My name is Henry Guardsman. You probably don't remember me, but it's likely you've seen me on TV. I'm the guy the Sunday morning news shows and CNN call when they want analysis and insight about the lunatic who runs North Korea. I'm an expert, a talking head. For the last 20 years I have bounced back and forth between the State Department, various foreign policy think tanks, and academia. These days I'm a professor at the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy at Tufts University, just outside Boston, and a visiting professor at Kennedy School of Government at Harvard and at Stanford University in Palo Alto, CA. I know, it all sounds pretty prestigious. And it is.
However, outside of my clique of smartest-person-in-the-room colleagues, I am the most average guy you can imagine. I'm 51 years old, 5'9," 185 lbs., and there is nothing about me that would draw your attention. No woman has ever looked at me and thought me "hot," no woman has ever fantasized about me in bed. No woman has ever wanted me – except for my wife. And therein lies my story.
Emily and I have been married for 24 years. She is a research librarian for the Boston Public Library, 46 years old, and most people would say she looks about five years younger. We met when she was an undergrad and I was a graduate student. I was the teaching assistant for her class, and we started dating right after she finished the course. We married 3 weeks after she graduated. She is 5'4," and I think about 135 lbs. She was curvy the first time I saw her, and still has all the curves I love. What brought her to my attention was her intellect, sarcastic humor, sparkling smile, bright blue eyes, strawberry blonde hair, freckles on the nose and cheeks, and her wonderful, womanly shape. Oh, and her breasts. They are the things dreams are made of: 38 D and if not the first thing you notice about Emily O'Hara, they are the second and third.
As a kid Emily was a bit chubby, and quite insecure about her looks. Her three sisters are all tall and built like models – and by that I mean not at all my type. I was Emily's first lover, and she was mine. She was raised in a very conservative family, and taught to save herself until marriage. She almost succeeded. When Emily and I finally made love, it was the night I asked her to marry me.
Unlike Emily, my virginity wasn't a matter of the will, but of opportunity. I never had the chance. My dating life until I met her was filled with crushes on unattainable beauties, numerous first dates followed by "Henry, let's be friends" speeches, and hundreds if not thousands of nights of all-alone masturbating. Chicks may dig jocks and musicians, and even business majors with upward mobility, but pimply nerds with a fascination for international diplomacy don't get many opportunities for amorous affairs.
Dating Emily meant passing an exam proctored by the entire O' Hara family. She is the second of four sisters. The oldest is Shannon, a year older than Emily, who shares some of Emily's physical characteristics – hair color, freckles, and pretty face, but lacked the shapeliness. I can see why some men find her attractive, but I never did. Her personality reminded me of the worst stereotype of a high school cheerleader – shallow, materialistic in the extreme, and condescending toward those she considered her inferiors. At the time I first met the family, she had been married for a year to Brad Smithson, a tall, handsome guy, who had been an athlete in high school and college, and was at the time beginning his career at one of Boston's most prestigious investment firms.
Then there was Joanie, the third of four. She was pretty, but even less shapely. I met her when she was a senior in high school, and we became friends, due to her obvious intelligence. I helped her with her college essays. She ended up at Northwestern for her undergrad, followed by a doctorate in biochemistry at MIT. Later on Joanie married Will, a researcher who spends most of his time at Wood's Hole, an oceanographic facility on Cape Cod. Of all of Emily's family, I was the closest to Joanie.
The youngest was Denise. She was a high school freshman, and the one who looked the most like Emily. She was also the wild child of the family. While still in high school she had numerous boyfriends, a few arrests for pot smoking and public intoxication, and a family-embarrassing pregnancy that resulted in her dropping out of school for a semester, carrying the baby to term, and giving him up for adoption. In her twenties and thirties Denise married Matt, divorced, and married again, this time to David. These days they live in Keene, New Hampshire.
My first meeting with the family was at their Thanksgiving celebration. I was raised in foster homes, so Thanksgiving had always been hit-or-miss, but it was a big deal for the O'Hara clan. The patriarch, Patrick O'Hara, and his wife Sarah made sure all of their children were there at the family home in Tyngsborough, a suburb of Boston. It was a wonderful time, and though I got the third degree from Emily's parents and her older sister, I really enjoyed myself. As Emily walked me to my car late that Thanksgiving evening, she let me know I passed inspection.
"I hope that wasn't too difficult. My family can be a bit intense," she said.
"No, it was fine. I really had a good time. I think everyone liked me, but you know how poorly I read those things. Well, not sure about your sister's husband, Brad. He seemed a bit of a jerk."
"You did fine. Drive carefully. I love you."
"I love you too."
Two years after we married Caitlin was born. She was the spitting image of Emily and the apple of my eye. Thirty months later Sean Patrick came along. By the time he was 12 he was taller and more broad-shouldered than me, and he played lacrosse in high school. Emily decided to be a stay-at-home mom from Caitlin's birth until Sean Patrick went to preschool, and seemed to enjoy it. It allowed her time for involvement in church and community life, and she even turned her master's thesis into a book – which sold better than any of mine. I was so proud of her. She worked hard to get back into shape, and at times her self-esteem issues due to body image would come back to haunt her. Through hours in the gym and self-discipline in the kitchen, she not only returned to her pre-maternity shape, but looked even better.
Over the years my career required a lot of travel. Regularly back and forth from Boston to D.C – so much so that we have a condo in the Washington suburbs - and also to NYC, and Palo Alto, and occasionally to London. And several times a year to Tokyo and Seoul. Whenever it was possible Emily would come with me, especially the overseas trips. But between the kids and her job, that would not be all that often. Once a month, sometimes more, she would spend several days and drive up to see Shannon and Brad at their place in Nashua, New Hampshire. It was only 90 minutes or so from our place in Cambridge. And during the summer she would spend a couple of weeks at the lake house on Lake Winnipesaukee. Emily had talked me into partnering with Shannon and Brad to buy it a few years ago. I enjoyed it, but seldom got there. I particularly liked being there when it was just the four of us – without Emily's sister and husband.
Our marriage was wonderful. We were true partners: intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually. If someone asked me the key to our happiness, I would have said it was trust and respect. I trusted Emily with my life. She was successful in her career, and we attended many social events together. Early on we promised that we would never do anything to embarrass each other in public, and we never did. Emily couldn't handle alcohol, and so she decided never to partake in public. I would drink a beer or a glass of wine at home, but never at a social event.
"Henry, we have to go to this dinner dance for the library foundation two weeks from Friday. I put it on your calendar, so I hope you can go."
"I saw it. It will be fine. But you do know that you will have to give me a refresher course in dancing if you are going to get me out on the floor."
"Sounds good to me. I love dancing with you. And you know, I will not dance with anyone else. It grosses me out to have any other man touch me."
"It grosses me out to have any other man touch you as well. And I won't ask anyone else to dance, because – well, you know."
"Yes. Carolyn in the President's office asked me once why you never dance with anyone but me, and I had to make up an excuse. I couldn't possible tell her that you get hard at the drop of a hat, and are embarrassed to let anyone know. Personally, I am glad that my middle-aged husband has no problem getting it up."
"Wait, is my prim and proper wife talking about my erection – and in the middle of the day, too. What would your parents think?"
For most of our marriage our sex life was okay – not great, just okay. There was no question I wanted sex more than my wife, both before and after the kids were born. I was ready every day, but once or twice a week was it for her. It wasn't as if she didn't enjoy it. She said she did, she almost always had an orgasm or two, and she loved snuggling afterward. But typically she was rather passive. I could count on one hand the number of times a year she would initiate sex, she never wanted the light on, and she would never do it during the day. Since she would often make noise as she would come, she was always afraid the kids would hear. She would use her hand to get me hard, but almost never her mouth, and if she did suck me, it was only for a moment or two – and honestly, she wasn't very good. After all, she never had much practice. And we never had anal sex. And, the previous conversation to the contrary, she almost never talked about sex. She wouldn't tell me what she liked or enjoyed and she would never admit to any fantasies. I would tell her about mine, and she would just pass it off as if such things were too crude for her to even consider. I thought it must have been her conservative upbringing.
Which brings us to the present – well, about six weeks ago. It was early October. Caitlin was living in Paris working on her graduate degree in French Literature, and Sean Patrick is at Cornell, a charter member of the "academic major of the month" club. I think right now it is cultural anthropology. I better start putting more money away for retirement, because there is no way these kids are going to have the income to take care of me in my dotage. Anyway, the kids are out of the house. It was a Friday night, and I was particularly horny. The crisp weather of early autumn does that to me. Emily and I took a shower together – so I knew she was in the mood. She screamed through two orgasms I gave her with my mouth before I came in her pussy from behind.
"That was fantastic honey. I love the freedom we have when the kids are not here," Emily said.
"I love to hear you when you cum. It turns me on to know you are really enjoying it."
