Hi; I'm Megan. Gerald Boyton, my husband at the start of the most relevant part of this story, was only the second love of my life.
My first love was Johnny James; when I was nine years old. Johnny was one of the rich kids in our predominately middle class school but he didn't act like it. He was kind to everyone and had a sparkly personality. We exchanged pecks on the cheek when we were ten, and swore our undying love to each other. Then disaster struck.
Johnny's rich father, George, was arrested for securities fraud and his reputation ruined. Everyone started calling him "Jesse James" and taking their cue from their parents the kids at school turned on Johnny and made his life miserable. I suffered too because I stuck by Johnny no matter what, eventually becoming his only friend.
Johnny seemed to handle things pretty well until his mother -- "an uppity socialite" according to my parents -- couldn't take the humiliation and committed suicide. With his father in jail and his mother dead, Johnny went to live with his mother's younger sister and her husband thousands of miles away. Both Johnny and I cried as we hugged and then I waved goodbye the Saturday morning he drove away with his Aunt and Uncle, knowing that we likely would never see each other again.
It took me the longest time to get over my silly puppy love, but I did actively date late in High School, all through college, and afterwards. I never met anyone who floated my boat, and often thought of Johnny even when an adult, until at age twenty five I met Gerald Boyton. Gerald was my dream guy -- we instantly fell in love and were married four months after our first date, and I forgot all about Johnny for the first time..
When I married Gerald Boyton he was an aspiring T V reporter. He always dressed neatly and groomed properly because he felt that was necessary in order to impress some station executive somewhere to get his dream job. For the first two years of marriage we had it fairly rough economically because Gerald couldn't seem to get a job in his field, but wouldn't accept "getting his hands dirty" doing something else, so we got by primarily on my salary as a legal secretary.
Although we were not well off financially, we were happy with our relationship. Sex was frequent and intense, and we both seemed to find it important to be sure that the other party was well satisfied. Though blow jobs are not my favorite Gerald really liked them so I did my best to please him. While he never complained I don't think that eating pussy was his favorite either, but if I ever hinted at it he went at it vigorously. We both really liked doggy fucking best, however, and engaged in that activity at least three times a week.
When YouTube first started in 2005 Gerald seized upon that as his entrée into his chosen profession. He immediately started doing local news items -- some of which he scripted -- and put them on YouTube and would have friends email them to the local TV stations. One of the scripted ones got him noticed.
I'm not sure exactly how he talked me into it -- probably promising to eat me out every day for a week, and then fuck me doggy after I had an oral orgasm -- but I became the subject of his first success in reporting. I pretended to be a wild woman who lived in a local forest preserve. I put paint on my face and around my boobs, and wore a scraggly blond wig, so that I would not be easily recognized. My boobs would certainly draw attention to me, however, since I am well endowed. I only wore a loin cloth and sandals.
On several different occasions I would go from the forest into the yards of neighbors in the high class housing development bordering one edge of the forest. I shocked many a homeowner; the men smiled, the women were outraged. I tried as best I could not to be seen by children and was usually successful. Gerald filmed some of my escapades, and did brief interviews with a number of homeowners, who had all different takes on the situation.
After three weekends of my stealth mostly-naked activity, Gerald scripted "catching" and interviewing me. At that point, I had run out of the fluorescent orange body paint that I had used previously for circling my boobs, but I found a spray can of regular paint almost the same color and used that. Fortunately I had enough red face paint.
With a buddy acting as a cameraman Gerald "just happened" to come across me as I snuck into a homeowner's back yard, and pretending to be famished ate some tomatoes from his garden, leaving big red blotches on my face which disguised me even more. I ran when Gerald and his cameraman approached, but pretended to stumble in the woods, and held my ankle as he caught up with me.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Wild Woman," he said earnestly while approaching me with open hands.
"Grunt..." was my guttural response.
"May I offer you some candy?" he continued, pulling a Snickers bar out of his pocket. "Go ahead, take it," he plead.
After some hesitation, I reached for it, grabbed it from him, and shoved it into my mouth without removing the wrapper, then went "Pfft," spitting it out.
"No, no, you need to remove the wrapper," Gerald said, turning toward the camera and giving a devilish smile. He picked the Snickers bar off the ground, unwrapped it, and handed it back to me. I again hesitantly accepted it, then shoved the entire thing into my mouth and quickly chewed and swallowed it.
"More; Sheila want more," I said, sounding like a female Tarzan.
"Sheila -- is that your name?" Gerald asked, pulling another Snickers bar out of another pocket. I nodded. "Sheila, if you answer some questions, I'll give you this bar too," he continued, unwrapping part of the bar. I reached for it and he pulled it away saying "First questions, Sheila."
"Ugh," I replied, using my hands to push myself up into a standing position leaning against a tree, with my big boobs bouncing as I rose, and highly visible to the cameraman.
"Where do you live, Sheila?"
"Sheila with trees," I mumbled.
"Why do you dress like you do, Sheila?"
"Sheila, nature, at one," I grunted.
"Why don't you wear a top to cover your chest?"
"Men like seeing Sheila top; give treats when see Sheila; you give Sheila treats looking at top?" I replied trying as hard as possible not to laugh. Then I pretended to wince.
"Is your leg hurt Sheila?"
"Sheila hurt," I said, lifting up my leg to grab my fake-hurt ankle.
"Let me look at it," Gerald said, holding out the candy bar.
