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“Is this the little girl I carried? Is this the little boy at play? I don’t remember getting older. When…. did ….they? Sunrise, Sunset, Sunrise, Sunset…..” How many people have heard that haunting waltz? How many have listened to those melancholy lyrics, written by Jim Nabors of all people, and sung by the character of Tevye the Milkman in “Fiddler on The Roof”? I’m sure each has their own story about how those emotional words have affected them at one time or another. I’m no different. They have a special meaning for me, but the events in my life that make them especial heartfelt to me didn’t happen until about a year ago. For a long time I was just like a lot of guys who were firmly in the grip of a mid-life crisis. I my mid-century birthday was just over the horizon, and it was hard to believe that I was about to hit that milestone. Every morning when I’d look in the mirror expecting to see the 20-year-old that still lived in my head, there would be some stranger staring back. There was some guy with little pouches under his eyes, thinning hair on his head, and what there was of it was peppered with these gray interlopers multiplying like rabbits. Intellectually, knew I wasn’t different from many other guys in same boat with me. However, emotionally I wasn’t happy being one of those passengers being dragged along by the current of time, headed into the rapids of “second stage middle age”, and hoping not to go over the great eternal waterfall for at least a few more decades. I certainly didn’t “remember growing older”, but there I was, just another ordinary middle aged guy going to his ordinary job every morning, and coming home to his ordinary house every night. Rationally, I knew I had it pretty good. Hell, there were people around the world starving, diseased, and living in grass huts with no toilets. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate what I had, it was that I’d always wondered if it could have been better.
I’d often recall when I had aspirations, dreams, (more likely fantasies) of being a professional baseball player. I was pretty damned good in high school, and held my own in college. Unfortunately, my coach always had the same comment. “Mike, you cover the field like a blanket and have a catapult for a right arm. If you could just do a little better in the batter’s box. Struggling to keep your batting average over .250 isn’t going to have major league teams lining up to sign you. Now, if you were a pitcher with that batting average and a two-run ERA, they might be pushing signing bonuses and loose women at you.” The coach even consented to let me try pitching during batting practice. I could throw plenty hard, but I didn’t hit the strike zone often enough for it to matter. In fact, I think he was afraid I’d bean some of his key players. A few times, I thought a couple of them would punch me out after they had to pick themselves up out of the dirt. My dream never happened. I pretended about what might have been when I used to play ball with my two boys. But, that was when they were still kids and before they got too old to think that it was cool to play ball with dad. Now, all that was left of that dream was occasionally hitting balls thrown by the machine in the batting cage at the sports complex across town. It was embarrassing that every couple of years, I’d have to dial back the speed, and wonder when I’d end up playing tee-ball.
Fortunately, my life wasn’t a bust and now I’m doing pretty well with a company that does custom lighting design and installation for commercial and industrial facilities. Our clients around the country included restaurants and restaurant chains, museums, art galleries, auction houses, you name it. I’m always surprised that most people don’t even notice lighting. They think what they see in restaurants, hotels, stores, etc just happened because some guy put up few bulbs in a few fixtures. It’s an art. The right lighting can make customers believe that average food tastes great or make them spend more than they should in high-end stores. Hell, I heard that there was a woman who kept dragging her husband back to the same expensive restaurant, not because the food was good, but because she loved the way she looked in the lady’s room mirror.
One area of my life that had been eating at me for the past several years was my marriage to Ellen, my wife of 25 years. Here again, it wasn’t bad; not like we fought or were nasty to each other. It was just like the rest of my life; ordinary. Maybe all 25-year marriages are ordinary. Who knows? Overall, we got along well, but, it seemed like our sex life that had fallen to the ordinary (or perhaps even sub-ordinary) level. For me, it wasn’t the things we did or didn’t do, but her general attitude. Sometimes, I’d try to tell her what I fantasized about, but she didn’t like that “fantasizing” stuff. Some of the things I brought up caused real tension. She often made me feel like I was abnormal or weird because I’d talk about things like threesomes or group sex, or mildly kinky stuff. güvenilir bahis I’d sometimes want to watch videos along those lines. “What’s happened to you, Mike?” she’d say. “You never used to think about stuff like that. Don’t you love me anymore? You’re always looking at other women, talking about other women or about me with other men. It scares me that you seem to be a different guy than the one I married.”
I wasn’t different. I had just wanted to let out more of the inner part of me that I had always kept bottled up; some part of me that it seemed I should be ashamed of. I’d tell her I didn’t necessarily want to run right out and do all this stuff, but couldn’t we at least talk about it and maybe bring some the just slightly-off-the-wall stuff to our bedroom. I’d get this “look” or the silent treatment. She had this way of making me feel like things that turned me on were “just not what most people did”. There seemed to be some “normal” that she wanted me to live up to. I’d wonder if perhaps she wasn’t the one that had changed. My memory was that, she had been a lot less inhibited when we were dating and early on in our marriage. Maybe things just gradually changed during all those “sunrises and sunsets”, and we didn’t even notice it.
Occasionally, I’d remember something that I once heard from a significantly older married woman that I had the unlikely good fortune to meet over 25 years ago. It was a few weeks after I had met Ellen, and we weren’t really serious yet. I had gone to the beach to have a weekend of golf with Frank, a buddy from where I was working. We ended up with a couple of women who were there having a “girl’s weekend” to help one of them celebrate her 45th birthday. I was only 23 at the time.
Frank and I had gotten back from golfing, cleaned up, and were sitting on our balcony having a beer. He spied the “girls” on a balcony across the parking lot, and started flirting and joking around with them. After about 15 minutes of banter, we all agreed to meet down on the parking lot to go get something to eat. I’m not sure who was more shocked when we all saw each other up close. I don’t think they had been expecting “boys” and we hadn’t been expecting mature women. Frank and I would soon learn that they weren’t even much younger than our moms. Anyhow, we decided to treat them (Samantha to Barbara) to burgers and beer; or should I say beers. After the burgers, we ended up wandering to a few other bars along the boardwalk. Barbara and I hit it off pretty well, and the alcohol lead to us playing a little footsy under the table as well as letting our hands play around on each other’s thighs now and then. At one point, the women left to go to the lady’s room, and Frank was going nuts talking about how we were going to “get the wax blown out of our ears,” by these “horny old broads”. I thought he was nuts. When they got back, Samantha suggested that we all go to some place she knew of about ten miles down the road where they had a great band. Frank was hot to trot. Barbara said she wasn’t feeling that well, and wanted to go back to get some sleep. I thought my bubble had burst, but she took my hand under the table, squeezed it, and gave me a look. She also gave her girlfriend a look. Frank and Samantha took off while I walked my new-found friend back to her room.
I still wasn’t sure exactly what to expect, but she asked me in, closed the door, and gave me a deep kiss that made her thoughts apparent. Our hands started roaming over each other’s body as we started undressing each other. She was faster than me, and had my jeans and jockeys down before I could do the same with her. When she got my pants and shorts to the floor, she took my already-hard dick into her mouth and launched into a super blowjob. This wasn’t like college when it seemed that getting head required 20 minutes of begging. Barbara had no hesitation about going down on me before I even had my shoes off. While she was working my cock with her mouth and hands, I was struggling out of my shoes and she was wriggling out of her jeans and panties. As soon as they were kicked aside, she was up on the bed with her legs spread pulling my face to her crotch for a little return action. Now, I have no problem admitting that I’ve always been a lover of licking pussy, but this was my first taste of married-mom pussy. She pulled my head into her crotch and was moaning as she humped my face. I was in heaven when she picked up my head, looked me in the eye, and said, “Honey, you can fuck me, but you’d better swear to God that you won’t cum in me. I mean it. If you do, I’ll get my state-trooper cousin on your ass.”
“You got it,” I said climbing up and sliding myself into her slick cunt.
“OH SHIT, YEAH,” she moaned as I pushed into her to the hilt and my pubic bone crashed into hers. “OH JESUS! Fuck it!” she said as I began thrusting into her. I’m sorry to admit with much shame that, in those days, I didn’t have what you’d call finesse. To me, fucking was just fucking. However, I suppose türkçe bahis what I lacked in skill I made for up in enthusiasm and stamina. Barbara didn’t seem to mind. At one point, she grabbed her feet and pulled them up and back, offering herself up completely.
I thrust into her like a stallion, but it wasn’t long that I knew my point of no return was about to hit. I exclaimed, “Oh Shit, I can’t hold on much longer! I can’t hold it.”
“Shit, take it out! Take it out! PULL IT OUT!” She ordered anxiously.
No sooner did I have my slick manhood exposed to the open air than she grabbed it and started jerking it off. Sperm shot to her tits and then ran down her hand as we both watched. She switched hands and brought the first to her mouth and licked my seed off of it. I was nearly spent when she looked up and said, “Man you sure must eat a lot of pretzels and chips. You are so damned salty.”
I collapsed onto the bed. She snuggled next to my neck, and spoke into my ear,” Come on, Mike, you can’t fucking leave me hanging like this. Finish me off, Sweetie.”
She lay back, spread her thighs, and directed my face between them. My tongue went to her still slick, soaked pussy. She humped my face like we were still fucking, working her clit with her fingers when my tongue was busy farther south. She had one goal, getting off on my face. Finally she grabbed my head and pressed my mouth hard to her pussy, hissing through her teeth like a wounded animal, “OH MY JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” She held my head between her spread legs for a few more moments, quivering and moaning, until finally releasing her grip. I lay next to her with my face soaked. My mind replayed the evening trying to make some sense of it. I finally had to ask her, “Tell me, do you do this a lot? Have you had sex like this with a lot of other guys when you’re away from your husband? How about Samantha? Do all of your married friends do this sort of thing?”
She sat up and stared at me. “I’m not sure how to take that. It sounds a bit snide and condescending to me. What are you thinking; that I’m some sort of a bed-hopping slut; or worse? You think I’m going to ask you for money? Who the hell are you to ask me stuff like that anyway? Who are you to second guess my motives or actions? I should kick your ass out right now, but you have me curious. Let me guess, you’re engaged and afraid of what your wife might do someday. Is that it, are you contemplating marriage and wondering if you should back out? Why the questions? Most guys would just shut up and be happy as a pig in shit that they got laid.”
“No, I’m not engaged,” I said, “but I have met this girl. We aren’t serious, not yet at least. But, I really like her, and there’s something there that makes me feel like she might be ‘the one’. But then, I sometimes wonder if it’s all bogus and a bunch of bullshit. Does everybody ends up messing around and getting divorced. It seems like half the people I work with have gotten divorced or are getting divorced.”
She played with a few strands of my hair. “Listen, Mike. It’s not what you might think. Let me give you some facts of life.
She seemed almost a little sad while she continued, “I don’t hate my husband. In fact I still love him very much in many ways. You probably can’t see that given the past few hours. He’s good guy, and he’s the father of my children. But we’ve been married 20 years, and things just change. A lot of shit happens during a marriage of 20, 25, 30 years. Some good shit. Some bad shit. The best you can hope for is that there’s enough good shit to cover the bad shit. One day, you look at yourself in the mirror, and then at the person you’re married to, and you wonder what the hell happened to you. When did you change? Where are those two people that stood next to each other with stars in their eyes saying ‘I do’ all those years ago?”
“So big deal, things change,” I offered up. “Does that mean you just give up?”
“No it doesn’t. Remember, I, and hopefully my husband, won’t be giving up. We’re still together because we have a long term commitment and a family, regardless of whatever we do to survive. We actually do love each other. It might not look like it.”
“What about my other question. You’ve done this before? Were you and Samantha planning this when you came down here?”
“Hell no,” she responded a little miffed. “We came here to get together for a little girl-time to celebrate Sammi’s birthday. Did you guys come here to hunt girls or play golf? We all just ended up together, and here we are. Look, I won’t lie to you. I admit that I’ve stepped out (her term) on my husband a couple of times over the years, and I’d bet he’s done the same. About five years ago I had a thing with a guy from our church. Go figure that; a church friend. It lasted maybe four months. We were both at a bad spot in our marriages, and we each needed something. I had another brief thing with a guy at work, but that was more just curiosity. We got together a few times, güvenilir bahis siteleri and it was over. Tonight is new to me, Mike. Jesus, having a boardwalk quickie, with a guy that’s only five or six years older than my daughter; good Lord! No, I swear it wasn’t planned. Maybe, it was too many drinks. Maybe I was flattered by feeling desirable to a younger guy, and it made me feel like I was 20 again. Maybe you just seemed like a sweet, cute guy, and I started wondering what you’d be like in bed. Who knows? Earlier, when Sammi and I went to the lady’s room, I just blurted out that I wanted to take you back to the room with me. She thought I was nuts, but said she’d go along with it if I’d made up my mind. She’d get Frank out of the picture for a while if I wanted.”
“Yeah, the perfect wingman. Tell me about that? Is she going to bang Frank? Why would she let you do this with me if she thought you were doing the wrong thing? Has she messed around on her husband too?”
“As far as I know, she has no plans for Frank; at least that’s what she told me. Since we’ve already spilled a lot of beans here, I will say that Sammi has had a boyfriend on the side for about three years. Her husband doesn’t seem to be all that interested in her anymore, and turning 45 isn’t helping her feel any better. However, she wouldn’t even think about breaking up their marriage till all her kids are out of college, maybe never. Like I said, people do what they have to do to keep on keeping on. Marriage is a long journey, and it’s not always smooth sailing. There are fucking hurricanes along the way, and you can’t always run from them. Sometimes you just have to set into the waves and wind and ride it out till it gets sunny again. I laugh when I see old folks on TV, and some announcer sticks a microphone in their faces and asks, ‘What’s the secret for 60 years of wedded bliss’? Trust me; if they’ve been married that long, it wasn’t all bliss. I guarantee you they’re still together because they worked hard at it, and they had to forgive each other a lot of shit through the years. Maybe one or the other drank too much, or spent too much money, or maybe even took their pants off for somebody else. But they also recognized that, for whatever other reasons, they saw beyond the day-to-day shit and made a commitment keep it together.”
I sat in silence.
“Listen, Mike, you seem like a sweet guy,” she said almost motherly while rubbing my neck, “and I hope to hell that if, or more likely when, you do get married it all goes fantastically. I wish you all the best. Maybe this new girl is the one for you. Who knows? Just keep what I’ve told you in the back of your head. Look me up 20 years from now so we can compare notes.”
At the time, I remember thinking that she was awfully cynical, but now, after a lot of years in my own marriage, I began to see that she was a very perceptive person. I often wondered if she was still alive. She’d be in her mid 70’s. Her kids would be grown and she’d probably be a grandmother several times over. I wondered if she was still married to the same man, or maybe she took off with some other guy. Maybe her husband dumped her? Anyway, despite my own frustrations, I had not strayed off with anyone, at least not yet. I usually tried to keep my feelings and frustrations to myself, but that just made things fester in my brain even more. I often wondered what it would be like to slip under the fence and see how green the grass really was on the other side, but, I hadn’t. I can’t say why except that maybe it was my parochial school years and remembering one of few nuns still teaching at the time catching me at one thing or another, shaking their finger at me and saying, “Michael, you’d better think about what you’re doing, or you will end up burning in Hell.” I’ve long since given up believing in Hell, other than the one we can sometimes live in on a daily basis.
Now, on the other hand, Paul, my long term friend, confidant, and old fraternity brother was a different story. Paul and I have known each other since college. He and I were even best men at each other’s weddings. We still meet a couple of times a month for a beer. Sometimes it’s with a few other guys to watch the game at somebody’s house. Paul had indeed, slithered under the fence a few times, and has had affairs with a couple of married women. “Mike,” he’d say, “there’s a world of married women out there that are just as frustrated as I am, and they need a friend with benefits as much as I do. From what I know about you, you seem ready to learn that for yourself.”
Paul had never told me about his escapades until I actually saw him with a woman in a restaurant across town. I was there for a meeting with a client when I saw him across the room sitting with this woman. I could tell that it wasn’t some “business lunch” unless “monkey business” counts. They were laughing, holding hands, rubbing shoulders, and apparently rubbing other things because their hands disappeared under the table from time to time. When Paul saw me across the room, he looked like I had caught him jerking off or something. In some ways, maybe that’s not a bad analogy. The next day, he called and asked me to meet him after work for “a serious talk”.
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