Had a break from submitting due to pressure of work. My busy season being in the tourist business. Bit of teasing in this one, but as usual, no hard sex. Hope you enjoy it, but if you want the woman crucified, then just don't come here and complain.
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Life was great!
Just turned sixty and fit as a fiddle, and a disposable income that allowed us to do as we pleased, and I could still beat Tim my son-in-law at tennis, and more than hanging on to my single figure handicap at golf. Ok, so it was nine, and the handicap secretary was a drinking pal of mine, but I'd vouch for his integrity in front of anyone.
A lovely wife more than ten years younger than me, who I'd been hitched up to for the last twenty-one years.
So, what could be better?
Mmmmm!
I loved my wife dearly and I just knew that she loved me. Though she was on her way to fifty most people would have thought that she was maybe ten or more years younger. I know you've heard that before, and I know I'm biased, so please just go along with me, will you? She'd always been slim and had never lost it, and though her tight little 'A' cup breasts had filled out a little over the years and the arrival of two, now grown up, children, that wasn't exactly a huge disaster was it? When I met her in her late twenties she never so much as owned a bra, and there she was all those years later still not really needing one.
Not bad eh?
Our early years together had been full of love and passion and our sex drives simply seemed to mesh. Three times a week or three times a day ---- What did it matter? I did worry after ten years or so whether I would be able to keep pace with her as I grew older, and she grew into her sexual prime. Let's face it; a guy of, say forty and a woman of twenty-eight seem well suited. Translate that to, say, fifty-six and forty-four, just as some woman's libido has maximised and the guy might perhaps be slowing down, and the balance may not be the same.
Not saying it concerned me too much that is, but ...... Well, you know don't you?
So, you're probably wondering where this tale is going, and if you think that I'd just discovered that my gorgeous wife Linda was cheating on me, then ........
You couldn't be more wrong!
The 'dreaded change' you see. You know ---- Change of life. The damn menopause.
It came to her swiftly and I never saw it coming. Ok, we'd had our ups and downs in life and during any marriage we'd had periods of intense sexual activity and other times when the pair of us were just too tired. But the last few years had not been so good!
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One Thursday afternoon I was sitting in the golf clubhouse chatting with some pals of a similar age and some would say juvenile mentality, when the subject of sex came up. Yes, Ok, no great surprise there ---- It was a golf club after all.
It started over which of the three pretty young girls behind the bar was the one most likely to. Though in all honesty, all three of them being in their early twenties, it was never going to be with one of us old fogy's.
One can dream though.
Especially about the little Asian girl with the sexy smile and the tight little body.
"I've forgotten how to do it anyway," admitted Fred sadly, though in all honestly if you'd seen his wife Janet, then you would understand why. Not that he was exactly God's gift to women either, with his beer paunch and all. I guess that's what you got for working in the Foreign Office all day long.
"Once a month, regular as clockwork," chuckled Tom. "But only in a leap year if I can get away with it."
"Not what it used to be, that's for sure," agreed Tony, whose wife was still attractive if a little ..... Well let's say well rounded.
Mick and me just grinned and kept quiet.
Mick's wife Gina was the prettiest little lawyer that you'd ever wish to meet. Nothing like my Linda was of course, but not at all bad.
"You lucky bastard Gerald," called out Tom looking over at me. "If my wife looked like your Linda then I'd probably give up golf."
"If your wife looked like Linda," quipped Tony. "You'd probably never have started to play golf."
"He still can't," joined in Fred, and from there on the conversation took a nose dive as we all gave our opinions on just how bad each other's game was.
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A pint or two later and it was time to leave and go home, and there were a number of remarks and comments flying round the car park as to who'd be in a hurry to get home to his wife.
"I might take the ring road," yelled out Tom. "Never know, I might get delayed in a traffic jam."
"Think I'll go by way of Birmingham," mumbled Tony, which was at least a hundred miles in the wrong direction.
"Think I might go by way of Gerald's house," joked Mick, giving me a friendly punch on the shoulder. "Why don't you lot take him for a drink or three somewhere else, while I go and see if Linda wants to play?"
"Get in the queue dreamer," laughed one of the others. "I've still got a hard on from when Linda came round our place to pick up my missus in that little tennis outfit of hers."
"Down boys," I joined in. "Or I won't tell you lot what Linda looked like in her bikini when we come back from Spain after the week end."
"If she goes topless Gerald, then just don't tell us," groaned Tony, pulling a face. "We really wouldn't want to have to think about it."
"What?" I questioned them heartily. "You won't want to see the holiday photos?"
Tom did his well known, but incredibly poor wolf howling impression, which hadn't improved since his student days at Cambridge, and the whole lot of us, a beer or to in each of us, laughed and cajoled one another.
Yes all good-natured, and none of them of course had any intentions of doing anything but return to the comfort of their homes and to spend the evening with their spouses.
Me to!
Trouble was as I carefully threaded my way out of the car park in my Bentley, well aware that I should still be under, but none the less close to the legal limit, I reflected on my life, and my beautiful wife Linda.
It was of course true, that my pals had reason to be jealous of me having a wife that looked as lovely as mine did.
Linda was gorgeous. In her early forties, she'd put just a little bit of weight on, but then she'd started to play regular tennis again, and for all I knew stopped eating so many of those damn chocolates. She'd shed several pounds and was once again a slim, trim eight stone or so, with the right bits in all the right places. She still seldom wore a bra and her breasts were still firm and perky, and with her legs she could have still worn a micro skirt. She didn't of course, my Linda being too stylish and knew better, though as they'd pointed out, she still looked fantastic in her tiny tennis dresses.
I was lucky really!
Except of course for that damn menopause thing.
It had sneaked up on us without me even noticing, taking hold of her a couple of years before when I was working all hours on a company take-over I was deeply involved in and hardly had time to think about it. Then one day I woke up and suddenly realised that Linda and I hadn't made love for some months. Damn it, it was worse than that. The last time I could remember having sex with her was before Christmas, and that had been nearly six months before. I could hardly believe that I had been so lacking and determined to put it right that very evening.
Roses, red ones of course, and a bottle of Champagne and a wonderful meal and I was all up and ready.
You've guessed it, right?
Linda wasn't.
We had a lovely evening, but instead of it ending with an all action night in bed, it fizzled out with a talk round the table. She explained to me the unknown intricacies of a woman's life cycle, which few men could really comprehend even if they wanted to.
And few did!
Afraid that I wasn't much above average there, but the end result was that I understood Linda had this problem that we were going to have to live through. Fortunately she wasn't having the mood swings that many women go through, but her sex drive had driven through the floor.
"I'll get over it," she told me confidently. "Most of my friends have it or have had it, and it just takes time."
"How much time?" I asked, maybe a little unfeelingly.
"Can't say Gerald honey," Linda told me. "Maybe another six months or so or maybe a bit longer."
I could wait.
Crikey, we hadn't had sex since last Christmas and I'd been so tied up with my expanding business empire that I'd hardly noticed.
I could wait.
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Six months and to be honest a bit more had passed, and though we cuddled up in bed like we'd always done and nobody outside would have realised that anything was amiss, she showed no sign of getting over it. We went to a Harley Street specialist together, but no joy there.
"Just have to wait," the good doctor told me. "It's not Linda's fault. She can't help it."
All right for him. He wasn't suffering.
The only relief that I got, other than self administered, was the occasional hand job from Linda when things got too bad. Absolutely no chance of a blowjob as she'd hated doing that before when things were Ok, and even though she tried to hide it, even her hand jobs were half hearted at best.
I was allowed to rest my hand on her breasts when we were in bed, as long as I didn't rub them or play with her nipple. If my hand ventured too near to her pussy that I had loved so much, then all hell broke out, her accusing me of being a sex maniac.
Not easy!
So that was the situation I found myself in as I pulled my Bentley into our drive that evening.
I had the most beautiful wife of all my pals but I was frustrated to hell. At that point I could have happily swapped Linda for any one of them.
Well! Perhaps not Tom's wife, and certainly not ........
Oh fuck it!
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Linda was in a very good mood as we got off the plane in the warmth of Spain, where we'd booked a long weekend to getaway from the long drudgery of the UK in winter.
Whatever ----- We were going to have a good time.
The hotel was great, but then it should have been for what we had paid. No cheap bargain week-ends for me and my missus.
We just had time to catch the last rays of sunshine round the hotel pool, but despite my encouragement Linda wouldn't go topless.
"Tomorrow," she promised me. "But not round the pool where everyone will know us. We'll find a nice beach somewhere."
Well ----- A promise was a promise, and we enjoyed the rest of the evening with a great meal in the hotel restaurant, and got chatting to a few other residents before retiring to bed.
