A Slut Life Ch 01

CHAPTER 1: THE BEGINNING

Pulling into the driveway and pressing the remote to open the garage door, I glimpsed to the dining room window covered by the closed sheers. I see the faint glow of light coming from further inside the house. I smiled. Ryan has waited up. I left him a message this night could be late and not to. I assured him we could talk in the morning. I'm a big girl, I can come home to a quiet, dark house. I had always thought our love was boundless and nights like these were just an example of the commitment and trust and openness we share. There had been something different about Ryan lately but I pushed it out of my mind as I was leaving. I hadn't really spent much time on it, though. I was too excited about the night. So, I was anxious to see him, to be reassured.

I entered through the laundry/pantry room that empties into the house at the kitchen after pressing the button to lower the garage door. I am tired. My body is tired. My brain is tired. It had been a busy day, anyway. I had cooked and shopped. Ryan and I were planning a quiet weekend... no friends, no guests, no meetings or events... no nothing but us.

A couple steps, my high heels clicking on the floor tiles, and I stepped into the kitchen to find Ryan on the left leaning against the island in the center of the space. Straight ahead is the open space that flowed into the family room. Several lights are on, the large flat screen is muted and some sports program is on, probably Sports Center as a casual look seemed to be showing highlights of recent games. I see the open laptop that probably had succeeded in holding his attention over the TV. Ryan is very dedicated to his work.

Ryan pushes himself off the island. It occurs to me that he may have moved from the family room to the kitchen as soon as he heard the garage door. Usually, he allows me to come in and get settled. I place my small purse on the counter, encircle his waist with an arm as I pull him in for a kiss and hug. I know he can taste on my lips the activities of the night. What he tastes on my lips or smells or finds anywhere else on my body is not new. These nights have been wonderful, which is the reason they happen.

Breaking the hug, he steps behind me. With one hand I loosen the middle buttons of the long blazer I am wearing that might be appropriate for covering a micro-dress underneath. By holding the lapels, Ryan removes the blazer as I pull one arm, then pull the other out. I turn around. A coquettish smile teasingly forms on my lips. His eyes roam down and back up my body and I can see something is different.

His smile that would be matching mine isn't there. "I see you've misplaced your thong, again." Something is different. He drops my blazer over one of the stools at the island counter. Sans the thong, which disappeared predictably, I am dressed the way I was when I left much earlier: black 4 inch high heels, sheer black stockings, and lacy black garter belt. The tiny, lacy thong that had completed the outfit must be in someone's pocket... a memory item, perhaps... a trophy never to be washed, a reminder of my scent.

I am 39 years old, 5' 1" tall and about 110 pounds. I have brown hair usually below my shoulders and brown eyes. I have what I think is a voluptuous figure and C-cup tits. It is why going out, even in the dark, with just a blazer over my tits is very risqué. They are natural and often seem to have a mind of their own to move and bounce as they wish. It is part of the new me, though. I dress to tease and entice, especially on these play nights.

Ryan's hand slips down my body and dips a finger into my pussy as I open my legs for him. He looks into my eyes as he lifts his finger up between us. "How much this time, slut?"

I am taken aback. His finger has come out of my used pussy covered in the cum of other men. His comment has shocked me. It has taken us a while to reach this point in these activities, but no matter how slutty I might behave, it started with him. This is how our marriage has evolved, transformed, expanded. It has done so mutually. Eyes wide open. Full awareness. Full acceptance. In truth, it was at his suggestion, encouragement, and interest while pulling me along until I felt the same way. Which is why his reaction now is so surprising.

"You're a fucking whore!"

He walks away from me. He turns off Sports Center, his laptop, the lights in the family room, and begins moving to the bedroom. I don't understand what is happening. This isn't right, not the way this is supposed to happen. He should be greeting me with a passionate kiss and teasing me about the night in anticipation. I should be taken by the hand to fuck him in our bed while I tell him about the night, about three of his friends fucking me. This was the night of his scheduled poker night but he had to work late. They guys called and suggested that I come anyway to be hostess. Why ruin what would be a fun night? This wasn't the first time, obviously. Ryan had left a message for me. Just something with work. Something needing him to prepare for something for tomorrow. That was before the other call. My participation has occurred before. I had called Ryan at the office and left a message. I had called his cell phone. Several times. Left messages each time. These poker playing nights have turned into more of a cliché, 'poke her' nights.

Suddenly, everything is wrong. Nothing about this feels natural or comfortable or... REAL.

I call out to him, "Ryan... what's going on?"

He stops. For a moment, he stands there with his back to me. Is he merely thinking? Or, is he calming himself? Why is he having to calm himself, though? When he turns to face me, I can see in his eyes as they move over me. These aren't the eyes I am used to. I am standing between the kitchen and the family in heels and stocking. Before, his eyes would say he wants to fuck me and to share what happened. These aren't those eyes.

"How could you?"

"How could I what?" Whatever this was about, my Latin nature was raising its emotional response.

"You just decide to go off to spend most of the night fucking?"

I stepped toward him but his hands come up as if they would emit some force field to hold me back. Wherever this was coming from, now I was pissed. "Look at me, damnit! Look at me!" I stood before him. arms out to the side. I knew what I looked like at that moment. Naked. Stockings and heels. I could still feel the semen of three men inside me and I didn't doubt that he could see the shine of it on the insides of my thighs. "This is what YOU wanted. This is what you want to display, exhibit, show off. This is what you wanted to share with others. Remember? This was YOU."

"You went off without... you just went off by yourself... you just decided..." He was whining. God! It sounded so pathetic.

It made me even more pissed. "Fuck you! YOU had this night planned! You always plan these things. You want to share me. You pled with me and you finally talked me into it. Well..." I had my arms out displaying myself, again. "Well... here I am. You succeeded. I did all this for you. Now you resent it? How dare you! I left you I don't know how many messages. Were you even at the office?" When that came out, I paused. Was he? Or, did he just tell me that? Why didn't he get my calls if he was at the office?

He seemed pathetic. He had no argument. What was his problem? "You wanted to fuck them. It wouldn't have mattered what I said."

I was flabbergasted. "What? You wanted this. You wanted to share me with your friends and even strangers. Remember? So, yeah, I want to fuck them. I like it. I enjoy being desired by men. You succeeded and now you aren't happy? What do you want?"

"I want it to stop. This was a mistake. I thought this is what I wanted. I thought this would fill our relationship somehow. I was wrong. You like this too much. I should have known. Tonight, you showed your true self. You're just a whore."

Okay. Maybe I should have taken the high road and tried to defuse what was happening. Maybe I should have just agreed with him that we could stop. But... damnit... a whore? I lost it and with it my marriage.

"You whiny bastard!" How could I hurt him? That was really all that flashed through my mind at the moment. Not how could I save us, but how could I hurt him. "You want me to stop what you started? After these men you've put me with, you want me now to be happy with your puny little penis? I can't even call it a cock. A cock is big enough to be fulfilling, satisfying. Yours..." I laughed. And, at that moment, I knew we were done. And, at that moment, I also understood how much of what I said was just the truth coming out. The way I really come to feel. He's been on a mission to share me, to make me into his little hot-wife. Well, he did. I had been happy before. I didn't want anything to change. He did. I did change. Because he wanted it. And, yes, now I like it.

The words went on. Not just that night, either. That was the ultimate problem. The words kept coming out over the next days. It was amazing what was built up when it finally came out. Ryan wasn't happy with what we were doing. Maybe he hadn't been for quite a while. It had only been a year and a half when I thought about it. But I wondered when it had occurred to him that he was making a mistake. I wondered when it was that he started resenting how much I was enjoying it after he had to try so hard for me to try it, to let another man use me. That, of course, led to others, mostly his friends but also complete strangers from hotel bars. The variety of men was exciting for me and if that was making him happy it added more excitement for me. Apparently, his excitement and happiness hadn't lasted as long as mine. I was now convinced he had merely waiting for the opportunity to try to blame me. However lame that opportunity might be when he chose it.

The divorce was at times nasty and messy but ultimately quick as we ended up with a non-contesting agreement. He tried to put it all on me as being unfaithful. I countered, through my lawyer, with names of some of his own friends who would attest that it was Ryan who arranged the meetings. I also captured emails from his computer from other men he had somehow connected with for visits at hotels.

Our state allows for quick settlement when there are no contesting claims. We ended our 12 years of marriage painfully but quickly with dividing our common worth (he kept the house) and a nice alimony based on his income (a nice big income).

* * * *

I've been in my new 1-bedroom apartment for about two weeks. I didn't need the house if I was going to be single, again. I wasn't sure he did, either, but I imagined him starting up a new relationship pretty quickly. Of course, that led me back to the curious thought if he really had been in the office that fateful night. I had made the quick decision not to fight over that or the house. I ended up with more liquid assets without the house.

The apartment was roomy and nice, even as a single bedroom. It was on the top, fourth, floor with a balcony facing into the commons area. The complex was four separate building forming a square. On the inside of the quad was a common resident building with a recreation area and rooms for reservation for gatherings and meetings. A large pool and patio area and large lawned green space with trees and shaded benches completed the inside area. I was glad to have that view rather than the one on the other side of the building overlooking the parking area surrounding the outside of the complex.

I had been out shopping and struggling with packages, getting my mail from the box in the small lobby of the building, and fumbling for my key card to unlock the door when I heard, "Let me get that for you."

I turned at the voice. There were strict rules about letting strangers into the building to guard the security for everyone. I recognized the man reaching his own card to the scanner at the side of the handle as the complex superintendent who I had met when applying for the apartment. I gave him what I hoped would pass for a warm smile but not much in my life was feeling hopeful or smile-worthy. I mumbled a 'thank you' and passed to the waiting elevator. As I rode the elevator to the fourth floor, I felt bad about the encounter. He seemed like a nice man and the look on his face as I stood in the elevator as the door slid closed made me think my response to him hadn't been what I had tried for.

An hour or so later, I had changed into my comfortable relaxing-at-home-for-the-evening attire of large t-shirt and panties when there was a knock at the door. Still being new to the complex, I was surprised at someone being at my door so I used the spy hole to check. It was Mr. Swenson, the superintendent. I considered how I was dressed, but relented rather than having him stand outside longer.

He glanced at what I was wearing as the door fully opened. I knew the man-sized t-shirt didn't do much to cover me but they were comfortable. He cleared his throat, then, "I... I may be out of line but... could I have a word with you? It's Teresa, right?"

That was confusing. Was this official or personal? I stepped aside to allow him to enter. "Of course, Mr. Swenson." He stepped inside and stopped. I moved past him to the kitchen area on the right. "Can I get you a beer, wine, or something stronger? I was just getting myself one."

"Uh... okay... a beer, thanks. Please call me Harold." I smiled. Maybe it wasn't official. Then, what?

I saw him move to the edge of the kitchen as I opened the refrigerator and bent over to look into the bottom shelf. "All I have is Miller Lite..." I glanced over and found him looking not at the refrigerator but at my butt and it finally dawned on me that the t-shirt probably had pulled up my bent over body to expose my panties. I was nervous about why the superintendent was here and trying to be hospitable, but... I grabbed two cans and straightened up, handing one to him. I could feel a blush spreading over me as I moved to the living room. I sat on the couch next to the sliding door to the balcony and he took a chair on the other side of the coffee table.

As I sat down, everything about the situation became uncomfortably obvious. I hardly knew this man and he was the authority figure of the complex and here I was... like a trollop... What might he be thinking of me? Mr. Swenson appeared to be 60 years old. He was about six feet tall, grey hair that was thinning on top, and still trim, still in shape. He had soft eyes that were blue and a gentleness about him that was partially masked by nervousness. I thought it was quite charming but that made me remember the impression I must be giving. I didn't have a bra on and I noticed my nipples pressing against the thin fabric even without them being fully erect. The t-shirt wasn't really long enough and when I sat down it rode up my legs to my hips. I had to cross my legs to avoid my panties being in his face, so to speak.

"Teresa... in the lobby I was reminded... well... you've just moved in and I don't know if I've seen you seeming happy. Are you displeased with the apartment or the complex?"

I smiled at him and relaxed some. "Harold, are you so caring about all your renters?"

He smiled at my tease and chuckled. "Only the really pretty ones." He was very charming.

"It has nothing to do with the apartment, Harold. I do like it. I like the entire complex setup. It's just..." He raised his eyebrows to encourage me gently and took another drink from the can. And then it all poured out. Sure, I left out major details about the divorce, the sharing and hotwife. I dumped just enough about changes my ex wanted, and convinced me to accept, then how he didn't like that I had changed. Blah, blah, blah. I was surprised after so many minutes how it had all exploded out of me. I apologized to him after I caught my breath.

"Don't apologize that you hurt so terribly deep inside." He leaned forward, his forearms braced on his knees and he gave me another gentle smile that seemed to project a fatherly caring. This man was something else.

I pushed up a smile onto my own face. It was probably strained but it was there. "Are you sure you don't seek out renters to council?"

He gave a more comfortable chuckle, "I assure you, Teresa... only the pretty ones." I smiled. That could easily be a come-on. This whole thing could easily be a come-on but it just didn't feel that way. He leaned back in the chair, maybe content that I had managed to dump all that and ended with a smile at his tease. He drained the rest of his beer and fell pensive for a moment as he gazed at the can in his hands. I decided to wait. "Sometimes it helps... to be with someone you don't know to let it all out." When he ventured a look at me, I was staring at him with a new level of curiosity. I waited, wanting him to continue. "I won't say I understand how you feel. I haven't lost something through divorce but..." He breathed. His fingers were pressing into the sides of the can making a crinkling sound. "I lost my wife. Lost... isn't that a peculiar term? They leave, you leave or they're taken away. She died... suddenly... just over five years ago. An illness. Sudden. It left a hole in me I am still filling with life. I guess what I am saying is that I understand how it can feel, how it can leave you with an emptiness, and how it can leave you angry... resentful." He looked up and focused on me, leaning forward, again. "But... excuse me for giving out advice you didn't ask for... don't let it consume you. Don't leave that hole empty too long. Go ahead and be mad, grieve if you need, but fill it with something. Make a decision about what your life should be going forward... always forward, Teresa. Then move. Whatever you decide, then move toward it. Always forward and leave the rest behind."

Then, he stood up. He looked embarrassed by all he had said uninvited. He moved to the door with a side move to place the can on the kitchen counter. I stood and called out, "Mr. Swenson... Harold... you said you felt empty for a long time. What finally allowed you to move on?"

He stopped with his hand on the door handle. He turned halfway and when he looked, I was sure his gaze truly saw my body this time. There was no 'official business' remaining. He was just a man and just being a man he noticed it all.

"I took a trip. In fact, I just got back before you moved in. An island. Beautiful. Amazingly beautiful. Completely different than outside here. And, it's off-season. Quite cheap now. I'll leave the information in your box." He hesitated. "I don't remember how I chose that place but...", he smiled, "... it opened my eyes. It showed me just how alive I still was."

I rushed up to him. I think I took him aback. I hugged him, thanked him, and gave him a peck on the cheek. After the door closed, I leaned back against it. What a nice man. Maybe he's right. If it could help him from missing his wife of years and years, couldn't it help me from missing a man who changed my life and then discarded me?

It was several days later when I found an envelope without a stamp on it in my mail box. I took it upstairs with the rest of the mail. I dropped the mail on the dining table and fingered the unmarked envelop. Was I nervous for some reason? The alimony provided enough money for the apartment and living, though I already knew I would be seeking a job, too. I didn't have much experience, but I could get something. He said it was cheap now.

I kicked off my sandals as I ripped the envelope open and idly moved toward the balcony sliding door. I slipped two fingers inside to pull out a brochure and dropped the envelope on the coffee table. I stepped out onto the balcony as I gazed at the front of the brochure. It was an island resort. Words jumped out at me: Private. Secluded. Tropical. Enchanting.