This is a fictional story with a few parts that might be unrealistic, but it's only a story, right? So please allow a little disbelief.
It's full of the usual tropes. Characters are probably caricatures, some readers may prefer more development.
All that said, nothing written here is meant to be personally insulting to anyone. Differences, distinctions, and contrasts are for the storyline, but I'm not putting down and am not biased against any culture, career, schooling, level of education, economic status, race, sexual orientation, occupation. This is just a story showing some contrasts that may lead to conflict.
Story covers about 25 years, so hopefully readers can follow the timeline.
Thanks to BentNotBroken for editing and contributions.
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For some reason I get a lot of pleasure out of reading about cheating wives and all their reasons. So many stories seem impossible, unrealistic, have crash and burn endings, or endings that are abrupt. I have no personal desire to cheat, I just read these for recreation I guess.
It's also hilarious to read the comments criticizing the writing, especially about the overused tropes. But I wonder, just how many tropes there are? Eventually they've got to be reused!
Sometimes I think my mood changes after reading a story, maybe I'm a little cranky, pissed off, unnaturally quiet, or even sexually aggressive with my wife.
There have been times, only a few, when I've let some of the story plots invade my mind and make me suspect my wife of something, or at least look for whatever signs there may be. Usually it doesn't take long to get past these feelings. There've never been anything close to the signs of cheating with Renata.
On the other hand, my wife isn't stupid. Not at all. In fact, she's really book smart. She didn't go to college out of high school. Neither of us did. We grew up in an area and an economic situation where basically no one went to college, and no one would be able to afford college.
Mostly it was retail work, Walmart, waitressing or if one was skilled, hair stylist and beauty school - none of which were her goals in life.
Us men ended up in a factory, warehouse, truck driving, laborer, rough carpenter, mechanic, and/or the army.
When any of our friend group got married they'd have to rent for a while, work two incomes, no kids, scraping together enough money for a FHA low down payment on a small ranch or bungalow and a used car. Maybe two if we had friends who were mechanics and could keep them running.
None of this meant any of us were stupid or lazy. We all worked hard, after all, sometimes you're stuck with what you were born into. Some are single-parent homes with huge financial strain. Some have serious health situations that cost money and take time away from work. Others run into drug issues, or are born with addiction no fault of their own. Some join gangs just to survive.
Renata was smart in high school. She helped me a lot with some subjects and we dated and went steady. Like every kid in the small town we knew pretty much everyone and pretty much everyone dated each other.
Our relationship grew from being neighbor kids, to years as friends just hanging out with other classmates, to study buddies, to our first kisses as we began dating, and upon becoming exclusive, our less-than-innocent exploration of each other's bodies as we gave in to our hormones.
I can't help smiling as I recall the day we relieved each other of our virginities. Under the light of the summer full moon, we rode our bikes out to ol' man Nevonen's barn, snuck in and carefully made our way up to the hayloft.
Playing a bit of grabass, I chased her up the ladder with her muffled giggles and squeals being music to my ears. We tripped through the deep hay to a comfy-looking spot where I quickly shook out the blanket from my backpack before pulling her close to kiss her sweet lips, falling to the quilt in each other's arms.
The tenor of Ren's moans increased as one of my hands cupped her taut butt cheek while the other gently squeezed her breast, teasing her nipple to perk up. She ground her pubic bone against my hard cock as my lips nibbled along her jawline to her ear and curve of her throat.
My wandering hands moved under the hem of her t-shirt to find the front clasp of her lacy bra and released more than a handful of her tits, their turgid nipples begging for my eager mouth.
Having only played with her naughty bits through her clothing, I was extremely excited at the prospect of touching and tasting every sweet inch of her skin. This is what's called 'young love.'
Resting my forehead on her chest, I had to breathe several deep breaths, trying to control my reaction to her kisses, the touch of her silky skin, the sexy teasing movements she used against me before I completely embarrassed myself and prematurely ruined our special night.
"Randy? What's wrong? Did I hurt you?" she asked, innocent concern evident in her voice as she stopped rubbing her mound against me.
I looked up at her, giving a quick kiss to her swollen lips, "Baby! You're just so darn sexy, you're driving me crazy! I want to make this so good for you, too - not just for me. I just don't want to lose control and mess things up."
"Oh, sweetie! There is zero chance that you'll mess anything up with these strong hands and your talented lips, Randy. You should know that by now. I am yours and you are mine. Forever. All mine!"
The steamy look in her pretty eyes drove out any other noble ideas I may have uttered before she flipped me over and straddled me, before whipping her t-shirt up and over her head to jiggle her pretty headlights in my face - still framed by the hot pink lacy scrap of what she called a bra.
I couldn't hear anything from the pounding beat of my heart.
