Disclaimers: This story belongs in two different categories. First part belongs in the Loving Wife category. The second part, in the Romance category. As always, each and every character resides only in my mind. If they are partaking in sexual stuff, they are 18 or older.
I'm Greg Hamilton, Jr. I'm nearing my 46th birthday, and have been divorced for just over two years. After a twenty year rocky marriage, to Anita Fields, I finally filed for divorce. Just as our very contentious proceedings were starting, my soon to be ex-wife was caught in the crossfire of two rival drug gangs, and didn't survive.
Are you getting the gist of the reasons I wanted out of my marriage? Luckily, for our two kids, and for me, they were both old enough I didn't have to give up custody to a drug addled criminal.
I guess its time for a little background. Going through school, I just didn't excel in most subjects. I got by, but nothing I was being taught interested me. I was good in most subjects, but until my freshman year in high school, I truly thought I'd never learn anything useful. That is, until I started taking a gas engine class.
I soon found out I had an innate ability to fix nearly any combustible engine. 4, 6, or 8 cylinders. Didn't matter. Even lawn mower engines. If it ran on gas, I knew how to fix it. If I didn't know, beforehand, I quickly learned.
I started to get more interested in other subjects, too, as I became aware that my high school diploma was a must. I was able to take two more full years of advanced gas engines, and even started working for a local mechanic, part time.
Since my parents weren't rolling in money, the paycheck I began earning really helped me to become more responsible, and take some burden off the folks.
My two older sisters, who excelled in school, were both getting college scholarships, which also helped.
When I did graduate high school, I found a two year apprenticeship, that suited my abilities to a tee. Not only was I learning about the newest engines from both Europe and Asia, I also picked up on Detroit's latest innovations.
As I was finishing my apprenticeship, I was offered a full time job in the shop I'd been working at, for almost four years. I was making enough to finally get my own apartment. Nothing fancy, but it was my own.
I had a couple of very short term relationships in school, but nothing too serious. It must have been about six weeks after I moved into my own place, I met Holly Taylor. What a near disaster that was.
On our second date, with her trying to fuck my eyebrows off, I woke up the next morning, only to find her rummaging through my pants pockets, looking for money. Luckily, I had hid everything of value, thinking this just might be a possibility.
I looked her in the eye and told her, "you have two choices, either go to jail, or never let me see you in this neighborhood, ever again."
With me standing 6'3" and weighing just about 215, she decided I was serious, and disappeared.
This put a crimp in my dating, for a while. I was busy at work, and really loved my job. I was learning everything I could, and made sure not to bother the business manager, who just happened to be the owner's daughter. While we did talk most every day, the first thing I noticed was the engagement ring she wore.
I was smart enough to know, Jenny Edwards was not only way out of my league, but off the market, too. While not what you'd call a classic beauty, I always had a very easy time talking with her.
She noticed I was very upset the Monday morning after the 'Holly incident' and talked me through my horrible mood. I finished by telling her, her fiance was a lucky man, and went back to my day's work.
About two months later, I get a car to do some minor work on, and when I finished, I called the owner, Anita Fields. When she came to pick up her car, it was just as I was off for the day.
I noticed her, as she was going to her car, and told her I hoped everything I did was to her satisfaction. As we stood and talked, I learned she was just starting out selling real estate. Very easy to talk to, and to look at. I found out she was two years older than me, just about 5'6" and on the thin side.
As she left, I began thinking, just maybe, I'd ask her out for just a drink, sometime.
A week later, she was back, with a different issue, that I was able to fix, while she waited. Again, easy to talk to, and to look at.
I thought, why not. I asked her for a drink. She agreed, but had a house to show. I told her I needed to clean up, so we agreed to meet at a local bar in an hour, or so.
Our drink, turned to dinner, and her following me back to my apartment. Getting inside, we just stood in my livingroom, kissing, with my hands slowly unbuttoning her blouse. I reached behind her back and unhooked her lacy bra. Her pert, small B cups were nearly lost in my large hands, but fit nicely in my mouth. Her small, pink nipples hardened with my tongue taking special care of them, one at a time.
We started slowly moving to my bedroom, discarding the remainder of our clothing. I did notice she was wearing very sexy undies, which fell to the floor, showing her nearly shaved pussy.
Falling onto my bed, with my cock in both her hands, I barely had time to remember a condom. It was very obvious to me, I was not her first. It was also very obvious she was more than ready to receive my throbbing eight inches.
With me starting out on top, we soon traded places, with her riding me like a championship rodeo rider. With her pony tail now very loose, her hair was flying all over, as we both climaxed, almost together.
Laying next to each other, catching our breath, I heard her pager go off. You have to remember, this was the early 90's, and pagers were very common.
When I asked if this wasn't late for houses to be shown, she brushed my comment off, saying it was a private, important client. She quickly dressed, gave me several mind blowing kisses, and was out the door.
Should this given me cause to think? Duh. Should this have been a glaring red flag? Double duh! Did I heed the bells going off in my head? Again, duh!
I didn't hear from Anita for nearly two weeks, when I had a message on my home phone asking if we could get together.
When we finally got together, I asked what was going on. The story she gave me sounded like a crock of horseshit, but I bought it, nonetheless. We ended up fucking our brains out, finding out that, in bed, we were very compatible. Absolutely nothing was off the table. Every position you could imagine, and some I didn't know could be done. No opening left out of our playbook.
For several months, we were nearly inseparable. One Saturday evening, we were going to meet at a bar I'd never been to. As I was parking my car, and walking to the entrance, I saw five or six official looking vehicles, with red and blue lights a blaze, and over a dozen people wearing windbreakers with the letters DEA emblazoned on the back getting out of these vehicles.
I stood back and watched as close to twenty men and women were being led out of this club in handcuffs, with Anita being one of them.
Shaking my head, I started walking back to my car, when a local policeman called my name, asking if he could talk with me.
Sitting in a local police station, with the cop plus two DEA Agents, I told them all I knew about Anita, which was next to nothing. Except for the fact I thought she sold real estate. I did find out that, in fact she did, but only to her druggie friends, who were doing their best to launder their ill gotten gains.
What a fucking idiot I'd been. When the law enforcement people were satisfied I wasn't a criminal mastermind, I went home, my tail tucked between my legs.
Wow, two for two, trying to find a girlfriend.
About three weeks later, I read in the local paper that one Anita Fields was sentenced to four years in the Women's correctional facility, for her involvement in this drug ring.
I just couldn't care less. Or so I thought.
For a while, I shied away from dating anybody. I threw myself into my work. Yes, I had dating opportunities, but the saying 'once bitten, twice shy' came into play.
I actually did date, and once or twice had a second or even third date. And, yes, some of these dates wound up in bed, either mine or hers.
Never in this dating scene, did I ever think I found 'Miss Right'. What I found were a few 'Miss OK's'.
As the months passed, I kept improving my position at work. Given more responsibilities, which came with more pay.
I actually found a cute little bungalow, that was priced to sell, as it needed a bit of work to put it into livable condition. What I also found, were trades people who needed something fixed on their vehicles.
I needed some wiring replaced. The electrician needed his carburetor repaired. Even trade off. I needed some plumbing done, the plumber needed a tune up. Get the idea? Within six or seven months, my house looked like new. Both bedrooms were redone, as were both bathrooms. My home office/den was finished.
Time was good to me, as my job flourished, but my love life resembled The Titanic, sinking into oblivion.
Just over twenty months into her four year sentence, Anita was paroled. I heard this from a mutual friend, but decided to avoid her.
One Saturday night, I was having a cold beer at a local bar, when who do I see walk in? Yep, Anita Fields. Her time behind bars did nothing to improve her looks. She aged at least ten years.
"Hello, Greg, may I sit here?"
I pulled out the chair, and motioned for her to have a seat. When all she ordered was a Diet Coke, I said nothing, but smiled, inwardly.
We must have talked for nearly two hours, when she called somebody to pick her up, to go home. She told me it was her sister, and it took all of my strength not to offer her a ride home.
When she got up to leave, I gave her a smile, and a little hug, which she returned, clutching me like a drowning girl. I could feel her body sobbing, and heard a very soft, "I'm so very sorry!" And she was gone.
I didn't hear from her again for several weeks, and I was beginning to think she was out of my life, completely.
One Monday morning, I see the first car on my schedule was an older car that the prospective owner wanted checked out, in order to purchase. You guessed it. Anita Fields was the prospective owner.
After checking it out, I called and left her a message, and went about my days work.
Finishing up for the day, another woman, showed up to pick up that car. Turned out, it was her older sister, Lindsey. It seemed as if she was helping Anita get back on her feet, and getting her real estate license back in good standing.
We talked for a while, with Lindsey telling me the horror story that was her sister's stay in prison. It seems as if a male guard used her as his personal booty call. This resulted in Anita getting pregnant and a forced abortion, from one of the prison medical staff.
After she left, I went to a local eatery for dinner. Both Anita and Lindsey came in, so I had them sit with me. I did ask Anita about what her sister told me, and she tearfully admitted the whole story.
After a nice dinner, I decided to talk with two good friends of mine. Both happened to be State Policemen, and I told them her story. After hearing it again, from Anita, they paid the offenders a visit.
The ensuing scandal caused nearly a dozen guards and three medical people not only to lose their jobs, but all received substantial jail time.
While this was being played out, we both kept a low profile. Yes, we dated. Yes, some of these dates ended up in my bed, but never overnight.
Was I giving her the benefit of the doubt? Yes. Was I falling in love? Maybe. I truly thought she had turned her life around. She became a hero to dozens of women, locked up, and being abused, and she passed every required drug test, until she finally got her real estate license reinstated.
She started staying over at my house, and we started talking marriage. My job was going great guns, and she started selling some houses. To honest buyers, not money launderers.
We finally tied the knot, and within a year, we were expecting our first child. When Charles Gregory Hamilton was born, I was just bursting with pride. He was the happiest, cutest baby on earth. OK, I was a bit biased.
