This is the third and final part.
Pier Pressure Part III
Late Fall, Icy Winter
This story is obviously a continuation. However, there will be enough background in the first chapters to be read independently.
I'm Janey Woodhall. I was a faithful wife for over twenty five years. But twice this Fall, I fell. I have had exciting extramarital sex with my taker, Jimmy Leary. I do not call him my lover, because we have sex, but do not make love. Jimmy has many good qualities. He is entertaining. He is competent in his job as a security manager, and therefore has disposable cash that he is willing to spend. He has spent it in making his lake house an emporium of sexual pleasure. Other qualities include the fact that to him, I am one of several wanton women. Wanton meaning a piece of meat in an easily removable wrap. If I was Italian and he was Yankee Doodle, he would call me ravioli. A good quality is that while I know he has other women, he would never tell me who. Nor would he brag about having me.
In spite of my obvious betrayal, I love my husband, Bob. He is a independent consultant, who returns formerly successful businesses to profitability. Unfortunately he needs to be on the road a lot to observe his clients' operations. This leaves me occasionally alone at the lake house, and lately available prey. Professionally, I am a chemistry teacher at a local high school.
I came from my last tryst with Jimmy with a problem. I missed my period. I hoped it was early menopause. When Bob had a consultation in St. Louis, I peed on the stick. I was pregnant. The story I had for Bob was obvious. I hadn't used the diaphragm for a while and must've put it in wrong. My only fear was that at some point a DNA test would be needed. Both the story and fear were unnecessary. My 49 year old body could not carry a baby. I had a miscarriage. I made sure my gynecologist disposed of the fetus, and that tying my tubes was added to the clean up procedure. I told neither Bob or Jimmy about the pregnancy.
Bob's current consultation is however close to home at the Mall of America. Unfortunately the business's problem involves loss of weekend sales. So he will be working all weekend, and I am again alone at the lake house. We are having Thanksgiving dinner there next week with the kids, so I am making preparations. Saturday morning, no surprise, Jimmy Leary is here with two bottles of his inexhaustible supply of Sancerre. I put them in the fridge. I have given up on virtue.
"Jimmy, let's go over to your place. We both know what is going to happen, so we will do it at a place built for it."
Jimmy pampered me in his bath and in his bed. While the sex was still extremely competent, even with some unexpected touches, the thrill was decreasing. Perhaps, with familiarity, it no longer felt forbidden. I left early for my own house. I was shocked to see Bob sitting on the patio.
