If ever there was a book on jackasses, Roland B. Agerk would have his own series of chapters.
Agerk fucked his customers, his suppliers, his business partners and my parents, who were his neighbors. He also fucked his secretary, often, normally on Wednesday afternoon in the office but sometimes there was a quickie on the weekend at a local park.
All of this information came right from the lips of his pretty wife Stacy, a lovely woman of 35 who seemed to hate her husband. And why not, there was a whole lot to hate.
"He's a bastard, he really lives up to his name," slurred Mrs. B. Agerk at a recent cookout, long after her husband left for a late night "business meeting" downtown. "He's getting a quickie from his slut of a secretary, you can bank on that. I know, because tonight he will be too tired to take care of his wife. Bastard."
My name is Rob, and my parents have lived next door to the Agerks for 15 of my 21 years. We reside in the quiet Philly suburbs near West Chester, and I've grown up knowing that our neighbors had a lot of balls. Mr. Agerk, actually, because Stacy was a sweet woman who somehow married an ignoramus. A rich, successful ignoramus.
Years before Agerk added a magnificent garage on the back of his property. A foot of that garage was actually on my parent's property, a fact found out by accident when they were getting their house appraised and surveyed for a new mortgage.
They confronted Agerk, who seemed apologetic. But a day later a strongly worded letter from his attorney, along with accompanying documentation from the survey company that they'd made an innocent error, started a downhill slide in the neighborly relationship.
Seems he was able to buy his way out of the problem by lining the survey company's coiffeurs with cash. All of a sudden the survey company spoke about a clerical error or something.
Not wanting to spend thousands on lawyers, my parents retreated back into their shell and let Agerk have his way. As they often said, it was only a foot, not the whole yard.
In any event there wasn't a lot of love for Mr. Agerk, and Stacy lived with his awful habits.
"But fucking his secretary is a new level," said the scorned, tipsy woman, knocking back a light beer in the far corner at the cookout. "The others, well, they were discrete. But I swear he likes to rub his secretary in my face."
I could not believe how open Stacy was with me, some 15 years her junior. I knew it was the booze speaking, but oh how it was speaking. The attractive woman could still turn heads, and I know several of my friends, and me too, had lusted after her for years.
This woman had a great body, not a lot up top but a spectacular ass. And her legs, well, they were almost dancer's legs, an attribute she said was due to a thrice weekly step program at the gym. So when she opened up with intimate details I was ready, willing and able to listen.
After a listening to Stacy's tales of indiscretions and downright nasty behavior I asked the woman why she stayed with her ass of a husband.
The story intrigued me.
"He's a great provider, but I guess I'm so afraid of the real world. If I leave, well, I hardly get anything. There was this prenuptial agreement, you see, and I don't get much of anything until after 20 years of marriage....and I am just seven years into that sentence. It is an iron clad agreement, I checked it out with two lawyers and there is no doubt he has me over a barrel."
The woman looked at me and sighed. "No, I have to put up with it, but I don't have to like it."
I walked Stacy over to her back door later that night, seriously feeling sorry for her.
When we met at the supermarket later that week she apologized for talking so much. "You didn't have to listen, but thanks for listening. It was good to get some things off my chest."
The way she said that got me looking down at her, well, chest.
"Men!" she laughed. "You all think about the same thing....by the way, if you want to look me in the eyes they are way up here."
Embarrassed, I stuttered an apology while carrying her groceries to the car.
Over the next several weeks I'd talk to the woman here and there, never as intently and honestly as we'd spoken at the cook out, but still pretty deep stuff. She really hated the way her husband was sharking his secretary.
"He's always got some late business meeting, generally twice a week. You know, am I that disgusting that he don't want me like he wants her?" asked the sexy woman.
"You are so beautiful, Mrs. Agerk, a real sexy lady, so I can't imagine why he doesn't adore you."
"The woman smiled. You are old enough to call me Stacy if you want," said the lady. "Besides, that's NOT how you say my married name. It's pronounced Aggert, not A Jerk....but thanks for the compliment. I haven't gotten a lot of them lately."
We shared stories over coffee. She wanted to know about my girlfriend Rochelle, who was more friend than girlfriend. "So, are you two, uh, doing it?"
"No way!"
Stacy smiled. "You are so innocent!"
"Don't you believe it," I replied. I have an adventurous mind even if I haven't gotten a lot of experience."
I didn't tell her about Courtney, my second girl friend. She had given me a series of blow jobs in our six months together, so it wasn't as if I was a complete virgin.
We toyed with each other for the next 20 minutes before she excused herself to head home, but we agreed to get together later in the week, this time with me buying the coffee.
That was the beginning of our little series of meetings. Nothing sexual between us, purely talking. We'd talk about our likes and dislikes, with her always trying to pry little details about my relationships while I'd try and learn around hers.
"So why does he cheat on you, Stacy, it doesn't make any sense. You are so pretty, you are wonderful to be with, and very, very attractive."
She said it was about the conquest. He stole her away from a guy she was engaged to, everything was rosy. They ultimately tied the knot and had several years of what she thought was a perfect relationship.
"He always wants what he doesn't have. If a competitor has a great client, he wants to take that client away. If a girl is pretty, he wants to have her. He has caused a couple marriages to fall apart, and he loves fresh meat. That slut secretary of his, Amber, has his attention today but in a few months she'll be gone...with nothing but her kneepads."
It wasn't until she accidentally found some evidence that he had been cheating on her nearly their entire married time together that she realized what the pre-nuptial meant. She breaks things off, he gets a slap on the wrist, and she's out on the street starting over.
"I don't want to start over," said the woman. "No, I turn the other cheek and live with it. It's hard, but that's the deal. I don't like it, he's an ass, but he's my meal ticket for now I guess."
Stacy had such a forlorn look about her. She thought she was signing on to a wonderful life, and while it wasn't bad it was kind of awful. She admitted to sleeping with the man, having sex with him...sometimes the same night he had seen someone else.
"That is so degrading, he uses her then he uses me. But if I don't let him do me he gets violent, He has hit me, and he's constantly talking about throwing my fat ass out of the house," said the woman who definitely didn't have a fat ass. "He has friends in high places, he can get out of things. I can't. I'm property, his personal whore."
Somehow, I'd say something to cheer up the woman, get her mind off her problems I was just happy to be with her, talking, joking, whatever. She became sort of a big sister to me, the big beautiful sister you lust after.
On more than one night after we'd share stories I'd lie in bed and think about the lovely lady. It wasn't long before I'd have visions of her and I in bed, making passionate love. I'd go down on her, kiss her all over, and make sweet love in an assortment of rooms in her big house.
But that wasn't reality. What was real was that she was much older than me and married. I was merely a little play toy to talk with. Or was I?
Sometimes I had these naughty thoughts about her. Normally, they would come when I'd see her in a particularly attractive outfit, or when I was frustrated from Rochelle sticking to her "no touching down there" philosophy of dating.
Stacy was sympathetic to my plight, saying that things would move on when "it was time." She told me of her college days where every boy she dated wanted sex first and a relationship second.
"It was downright awful, like I was a piece of meat. And not just me, all the girls in the dorm who were in the dating mode were treated that way. And why not? Some of the coeds were, simply put, sluts. They'd sleep with anyone."
Out conversations became more frequent, as we'd meet at least twice a week for coffee or a snack. Always in the open, there was nothing behind anyone's back. Although Rochelle was somewhat pissed that I'd be spending time with a "geezer" like Stacy.
It was after a frustrating date with Rochelle that I got a call from Stacy. "What were you and Rochelle arguing about tonight at dinner," asked my neighbor.
I stuttered something, but mostly wanted to know how she knew?
"Dummy! I was sitting across the restaurant with a couple girl friends, and was going to come over and introduce myself to Rochelle when I realized you two were not exactly getting along....what was up?
Pausing, I wasn't sure what to say. But soon I came out with it. "She doesn't like me spending time with you, she says it's wrong....you know, you being married and so old, I mean, older than me. I tried to tell her we were neighbors, friends, but she said I'd have to stop spending time with you.
"It is either her or you, as far as she is concerned."
There was a pause on the line. Then Stacy told me it was fine, we didn't need to see each other. Probably wrong of her to spend so much time with me.
"But I enjoy it, I like you, I like talking with you."
"You are so sweet," replied the woman. "But we will have to cool it. You know, so you can work it out with Rochelle."
