It's totally amazing how one's mind gets jumbled up when a woman is involved.
For me, even after I was divorced, I continued to think about my former wife. It was as if she'd never leave the etchings of my memory bank. Nothing could dismiss the thoughts of her loving mouth, the way she's suck me and fuck me and, well, satisfy my every sexual need.
There was only one little problem. As mentioned in previous stories, my wife had an addiction. A serious addition which struck the very fabric of our marriage. Nancy Jean Roberts had an oral addition. From her senior year in high school on she would find a way to be the cum receptacle for every size, shape and nationality of cock, ultimately being named, in a quiet way but in a way nearly everyone who needed to know knew, the Blow Job Queen of Ridley High.
I, of course, had no knowledge of such royal title until the 10th anniversary of her high school graduation, where I not only found out about her oral talents being spread around her old school but watched her practice them once again for old times sake in the back seat of an automobile.
There was a confrontation, we split, got back together, and ultimately, after I caught her blowing my boss and my best friend several days apart got out of the relationship for good. If Nancy Jean needed to have a cock fill her oral cavity, it could be any one she wanted now, without regard for cheating on me.
Still, I continued to go to sleep at night thinking of the sweet part of the woman I had loved. No, I couldn't get over the fact that she had this problem, but I still missed her.
When she surprised me in my office about a year after our divorce was final, looking prim and proper in her plain schoolteacher's outfit, the memories came flooding back. That was quite an afternoon, because it was the day she begged me for more alimony to allow her to keep the house we once lived in. I had held all the cards in divorce court, of course, but didn't leave her pennyless. It was actually a decent settlement in the context that I had the witnesses, the video and audio tapes, the documentation that she opened her mouth for cock more than a whore on 42nd Street.
In any event, that afternoon we struck a deal: she's orally pleasure me once a week and I would significantly adjust her monthly stipend.
That was the beginning of my downfall, as when she inherited a tidy sum from a long forgotten relative, she no longer needed to prostitute herself on Wednesday afternoons. And soon I was missing her talented mouth once again.
A few months later I was transferred to a new, bigger office, and decided to take a chance. I called Nancy Jean up and she agreed to have dinner with me, and it was like we had never left. Three weeks later, I know this was crazy but it happened, we were engaged to remarry. Over the summer we became man and wife for a second time complete with hopes of a new life.
Yes, we had discussed her proclivity for the male organ. Yes, she agreed this time she'd behave, and no, I didn't believe it for a minute.
For the next year she kept her word. We had a great relationship, learning about ourselves once again from the beginning. We were like honeymooners the first few months, and generally forgot about past problems.
It was too good to be true!
I stubbled upon that fact by accident. It was a rainy Thursday afternoon and I was sitting at Olga's Diner munching on a western omelette — fries, not home fries — and sipping coffee. The only reason I was in the area was because a client had insisted on showing me his new office and I had driven across county to visit. Once done, I decided to stop for a late breakfast, early lunch, and took a command post in the rear of the diner where I could spread out some work on the table.
