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This is a work of fiction.
Any resemblance to actual locations or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All characters are 18 or older.
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She enjoyed our divorce much more than I did.
For me it was tumultuous. For her it was freedom. At 25 she had a revelation. She hadn't slept around enough. That's a crude way of putting it. We had been together two years, married four and she had sex with two other guys before me. Then we discovered swinging. We did it several times over three years. A few women were in the mix as well. Her desire for adventurous sex grew. Swapping and a couple "dates" wet her appetite for more. Watching her being sexually satisfied: orgasmic bliss, was a total turn on. I readily agreed to continue our adventures if we could equally have fun and return to each other.
Didn't quite work out that way. After I found she had been fucking one of the guys in our wedding party for a couple years, it fell apart. I forgave her. I proposed all sorts of options to satisfy her sexual urges. Taking lovers, fucking strangers, watching in the corner, threesomes, whatever it took to keep her with me.
No, not enough. She wanted to be FREE. Live on her own. Feel free to say YES to a bar pick up. Join a singles group, be romanced or go on six dates a month with six different guys. She moved into a small one bedroom in a garden apartment. I helped her move. Nearly every week I needed to bring over paper work for the divorce or more boxes. Once it was all settled, we remained friendly and we had cordial visits. Occasionally she would offer me a beer or two. Or she would tell me to make mixed drinks. Of course, each time, stupid as I was, I thought it might lead to rekindled passion and her return.
I always called to let her know I was on the way over. I truly tried to respect her privacy and new found quest to "sow her wild oats." Each time I was at her place, I swear, she wore something revealing or super sexy just to tease me. It was unmerciful. One time I helped her unpack kitchen stuff. She was wearing a sleeveless old sweat shirt. The arm holes had been enlarged, a V cut in the neck and the bottom eight inches cut off. Each time she reached up to put something on a shelf, the lower half of her beautiful C breasts were on display. Each time she bent over a box the V opened with an excellent view from above. And the oversize arm holes offered a provocative side view. No matter which way she turned, there was a heart stopping, erection building view.
Returning home each time would always result in a mad masturbation session wishing there was some way to bring her back. I even told her to go on and fuck her brains out with fifty guys, or women. Work in an orgy and a couple gangbangs as well; and I would wait for her. God what an ass I was. I was young, naive and focused on the wrong things. Hell, it was five decades ago. Not sure I'm much smarter now.
Sometimes I would make the mistake of asking if she was seeing anyone special. There was never a simple yes or no answer. Instead, she strung out a story detailing the last three guys she had fucked that week. She was an expert at erotic narrative. Probably borne out of years of reading Penthouse Letters in college.
One evening I was trying to extend my visit. We had been talking for over an hour. She knew what her stories did to me, and was in the middle of describing a particularly sloppy blow job. I got up and made myself another drink and another for her. The erection made walking awkward.
As usual, she was, to my eye, provocatively dressed. She wore very short running shorts with a notch up the seam exposing more leg as she sat on the sofa. On top was a bright yellow untucked man-tailored shirt made of light weight nylon. It had no pockets so the fabric clung nicely to the curves of her breasts -- braless of course -- and showed her nipples off. The top three buttons were open so every move allowed a quick view of the curved flesh of the breast that I so much wanted to enjoy again. At one point she tucked a leg under her and the shorts rode up into her pubic mound. The fabric bunched on one side revealing one side of her gorgeous mons veneris. I was ready to say fuck it, pull my dick out and just jerk off right in front of her.
Mid-sentence her story was interrupted by the doorbell. She bolted for the door, looked out the peep hole, looked at me, covered her mouth then rushed over and pulled me out of my chair.
She quickly told me in hushed words, "Get out, go out the back, It's Harold. I wasn't expecting him but you can't be here. Go out the patio. Go!"
She pushed me out, slid the glass door over with a bang then pulled the curtain over. Only it didn't quite cover the glass. About three inches were open to see into the apartment. I wasn't about to just turn and leave. I wondered what she expected me to do if this was a second-floor apartment. I peered in quickly. I could see the kitchen beyond the breakfast counter and all of the living room. She put my glass in the sink and headed for the door.
Now, my ex is all of five feet four if she stood up straight. The man who entered her apartment was at least six two. She stood on tip toe to greet him with a kiss. He lifted her up and pressed her against the wall as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her legs barely hung on to his hips. This was a BIG man. Like linebacker for the Cowboys big.
He held the back of her head with one hand and gripped her breast with the other. They talked as he carried her to the sofa. I could hear words but couldn't make out what they were saying. He sounded like a baritone. A voice like Barry White or Lou Rawls.
Harold reached down and switched off the lamp on the far end table. They both went to the kitchen where she flipped off the kitchen light leaving only a stove light and a small lamp on my end of the sofa. In the dim light they mixed a couple drinks. I made a quick assessment of my situation. There was a hedge off the patio so I wouldn't be back lit or cast a shadow. Likewise, no one could see me peering in the window. No patio light either. I was just wearing jeans and a dark blue work shirt so I should be more or less invisible. I had a view down the length of the sofa. From previous visits, I knew the glass in the sliding door would look like a mirror at night from the inside. Now if she would just leave the curtain alone this might be interesting. Provided they didn't go to the bedroom.
In between mixing the drinks there was a fair amount of kissing and roaming hands. She looked deeply at him as her hand stroked his member through his trousers. They crossed to the sofa with amber drinks in Scotch glasses. He was wearing a really nice light blue linen, end-on weave dress shirt with the sleeves rolled. It stretched across his muscular back as he moved. The top two buttons were already open when he arrived. He had to be ten or fifteen years older than her. The man was in excellent shape. No paunch, no love handles. Where did she find this guy, I wondered.
My ex settled into the corner of the sofa nearest me and Harold sat in the middle, turned half-way to her. The man was huge. Broad shoulders, muscular chest and biceps that stretched the upper shirt sleeve. If she was fucking him, I didn't know how she could handle his weight. Then I started thinking about this guy fucking her. I broke away from looking at my sexy ex to assess his dimensions and look at his feet. He had already kicked off his shoes.
Make yourself comfortable why don't you, I thought. At six two, he must take a size 12 shoe?
They cozied up on the sofa sipping their drinks. He played with the hair down her back. She stroked his chest with her hand. There was some kissing. Heavy soul kissing; wet, deep tongue kissing. He put his drink on the coffee table and his huge hand enveloped her left breast. She willingly accommodated the advance, put her drink down and started unbuttoning her blouse. She threw her head to the side which tossed her hair over her shoulder. A skillful, provocative move she had used on me and God knows how many others, hundreds of times.
Each button was an event. Harold leaned back, reached for his drink and sipped it, intently watching her show. And she was VERY good at these impromptu strip shows. Sadly, cell phones were thirty years off.
Several years of progressively uninhibited exhibitionist displays at college parties had resulted in a series of erotic moves that brought cheers and applauses. Especially her famous pussy eating challenge on a coffee table. Next day, no matter how inebriated the night before, she remembered everything and it became the source of stories to friends in the future. Most of them shocked the she was proud of this behavior. Subject for another time.
******
For her final move she stood in front of Harold, tucked her thumbs in the waist band of her shorts and slowly rocked her hips back and forth pulling them down. Once clear of her finely sculpted ass they dropped to the floor. Harold wasted no time in seizing her body. One hand, fingers extended, drove straight into her expanding pussy, disappearing deep inside her. She let out a loud moan. "Ahaaa, yes." Then threw her arms around him. The kisses were deep and passionate as he finger fucked her slowly.
Harold picked her up, fingers still in her vagina and flipped her onto the sofa, pressing her back in the corner nearest the window. I could see the ecstasy in her face only when she threw her head back so far over the sofa arm. Her hips rose to meet every move of his fingers. His mouth moved to her tits. One entire breast was fully sucked into his mouth. She screamed with excitement. Screams clearly heard through the window along with her encouragement.
"FUCK, YES, fuck me, suck my tits. I want to CUM! Fuck you're so fucking good."
Oh, I had heard that before when we were married, but this had a more insistent edge to it. She was in fuck heaven. She bucked and moaned and had one orgasm after another.
He didn't let her rest. He lifted her right leg, pushed the other farther apart, her foot on the floor. The sight of this very large man, one knee on the sofa, fingers working her pussy, sucking and kneading her tits was the best porn show ever.
By this time, I had thrown caution out the window. They were close enough I could make out most of what they were saying. My jeans were at my feet and I was stroking my dick hard. Pre-cum flowed freely for lubricant. I wanted to scream at him, "Go, fuck her man, fuck her good and hard!"
He kissed her deep again, then stood to undo his belt. She rose and kneeled on the edge of the sofa to help him. She was in a hurry, scrambling with his zipper. Harold held her wrists to slow her down.
"Whoa woman," he intoned. "Do my shirt."
