Benjamin's On Parade
Sophie Tucker is often quoted, "I've been rich and I've been poor. Rich is better."
I quite agree. I grew up securely in the middle class. There was usually enough, though at times I knew we were living paycheck to paycheck. It was only in high school and then college that I realized how much in the middle of the great bell curve of financial well-being that I had grown up in - a solid "C".
College was as close to poverty and the very real experience of being a starving student, without a car, working evenings to minimize taking the bait of student loans that I ever cared to encounter. Yes, there was a family sized safety net. I was certainly not alone.
At the time this story begins I was doing alright. The only loan I carried was a mortgage, fixed rate at just under 4%. I had credit cards but paid them down to zero every month, or as soon as reasonably possible. Divorced just over a year, but no alimony (no kids, so no child support.)
I was politically pragmatic, i.e., somebody pays and somebody benefits - be kind, be helpful. Trust but verify.
My mom's dad (don't call me grandpa or pops or any of that shit, "Bill, just Bill.") was a recovering alcoholic and from the time I was eight, summer meant four to seven weeks of camping and adventuring throughout the Sierra Nevada and/or the Southwest. We would drive to a location he had chosen then spend a week or more fishing, panning for gold(seriously!), or collecting fossils. Then we'd drive to a new spot and repeat. We caught some fish, found a little bit of gold, did more than good with fossils. I miss Bill.
You can ask my mom - hell, you can ask my ex-wife, they'll both tell you(and Bill would have agreed); I sleep the sleep of the dead. Nine times out of ten, if something happens, I'm sleeping right through it.
One of the downsides of this is a frantic need to pee when I do wake up. So this particular morning, which is day one in the story of my change in finances. This is how it happened.
I woke up with that fierce need to pee requiring me to get out of my sleeping bag, safely cross the floor of the tent in the pre-dawn dimness, unzip the rain flap, grab my cock and aim for a spot I did not intend to walk thru or stand in once I was up and about.
Oh, sweet relief.
Glancing out through the tent window as dawn came to my campsite, it was obvious that last nights rain had left a lot of mud behind. Coffee preceded any continuing observation or hard decision making. I mean seriously not much was likely to change in the next fifteen minutes.
Coffee was simple enough; open a gas valve on the fuel canister, light the Jet-Boil, get the Aeropress set up, filter in place, coffee measured, pour in not quite boiling water, stir, and let sit for a couple of minutes. While the coffee was getting ready to do it's magic I had a bit of a mess to clean up from last night. Somewhere in my sleeping bag was a cum-soaked wad of toilet paper.
Yeah I know, but this is an important part of the story. I woke up during the storm with a throbbing hard on, one of those 'your dick is so freakin' hard it hurts' erections. When I was married, wow, there's a statement - when I was married.
Ok, so when I was married these epic throbbing hard-on events would occur every month or so. It was always preceded by a rather intense and very much guilt-ridden dream. I say guilt-ridden because the dream was a very vivid replaying of the one and only time I cheated on my wife - I'll explain in a moment.
My wife and I were both side sleepers and she liked to sleep with me behind her. Needless to say, I'd poke her awake with my dream inspired beast. Now here's the strange part. We may have gone to bed that night with Amy (my ex) turning down sex. "Not tonight honey, I'm too ______" and feel free to just fill in the blank with any bullshit excuse.
But wake her up by poking her butt with a throbbing erection and she wouldn't hesitate to roll me onto my back, mount me, and ride me hard until we both came (for me, usually just the one orgasm - for her; often two or more.) I would just lay there passively as she did all the work. She didn't want me touching or fondling her in any way. Any offer of oral sex was ignored, my only job was to provide one very stiff dick. Once I came and my dick began to soften she would roll off of me and slide towards her side of the bed. We would both quickly fall back into deep, dreamless sleep.
In the morning she'd awaken feeling great; give my dick an affectionate tug, whisper me a "thank you for last night, you naughty boy", peck a kiss on my cheek, and then go smiling into her day. Every single time - it was a helluva thing.
I, on the other hand, would receive the tug, the comment, and the kiss, all the while trying mightily to maintain a calm and loving facade as guilt ate me up on inside and then deal with it for most of the rest of my day.
The guilt was the well deserved cost for the cause of the erection dream. Which as I said was the one and only time I was ever unfaithful to my wife. Even this morning, divorced for over a year, that damn dream left me feeling guilty.
And I am absolutely sure Amy never knew about my indiscretion. Our divorce was centered around issues of ambition and money (or more specifically her opinion of my lack of ambition and the corresponding paucity of my contribution to our financial situation.)
I was a high school teacher, and had been one for thirteen years. Amy knew the entirety of my career path well enough because at the time we met she was a teacher too (middle school, in her case.) At least that was until about four years ago when she got lured into the private sector (by an educational software and computer-aided learning company) and began making bucketfuls of money. As the years rolled on we had many an argument about our diverging life goals and then one day - totally out of the blue - she told me she'd been head-hunted by an executive search company and was moving to New York.
I was not invited to accompany her on her new direction in life.
Not quite a year after her moving to the Big Apple, unsurprisingly, I received divorce papers. She included a quit claim for the house we'd co-owned, along with offering me a "you keep yours and I'll keep mine" financial split. And just like that, we were divorced. There was no mention of my marital transgression and I had no intention of mucking up the waters.
My one-time cheat involved a fellow teacher, Sonya (last name withheld for privacy), who coincidentally had been a sophomore at the high school when I started teaching. She was a brilliant student with a deep drive to become a teacher, which I supported and encouraged wholeheartedly. Nothing sexual or inappropriate ever happened between us - NOTHING!
She graduated, went off to University and I did not see her for years. Then I was invited to attend a week-long teacher training conference. I went and that is where I ran into Sonya, a recently minted and state-certified STEM teacher working at a swanky charter school. I didn't even recognize her at first; she was literally half the size of her former self, her thick lens glasses had been swapped for contacts, and her skin had finally cleared up. We had a delightful time re-connecting and everything was fine and aboveboard until the last night of the conference. There was a dinner and awards ceremony which quickly devolved into a drunken party. I was one of those decidedly drunk by the end of dinner so I said my good-byes and made ready for bed. I was just getting beneath the covers when someone knocked loudly and persistently on the door to my room. Upon my opening the door Sonya pushed pass me begging for sanctuary.
Sonya was fleeing a very uncomfortable roommate problem. Evidently hers was intent on fucking as many attendees as possible (men and women welcomed.) Sonya ended her plea stating, "Please let me stay, I know I can trust you Daniel."
In some ways this was a situation of my own making, earlier at dinner I had mentioned that my roommate had packed up and checked out. So I commiserated with Sonya and allowed her to stay, stating that 'I hoped she didn't snore too loudly.' I should have paid more attention to her response - 'that won't be a problem.'
Sonya had good cause to trust me. Her experience while my student as well as my behavior this week demonstrated my every intention of being and remaining the perfect gentleman. Sonya, however, had no intention of being a perfect lady. I was nearly asleep when she climbed into my bed, undeniably naked, rubbing her body against mine.
I could state in my behalf that this chaste week at the conference had followed and just overlapped a two week business trip my wife had been on. The sensation of a naked female body pressed against mine had an immediate and obvious effect - I popped an immediate and truly fierce erection.
My back had been to Sonya and as I turned to push her out of bed she sprang over me, pivoting, and engulfed my cock in her mouth as she straddled my head pushing her fragrant pussy into my face.
I never had a chance.
My gentlemanly intention while easily stated, floated away on a sea of alcohol induced passivity. I was overwhelmed by a vigorous blowjob, and a very wet pussy made appealingly available.
I kept telling myself "l'll be able to stop this as soon as she comes." Then I convinced myself I'd stop her as soon as I come, or, as soon as...that point was never reached.
I realized I was no going back the moment she sat up, turned around, and impaled herself on my steel hard, throbbing cock. My passivity dissolved into active participation- we fucked with abandon.
Between the time she crawled into my bed and the 11 AM check out time the next morning, we fucked and slept and fucked and slept and on and on. She even gave me a final round in the shower, relishing my cum splattering her face before rinsing it off. That was in response to her question, "What won't your wife let you do to her?" On that admittedly short list was "a facial."
