The hot pillow talk I had with my second wife, Gloria, from June until September was a summertime event and something that I looked forward to having, an understatement, anytime we were alone and romantically in the mood. If you don't know what pillow talk is, if you never had hot pillow talk, we weren't talking about buying vibrant colored and bold designed pillows at Bed and Bath. Definitely, we were beyond discussing designer cushions. We were talking about sex.
After watching my wife flirting with our friends during our first pool party of the summer, I couldn't wait to have some hot pillow talk with her about it later. A summertime sexual phenomenon, I recently discovered what a real turn on pillow talk can be. It's something that I never had with my first wife, Jennifer.
Jennifer wasn't much into talking about sex with me. She wasn't much into having sex with me. She wasn't much into talking to me. She begrudgingly allowed me to have sex with her motionless semi-naked body before shoving me off of her, as soon as I finished.
"Are you done? Then, get off me. You're hurting me. You're too heavy."
"Thanks for everything. I'll see you the same time next year," I said sarcastically with a smug smile knowing that it probably would be a year before she had sex with me again.
"Asshole," she said under her breath.
"I love you," I said with an insincere smile.
Even though we had tried, we could never recapture the lost passion we had when we dated and that climaxed during our Honeymoon in Mexico, so many years ago. Living life as a married couple, making a family, and raising children, the two, young lovers obsessed with one another, laughing, loving life, and having fun was long gone. In hindsight, she was only interested in having kids and, once I gave her two kids, she hid behind the extra pounds she gained and never lost from her pregnancies.
That was the end of our sex life. Tragically, she had become the carbon copy of her mother, short, fat, and filled with a contemptible hatred for me. If only it had been in liquid form, the love she once had for me was replaced by a caustic disposition that could remove rust from the bumper of a '56 Nash Rambler that had been left out in the rain for fifty years. I'd make a million bucks selling that solution.
I stayed with Jennifer mostly because of the kids, but once they were out of college, we filed the papers and parted our separate ways. Rather than continuing living with me, she was happy getting the house and her monthly child support check and I was happy to give it to go. A year after my divorce was final; I met Gloria, my second wife.
I saw her across the aisle at a night baseball game. She was sitting with some friends. Only, as if the lights were shining only on her, she may have been sitting alone. One within a crowd, she was so strikingly beautiful that she made everyone else disappear. I was so captivated by her, and so eager to make a connection, that I don't remember who had won the game. I don't even remember who was playing the home team. I just remember her.
I spent the entire game pulling vendors aside and putting money in their hand to have them deliver whatever they were selling to her. From beer to cotton candy to hot dogs to ice cream to souvenirs, after the game, she was easy to spot in the crowd. She was the one wearing the baseball hitting hard hat, carrying the team balloon, and holding the pennant, the inflatable baseball bat, the stuffed mascot, and whatever else they were selling at the park.
Finally, the last thing that I paid a vendor to deliver to her was a one hundred dollar bill with my telephone number and message scribbled on it.
"Sorry," it read, "but I don't have any paper with me. Call me, Paul," and I wrote my cell phone number.
A shot in the dark and fun while it lasted, I figured she'd pocket the hundred and I'd never hear from her, but surprisingly she called me three days later on a Tuesday night. Maybe she was bored and lonely or maybe she was curious, without doubt, I figured she thought that I had money and she was right. As she was leaving the stadium after the game, I left my friends behind to follow her from a distance. I wanted to hear what her friends thought of a mystery man buying her gifts and sending her a C note at the ballpark.
"You should call him, Gloria. Maybe he has money. Maybe this is fate. Maybe he's Mr. Right and your knight in shining armor," said one girlfriend.
Her name was Gloria and all that I could think of was her glorious name, Gloria. I wrote Gloria everywhere. I couldn't work. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I felt as if I were a teenager again in puppy love. Even though, I knew nothing about her, other than what she looked like and now her name, instantly, I was in love.
"Yeah, he must be loaded to buy you all this stuff and then to have a hundred dollars delivered to you," said the other girlfriend. "I'd call him if it was me."
"He's probably some, old married guy looking for a mistress and wanting a blowjob," she said to her friends with a flip of her shoulder.
She was right on two counts. Obviously by the youngish looks of her, she was no more than thirty-years-old and I was surprised when I found out that she was 34-years-old. I was much older than she was and I was certainly hoping for a blowjob, but I wasn't married.
Lonely and looking for someone to share my life, the type of guy who can't live without a woman in his life, I had been without someone for longer than I could stand. I wondered how she felt about dating an older man. Yet, you never know. Maybe, if there was a spark when we met, if we met, the differences in our age wouldn't matter. Well, I'm happy to report that it all worked out for me and for us.
I'm Paul and that's my beautiful wife, Gloria, by the pool surrounded by all those captivated and horny men. She's the leggy, flirty blonde in the red bikini standing next to her best friend, Sheila, the equally as tall and beautiful redhead in the blue bikini. I love how my sexy wife looks in a bikini. She looks great. Doesn't she look great?
