Hi, Jack here, and so that we can get it over with, married to Dianne - yeah, I know, Jack and Dianne, two lovers from the heartland and all that. We got a lot of friendly grief over the names when we were dating, and frequently when we meet new people, but it's ok and just the way it is.
I'm unremarkable, I think - good looking enough, fit enough, tall enough, a good enough job, and so forth. I'm actually more than fortunate enough, though, having married clearly above myself, since Dianne's a notch above "enough" in each of those first categories, not the 38EEE long-legged blonde bombshell who seem to populate these pages, but someone you'd say is good looking, looks maybe 35, tops, for her mid 40s age, keeps fit - brown hair, blue eyes, medium still very nice breasts (34B+s for the record), good ass thanks to exercise and diet and good genes, I guess. She looks like she could be a major cougar when she gets in a bikini or her running stuff or dresses for our occasional date nights; and when we're out and about, I see guys giving her more than just a passing glance, in appreciation.
Now, being a guy, I wish I were just a bit taller, just a bit richer, in just a bit better shape, and of course were sporting another inch or so downstairs (alas, I'm the notorious statistically average, which means shy of 6" if I get all honest about it, shy of internet amateur porn average by a good bit and way shy of professional porn average). Plus, I'm a grower, so no locker room pride for me, sigh. Where's the justice anyway?
But there's not a category I think I'd want to change about Dianne - she's a terrific wife, great mother of our at-college daughter, and a fine fuck. Okay, maybe one category.
Dianne is pretty conservative when it comes to the fucking business. No pain is one of her boundaries, which is fine with me and would have caused problems with me if she were, but also no fantasizing, no real kinks in the bedroom, reluctant even to talk about what she clearly enjoys - seems very happy to be hetero and monogamous, orgasms pretty easily, not reluctant to give or take oral but sees penile penetration as the main course. I'd say she likes different positions, but she never initiates them or even reflects on them afterwards, just cooperates with my lead, and comes in about every one of them. Believe me, over the years, I've tried to "bring her out" to discuss sex with me, but to no avail. She's always "what you do is just fine," and "I don't really remember the few other guys before you," and even when she comes, it's vocally little more than a whimper, maybe a gasp, maybe even an "Oh".
That willingness to be led (within her bounds) and ease of orgasm make for a really good sex life; but as you can imagine, it is subject to getting a little stale after being a steady, if complete, diet for 20 years or so now. Ah well, still, life is good. I can still perform just fine, and the sight of her and the feel of her and the touch of her still prompt appropriate blood flow.
Now, you may agree with me that women have girlfriends. Men don't have boyfriends. Men do, however, have friends, compadres, bubbas, bros, teammates. And it's those friends who traditionally get them in trouble, right? You know, the "C'mon, they'll never find out!" or the "Hey, watch this!" or the "You're a wuss if you don't!" drills. Frequently, adult beverages are involved, and machinery, or even weaponry - all in good fun, making great stories, sometimes downright bad stories.
But girlfriends - what are they all about, anyway? Someone to go to the bathroom with? Someone to have coffee with in the morning and commiserate with about the insensitivity of men?
Dianne isn't surrounded by close friends, but she does have one since-childhood friend, Carol, who lives a traffic jammed hour or so plus on the opposite side of our metroplex area. Every several months or so, the two of them will get together just to visit, have lunch, or girl's night out, or weekend away, that sort of thing. Two months ago, it was Dianne's turn to overnight at Carol's, which worked well since Carol's husband, Tom, was going to be out of town on business. Dianne said they planned to do dinner then go back to Carol's, watch a chick flick on TV, and drink more wine than they could if they went out. It was a Friday, which worked for all concerned, so I kissed Dianne goodbye on my way to the office, wished her safe travels and a good time with Carol, and went off to work, expecting Dianne home the next afternoon.
My plan for the evening included knocking back some bourbon, watching a football game I'd taped but hadn't seen (I knew my team had won, and friends had relayed that there were some terrific plays on both sides), and eating something delicious and bad for me. I hadn't worked out the last part - maybe grill a steak, maybe order a pizza delivery, maybe even skip the taped game and do a burger and whatever was on the sports channel at the local pub. Very guy all around.
On the way home from work, I figured I'd just go with the grilled steak and football tape option, so I stopped by the grocer, picked up a really good looking ribeye and a ready-made salad to even out the digestion, and settled in for my guy's night in while the girls were having their night out.
It was about 7 when I'd killed the steak (medium rare with a great charcoal sear, thank you very much), downed a beer beforehand and a bourbon with the steak (am I the man, or what), and was ready to settle in for the game, when the door opened and Dianne strode in. I was commando in some old decrepit gym shorts and a t-shirt, sporting a now seven o'clock shadow, certainly not dressed to impress, and surprised at her return.
Concerned that the old friends had had a tiff, I barely had time to stand and say, "Hey, babe - what's going on?" when I saw a downright feral look in her eye - being a husband, I immediately scanned my memory, wondering if I'd really, really screwed up something. She walked up to me and grabbed me in a hug, then put a lip lock on me that was aggressive and out of the ordinary by far for her.
"Mmmmm," she murmured, pulling back just a bit, her arms still around me, and mine naturally around her. Seeing the surprise in my face, she said, "What? Can't a wife bring a little present to her husband?" and before anything else, I felt her hands reaching down into my shorts and tugging at my very surprised and wholly soft member. I stood there, pretty much in shock, as she surprised me further, kneeling and tugging my shorts to the floor. She downright engulfed my dick, easily fitting the whole thing in, and I could feel her tongue stroking and licking it. Still amazed at who this look-alike to my wife could be, my surprise was soon overcome by that glorious feeling. As she rolled my balls about in her fingers, (thankfully much more gently than the rest of her demeanor), I knew my willy was now swelling past the penis stage, well on its way to dick, hoping to make it all the way to cock before this ended.
Just as I was about fully hard - it must have taken a good thirty seconds at the rate she was going, she rose, turned on her heel, and said, "C'mon, big guy!" And with that, she sashayed down the hall to our bedroom, her hips swinging way more than usual. I wasn't about to ask questions at the time - I was just trying to keep up with this new presence who looked a lot like Dianne. I almost tripped as I stepped out of the shorts, then I hurried to follow her, pulling off my t-shirt and watching her shed clothing as she went.
By the time we got to the bedroom, she was down to her attractive but hardly sexy bikini panties, which she pulled off as well. Standing there beside our bed, she beckoned to me and I happily joined her in a nude hug, my dick hard and happy at the new Dianne who seemed to have arrived.
Rubbing bodies, we kissed, my cock pressed against her belly, her breasts mashed into me, her tongue back in my mouth, dancing to its own beat as mine tried to keep up. Another "mmmm" escaped her, then she flopped backwards onto the bed, her feet still at the floor. I got the message and knelt to return the favor from moments before, pulling her knees across my shoulders as I teased her slit with my tongue, just barely touching it. I could tell, even at that point, that she was way wetter than usual. I always consider lubrication by the female to be a compliment to the male, but I wasn't sure in this case - she'd certainly gotten a head start for some reason that I was too busy to worry about at the moment.
"Aaarrggh," she growled at me, and her hands grasped my head and pulled. I got the message and decided the hell with subtlety, piercing her with my tongue, then lapping at her clit, hard. In about a minute, she came, hard, crying out (something she rarely does, even when obviously coming), her heels pressed into my back, her hands in my hair, keeping me pressed to her as she rode over the falls of the orgasm.
Finally, gasping and relaxing, she let go, and ordered me, "Now - fuck me!"
Reflecting that I couldn't recall her talking like that, at least for the past few years, I climbed up, impaling my cock into her and ramming it just as forcibly as I could (with my knees practically falling back off the bed at the time). I managed to push her back, fucking with abandon. As I said, she was wet - ok, soaking - and offered little resistance to my intrusion. I wondered if she was loose or just wet, but then she came again, even harder, calling out my name interspersed with Joycean yesses. That, for whatever reason, pushed me in turn over the top, and I came quicker than I have in years, pumping into her and growling in frustration at my lack of control.
