What you're about to read is a true story. It's also a current story because some of the events depicted are still underway as I type this. What's happening with us may turn some of you on, may inspire some of you, and may repulse some of you – but I suspect you will all read it with an appreciation of the realism and truth of it. I've changed the names and locations to protect the privacy of those involved (including myself).
My wife Lori is 59 years old. She's an unusual woman. She doesn't look like a magazine model, but she has inspired more than one artist to paint her portrait. She's the kind of person others want to know and be around and she seems to always have room in her life and heart for one more friend.
I am 57 and I am not that way. I'm friendly and can serve as the life of the party on occasion. I'm the guy who talks to everyone he meets, makes them smile and laugh, and then goes on his way. I guess you could say I'm gregarious, but self-contained when it comes right down to it. I told her once, "I don't need friends. I have you," and that's pretty much how it is.
When we met, about 12 years ago now, things clicked right away. I should probably say we both had a lot of sexual experience. Vanilla, BDSM, swinging, poly, exhibitionism – just about anything you've fantasized, one of us – and likely both of us – have done.
We've always had an open marriage and we've both had outside relationships. Yeah, I said relationships because they are usually ongoing and open-ended. There have been moments of jealousy from each of us – but only moments. We both believe strongly in the premise that it's possible to love, and even be in love, with more than one person at a time – and we try to conform our actions and attitudes to our beliefs.
Aside from her sexual past, her normal past is pretty complicated too. She had really big tits. I don't know how big because she spilled out of the DDD bras she bought and never knew what size really fit her.
I didn't realize this for a long while, but she hated her breasts. They came early and they came big. She'd been fighting off men since she was in her early teens, including molestation attempts by relatives. Young and naïve she believed something was wrong about her to cause good men to behave like that.
To me, she looked like the chrome silhouettes that used to adorn the mudflaps on trucks in a less PC world. I thought it was fantastic to be with "The Mudflap Girl" even though I never made the comparison to her.
It became clear when we went to a nude beach. Somehow a BDSM club was the only place she felt "right" having a body like that. A nude beach was too normal – and on our way home we talked about how much she hated her body. I said, then and there, we would fix it and shortly after she had a reduction.
She became what she'd always wanted to be – a normal woman. I didn't like her new look "as much" but I still liked it – and I had to admit she had a lot easier time finding something to wear as an ordinary D cup.
And then... about nine years ago, just a few days after her 50th, things came to a screeching halt.
Her family has a history of heart problems and just like that she was in the hospital getting a stent. Her mother died at 50 from heart issues and she was certain her time was almost up. Nothing I could say or do would move her off that belief. A few years later she had a quadruple bypass. It went well, but clearly didn't change her mind about being on borrowed time.
I had a health issue myself that required surgery and a couple of years of recovery. The surgeon told her he'd never had a patient who was so close to death – and did not die. We were quite the pair.
Over time we became roommates instead of lovers or spouses. And breaking that cycle is hard. We both saw other people over the past nine years, but somehow we couldn't "see" each other anymore. Like an arthritic joint, we lost our ability to move over time and became stuck.
There was a period when I thought of leaving. We talked about it and I stayed – not because I believed she still loved me or wanted me – but because I could not see an honorable way to get out.
It's a strange thing what familiarity can do. It can make you afraid of each other. The risk of rejection or failure to satisfy – can easily be taken when you're with someone else. But with the person who is supposed to be closer to you than anyone else in the world, that same risk can seem like too much to take on. But we stayed. Not touching. Not kissing. Certainly not fucking.
And that brings us up to more current events...
A few months ago, I said to her that it had been nine years since the stent and maybe it was time to start living like she might be around a while longer. This seemed to resonate with her and from that moment she came back to life.
We had both let ourselves go a bit – and why not? What does it matter if the one you are spending your life with doesn't want to touch you? Why bother trying?
I was away for work when she called and told me she'd really like to have some "work" done. The first thing she mentioned was her tits. She wants a boob job because:
- in her opinion the reduction has sagged a little
- she's reached a point where she feels comfortable having big tits
- she knows I'd like it
I told her I was fine with it – but if she's going to go fake, I'd encourage her to "embrace the fake." She loved the idea and now has her mind set on big fake porn star tits. Suits me fine. During that conversation I confessed something I thought was a secret – I like my women a little on the trashy side. Big fake tits, long fake fingernails, big hair, cleavage, sexy clothes – and I like it even better when they're our age. She said she kinda knew that already. Pfft.
And a face lift...
And some lipo. Not that she has much to get rid of, but she wants it all gone.
A month or so later I was using her iPad and texts started coming in on it. Somehow, she had linked it to her phone, which she was using in the living room, and there it was – a live conversation between her and Mike.
It was love talk, not sex talk. There were things like, "Let's make the next year our time" and "You know I've always loved you," and it was going both ways. I thought about all this for a few days and decided we had to talk about it, so I asked if she was planning to make a move. She told me no – that she enjoys Mike's flair for romance, but there was nothing serious about it.
This sort of fit with what had happened a few years earlier when she'd driven to see him for the weekend. He showed up, fucked her, then had some kind of personal emergency and was gone. She came home the next day confused and a little upset.
