My husband is the country's #1 sports and recreation equipment, manufacturer. We are filthy rich, living in a 10,000 square foot mansion with eight bedrooms and a three-car garage. Every room of our house is adorned with custom-built furniture, including the billiard room that has a $20,000 pool table that Vic won't let me touch, "you might damage the velvet."
We belong to a fancy country club where we socialize with other stinking rich people whose senses have been dulled by the infinite number of ways wealthy people can indulge themselves.
We play tennis and swim to stay in shape. I go to upscale shops and spend thousands on sexy clothes and shoes to alleviate my boredom. We get shitfaced at the country club because it's more fun than getting shitfaced at home and allows us to forget the monotony that comes with money.
We're not alone. We like to meet Juli and John at the club and play mixed doubles. John is roughly the same age as Vic and me--mid-thirties. Juli is twenty-seven. She has strawberry-colored hair that tumbles down to a set of small but pert tits and full lips made for kissing. Her eyes shine like jewels when she smiles. Her most beautiful
ass
et, no pun intended, is her ass. It's shapely as all fuck--easily the best ass in the club.
My name is Harlie. I'm Vic's undersexed wife, and this is the story of how I folded over a worn-out page and wrote a whole new script with Juli.
I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed living it.
One afternoon after playing doubles tennis with Vic, John, and Juli, we retired to the cool of the Pacific Pub, which is located in Sun Valley Country Club. There's a short bar, a scattering of tables and chairs, a pool table, and a TV on the wall. John and Vic usually sit at the bar. They like shooting the shit with the bartender, watching sports highlights on the TV, playing pool, and drinking in excess.
Juli and I like sitting in a corner as far as possible from our beaus and talk gossip while knocking back Long Island Ice Teas--getting crocked.
"You know, when I started dating John, I was only twenty-one. All of the guys I met before him were immature: get drunk, get blown, go home. Yet John had a promising law career, money, and class. He was funny as hell, plus he was great in bed. We dated for one and a half years, and I figured that there was nobody else like him, so I said yes when he asked me to marry him.
"But, lately, John is bored in bed. I'm only twenty-seven and hornier than a queen bee. If I don't get something every morning and evening, I start scratching the paint."
I already told you what Juli looked like and couldn't believe that anyone with a heartbeat could get bored of her. I felt like standing on a chair and shouting, "Hello, hello, is anyone breathing out there?"
She wanted advice. I was like:
Welcome to my world, sister. You're reading my script. If I get dick from Vic three times in a month, I'm a lucky gal.
Of course, I didn't say this to Juli. She wanted my sage advice, words of wisdom from a big sister. So I told her what she needed to hear.
"Juli, do you think you are the test monkey in the marriage department? You're not the first person on the planet to have this problem."
"I'm not?"
"No. You're not even the first girl in this country club to voice this complaint."
"You had the same problem?"
"I had it in spades, girl."
"So, what did you do?"
"Simple. I went to the toy store."
"You what?"
"I went to the adult toy store. I picked up some magic wands, vibrators, anal plugs, and dirty DVDs."
Then I sat back to see if my words affected the poor doll.
"You mean you just masturbate, and the problem goes away? That's your advice?"
I put my hand on her bare thigh to ensure I had her attention and whispered so nobody would overhear me.
"The truth is that nothing beats having sex with another person, but using toys is better than a hand on the gland if you know what I mean."
"Well, I don't know, Harlie. I guess I was hoping you would have something better to tell me."
"Like what, dearie? Do you want me to wave a vibrating wand and restore your husband's libido? What did you think I would tell you?"
"I dunno? I thought you would say something like 'try counseling,' or something like that."
"Counseling? COUNSELING!"
Whoops. At the end of the room, a couple stopped talking and turned to face us. I gave them the finger, and they looked away.
"Juli, counseling doesn't do shit. If divorce is an office building, then counseling is the lobby. And you don't want a divorce.
"Let's play it out. It's February, and you tell John you want to go to counseling. You go three times when he says he wants out of the marriage. Finally, his lawyer tells you how much money he's willing to give you in May. Your lawyer laughs and makes a counteroffer in July. Finally, his lawyer says he will have to speak to his client and agrees to meet in September and give an answer.
"Afterwards, the lawyers go together to a bar and get drunk on your dime. Meanwhile, you go to your condo and back to your sexless life because you're separated and haven't fucked in forever.
"It goes back and forth like that for a year and a half. You cope by drinking more and popping pills. You start dating guys who only want to get into your pretty panties. It's depressing, and so you go to a psychiatrist. Now you have a shrink, an attorney, and a list of guys who want to lick your pussy. Sounds great, doesn't it? It gets better.
"Your shrink wants to fuck you too. And your attorney wants more money--don't forget that you are paying him, not John. And the list of guys that want to eat you starts to get shorter because all that drinking and pill-popping makes you a little fuzzy around the edges. Finally, you begin to look like you're forty.
"Then, one day, the unbelievable happens. Your divorce is final! You call your best friend, which is me, and we go out and celebrate. We go to a strip joint. We laugh, drink, dance, and two guys pick us up--Jack and Phil. You bring Jack to your apartment. He is too drunk to get it up, but he gives you a rash that no dermatologist can cure. Worse, he doesn't want to leave because he has no place to stay while getting a divorce.
"I don't make out much better. But I go to Phil's apartment. He wants to do anal, and when I refuse, he slaps me so hard that I have to make an appointment with an oral surgeon because I lost two teeth."
Juli took a sip of her iced tea and rolled her tongue around an ice cube, thinking.
"Wow, when you put it that way, I see what you mean."
"I'm not making it up, girl. If I could make this shit up, I'd be writing for Netflix. But, listen, I need to go and powder my nose."
I looked over at our men. They were laughing at a dirty joke the bartender had told them.
"Think about it, okay. I'll be back in ten."
When I returned, the boys were playing pool. I don't think there is any game as dull as pool, but Vic loves it. He'd prefer putting a pool ball in a hole than sticking it to me.
I asked Juli if she thought about what I'd told her. She surprised me by answering, "Have you ever checked out the internet, Harlie?"
"You mean, do I watch porn?"
"Actually, I was referring to the lingerie and bikini websites. I like fantasizing about the girls."
This was getting interesting.
"May I ask what sort of fantasies you have?"
