Its Just Exercise

This story could also go in the non-consent/reluctance category. If that's not your thing don't say that you weren't warned.

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Amanda and I had an "almost" storybook romance in college. In the old days I would have been the football star, she the head cheerleader. After Title IX and the emergence – at least in the Eastern part of the United States in general, and specifically Ivy League schools – of previously minor sports I was the lacrosse hero and she was the field hockey phenom. We are the same age, and were the same year in school.

Lacrosse has some similarities with football in that it definitely requires teamwork to succeed and defensive players have to have a nasty mindset – at least I did. While the primary requirements of a good defenseman (also called a "longpole") are footwork (drop step, side shuffle, and lateral change of direction are the most important techniques to master), stick work, and of course knowledge of the game, it doesn't hurt if you're big and strong. At 6 feet 5 inches, 225 pounds, I was one of the bigger defenseman in Division I. I made All Conference two years, and 2nd team All-American one year.

Although I was good, Amanda was better in her sport than I was in mine. At 5 feet 6 inches tall, 130 pounds, she was slightly bigger than the average field hockey forward, and much quicker. She led NCAA Division I in scoring one year, and her team three years, and was First Team All-American two years.

I thought that Amanda looked as good as she played. Even when her brunette hair was in a bun, which is the way she kept it when playing, and even with goggles hiding her steel blue eyes, I thought that she was beautiful. When she had her hair flowing down her back and was wearing an evening gown, her looks knocked my socks off.

The reason that I say that our college romance was "almost" storybook was because we both had a major personal issue to deal with, and a significant compatibility one.

My personal issue was anger management. Too many penalties on the field my freshman and sophomore years got my coaches pissed. Also, my getting mad at Amanda for relatively insignificant things our sophomore year made her question how good a life mate I'd be. A few bar fights didn't help.

I got proactive in controlling my anger/temper in the summer after my sophomore year by taking tai chi. The few times that I had seen tai chi on television I thought it was really fucked-up. However, one of my lacrosse coaches insisted that it would help me and in no uncertain terms told me that I needed to do something otherwise my excessive penalties would get me a seat on the bench my junior year.

Tai chi turned out to be good for me. It did help me get my temper under control, so much so that by my senior year I had only two penalties called on me the entire season and never once got mad at Amanda. I also stopped drinking, so no more bar fights.

I don't think that tai chi improved my fighting ability much – but that wasn't why I took it since I never had any difficulty winning fights. However, there was one maneuver that I learned that I loved; the transition sequence from right Shoulder Stroke to right White Crane Spreads Its Wings which, when executed properly, allows one to hit his opponent in the solar plexus with any degree of incapacitation desired. You can just knock the wind out of your opponent all the way to – theoretically at least – killing him.

Amanda's main issue was a poor self-image. You might wonder how a beautiful woman, smart enough to get into an Ivy League college, who was an All-American field hockey player, could have a poor self-image. I'm no psychologist, but I blame it on her parents, who always required her to seek perfection. In fact her parents didn't like me at first since I never let them put her down in my presence. I think that they "got religion" about it after Amanda went to see a shrink about the same time that I started tai chi. I'm only guessing because no one ever told me (and I didn't want to invade Amanda's privacy by asking), but I think that the shrink had the same take that I did and talked to the parents herself, causing them to back off from Amanda and suddenly like me.

Anyway, both Amanda and I resolved our individual "problems" by the time that our senior year started.

Our compatibility issue related to sex. I considered Amanda the sexiest woman that I had ever seen and being a red-blooded heterosexual male of course wanted to fuck her from the time that I first saw her. We did start fucking in the middle of our junior year but our approach was different. I liked it rough and tumble and gritty. She liked it gentle and warm and fuzzy. We both were passionate.

In our quest to reach a happy medium, many times Amanda told me that she didn't like being treated like a slut or whore. I often countered that I didn't want a prim and proper Victorian "lady" in bed. After about fifteen tries, we finally came to a compromise that we were both less than 100% satisfied with (isn't that true of all compromises?), but given our love for each other were more than willing to go along with. That continued through our marriage, with the exception that on our birthdays, and one holiday each during the year, we would get exactly what we wanted.

I'd have to say that our marriage was much better than average our first eight years. We rarely fought, when we did we "fought fair," we always wanted to please the other above ourselves, and we enjoyed both an active social and sex life.

Amanda got pregnant with our first child after we had been married eight years. I thought that she looked great, and to be honest I liked fucking her when she was pregnant although she found that hard to believe. During her pregnancy some of her previous "self-image" problems arose likely due to her change in body shape and pregnancy hormones.

I really didn't think that I was doing anything differently than I had since college when, during a night out together, I would take a long look at some slinky woman dressed like a skank. While I have to admit that my mind often wandered to what it would be like to fuck some attractive looking slut or the other, given my latent propensity for rough sex, I never, ever even came close to acting upon it. However, once she was pregnant Amanda started to get upset if I stared at someone with a skimpy skirt or see-through blouse, so I had to really cool it.

Amanda seemed to regain her positive self-image after out little girl, Brittany, was born. Amanda went back to work two months after the delivery, but had trouble gaining her pre-pregnancy weight and muscle tone. When our son, Zach, was born two and a half years later we agreed that she should quit work and stay at home with the kids. By then, bolstered by my Ivy League education, I was doing very well in my career as a business owner, and money was not an issue.

It was when Zach was two that things started to change.

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Amanda had been battling to regain her pre-pregnancy body ever since Zach was born, but hadn't met her goal. Again, those self-image problems were starting to re-emerge. I thought that she looked great and often told her so and I was as affectionate toward her as ever. Our sex life was between good and very good, and we both enjoyed being parents. However her take was obviously different because one day she informed me that she had figured out how to meet her body goal – she was going to start triathlon training.

"Why triathlon training, Amanda? How is that any better than going to the gym?" were my first two questions.

"The reason is, Blake, that you can train more with other people who support you and get more out of you than you thought possible," she replied with her hands on her hips.

"You can't get that with a personal trainer?" I queried.

"Oh, Blake, get modern," she said dismissively. "I'm joining a group of four men and four women who are training together and encouraging one another."

"How did you get associated with this group?" I asked, truly puzzled.

"Gina introduced me," she matter-of-factly replied.

"Who's Gina?" I asked, even more puzzled than before.

"Don't you remember? You met her once when I was pregnant with Brittany. You were staring at her so much that I had to poke you in the ribs," she responded. Apparently seeing a blank look on my face she continued in a tone that said either "you're stupid" or "you're playing dumb and I won't have it;"

"She was at the leukemia fundraiser at Westwood Country Club."

Suddenly I did remember. Gina was the epitome of a woman dressed like a slut that I silently stared at most of my adult life with "I'd love to fuck that," on my brain. She was the major attraction of the evening, although I could only ogle her while Amanda was in the loo – something that her pregnancy required often that evening – otherwise Amanda would either get weepy or angry.

As I recall Gina was a beautiful, though slutty, little Italian firecracker. She was, at the time, about five feet three, maybe 110 pounds at most, with little tits that were darn near exposed in the leave-little-to-the-imagination dress that she was almost wearing, a pleasantly large and round ass, and sculptured thighs. She had a "fuck me" look that could get a rise out of any heterosexual male's cock.

I thought that the better part of valor was to pretend that I didn't remember her. "Sorry, Hon," I said after stroking my chin a few seconds, "I can't seem to picture her in my mind. I don't think that I remember her. As I recall you were the most beautiful woman there, so I might not have noticed despite your recollection that I was staring at her."

I thought that was a nice save. Amanda's response of "Yeah, right," indicated that perhaps she didn't. I quickly got back on the offensive.

"So what do you hope to gain from this triathlon experience – you don't intend on competing, do you?"

"Why do you ask that? You don't think that a thirty four year old mother of two can do it?" she snapped with her arms crossed.

"That's not what I said or implied. For Christ's sake, you were an All-American athlete and can do anything that you set your mind to. My point is that from what I know about it triathlon training is all consuming and I was wondering how you could train to the extent necessary to enter actual triathlon events while taking care of two kids and a husband?" I shot back, devoid of levity.

"I need my body back so if you miss a few dinners call Pizza Hut," she snapped back.

"Pizza for the kids?" I asked, flabbergasted since she always insisted on good nutrition for Brittany and Zach.

"They won't suffer; now how about supporting me instead of being an asshole about it?" she snapped again – also again with the arms folded.

I could either escalate this to a full blown fight of the type that we hadn't had for years, or pretend to be all right with it, or take a "wait-and-see" attitude. I chose a sugar-coated version of the third option.

"Hey, Amanda, honey. I always want to support you. I'm just a little concerned about the time commitment. I'm anxious to see how it goes with the minor caveat that we can re-evaluate sometime in the future. Is that unreasonable?"

That brought down the stress level a bit. She smiled. "Sure," she replied. I took her into my arms, lifted her off the floor as she giggled, and kissed every part of her face and neck.

I guess as kind of a reward for my capitulation, that night Amanda gave me what normally was only a birthday or one major holiday a year treat. A rough and tumble fuck. When she came to bed not only naked except for a devilish smile, but with her crotch shaved and lubricant already applied, I knew what was up without her even saying anything. I thought about turning it down since she obviously was playing me – yeah, right, and I was thinking about buying Yemeni bonds too.

I didn't waste any time – nor did my cock which came to full attention in seconds. I grabbed her, threw her down on top of the bedspread, sucked and fondled her nipples almost raw, then unceremoniously put her on her hands-and-knees and buried my sword in her saturated scabbard in one thrust.

As I pounded the shit out of her she emitted the normal grunts and groans that accompanied one of my infrequent animal fucks, and she did actually seem a little more into it than normal. What was strange, however, was that just before I was about to climax she did, which is something she normally did only just before I flooded her during a gentle fuck. Even more strange was that I hallucinated that I saw slut Gina's ass in my hands when I rocketed my cum into Amanda's pussy, maybe the hardest I had come in a decade.

We fell asleep in each other's arm shortly after my semen detonation since we were both wiped out by the last uber-intense fifteen or twenty minutes. We woke up cold some hours later and had to crawl under the covers since we had fallen asleep in our fuck position on top of them. We instantly fell back to sleep.

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That night was the highlight of the next year. There were plenty of low lights. Amanda spent more and more time with her training group at the expense of the kids and me. Contact with them even started to dominate our social life.

The first time that I met the members of Amanda's training group I was singularly unimpressed. I'm sorry to be chauvinistic about it, but the male members of the group made me revert to my High School days when I thought that guys who didn't play "macho" sports were wimps. In my defense they brought it out of me by laughing when they asked what I did for exercise and I told them that I lifted weights three times a week and worked out on an Elliptical five days.

Chauncey was the leader of the group; a guy who never worked a day in his life but inherited his money – something that would have really turned me off even if he had been a nice guy.

"What's so fucking funny?" was my less than polite response to their laughter. Since I was seven inches bigger and fifty pounds heavier than the biggest of the four guys, and could easily bench press any two of them together twenty times, the laughter stopped. Chauncey didn't stop being an ass, however. At one point I couldn't take it anymore.

"Say Chauncey, if your 'sport,' actually more like a pastime wouldn't you say, is so great let me make a little challenge. I'll start a triathlon competing against you and you start a lacrosse game competing against me and we'll see who does the best. Let me give you a little friendly advice, though. Don't bet the farm on you prevailing because the first time that I hit you in the lacrosse game you'll be out for the duration," I said as obnoxiously as I could.

The subject awkwardly changed to the stock market, and then we broke up to mingle with other guests.

While at the bar getting another club soda – as I said I don't drink alcohol now since I always want to be in control lest my old anger management issues raise their ugly heads again – Gina walked up to me. Yeah, that Gina.

"You were a little hard on my husband, weren't you," were her first words, without so much as an introduction. I played dumb.

"And you would be..." I asked, holding out my hand.

"I'm Gina Stanton, Chauncey's wife," she snickered, slapping my hand more than shaking it.

"I hope that I didn't destroy his fragile ego," I snickered right back. "I just put his pompous ass in its place, that's all."

"I've always wondered," she shot back, "why big dumb jocks think that they're so superior to everyone else."

"I'm smarter than you are bitch, and I don't think I'm better than anyone else – but not less than them either, which is what your asshole husband as much as said. No wait, make that 'whined,' not 'said,'" I replied.

"For someone who says he's so egalitarian and thinks he's so fucking smart you sure act like a typical asshole jock. Why in the hell did someone as with it as Amanda marry you?" she sniped.

"For my big dick, I guess," I shot right back. [Actually my dick isn't that big, although probably a little larger in diameter than what surveys show is average for an American adult. However, it just seemed like that comment was the most appropriate one for this degenerate conversation.]

Believe it or not the dialog actually went downhill from there until Amanda interrupted and dragged me away with a dirty look.

And so started my "loving" relationship with Gina Stanton.

We met at least three more times at social functions. Our barbs got even more cutting. I really despised the bitch. However, I also despised myself for two reasons. One, I should not have engaged in this type of "evil banter" with a woman for any reason. I should have been a gentleman, or at least should have been able to stop. Two – and this was the worst – the more that I despised Gina, the more that I wanted to fuck her brains out.

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Amanda's relationship with me and the kids continued to deteriorate during her triathlon training. I found out that she was "warehousing" the kids in a day care center most of the day during the week, and relying on me to take care of them during the weekends, all in the name of training. She rarely made dinners or cleaned the house so I finally hired a part time cook and housekeeper. The only thing that remained normal was the sex. Neither the frequency nor quality (it remained from good to very good) changed to any significant degree, although the first night that we discussed the triathlon training was the last time I had my preferred type of rough and tumble fuck.

While the sex didn't deteriorate, Amanda acted more strangely leading up to and during sex. It was almost like she was intentionally flexing muscles in her ass, core, and thighs. I didn't really mind, I just thought it strange. Also she seemed to monitor her cell phone and computer more carefully than in the past, and always washed her clothes immediately after coming home from training.

I was getting worried. So worried that I actually went to see an old buddy of mine from college, Tom Watson. Tom had become a family law attorney. Although I wasn't looking for a divorce I was concerned about her behavior and wanted my ducks in a row in case things happened that quickly got out of control.

Tom counseled me to have hidden cameras record everything in the house – with date and time stamps – and to keep my own time records of her activities. He also told me to get complete records from the daycare center and to move more than half of the money in savings and with brokers into a secret account. I did as he recommended.

Amanda's relationship with Brittany, Zach and I reached a nadir about three months after I saw Tom Watson when she went off with her friends to a triathlon for a four day weekend. She cavalierly left us behind despite the fact that I had an important business meeting while she was gone, Brittany had things going on in her first grade class including a class play, and Zach was scheduled to go to the pediatrician.

I started to get real suspicious especially by her defensive attitude when she returned. I decided that it was time to do something.

Three days after Amanda's return – she had acted like a real mother and wife for one of those days before returning to form – she was going over to the Stanton's for a virtually all day workout. They had a workout room in a small pavilion on the grounds of their house, near a long jogging/bicycling trail along the river adjacent their house. I had been there once for a party.

I purloined Amanda's cell phone as part of my plan, always handling it with gloves on. I gave my cell phone to my most trusted and long-standing employee, Jack. Jack and I were supposedly in an off-site location near our office – and a cell tower – but I took the afternoon off. I gave Jack my car and took his. I also brought along two pairs of handcuffs which I again handled only with gloves on.