We all have them. Some of them are locations. Some of them are activities. Some of them are done in solo while others involve people.
Mine includes elements of all three. Today's happy place occurred in my house, specifically the living room. Drill down a bit deeper. On the couch in our living room.
She took me to my happy place. Our relationship is symbiotic. She indulges me and I indulge her. She's not always in the mood to indulge me. Most days she's perfectly happy with vanilla. I tell her when she wants vanilla to go see him.
Barbara laughs when I make that comment.
She then asks if I'm turning down an offer from her.
"Certainly not."
"I hope not." She looks a bit cross with me.
Vanilla with her is different than vanilla with him.
Vanilla with me involves a lot of kissing, breast play, and me performing cunnilingus on her, followed by brief intercourse. Vanilla with him involves kissing, breast play, no cunnilingus, but long intercourse. Vanilla with me is an orgasm for her and an orgasm for me, followed by cuddling, and falling asleep. Vanilla with him are lots of orgasms for her and two to three for him. They also cuddle, but she never spends the night. They have to exercise caution and avoid scandal.
Of course, people watch, tongues wag, they purposely probe, not because they disapprove, but out of curiosity. Curiosity is hard wired into us. I've been on the receiving end of a lot of innuendo, but so has she. Her brother and sister actually confronted her and asked if she was having an affair. She lied and told them no. I've had more than one drunk man or woman comment to me about chummy the two of them are, how much time she spends with him. One was dead serious when he asked. The look on his face, exasperated.
"How can you stand it?"
I shrugged my shoulders, "It just doesn't. They're friends."
"But even if they're not doing anything, it's time she's spending with him."
He was insistent.
"Not just time, but emotional energy. I'm all for helping out a friend, but doesn't he have other friends besides Barbara? The last time he got hurt she was over there every day, cooking and cleaning for him and who knows what else."
"She was just being a good friend."
She's a good looking woman so I wasn't surprised when he said, "I wish I had a friend like her."
It was obvious what he was implying. He'd fuck her if given the chance.
"Be nice to her. Want another beer? How's work?"
I winked. Changing the subject he knew he had said his piece and it was time to shut up.
"He's a lucky man to have a friend like her."
"I agree, but she spoils me too."
"Bullshit. Not like she does him. Miller."
I went to the refrigerator in the garage and got us each a can.
I spotted Barb, smiled. She smiled back. She was talking to my friend's wife.
She raised her glass. I knew that signal. I went to the kitchen, poured her a fresh margarita, exchanged glasses with her, I even got Cyndi a fresh margarita.
I heard her tell Barbara, "Joe's so nice, the way he treats you."
She said she would tell me, "He always appreciates comments from other women. It's pretty rare for me to say anything. I've grown to expect him to treat me a certain way. If he didn't I'd give him an earful."
Cyndi laughed, "I've seen you mad. I wouldn't want to be on your bad side."
Barbara admitted, "I rarely get mad. You've seen the one time I did. I get more annoyed with Joe than mad. If he forgets to do something I asked It's annoying. I remind him and he does it. He doesn't purposely defy me."
I moved out of earshot.
My buddy, Brett, was waiting.
"I'm standing here dying of thirst. Sidetracked by Barb? She needed something. A drink."
I handed him his beer.
"You know where the frig is."
He laughed.
"I got her a fresh margarita. One for Cyndi too. You'll thank me later for being such a good host."
"Cheers," he said before taking a big swallow. He was still grinning when he lowered the can.
He knew what I meant. Margaritas made Barbara and Cyndi horny, She'd wear his dick out later and by the time Barbara finished with me I'd have a sore neck, jaw, and tongue. One time she got so into me eating her she thrust her pelvis up and gave me a bloody nose. Was quite a mess because I didn't stop, not when she was that close. A couple of tissues shoved up each nostril I pleasured her with my mouth again. I've had at least a dozen bloody lips from her pubic bone. A little bit of pain and discomfort intensifies the experience. I've had buddies tell me how raw their cocks were from fucking all night. I nod my head, but my commiseration is faked. My penis is small. I climax fast. The on,y times sex has made it raw is when she's edged me for hours giving me that pain mixed with pleasure I desperately seek.
I don't share the intimate details of my marriage or sex life with anyone, not even Brett, and he and I go way back.
We talk about planning another fishing trip.
"Joe, that was fun."
"Yes, it was."
"Took you a few days to..."
I interrupted, "Get less domesticated. It always does and then it takes a few day to reacclimate myself. Barbara gets me going in the right direction."
He laughed, "I bet she does."
We played horseshoes.
Barbara came outside.
"Joe, I need you."
"Be there in a minute."
She gave me 'the look'. Hands on her hips.
"Now," her voice louder and tone sharper.
"Coming."
She went inside.
Brett laughed, "She looks mad."
"Annoyed."
I didn't tell him, but if she had been mad she would have come out into the yard, grabbed my ear, twisted it, and marched me into the house. She definitely wasn't mad and sex with her later was definitely not off the table.
Brett and Cyndi had arrived hours earlier than our other guests. It gave the four of us a chance to catch up, even though we did it separately. She and Cyndi occupied the kitchen while Brett and I worked the grill or smoker. This party was for her friends from Zumba. They weren't people we socialized with often. She expected me to mingle and play host, get people their drinks, and engage with them. It wasn't difficult. Their husbands were in the same boat, attending a wives' party. I split my time between grill duties and bartender. Parties were about the only time Barbara ventured into the kitchen these days. She is an excellent cook, but about a decade ago she said she was done making us meals.
"The community college and Y offer cooking classes."
She didn't order me to learn to cook. She just said she was through preparing meals. She offered me a solution. The other option was we eat out all the time. Expensive and high in calories. I enrolled in classes. Discovered I enjoyed it. Still wasn't wild about clean up, but I'd always done the cleaning after Barbara nuked the kitchen.
She also decided around that time frame to quit doing housework. It robbed her of her time at Zumba or her other fitness classes. During the past decade she had become quite the gym goer. I liked the effect. She looked great, had a lot of energy, and felt great about herself. She was a MILF.
I was no slob, but I was bald to the point I decided one day to shave it all off. I had love handles in spite of a flat stomach. I looked like a middle aged man. She had aged better than me. I always thought her family carried the Osmond family gene. They all looked young.
The husbands migrated to the back yard. Brett or I grilled. Horseshoes, washers, corn hole. Dominoes for later. The party was a success. Guests left drunk, full, and happy.
Brett and Cyndi left. I wasn't close to being drunk, but I had been outside all day and it had been warm. Brett and I had policed the backyard while Cyndi cleaned the kitchen. Barbara had told her it wasn't necessary. Cyndi assured her she liked cleaning. She told Barbara to take a break.
Barbara later told me she sensed Cyndi yearned to be bossed around. I said it was possible. She tested the waters. After she sat down, she asked Cyndi to get her another margarita. Cyndi did before going back to cleaning.
We three finished cleaning up. Time to go our separate ways. Barbara said she was too drunk to stand up. Brett and Cyndi bent and gave her a hug. I walked them to the door. We exchanged goodbyes, laughed about Barbara because they had never seen her drunk. I told them margaritas can sneak up on you which is why I stick with beer.
Cyndi said, "Tell Barb I'll call her tomorrow to see how she's doing."
"I will."
Brett had a grin on his face. I knew he was thinking I was going to get real lucky with Barb being so drunk. Cyndi was pretty buzzed and clinging to her husband. He was definitely going to get laid, maybe more than once.
I closed the door and headed to the living room.
Barbara was drunk, but she was also horny and she definitely wasn't interested in vanilla.
She had gotten up, put a blanket on her leather recliner, peeled off her shorts and panties, lifted up her Zumba themed T-shirt, and freed her breasts from the sports bra she was wearing. She was back in her chair, legs draped on the arms of the chair, revealing her hairy, pink gash. She was playing with her nipples.
"Take off your clothes Joe and join me."
I stripped. Her being so fit intimidated me with the beginnings of man boobs to go with my love handles. It was only a matter of time before I got a beer belly and I couldn't see my little dick unless I extended my neck or looked in the mirror. My imperfections didn't seem to bother her,
Nude, my penis hard, I stood there.
She slurred, "Where's your cage? I want to see it in its cage. Go put it on. Hurry."
I scrambled to the bedroom, found it, willed myself to get soft, and put it on.
We played with chastity from time to time, but I was never locked up full time. The only time I wore it was when she asked me to. Those times had become more frequent, but a lot of the time it was not while she and I had sex, but in the hours leading up to it.
Getting ready for dates with him she insisted I wear it because she wanted to make sure I stayed on edge or I was overcome with some he-man urge to fuck her and exercise my dominance. I liked it because it took me to a happy place. Submitting to her while she dominated me was so much easier when my penis was in chastity.
Bathing, shaving, picking out her clothes, dressing her, putting her shoes on her, walking her to the car as she went over a list of things for me to while she was with her lover, her kiss not on my lips or cheek, but air, me telling her she looked beautiful. I would tell her I loved her. She would answer, "I know."
Knowing it stung to not have her reciprocate she would puff out her lower lip, tell me to smile, and to behave, meaning no masturbation. She trusted me to keep myself locked up.
I returned to the living room.
"Stand in front of me Joe. Cuckold Joe." She laughed. Once she caught me reading a story written by someone called Cuckold Joe.
"Since your name is Joe and you're a cuckold did you write it?"
I said, "I wish. He's a good writer."
"Get up."
I surrendered the chair. She read it page by page some parts aloud.
To say it was humiliating was an understatement. After she finished she said, "You're right. He is a good writer. Who are your other favorite authors?"
I named a half dozen.
She smiled, "You have too much free time on your hands, I need to find more things for you to do."
She never did, but she did lift her skirt and told me to get to work. Our cunnilingus was a frantic coupling of mouth and genitals. She commented on how quick she orgasmed.
"I guess I'm a fan of Cuckold Joe's too."
She got up, rearranged her skirt, and told me to resume reading.
She did remind me not to let my reading interfere with my domestic duties.
