THE TRUTH SPILLS OUT
Our attic was a mess. We had box upon box of junk that didn't need to be kept in the first place stacked willy-nilly into the rafters. I sweated like a pig in the July heat and mentally bitched at myself and Jill for letting it get this bad. Though Jill was an absolute peach, she had hoarding tendencies where memorabilia and financial records were concerned and I was now living with the result, and probably would be all day.
We met in college and married just afterwards. Jill caught my eye early in our freshman year, but we did not begin dating until the end of their junior year because Jill was dating someone—Rick Taper. She was my type in every way, a pole-vaulter, she was a tall, athletic, Nordic blonde with beautiful high breasts, broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and remarkably firm buttocks that belled out beautifully into her shapely legs. She was a looker too, with big blue eyes, high cheekbones, a pert little nose and full lips. When Rick idiotically cheated on her I made a beeline for her, and promptly bounced off several times. We'd all heard about what Rick did, there weren't many secrets in a community as small as ours. I don't know if it devastated Jill and she just lost confidence or had reached the conclusion that all guys were little shits unworthy of trust. Whatever the issue, it took months before she was even willing to go to lunch. Once we started dating though, we soon knew we were right for one another. We were married in July after our junior year.
Both of us were highly idealistic about teaching. I dreamt of becoming a high school head coach and athletic director because I was on a partial athletic scholarship for football and I was decent at it, managing to be all-conference safety my last two years. Coaching seemed like a natural extension of everything I was doing, but Jill dreamt of being an art teacher. We found a perfect match in two open positions in a north Georgia school system during our last year. Jill would take over the entire art program and I would become safeties and linebacker coach for the high school team and teach history—easily my favorite subject.
Had it not been for Lee Timkins, a narcissistic, foul-mouthed, petulant little Napoleon who held the head coaching position, we both would have stayed in teaching. That was a bit like saying I wouldn't have gotten wet except for the rain. By the end of my first year I was looking for a way out, and even though I'd been advanced to defensive coordinator by my second year it didn't help. By the end of our fourth year I'd found my escape route and took it. Timkins had the gall to try to shame me into staying "for the good of the boys" as though he actually gave a shit.
I went to work for, and then gradually earned a piece of, an emerging custom home construction company owned by one of our team sponsors. I'd done some work on a framing crew with my uncle and had also worked short stints as a carpenter and a plumber's assistant during the summers, so I had a little bit of a head start. But the job was mostly about attention to detail and motivating the subcontractors who were handling the building, both I was good at doing. Steve, my business partner, was everything coach Timkins wasn't. He was smart, direct, generous with praise, fair on compensation, and honest to a fault.
In the last five years we have become one of the most successful homebuilders in the North Georgia area. We're not the biggest, but we produce excellent product and earn a very solid living for our families. Steve's wife Wendy, who keeps the company books and is a randy little tease who never quits dropping hints about what she and I should be doing in the storage room, was just another compensating benefit of the move. Being outdoors and on the move all the time helped my appearance and my disposition. I managed time to work out and the work itself helped me stay tanned and fit and to burn off all the extra energy that normally plagues me. Jill liked the results just fine.
The attic was dusty, dry and enormously hot, but I was now more than half done. A light at the end of the tunnel thank God! I took another slug of ice water, relishing the taste of the Jack Daniels I had worked into it, and grabbed two carboard boxes that had a third smaller box on the top. A bridge too far as it turned out. When I lifted the three and headed towards the stairwell the top box tumbled off the side and crashed to the floor, spilling its contents all over the rough pine.
"Well shit" I muttered.
It was a box of old letters. They were yellowed and like all the paper in the attic, bone dry. It would be explosive kindling should a spark ever hit it. I put down the two large boxes and stooped to gather up the letters and reload back into the box when a photo fell out of one.
"Holy shit."
"Are you okay?" Jill asked from below. "I heard something fall. Did you fall?" Mother hen, she was always worried about me, which was a good thing most times, but felt downright intrusive just now.
"I'm fine! I just dropped a box!" I yelled.
"Okay, well take a break if you need to" Jill responded.
I thought I'd do just that, not because I needed to, but because the image on the photograph demanded attention. It was of Jill's college roommate Carmen Velasquez. One of my teammates and I had walked all the way across campus behind Carmen just to watch her ass sway. My friend astutely observed "that girl's a walking erection." I laughed then, but it was a damned good summary. Where my Jill was light, Carmen was dark, where Jill was athletic, Carmen was voluptuous, where Jill was serious, Carmen was a mischief-maker prone to equal fits of laughter and hot anger, where Jill kept her charms to herself, Carmen flaunted hers. She had a mass of thick lustrous hair so black that it looked blue in the sunlight and the kind of breasts you dreamed of squeezing, full, round, and surprisingly taut given their size. Her nipples were daydream generators, often poking through the skimpy tops she wore. The photo would have caught my eye just because it was Carmen, but I was stunned because Carmen was nearly naked in it.
Carmen was perched on an orange sofa. She was on all fours and wearing only a tiny navy-blue string bikini. The photo was taken from behind her and to her left side and looked professionally staged. Carmen faced the camera over her shoulder, her dark hair swept over her right shoulder to give the viewer a clear view of her face. Her giant tits strained against the small triangles struggling to contain them. Her legs were staged too, the left leg up and the right one back to reveal a dark blue G-string splitting the deep crack between Carmen's sweet round ass cheeks and a teeny triangle of fabric covering her pussy. The photo looked like an outtake from a masturbation scene. Carmen was looking straight at the camera, her right hand buried in her pussy lips beneath that bikini bottom, her mouth slack and her eyes half-lidded with lust.
The questions rushed at me a mile a minute. Why did Jill have a half-naked picture of her college roommate? What was the point of Carmen sending it? Did Jill do an exchange? Had Jill sent pictures like this to Carmen? And why?
I flipped the photograph over and looked at the back, pausing to rearrange my rapidly expanding cock before the pubic hair cut it in half. The backside contained nothing but a date. I compared it to the dates of the letters spread out in front of me and found the one post-marked with the same date. I opened the letter and began to read. My hands were trembling, and it wasn't from the heat.
Most of the letter was typical chit-chat; how are you and Paul, we're fine, went to see grandma in Brazil, Tim is a pain in the ass as usual, but doing really well at his brokerage. Finally, there was a reference to the photograph. "Hope you like the photo. Tim took it. You can guess what happened next. Thought you might like it!! I loved yours! Ultra Hottt!! Keep 'em coming!!" Carmen's letters to Jill had ended about the same time Tim and Carmen moved to the town next door.
Curiouser and curiouser, I put the letter box back together and stowed it away. Then I thought better of it. If I left the letters up here, I'd never be able to get to them without Jill wanting to know why I was spending so much time in the attic. I took the letter box down on the next run, praying that Jill wouldn't intercept it. I wrapped it in a couple of trash bags from the garage and locked it into the built-in tool box on my truck.
That was Saturday. On late Sunday afternoon I told Jill I had some paperwork to catch up on the office and that it would probably take a while. I wanted to be at the office when it wasn't full of prying eyes. I brought the letter box out of the truck, pulled off the trash bags and separated out all of the letters from Carmen from other junk. There were over forty of them spread out over several years starting after the two roommates had graduated and married and ending two years ago. I flexed the letters to see which ones contained photographs. Most did. I pulled each of them out and laid them across my desk, careful to check that they were dated so that I could put them back in the proper letter when I was done.
And then I reached for my cock and started massaging it. Many of the photos were sexy, but ordinary. Carmen frisking her dog's ears, Carmen hanging on Tim's shoulder, Carmen twirling in a short dress with a pleated skirt and stilettoes. But at least half could have come right off the pages of a men's magazine, some from Maxim, some from Penthouse. The photo that fell out first was tame by comparison to some of these new ones. In several, Carmen was completely or partially nude, her giant D-cups and wide dark nipples on plain display. In several Carmen was in some form of incredibly erotic sexual pose, often with a sex toy of some kind. My favorite of these was a simple shot of solely of Carmen's breasts chained to nipple clips. Carmen's hand could be seen in the bottom of the photo, her index finger snaked around the chain tugging it down.
For some reason a photo which really caught my eye appeared to have been taken in a Mexican beach resort. Carmen was lying on her back in a wicker lounger, her head tilted slightly up by an unseen pillow. She was wearing a tiny black string bikini bottom and nothing else. Instead, a Fedora was strategically positioned over her ample breasts and she was looking off in the distance as if sleepy. The look said "I've just been fucked hard and I'm about to drowse off." The effect was ridiculously sexy.
