Authors note: All characters are over 18. Constructive comments are welcomed.
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Having recently discovered a web site called Literotica, and my husband and I having spent many pleasant hours, both reading and discussing the stories and comments, I feel I can no longer remain silent; I simply must add my two-cents-worth.
I guess the greatest point of disagreement between my husband and I, on this subject, is some of the commenters in the Loving Wives category. After almost fifty years of marriage, we have had many differences, none that lasted over a few days before we simply agreed to disagree and moved on. Yes, I know men sometimes find it so hard to admit their faults, which is something I really don't understand; I know I would readily admit my faults—if I had any.
Anyway, back to the subjects.at hand—my husband and those commenters in the Loving Wives category, especially those whom some refer to as trolls. I'm talking about those who make disparaging comments about the cheating wife stories and their authors. I find people who bluster about, bragging what THEY'D do, if it were them, to be especially annoying. I can't help but wonder what they really did when they found out their wife had taken a lover. Did they do all that crap they say they would do, and if they did, how'd it work out for them?
My story actually begins about ten years ago, so let me set the scene. It was a time when we owned three 'over the road' trucks and had people to drive them. Minor players are a couple of friends, I'll call them Jan and Jack, a handsome young man of about nineteen or twenty—I'll call him Leroy, because that really is his name, and I'll refer to myself and my husband as Mr. and Mrs. G. I'm sure you'll understand, since what I'm about to tell you would devastate my husband, should he recognize us as the characters. Don't get me wrong, like God, he'd forgive me, but unlike God, he'd never ever, ever, ever forget.
Back then I was around fifty five and while I showed the effects of raising three children and helping with a passel of Grandchildren, I still had a fairly shapely body. I carried my one hundred forty pounds around on a frame that stood five feet eight and while you could pinch more than an inch or so around my waist, I doubt you would bother—not when you saw my thirty eight double D's, with their dark aureoles, topped off with nipples that could be enticed to pooch out almost a quarter of an inch. Oh yeah, don't forget my legs, and hips—Mr. G swears they are still as shapely as his favorite movie star's, so who am I to argue? If they please him, he's the one that counts.
The four of us had a habit of meeting every Saturday night at the local truck stop and fast food place—you've seen them dotting the interstates—a big complex selling gasoline to both cars and trucks, a food place such as Micky D's or Wendys and just about anything else travelers might need. We'd gather in the back corner, chowing down on burger and fries, while sipping on the free refills such places provided from their soft-drink fountain.
Leroy, a handsome young, black man just out of his teenage years, always made sure our party was well taken care of. His grandmother, a friend of Jack and Jan, had raised him right. He was always well dressed and clean shaven, none of this pants hanging to his ass or dreadlocks below his shoulder blades for him. When I once asked him why he hadn't joined in the prevalent culture of the time and place, his answer was simple.
"Cause Grandma would kick my ass." He said it with a smile, but from what Jan had told me about his grandma and how she'd raised all her dozen kids, I suspect he was only partly kidding. Like I said, he kept checking on us every time he could slip away from the counter, always asking if he could do anything.
Sometimes I wasn't sure if he was really interested or if he just liked the little hug he always gave me and Jan. After so long with him doing this, we started responding by slipping our arms around his waist and pulling him close. Once in awhile, we'd even pat his behind when he did that. It was all in innocent fun and it got us the biggest helpings of fries, or the best filled ice cream cones you could imagine.
If this was a mystery story, I'd say, "It was a dark and stormy night," but it isn't and it wasn't—stormy, I mean. Instead it was a beautiful fall night; the temperature was in the low seventies, perfect for thin blouses or short sleeves, and Jack and Jan sat across the table from me.
"Where's Mr. G?" Leroy asked when he brought our tray of food and collected his hug.
"We have a truck stranded in Kansas with a sick driver. He flew out today to get make sure the driver has what he needs and to finish the run." This time I thought he 'd hugged my shoulders just a little longer than usual; I had begun to get the idea that he liked me a little better than Jan. Tonight, when he leaned against me while handing Jan her tray, the bulge in his pants pressed against me ,and any doubt about his liking me vanished.
"Do you think what they say about black men being bigger is true?" I asked Jan, after Leroy returned to work and Jack went to the restroom.
"Shit, I don't know—why do you ask?"
"Cause I just felt Leroy's pressing against me and the darn thing was no ordinary soldier. It felt like it must have been almost a foot long." "Good god!" she almost choked and snorted cola through her nostrils. You got to be kidding. Nobody's built like that." Then, with a faraway look she asked, "How do you think it'd feel to take something liked that?"
"I sure wouldn't know. I was a virgin when we got married and while hubby has a nice one, it sure wasn't anything like that." Then we started giggling like school girls. "Guess we'll never find out, will we?"
We had to drop the subject when her husband returned, so we continued our regular routine of swapping lies until it was time to go home. Not anxious to return to an empty house, I told my friends I was going to look around the big shopping area before I left. When I finally decided to go, my darn car wouldn't start. The last time I'd had it serviced, they'd recommended I replace the starter, but stupid me—I was in a hurry and told them I'd call for an appointment later.
Oh well, I thought, I'll just call my brother-in-law. That's when I found out I'd also forgotten to charge my cell phone. I upped the hood, stared at the engine, without the slightest idea of what I was looking at, kicked the nearest tire and cussed my stupidity.
"You okay, Mrs. G?" Surprised, I spun around, my foot caught on something and I would have fallen flat on my face if it wasn't for Leroy. He grabbed me, almost falling himself, but we fell against the car. There I was, back against the front door, a hard young man tightly against me and as we were trying to regain balance, I could once again feel the thing I'd felt in Wendy's. Damn, I thought, does this kid stay hard all the time? His thing was pressing on my lower stomach and I worried about the tingle I experienced. I was a married woman; I wasn't supposed to feel things like that with anyone besides my husband.
You might say that," I replied when I collected myself, "my darn car won't start and I need to I borrow your phone to call for help?"
