect. She wasn't wearing a bra; she didn't need to wear a bra. She had great tits. Then, as her kiss grew more passionate and my cock started to stiffen, I reached around the console and around her and cupped her sweet ass, pulling her closer to me. I loved her ass. She had a great ass and she was wearing a thong, her telltale sign that sex was in the cards for tonight. Oh, boy. I can't wait.

For those of you offended that I'm running a race instead of capturing a romantic moment by prematurely feeling up my girlfriend, what's the sense of having a hot girlfriend if you can't maul her every so often? Yeah, yeah, I know women need more time for us guys to heat the flames of passion and to create a fire before sticking our red hot pokers in an oven that's not even turned on, yet, but I was horny. We haven't had sex in a while. Guys are always ready for some hot sexual action even when our partner is barely warm with desire. Besides, we were on our way out to her Valentine's Day surprise, so it wasn't like anything more sexual than a French kiss and a bit of rushed groping was happening.

"So, Paul," said Sheila with her coy smile again. "Where are we going that you rushed me out of the house?" She asked again, this time giving me her sweet, sexy smile. "I barely had time to find something to wear, do my hair, and apply my makeup." She batted her long eye lashes at me. "Look at me. I'm a mess."

She was fishing for compliments. I forgot to tell her she looks good. She always looks good. I should tell her that she looks good, though. Women like that. They like it when their man notices that they look good. Only, I needed to find the right words to tell her that she looked good. I took a moment to think before starting the engine and peeling rubber.

"You look good, Honey," I said looking over at her and squeezing her knee.

"Thank you, Sweetie."

Even though I wanted to say something more romantically appropriate for Valentine's Day and that would score me points later tonight when I'm alone with her in bed with her thong, I couldn't think of the words to tell her how good she looked. In my mind, however, and in the way that I told her with sincerity and with love that she looked good, instead of in the rushed way that I usually pay her a backhanded compliment, I imagined I did tell her how good she looked.

"You always look good." I smiled, "I don't remember you not ever looking good, Honey." I didn't want to overdo the compliments, so I added a bit of reality to the conversation, "Except for that time when you had the flu. You looked bad, then." I looked at her and made a sour face. "You looked really bad."

As soon as I said that, I was sorry that I said that. I shouldn't have said that. Saying that ruined the mood. She pulled away from me and fluffed down her dress. Why do I ruin things by saying the wrong thing all the time? I'm such a dope. This is exactly what I'm hoping to accomplish by embracing positive thought, learning not only how to be a better boyfriend but also a better man.

"Well, thank you, Honey. That's a lot coming from you," she said patting my hand. "Except for the time you noticed how I looked when I had the flu," she said with a laugh. "Sometimes, I feel you don't ever notice me. Sometimes, I think that I could wear nothing and parade around the house and around you naked and you wouldn't notice."

Instead of realizing that she felt neglected, instead of saying something to make her not feel as ignored, I just sat there imagining my perverted thoughts while imagining her naked. She has a terrific body. I thought about her opening the front door in a loose bathrobe. I imagined her stretching out her arms and reaching for the mail and when she accepted the mail from the mailman, her bathrobe ties loosened and her bathrobe fell open exposing her beautiful breasts and trimmed pussy to him. I could just imagine the look on his face before his eyeballs fell out of his head and rolled around the welcome mat.

I thought about her accepting a package from the cute UPS driver while only wearing a loose half unbuttoned housecoat. She always makes conversation with him and coy comments about him to me later, as if I don't know that she's attracted to him. When he handed her the package, I imagined she dropped it and leaned down to retrieve it. I imagined her rewarding him with a down housecoat view from her tits all the way down to her pussy.

I thought about her paying the pizza delivery man while wearing a towel. Then, when she gave him the money with one hand and held the pizza with the other...Oops! I imagined her acting embarrassed and putting the pizza down on the carpet to retrieve her towel. I imagined him enjoying the show and staring at her C cup tits and blonde pussy before leaving without receiving his tip.

I loved imagining those scenarios. They made me hot. They made me want her. They made me horny, as if I wasn't horny enough. Only, she'd never do any of those things. She's not like that, which is what I love about her, I guess.

"Oh, Hell yeah, I'd notice you walking around the house naked," I said with a shit eating grin, suddenly thinking about her serving drinks to my poker buddies naked.

Nah, she'd never go for that either, that is, unless she lost a bet and her having to serve my poker buddies naked was my reward. I was getting horny just thinking about Super Bowl Sunday and her standing at the poker table taking our drink order while my friends fondled her ass and tits and fingered her pussy. The looks on my friends' faces would be well worth it. None of their wives are as hot as my girlfriend and I know they'd love to see her naked body, as much as I'd love to watch them feel her naked body.

Only, she'd never do it. Hmm, I wonder if I got her drunk enough and/or promised her something really special, a spending spree at Wal-Mart, if she'd agree to it. Gees, maybe I'll bring it up during some hot pillow talk later tonight.

I'd love to watch her give my friends hand jobs and blowjobs while I videotaped it. There's no way she'd do that either. She's not like that; at least, I don't think she is. I'll diplomatically ask her later, while she's just about to cum, if she'd ever do any of those things, flash her naked body to the mailman, the UPS driver or the pizza delivery man. On second thought, maybe that's not a good time to ask if she'd serve my poker buddies naked and give them hand jobs and blowjobs. That might ruin the mood. I'll have to wait for a better time.

"Just relax and we'll be there in twenty minutes. It's a short drive," I said turning the key to start the engine.

Twenty minutes later in an uneventful drive and with her making all the occasional small talk and me staring out the windshield, we walked in a huge auditorium hand in hand along with a throng of others. Even though she's told me countless times, it was then, when I was sitting in an enclosed vehicle for a length of time, that in penetrated and I realized that I hardly spoke a word to her and that I needed to talk more and open up more to her about my feelings. Wow, I think I just had a breakthrough. This positive thinking stuff is paying me dividends all the time. Instead of just thinking about basketball, baseball, football, and hockey, now I never know when I'm suddenly about to have some deep positive thinking on relationship issues.

I continued thinking about why I do that, don't talk to her enough. I tend to zone out, especially when driving. I allow her to carry most of the conversation while half listening to her and nodding my acknowledgement, but never remembering, actually, what it was she said, sometimes not for days later. Then, when I comment on what she said, finally, she has no idea what the Hell I'm talking about. Is it any wonder we're having communication problems when I'm the one who doesn't communicate?

Yeah, I can now see how my lack of communication is hugely responsible for our not getting along lately and for her not giving me a blowjob in a long time. I can now see how oral communication and oral sex are connected in that way. Hopefully, this surprise that I have in store for her will fix all of that. Tonight, while orally communicating my need for a blowjob, she'll be giving me one of her famous blowjobs. Tonight, I'll be coating her throat with my special white cream.

Once we parked the truck and walked towards the front door, she was smiling. Her excitement was contagious. She made me smile, too. I love it when she's like this. Her mood is electric. This is the energetic Sheila that I remember the first time I saw her. We've both been a little depressed lately, being housebound for too long. It's good to get out and do something as a couple and to take a break from the household responsibilities.

"Well, here we are?"

I helped her off with her coat before taking our seats in the front row. I knew I had good seats, but I didn't know they were this good. I acted as if I had expected we had front row seats. For a guy accustomed to having obstructed view seats or standing room only seats at sporting events, these seats were like sitting on the team bench on the fifty yard line. If only I had seats as good to the Super Bowl. If only I had tickets to the Super Bowl. Nonetheless, I felt like a celebrity. With her by my side and these seats, I felt proud. I felt important. I felt on top of the world.

I still can't believe that Sheila's my girlfriend. Sometimes, I have to pinch myself to realize she's with me and that she's all mine. Thank you, yeah, I know, she is very pretty, I've said so many times to guys who have the courage to tell me what I already know about Sheila. A couple of guys with a hopeful look on their face have asked me if she's my sister or just a friend. They immediately looked downcast when I tell them we live together.

Yeah, I counted my lucky stars the day I landed her. It was fireworks from the first time I kissed her, literally and figuratively. I kissed her for the first time at the Fourth of July bash at the camp grounds on the first day that I met her. I was brazen, but I couldn't help myself. She looked so beautiful. She looked so damn hot, hotter than a firecracker.

To be honest, I don't know what a woman like her sees in a guy like me, especially before my change from being so negative to being more positive. Physically, in appearance, we look much like Billy Joel and Christie Brinkley when walking together in his video, Uptown Girl. I, of course, look more like Billy Joel, short, balding, average in appearance, and chubby, and she looks like Christie Brinkley, tall, thin, beautiful, and blonde. All my friends surely believe that I have a secret stash of cash in the bank or a huge cock in my pants. I'm no one special. I'm just me, a positive thinker.

"What's this? A concert?"

She turned and looked behind her at all the people assembled. Looking up in awe and in amazement, as she did on our first date, she was smiling that wide eyed smile that made me swoon the first time I kissed her under the Fourth of July firework sky. The low lights in the auditorium made her hair appear like spun gold and her eyes, sparkling like precious gemstones, reflected back the excitement of the moment. She was so beautiful and I was so proud to be sitting with her in the front row. Not to mention that every time she moved, she gave me a great down dress peek of her tits. I love her tits. She has great tits and to sneak a peak of them is a real treat.

"A concert? No, not really."

"This place is so big. These are great seats," she said sitting back and getting comfortable in the soft chairs. "How'd you get these?"

I love it when she's excited like this. She reminds me of a child at Christmas. It's fun surprising her. This is the old Sheila that I want. This is the Sheila that I love. We need to have more good times like this, instead of days where we're snipping and snapping at one another, fighting over money, and then not talking to one another. Yeah, this is better. This is great. I feel more connected to her. I decided to tell her that I feel more connected to her, only it came out wrong.

"I have connections," I said with a sly smile.

Suddenly, I felt awkward threading new ground. I didn't want to feel like a girlie man. I needed to be who I was. She was attracted to that man she met and not this new man that I was quickly becoming, the positive thinking man.

"Don't tell me you scored front row seats to Bon Jovi," she said with a wild look of excitement and expectant anticipation on her face. She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me on the lips before throwing her arms in the air and dancing in her seat.

"No," I said with a look of panicked dejection with the obvious realization that she'd rather see a Bon Jovi concert than to experience the surprise that I had in store for her. What was I thinking taking her here? I should have known.

"Bruce Springsteen?" Again, she started wiggling her perfect ass while chair dancing and snapping her fingers and bobbing her head back and forth to an imagined music that played in her head, no doubt.

The top of her dress opened a bit more and I watched her tits bouncing with her rhythmic movement while imagining her sitting on my cock and bouncing up and down on it while giving me a lap dance. Watching her chair dancing was hot and she was making me horny. I was so horny already.

I was filled with so much lustful desire for her that I wanted to have sex with her right there and right now. I wanted to push her down, strip off her dress and make love to her in front of everyone while everyone watched. Only I felt my cock shrivel knowing I disappointed her now with this Valentine's Day surprise and knowing that she'd disappoint me later in bed, by telling me she was tired or had a headache or had her period before turning her back to me to sleep.

"No, sorry," I said looking away from her. "This isn't a Bruce Springsteen concert."

Now, having second thoughts, I wished I had taken her to a concert instead of this. Maybe, I should have prepared her first. Maybe, she's not ready for this. Maybe, this was all a mistake trying to change and be something that I was not and never would be. Then, to think that I could change her was a mistake, too.

"Billy Joel?" Now, she was really making me feel bad, especially when she started singing a melody of his songs while smiling and laughing. She was teasing me hoping to get me to tell her what the surprise was.

"No."

"Elton John?"

Gees, what was I thinking? I'm such a dope. This will never work, I thought. I should have taken her to a concert first before taking her here.

A cold sweat suddenly made me think it was all a mistake. Without her being onboard with all of this, without her accepting this dramatic life change, none of it would be any good. I needed her to share in my plan. Only, how could she share if I didn't even tell her? None of it would feel real. I detached her. Instead of becoming closer as a couple, I alienated her. Why didn't I talk this over with her first, instead of springing it on her as a Valentine's Day surprise? She's right. I need to be more communicative. I'm such a dope.

Yet, as soon as I started thinking negative thoughts because of her learned expectations and ingrained behavior and my incommunicative stupidity, I turned my thinking around and refocused on the good. I started thinking positively to reverse the negativity that suddenly filled me like poison. It's all not going to happen overnight, I told myself. I relaxed and took some deep breathes while exuding my positive confidence outward.

Give her a chance, I thought. She'll come around once she hears Roger Evans speak. His charm is magnetic and his seminars are magical. He'll surely win her over. She'll be thanking me for introducing him to her and for taking her here.

"No, this isn't an Elton John concert, Honey."

"Michael Jackson?"

"Shelia, stop, please. You're giving me a headache. You're ruining my surprise," I said with a forced smile while looking at her with practiced understanding and through love struck eyes. I took her hand, squeezed it, and held it. "It's a surprise. You'll see. He'll be on stage soon."

Just then the crowd started chanting, clapping their hands, and stomping their feet. As the volume of sound washed across the huge assembly of people, like a great tsunami wave washing across a small island situated in the vast Pacific Ocean, the rumbling noise that started from the back grew to deafening proportions in the front very quickly.