This is the first of what is presently a two chapter story. The second chapter is drafted and I expect to post it soon. Ideas for subsequent chapters are gathered in my head, but there is nothing on paper yet. Suggestions are always welcome.
Angel, the narrator, is inspired by a woman I've been acquainted with for two decades. I've seen her grow from a teenager to a woman approaching forty; she is every bit as beautiful and sweet as the lady described in the story. Abuya is based on a doctor I met recently who is as classy and dignified as the woman I've tried to portray.
As always, all characters are eighteen years of age or older.
* * * *
I had been a short pudgy child, reaching my full height, all 4 feet 10 inches, at age thirteen. Then my body began its transformation. I lost weight in all the right places. What was left was voluptuous, curvy, with full C breasts that appeared even larger on my tiny frame. My round face featured oversized brown eyes and a wide mouth. I never had a pimple. People said I looked like a kewpie doll.
What didn't change was the rest of me. I had been a book-ish quiet child; I was a book-ish quiet teenager. I loved Shakespeare and Nineteenth Century novels, old movies, and, most of all, acting. I was eight when Mom and Dad sent me to my first theater camp. I went every summer thereafter. I was a regular in school plays. On stage that I found I could tap into a part of me far different than the everyday studious shy girl.
I got asked out a lot - teen-aged boys love boobies - but all the guys wanted to do was play video games, drink, smoke some pot, make-out. Can't say I enjoyed it much.
Then I met Alex. The fair haired boy of Mom's civil engineering firm, he was brilliant, innovative, and oh so handsome: blonde, blue-eyes, a tri-athlete. I was ga-ga. One day, he asked Mom's permission to take me out.
A word about Mom and Dad. Mom was, and is, striking; a classy blonde whom everyone noticed. In the face of a public that doubted whether a woman, much less a beautiful woman, could be an engineer, she built a civil engineering firm that was among the regions's largest.
I took after Dad. He was short, several inches shorter than Mom, and nice looking, but had none of Mom's flamboyance. He was successful, a fixture at a local accounting firm, but, like me, was a home-body. Mom's career came first and Dad was unstintingly supportive. Sometimes I'd wonder how much my Mom loved Dad, she could be imperious and dictatorial, but there was no question that Dad adored Mom.
Back to Alex. Over Dad's objections, Mom gave permission for her twenty-seven protegee to date her eighteen year old daughter. Madly in love, I gave him something I'd denied everyone else, my body. I didn't enjoy the sex all that much, but pretended and when I turned up pregnant Alex asked me to marry him.
We honeymooned in the Caribbean. And it was there that my body and mind fused. We were making love. Alex was on top, inside me. I was thinking more about the baby growing within me than my husband's penis when he said, "I love your tight warm cunt, my wife's hot tight warm cunt."
If an hour before you'd strapped me to a polygraph and asked me how I'd react to such vulgarity, I'd have said "repulsed" and passed. What I felt, however, was a sudden surge of desire.
Alex, emboldened by my silence, went on, "I love the way my dick feels inside you."
There was a flare between my legs.
He continued, "You like my cock in your pussy, don't you wife?"
My fingers tightened on his back.
"You're so wet and warm inside, it feels so good on my dick. You love being dicked, don't you?"
My fingers dug into his back.
"You love it, loved being fucked by your husband, love giving him your pussy."
"Unnh."
"I gonna fuck your hot snatch, make you come on my cock, fill you with cum."
"Uuunnnhhhhhh."
"Say it, say you love the way I fuck you."
"Uuuuuuuunnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhh."
"Say it, say it my sweet sexy girl!"
"Uuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."
"Say it, tell me how much you love being fucked!"
"Uuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnn... love it... nnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."
"Love what?"
"Uuuuuuu love... uuuuuuuuunnnnnnnn... the way... nnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhh... you fuck me... nnhhhhhhhhhhhhh."
And I came. The orgasm was powerful and intense, dwarfing anything I'd known before.
That night, over dinner, and before he took me out on the beach and fucked me to a series of blinding orgasms, Alex explained. He loved dirty talk, but was afraid it might turn me off and so decided to wait until after are marriage to tell me. He knew I'd learn to love it, to fulfil his needs. Blindly in love, I did not question his failure to be straightforward or his calm confidence that, once married, I'd conform to his wishes.
And so began my marriage. I was wonderfully happy, infatuated with my husband. I was a prim and proper home-body who learned to loved sex the way he loved it. We started with dirty talk, but moved on: role-plays, lingerie, public sex, sex tapes. I loved it when he sprayed his cum on me and our proclivity for sneaking off for a quick fuck while at parties was so well known that friends let us know which bedroom was safe. Sex was amazing. When I fully got into it, which was almost always, it was like I descended into a world in which sex was everything, all consuming, suffusing every pore of my body.
I did believe in the fidelity and eschewed friends' frequent requests to swap mates, although I was tempted when Alex suggested a threesome. After Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2, well, I knew I could be attracted to women, but decided no after talking to a friend whose menage-a-trois had led to a messy divorce.
Alex made good money, we had a nice home, I took care of my body, regular yoga and whatever aerobic exercise was hot at the time. True to my childhood love, I joined a local theater company, which helped fill the countless evenings when Alex worked late. Alex rose to vice-president at Mom's firm; he was seen as her successor.
There was only one regret. We never had another child. Ross, born seven month after our marriage, was it. Ross took after me, dark skin, dark hair, smart, and, despite his shyness, a shared my love of the theater. He attended summer camps, was the star in school productions, and scooped up the roles for children and teenagers in local amateur productions. On stage he, like I, could shed his natural reticence.
* * * *
Fifteen years into our marriage Alex suggested a role-play that paralleled an actual event; Mom's firm had submitted a bid to design three new high schools. I was to play an engineer evaluating the bids whom Alex seduced and bent to his will. This was not the first time a role play had mirrored our lives; where else to get your inspiration?
I met Veronica at a fundraiser. Polite, attractive, tall and thin, she was on the team evaluating the high school bids. She was clearly the model for our role-play. When I mentioned that Alex was my husband, however, she became condescending and competitive, everything I said elicited a story about how she'd done it better.
That evening I told Alex I'd met her. He said he knew. She'd called him with a question about the bid and mentioned running into me, told him how pretty and sweet I was. He went on and on, way longer than he should.
In retrospect, it should have been clear, but I didn't see it. That is, until the evening I picked up a very drunk Alex at the airport. After I got him into bed, I started unpacking his things, finding a cell phone I didn't recognize in his suit jacket. I was setting it next to his computer on the table when it went off. The call was from Mom.
I answered.
