Did She, or Didn't She?
Only her hairdresser knows for sure
**
Melissa was a babe. Short and stacked, with a pretty face that looked up at me adoringly. She was the perfect wife, the perfect life partner, the woman I wanted to grow old with. Before all that, however, we wanted children, and I was having a lot of fun trying to knock Melissa up. We had been married seven years, and we had a nice group of friends, and we lived close to Melissa's family. Melissa's mom, in particular, was chomping at the bit for us to give her some grandbabies. I even worried that when we actually had a baby, we'd have a custody battle with Melissa's mom.
Despite all of our friends, and her family right there, Melissa's closest friend seemed to be her hairdresser, Brandy. She and Brandy were thick as thieves, and they gossiped like there was no tomorrow. I enjoyed that Melissa had made such a good friend. Brandy, it seemed to me, was a sweetheart.
Melissa used to tell me about her discussions with Brandy. They'd talk about the best bars, the nicest clubs, the restaurants that gave good value, the meager tourist sites in the area, and whether or not Aruba was the best choice for a Caribbean vacation, to name a few.
"Do you ever talk about sex?" I remember asking her.
"Mark! How could you ask such a question!" Melissa had replied.
"Nevertheless, do you?"
"Yes, of course, but any details are covered under the hairdresser/client privilege, and you'll never hear about them!" Melissa said.
"I hadn't heard that the Supremes had extended the lawyer-patient privilege rule to beauticians?"
"Well, I can't help it if you're not up to date. It's the famous case Kardashian versus the State of California," Melissa replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"So, you're not going to tell me anything, I guess?"
"Only that Brandy is having a hard time with men, and I try to help her, and that's ALL you're going to get from me!" she said.
I teased a little more, and Melissa stopped me cold when she said, "Okay, okay, be that way. I'll spill, under your third degree. The truth is, the dark secret you so want to know, is that Brandy uses Kotex Pads (sanitary napkins), and I use tampons. There; happy?"
Far be it from me to have my sweet wife violate the hairdresser/client privilege any further than she already had! I dropped the subject, and had another swig of my beer.
Well, when everything is good, something inevitably will go wrong. This time, it was my job. Maybe it's always one's job. I went into a depression, and it affected all sorts of things, including my self-image, how I thought Melissa viewed me, and, of course, my sex life. I had trouble getting an erection, and that's all I'll say about that! I was so depressed that Melissa started going alone to the parties we were invited to. I'd stay home and wallow in self-pity.
Two things happened simultaneously. I finally got a prescription for Viagra, and I got a new job! It paid more, too. It did have one flaw, however: It was in southern Wisconsin, and we lived in central Indiana. It was a solid six-hour drive to the new job, and that's if I didn't stop for coffee, to urinate, for snacks, or for gas. Plus, there was 80 miles of Chicagoland I had to drive through (yes, I clocked it on my odometer), and so I had to time my drives to avoid the worst traffic.
Melissa didn't want to move. After all, she herself had a good job right there in Indiana, plus we lived close to her family, and we had a vast collection of friends. Finally, there was Brandy: Nobody else could conceivably take care of her hair like Brandy could!
So, after a bit of a fight, we became a commuting couple.
I got a nice apartment in southern Wisconsin. Melissa helped me choose it, and outfit it. I became Melissa's weekend lover. It wasn't easy, driving home on Friday nights, and back to Wisconsin on Sunday nights. We partied our hearts out on Saturday nights, and I continued my quest not to find the holy grail, but to knock up Melissa. Trying to knock up Melissa was more fun, in any event!
It was a draining life style. I almost got into accidents twice, and one time I even fell asleep while driving. Thanks be to God, and the Highway Department, that they have those bumps at the edges of the highway. More than once they woke me up as my Kia Sonata would drift over onto them.
One near accident woke me up to the risks I was taking. I was also putting other people at risk. Sleepy driving is just, quite simply, not a good idea! So, when I was sick, or just too exhausted, I'd take a weekend off, and just stay in Wisconsin, while Melissa would remain in Indiana. We thought about meeting in Chicago, but Melissa hated driving, and she hated driving a lot when it was in a big city. Plus, the hotels in Chicago were expensive, and we were still a bit under water vis à vis our credit card bills.
Melissa was a country girl, through and through. She was not the kind of girl who would enjoy a weekend in Chicago, even if the shopping was magnificent. What truly convinced me of her country girl nature, was when she once told me the first time she had sex, real sex, was in a corn field. What a way to get deflowered! That story was one of my favorites of Melissa's sexual exploits before we were married.
Another one of Melissa's adventures when she was young and having fun, was skinny dipping. A bunch of friends all went skinny dipping in James' pool. James was one of the rich kids. She ended up fucking two different guys during the skinny dipping, she finally confessed to me. One of them was her boyfriend Ralph at the time, but when he got too drunk to function, and had to go lie down inside, his friend Mike quickly profited from his absence and seduced my sweet farm girl Melissa. It took a while to extract that last little detail from my adorable wife.
Melissa was ashamed to have let two guys fuck her at the same pool party. She was not ashamed, as near as I could tell, about having cheated on her boyfriend Ralph. "Ralph and I were only going steady", she explained, "but it's not like we were married, or anything. I was just having fun." She added, "It was fun to see Mike's face when I told him he had just had sloppy seconds. I thought his eyes were going to pop right out of his head!" she said, and then giggled to herself at the memory of it all.
That was all long ago, and long before she settled down and married me. Melissa's explanation for her behavior was always the same: "I'm a farm girl, Mark! That's what farm girls do."
Technology was our friend, especially Facetime on our iPhones. It was as if Melissa were right there, with me, and I could read her emotions in her face as the words came out of her mouth. Naturally we succumbed to the inevitable, and occasionally Melissa would give me a treat and Facetime me while she was topless. I loved it! Usually I'd use Quicktime to record a Facetime call with Melissa, and then I would re-watch it to accompany some solo time to myself, before bed. I'd always get a good look at her goodies; Melissa was generous that way.
**
Melissa began to get upset, since she was not getting pregnant, and we had been trying for four years. She had noticed herself that her super fertile time, when she was ovulating, was for some reason often mid-week. When it was Wednesday-Thursday-Friday, she would attack me when I arrived, exhausted, late on Friday, and we'd make wild love. The woman was an animal, but on those nights I couldn't cum in her mouth, or in her ass, or squirt on her boobs or even her face; no, I had to cum exclusively in her pussy, and as deep inside her as my cock permitted.
Wisconsin is surprisingly advanced considering what dumb-ass people it has within its borders. Senator Ron Johnson, anyone? He was elected, too! It turns out it was easy to get myself tested, to see how talented my little swimmers were. They were not that talented. I wasn't sterile, but the Doctor warned me it would take a while, and a little luck, to get my wife pregnant. He told me, in so many polysyllabic words, that we'd have to fuck like bunny rabbits every chance we got to get Melissa pregnant.
I did all the right things: I joined a gym in Wisconsin and exercised, I took fenugreek supplements, and vitamin D, and I ate lots of foods rich in anti-oxidants. I couldn't quit smoking, because I had never smoked in the first place. I wish I had been a smoker -- that way I could have quit smoking and felt all virtuous. Finally, I took Ashwaganda supplements, even if I had no idea what the f**k Ashwaganda actually was. It comes from India, and judging by the population of India, Indian men have no problems with fertility!
Around the middle of the third year of this @#$%^&*! commuting, I had an interesting Facetime call, on Tuesday evening, with my sexy wife Melissa. She was topless, as she usually was at that point when we spoke, but also, she was with Brandy. She was calling from our bedroom. Brandy was also topless! There was a cacophony of giggling coming across the microwaves from Indiana. The girls were clearly drunk, or stoned, or both, or high on some other drug.
Before you ask, yes, I got to see Brandy's boobs, and yes, they are quite nice, and yes, obviously they are sexy, and yes, I was very glad to be recording the Facetime call! The call was coming along nicely before I detected a man's voice in the background. I asked about it, and my somewhat the worse for wear wife explained it was from Brandy's new boyfriend Sam, and Melissa was there to chaperone.
Melissa turned the phone so I could meet the new boyfriend, and as she did, it glided by a mirror, and I noticed that both women were not just topless, they were both wearing panties, amid nothing else. Nothing at all. I wasn't sure about it, since it happened so quickly, but I confirmed it a bit later that night, when I reviewed the recording of the call. Sam was fully dressed, but still, I found it disturbing: my wife being nearly naked in a room with two other people, one of them being a guy, and me stuck in Wisconsin where the state drink was milk!
In the following months, when it came to discussing what on God's Green Earth happened that one time I had a FaceTime call with Melissa when she was almost naked, along with Brandy, and with Sam standing to the side, Melissa did her best impression of a littleneck clam. I let it go. Melissa had doubtless been as high as a kite, and reliving her youth. We continued our exhausting life style, with me commuting and then Melissa attacking me when I arrived, trying to get me to knock her up. I was consuming all the Ashwaganda my poor body could handle.
There was another episode, however, and it was a bit more troubling. Melissa and Brandy were at a party one Saturday night when I was sick with the flu and couldn't make the long drive home. We still called, via Facetime, even if the party was noisy as hell! As we talked, there was a guy I didn't know, hanging all over Melissa, and one time, while my drunken wife was telling me how much she missed me and loved me, the drunk guy hanging all over her (I later learned his name was Jim) began pawing at Melissa's left boob, right in front of our FaceTime call.
Jim slipped his hand under Melissa's top, and since she wasn't wearing a bra, he was directly fondling her boob, while Melissa pretended not to notice, and giggled through the phone to me. There was a pause, then Melissa said, "Just a minute honey; hold on," and a minute later Melissa was back, and she was now topless! Right at the party, where many of our friends could see her and could see her naked boobs! Then Jim had his mouth on one of Melissa's nipples, and she told him to stop, playfully slapping his head away from her boob.
"Turn the phone so I can see others at the party," I said, and giggling, Melissa did just that. Around a quarter of the women at the party were topless, and some -- including Brandy, who of course was there -- were wearing only their panties. I sighed, and Melissa and I continued to talk, and I heard her say some more things like, "Stop. No! Those stay on, Jim!"
Upon questioning, I learned Jim was removing Melissa's Daisy Dukes she had worn to the party (Melissa has good legs and looks dynamite in Daisy Dukes), but she managed, only through admonitions, with some forceful slapping, to keep her panties on. Brandy grabbed the phone from her, and gave me a very drunk, "Hi, Mark! Want to see my boobs?"
"They're lovely. Is that cum splashed on them?" I asked.
"Oh, yeah. Oops! Sorry, I forgot!" Brandy replied.
