Author's note: The first part of this tale will be placed into the LW "Mature" section. The second part, when written, will be placed into the "Loving Wives" section. So, if you're following the story, you'll need to keep an eye out for part 2 in another category.
I never thought in a million years that my wife of ten years would be unfaithful to me. "Not a chance," I naively thought. After fifteen years of marriage, I really believed we were on a firm footing. My problems began about three months ago. Up until that time things were okay, though I did notice some subtle changes a few months prior to that. But I just chalked that up to the normal ups and downs of a marriage that was well into its second decade. My name is Leo Tatum and my wife is Kate Jackson.
Before I get to the problem surrounding the implosion of my marriage, it's really important that I go back and tell you a story from over twenty years ago. I know that's going to turn some of you off, but the events of those days have a direct bearing on today's troubles and are integral to the story.
Back in 1999, I was in my sophomore year at a well-known university in upstate New York, in a town not too far from Albany. I was a pretty shy nineteen year-old kid, lacking in any significant carnal experience with the fairer sex. Hell. Who am I kidding? I didn't have any experience with women. In high school, while I was very involved in two varsity sports, football and baseball, I was a loner. I was a fit, good looking kid. But I was considered a bit of an oddball. I never liked the party scene and didn't see the point in alcohol induced comas after a Friday night of football games and teenage debauchery. And since I had gone to an all-boys Catholic high school, to say I was awkward with the opposite sex would be an understatement. Still a virgin in college in my nineteenth year, my hormones were raging, and I walked around campus with a hard on for most of my freshman and sophomore years.
Since I was a journalism major, and given that the Internet was no where near as sophisticated as it is today, I spent a lot of time doing research in the college library's reference department. Back then, you really had to work hard to get any information for term papers and assignments. Toward the end of the first semester of my sophomore year, the college hired a new reference librarian, Mrs. Patricia Walsh. She caused me to spend even more time in the library than I needed to. Back then, I guessed that she was somewhere in her late 40s. Turns out she was 47 when she started at the college library. Mrs. Walsh fueled many a late night fantasy back in those days when I dated my right hand. Why, with all of the hot coeds cavorting around campus, would I develop a secret hot crush for someone who was twenty-eight years my senior? I guess it had something to do with the fact that I was comfortable speaking with older women, and I was profoundly bashful and insecure around women that were closer to my age.
But it was much more than that. The librarian was, quite simply, a smoking hot MILF wrapped up in a very conservative package. Mrs. Walsh was about five feet, four inches tall, with straight brunette hair down to her shoulders and bangs over her forehead. She wore the typical librarian "granny" wire framed glasses, which were in front of the two most gorgeous emerald-green eyes you can possibly imagine. Those eyes, combined with fair skin, her little turned up nose, and pouty mouth made it very obvious that she was of Irish descent. She consistently dressed in a very modest, age-appropriate professional outfit, and she always wore stockings and black business pumps with a low heel, something which has fallen out of fashion as of late. Mrs. Walsh didn't have much on top. But man, what an incredible ass! I have never seen anything so magnificent before or since. On rare occasion when she wore slacks, I would sit in the reference room staring as she walked away and would nearly come in my pants. Her backside was so incredible, you would be inclined to get down on your knees and give thanks to the Lord God for his magnificent creation. She had wide hips to complete her stupendous ass. They may have been a bit too wide for many guys, but they were just right for me. Many a time I imagined myself pounding into her from behind gripping those hips like a steering wheel. And, in my adolescent fantasy world, I pictured that with each thrust, her ass cheeks would jiggle a little.
It was on a late Friday afternoon that she caught me staring at her. Little did I know at the time how lucky I was that she took notice, though, at the time, I wanted to crawl under the table and hide in embarrassment when she first approached me.
"Young man," she said in a soft, demure voice, "I'd like to speak with you in my office, please."
This was it. She was going to bar me from the library. I didn't think I was that obvious.
"Your name is Leo Tatum. I noticed that you spend quite a bit of time here, and I can tell you are quite studious and dedicated to your studies. That shows character. The other librarians who know you have told me that you are a very polite young man."
"Here it comes," I thought. But instead, she stopped and smiled at me. Was it a seductive smile? Hell...I imagined that everything she did was seductive. But the smile from her pouty little lips did signal that she wasn't mad at me at all.
"I need some help around the house, and I was hoping to hire you for some odd jobs on Saturdays."
"Wait. What?" I replied incredulously.
"You know...mowing the lawn, weeding, the odd repair here and there. What do you say? Interested? I'll pay you a fair wage, comparable to what the other kids your age are making at their off campus jobs. Sadly, my husband was killed tragically two years ago, and there's no one around to help me. I've held off as long as I could, trying to do everything myself. But I just can't manage anymore. And I don't want to hire just anyone. You come highly recommended as somewhat who is polite and pleasant."
Anxiously, perhaps a bit too anxiously, I replied, "Yeah. That'll be fine." I'm sure she noticed how my voice cracked nervously with that response.
"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. Here's the address. You are available tomorrow, yes? I just realize it's short notice."
"Hell yes!" Oops, sorry. I mean, yes, I'm available. I don't have anything going on."
She handed me a piece of paper with her address and phone number and signed it "Patricia," not "Mrs. Walsh." From the library, I went straight to my dorm and jerked myself off into oblivion with thoughts of Mrs. Walsh in tight jeans and a t-shirt, something she never wore to her library job.
Turns out that my fantasy of Mrs. Walsh in the outfit that I jerked off to was exactly how she greeted me when I rang her doorbell precisely at 10 a.m. I was up half the night in anticipation, and arrived at her house much earlier than the appointed hour. I nervously paced around her block hoping to ward off the jitters so that they wouldn't be too obvious. Her ass looked even more glorious in jeans. She had to notice the hard on that I was sporting. There's no way she could have missed it. Before the end of that first day with her, my balls were so blue I was nearly doubled over in pain, and my underwear was soaked with pre cum.
"Hi, Mrs. Walsh!" I shouted out a little too fervently.
"Right on time, I see. Punctuality is important. I like that. And it's 'Patricia' here at my home. Let's ditch the 'Mrs. Walsh' thing when we're working together. It makes me feel ancient."
