A Different Honey We Need to Tal

Things weren't going well with Talia and me. I would barely remember the last time we had sex, and I definitely couldn't remember the last time we made love.

About two years ago, Talia started rejecting my advances. We'd had a healthy sex life prior to this; granted, it was down to two (or three if I was lucky and booze was involved) a week, but it was still good, even at 50. Well, I was 50, Talia was 48 and looked at the approach of 50 like an approaching dental drill without Novocain. Whenever I assured her that she was beautiful and very desirable, it didn't comfort her -- it enraged her. She began locking me out of the bedroom if I slipped and spoke lovingly to her.

Menopause. I know it doesn't do much for women, but it sure gives men pause. It didn't pause my sex life -- it sent it crashing to the ground. Somehow, after over 25 years of marriage, I now seemed to disgust my wife. I don't know what I did or said, but whenever I was near, she'd grit her teeth and growl.

After walking on eggshells for almost two years, sleeping most nights on the couch (stupid me -- I let my wife make our guest room into her sewing room. I didn't' think that now was the time to move her out of it), I only had the shower to try to take the edge off my balls, which were now past blue and deeply indigo. Even that had usually been denied me, with Talia pounding on the bathroom door and yelling so the neighbors could hear, "JOHN SPENCER! YOU HAD BETTER NOT BE BEATING OFF IN THERE! OUR WATER BILLS ARE HIGH ENOUGH! AND I'M TIRED OF CLEANING YOUR SPUNK OFF THE TILES!" Our neighbor, Mrs. Sanbourne, who now looked like she was going to spit on me, and exaggerated her attempts to pass me in the hall or elevator without touching what she obviously thought was "the pervert". Mr. Sanbourne just looked at me with pity in his eyes, but a smirk on his lips.

I'd reached the end of my tether. I was miserable; my wife was miserable; and apparently even my neighbors were made miserable by our problems. I started looking up divorce on my office computer. I was afraid to do it at home -- it could set off Armageddon. It didn't look good. My wife had never worked, she was sure to get alimony and I would probably be stuck with the payments on the condo. Plus, it seemed like there was a good chance that she would get most of our assets, beyond the condo. Well, at least my wife would finally be fucking me again.

So, staying married at least I wasn't paying for two residences. I'd never get laid if I got divorced. I wouldn't even be able to take a date to dinner at McDonalds. I was screwed. (It's irritating how many ways there are to talk about getting fucked, when none of them gets you laid).

So, when I came home and found my wife at the dining room table, with a bottle of wine and two glasses, and heard the dreaded, "Honey, we have to talk," I was knocked for a loop.

Talia started talking at me, but I was in a daze. The phase "...sleep with other people..." came through so I knew what was coming -- she wanted to screw other men. She couldn't bring herself to be in bed with me, but now she wants some new dicks to play with? What the hell!

I realized that she had paused and was looking at me expectantly. I felt my anger surge, and yelled (sorry, Mrs. Sanbourne), "And what the hell am I supposed to do, while you're out screwing every swinging dick you can find?"

I felt that I'd struck a nerve when the look of shock crossed her features. My feeling of triumph dissipated when the look turned to anger and Talia slapped the table with both hands, and then reached across and slapped me. Hard. I was stunned, but it did take me out of the daze I was in.

"This is why I hate you sometimes!" Tears appeared in my wife's eyes. "I don't want to sleep with other men! I don't want to sleep with any men, including you!" She wiped her eyes and took a slug of wine.

"What I was saying, asshole," Ah, Talia was using endearments. "Was that I'm done with sex. When you touch me, I want to scream. The idea of sex makes me want to rip your arms off.

"No, I was saying that that's unfair to you. Though more and more often, I think I'd rather murder you than touch you, I still love you. I've loved our life together. I know you're hurting, and I know your showers aren't cutting it." (Yeah, especially with someone pounding on the damned door). "What I was saying," She paused and looked deeply into my eyes.

"I think you should sleep with other people."

"Other women?" I asked cautiously, not believing this conversation. "You want me to sleep with other women?"

"Yes, dummy." My wife said quietly. Better than asshole, at least, I thought.

I didn't know whether to be relieved or not. I thought back to my thoughts about dating after divorce and spoke without thinking. "Talia, I'm a 50-year-old man, not rich and not particularly in shape. If my own wife finds me unappealing, I don't think there's going to be a line waiting to fall in bed with me."

"I've got that all figured out. Vivian, a girl I know from the gym, has seen your pictures and has offered to help out. Here, look!" Talia held up her phone. Vivian looked to be either Filipino or Southeast Asia, maybe Thai, and was very pretty, if not quite beautiful. Maybe early 30's, though I've always been terrible at guessing the age of Asian women.

I felt my, uh, libido start to rise as I took in the dimensions of the woman. "She wants to sleep with me? Are you kidding?" I think my mouth was hanging open as my wife's hand reached across the table again. I flinched, but she only pushed up my chin, closing my mouth.

"Stop drooling," she said. "I don't understand it either," she continued, looking at me dismissively, "but some women fancy an older man. Maybe she had a daddy fetish."

I was still holding her phone, looking at the image of what could be mine. I sucked at the spit in my mouth that was threatening to become drool.

"Well?" my wife said impatiently. "I'm trying to be nice here, asshole, so what do you think?"

I was barely able to nod my head, but that satisfied the shrew who wouldn't screw. "Fine, I have an agreement here for you to sign." I looked up, surprised. "Relax, bud. It just states that you'll spend Saturday from 5 o'clock until 10 Sunday morning with Vivian. You can do what you want during those hours -- fuck, go to dinner, sleep, see movie, your choice. That should take the edge off for you.

"But you're still my husband! It's just Saturday night. The rest of the time, you're with me. No other women, I'm only giving you this pass. You go further than that, and there are consequences. We'll be divorced and you'll pay through the nose. Understand, buster?"

"Shouldn't I at least meet her first?" I said tentatively, not wanting to queer the deal. I almost moaned, I was so hard. And it was only Tuesday.

"You'll see her Saturday. She's got holes she willing to share. Don't you think that's enough?" I could see the anger rising in Talia's eyes. I picked up the pen and signed her document.

Holes! She said "Holes!" Definitely, that's what I heard. Even on our honeymoon, Talia refused oral or anal. I had to wipe the drool away from my lips.

Talia smirked at me as she put the document away in her file folder and left the table. It occurred to me that I should have read the document or asked for a copy. Then I thought, what the hell, how bad can it be. Yeah, I know. Stupid. But horny trumps stupid every time.

Saturday finally came and I drove over to Vivian's apartment. When she opened the door, I saw that her picture didn't do her justice. She was gorgeous.

She reached out and took my hand, pulling me into the apartment, and into her arms. "Hello, handsome. I've looked forward to this all week." With that, she pulled me into the most passionate kiss I'd ever had. I was so stiff it hurt as she broke away and led me into the bedroom.

She stripped me and pushed me onto the bed. Then she smiled at me, as she caressed my penis. "Nice," she murmured, before pulling me into her mouth. Later, while I recovered, she encouraged me to return the favor. My tongue hadn't tasted pussy for over a quarter century, and I was all over the place. Viv patiently started to direct me, and soon was squeezing my head between her thighs as she screamed out an orgasm.

Then we made love, slow and sensual. She'd swallowed a large load when she'd taken me orally, and after two years, the edge was at least pushed back enough for me to be slow and gentle. It was glorious.

We had a pizza delivered, which we ate in bed between another oral and then an anal session. (Anal! I was in love with this woman. Anything I wanted, she promised, and delivered). At fifty, I don't think Vivian was expecting much, but she shouldn't have been surprised that after two years, I had four good sessions in me. And she got them all out of me.

That began what was probably the most pleasant time of my married life. I was sexually sated. One night with Vivian could have carried me for two weeks, not just one. I glowed, I floated. I irritated Talia with a smile that seemed permanently pasted on my face. But she took it in good grace, laughing at me and shaking her head.

Talia and I found equilibrium in our lives and for the first time in years were almost universally pleasant with each other. She seemed to have regained her humor and I found myself enjoying her company again.

But I lived for Saturdays. Vivian and I would go to dinner and plays, movies, or dancing, before returning to her apartment for a night of sweet magic. Sunday mornings almost always started with her worshipping at the altar of my phallus. Life was wonderful.

Talia actually asked how it was between Viv and me. Vivian even told me that Talia asked if she could make a recording of our lovemaking. Talia said she missed it, which was news to me.

I was hesitant to let Viv fulfill Talia's request. I didn't feel right putting anything on film, but Viv said it would be fun, and what she was doing at the time probably affected my thinking, so I gave the go ahead. She set up my phone to record, and sucked on me for a moment before looking up at the camera and saying, "So, Mrs. Spencer, this is the penis you didn't want? Well, it's mine now, you old, fat cow!" With that, she laughed and before I could object to her calling my wife a cow, she jumped on me cowgirl and went to town.

Later, I objected to her comment, so we filmed a second session, and Vivian sent that to Talia, and deleted the "fat cow" one.

The next Saturday, no one answered the door at Vivian's apartment. I pulled out my phone to call her, but as I listened to the ring going into voice mail, I was approached by an attractive young lady.

"Mr. Spencer? Mr. John Spencer?" she inquired.

Thinking she had a message from Vivian, I nodded and answered in the affirmative. She handed me an envelope, said "You've been served," and snapped a picture of me standing there with my mouth open. As she left, she informed me that there was a restraining order in with the divorce papers, and a number for Talia's lawyer that I should call to arrange a supervised visit to collect my things.

My calls to Vivian when unanswered and the number was disconnected two days later, and I found that Talia had blocked my calls. My only point of contact was the lawyer. He arranged for a deputy to accompany me to the house to get my clothing. The locks had been changed, but my friend Joey was there with a key. "Talia asked me to let you in. She doesn't want to see you, John. Sorry." Joey was a police detective with whom I had grown up. He exchanged greetings with the deputy. Trust Joey to know everyone.

"Not your fault, buddy. Don't suppose you have room for me at your place?" I didn't expect he would, and he didn't. "Sorry, dude. I love you both, so I'm not going to take sides between you and Talia." I expected that, but it disappointed me. I'd known Joey since second grade, and he'd been best man at my wedding. He'd only known Talia for the last 25 years. (Yeah, I know. Sounds lame to me, too).

I spent two days at a budget hotel before finding a month-by-month dump to rent, a shabby studio. There was hardly room for my clothes, but I didn't think I was going to be able to afford anything else.

Once I found a lawyer, he advised me on how to handle my finances. But of course, when I got to the bank, I found that Talia had already moved almost all the money out. The same was true at the investment firm we used. What had gone wrong? Why was Talia upset enough with me to file for divorce, and under adultery, at that.

I explained to the lawyer about our arrangement, one set up by Talia herself. I even told him about the signed agreement. "What did it say?" he asked. I didn't know -- I hadn't really read it. I told him that Talia had said that it just stated I could spend Saturday night with Vivian, the girl she'd found at the gym, and the rest of the week, I was hers. "Oh, and there'd be consequences if I did anything else, outside of Saturday night. I'd be poor and divorced!"

"So, what did you do?" he asked.

"Damned if I know. I thought things were good between us, but now this!" I was miserable and dumbfounded.

"Well, next time bring in your copy of the agreement..." He just shook his head when I told him that I had never gotten a copy. I hadn't really thought I'd need one. Yeah, again, stupid. At least that's what my lawyer's look said.

When I related the whole story, about it being Talia's idea and her finding Vivian for me at the gym, my lawyer seemed relieved. "So, this Vivian can back up your story? She knows about the agreement with Talia?" When I affirmed that she did, he requested her address and phone number.

"Well, here's the thing. She's moved, and her phone number's been cancelled. I don't know how to reach her." I told him.

The lawyer gave a deep sigh. "How about her family, friends, or her employer? Surely, they can reach her?"

Sheepishly, I said, "I don't know anything about those. We never really talked outside the bedroom."

The lawyer rubbed his face, exasperated. "So, it's your word against your wife's? Guess what, buddy," he finished.

Yep, screwed again.

In court, the wife related how she had been going through menopause, and her bastard, unfeeling husband resented it, to the point he took up with some floozy and even had her send me a video of them screwing. "Even worse, his young chippy called me an old, fat cow!"

Her lawyer led her through the demeaning questions. "What number did the video come from."

"My husband's number!" was the answer, followed by renewed weeping.

The lawyer shook his head. "And what was your husband doing when his 'chippy' called you an old, fat cow?"

"He was screaming out that he was coming!" She sobbed. "Hearing me degraded excited him!"

The judge, an old gray-haired biddy, looked down her nose at me. Who knew Mrs. Sanbourne was a judge?

Talia's lawyer entered the video into evidence. Luckily, the judge said she'd review it in chambers.

Unbidden by her lawyer, Talia volunteered, "I loved him! For almost twenty-six years I took care of him, nursed him, and gave him my body! But now that I'm old and dried up, he's tossed me away!" She glared at me, weeping openly. "I was taking hormone treatments! Why couldn't you be patient and waited for me?"

I think mine was the only dry eye in the courtroom. I even saw my lawyer wipe away a tear.

Under cross examination, Talia denied any knowledge of any agreement. "Why would I want the love of my life to be with another woman? A younger woman?" More sobbing.

"Where did you think your husband was going every Saturday night until Sunday morning?" my lawyer inquired.

"Fishing!", claimed Talia. "And he always smelled of fish when he came home!"

Who know Mrs. Sanbourne had a sense of humor? Her snort resounded through the courtroom, causing an outbreak of laughter that she hammered down with her gavel.

On the stand, I explained how Talia had set me up with Vivian and all about the agreement she had suggested and written up. When cross examined, I was asked for a copy of this so-called agreement. I heard the judge give another snort, a derisive one this time, when I said I didn't have a copy, that my wife had the only one.

Talia's counsel handed me a picture, one of Vivian. A mug shot. "Is this the woman you knew as Vivian," he asked.

I nodded, looking at the mug shot.

"Your honor, when we went looking for this young lady to serve her with a subpoena, we were able to identify her as a known prostitute, Rae Obispo. She had a lengthy record of solicitation in many cities, and usually moves on after a few months. We suspect that she has moved on." He walked back to the table where my wife sat and picked up some papers. "Your honor, I have here checking account records that we obtained with a warrant from Mr. Spencer's bank. We needed the warrant as Mrs. Spencer is not on this account and doesn't have any access to the records."

From the stand, I objected. "Yes, we always kept our accounts separate, but Talia does all the accounting for our family and has all my passwords. For god's sake, she balances the checkbook, not me!"

"That's not true! Your honor," Talia responded from her table. "I don't know his passwords. He's never given them to me!"

The judge thumped her gavel, directing both of us to remain quiet unless questioned.

"Mr. Spencer, would you look at the highlighted entries on these statements, covering the last seven months?" The lawyer asked, practically shoving the papers in my face. "Would you tell us what those entries are?"

"Well, they look like cash transfers out of my account." I said, puzzled.

"For how much?" was his follow-up.

"$500.00." I was shaking my head. "Each! But I never made these. What are these?"

The lawyer wasn't done. "On what days were these transactions made?"

"What? You want me to list the date of each one?" What was he driving at.

"No, sir. Just the day of the week they were made." Lawyers really have a snaky smile.

I looked and figured. Then it dawned on me. Again, stupid. They were all seven days apart. "Saturdays. They all occur on a Saturday."

In triumph, the lawyer snatched up new papers, showing, he said, that the transfers were made into the account that the Prostitute, Ms. Obispo, used to collect her fees. "So, while your poor wife sat at home, suffering from hot flashes, you were wasting the family savings at $500 a pop to indulge your selfish, sexual, fantasies."

I weakly stated that Vivian had set it up, but I'm not sure that anyone heard me over the grinding of Judge Sanbourne's teeth.

It was over. Vivian got the condo, 70% of our savings and investments, and 30% of my salary in alimony. I got to pay her lawyer's fees and the rent and maintenance of the condo for the next five years.

Talia was still sobbing and moaning as she left the courtroom, saying "But I loved him!" over and over. She had won but seemed so miserable I wanted to comfort her.

But when I looked up, I saw I wasn't needed. My pal Joey had his arm around my wife's waist and his other hand holding her sobbing head to his chest, as they left the courtroom.

Little surprise that when the divorce was finalized, Joey's address changed. Not that I blamed him. The condo I had fixed up was a much nicer place than his bachelor pad.

I struggled for the next few years, financially strapped, going to cheap bars where fortunately, there were even cheaper women. I got more sex than I had during our marriage, but none of it was quality. I would have traded it all for one last session with...

Well, Vivian, or Rae, of course. God damn, Joey was welcome to Talia, although I resented that he was getting a good chunk of my paycheck and my condo, too. I hoped he was a necrophiliac, because that pretty much, I realized, what having sex with Talia was like. I just didn't know it until Vivan and the slew of cheap women after my divorce.