A Marriage in Crisisbycarvohi©
This is my first shot into the world of Loving Wives. The story below is pretty close to being a factual retelling of something that happened a few years ago. I didn't put any dates on it except for the months in which it occurred. There is some mention of recording devices and GPRs at one point. They aren't an intrinsic part of the story, and were largely unavailable when the events described actually occurred anyway.
Further, at the end, if you get that far, I'll explain the fictional pieces. As I say, this is a largely true story. I've doctored it for reasons I'll try to explain at the end. I hope you read it all, and I hope you both enjoy it and take something worthwhile away from.
Before you start; we aren't burning any witches here, and the guy might seem like a wimp, but real people don't do all the shit I've read in a lot of the Loving Wives stories that are out there.
Last, before you read, I've written several other things in the past, but have put them up incrementally. Regrettably I have a couple stories I lost interest in and never finished. This tale is complete, and all future things I write will be put up fully finished.
I started a story titled Love in the Cross Hairs, but never submitted the final chapter. It's done. I'll get it on line once I find it.
Gosh I hope someone reads this, and I hope they find it worthwhile. Well here goes nothing.
Please read the story below and tell me what you think. E-mail me if you like.
Sandy and Tommy: A Marriage in Crisis
Part One: Dawn:
It started out as kind of an itch; something she sensed, sort of felt, something that was there, an irritant, an annoyance, an almost irresistible urge. She just couldn't name it, she couldn't put her finger on it, but it sure was there, oh how she knew it was there.
She and Tommy had been married just over four years, and up to just a few months ago it had been a storybook life. Tommy was the perfect husband; he doted, he spoiled, he adored, and he worshiped. Everything and it seemed anything she wanted she got.
She, her name was Sandy, and Tommy had married right out of college. They'd both gone to the same state university, both had majored in education, and they'd both landed jobs in one of the richest counties in the country.
Tommy's content majors had been History and Political Science, but he'd kept his employment options hot by performing as a varsity athlete in soccer, volleyball, and lacrosse. In Maryland where they'd grown up and attended public schools lacrosse was the golden key that opened all doors. Tommy got a coveted position as an eleventh grade U.S. History teacher in one of the top tier high schools in the northern sector of the county just south of the Pennsylvania line. Yes sir, he was on the fast track to glory; all he had to do was coach and teach and keep his nose reasonably clean.
Tommy was the perfect fit. As a classroom teacher he electrified his students; he made history come alive. On the athletic field his leadership was unparalleled; he could the take most recalcitrant self-seeker and mold him into the classic self-denying team player. Parents, teachers, and students; they all loved him.
Tommy was smart too. As an undergraduate he took several Psychology courses, was tested, and turned in an amazing I.Q. rating of 143, genius.
Tommy's other greatest attribute was loyalty. If someone became his friend, he or she was a friend for life. Needless to say, like all men, his closest and most adored friend turned out to be his wife.
Tommy worshiped the ground his lovely wife walked on. She was everything he ever wanted, every dream he'd ever conjured had come true when she agreed to become Mrs. Tommy Campbell.
Tommy stood a modest five foot eleven, and weighed a slight, but solidly muscular, one hundred seventy pounds. He kept fit and trim by jogging, swimming, and with calisthenics. He never was much of a weight lifter or body builder in the traditional sense, but he could do things. He was a peerless gymnast. He could walk on his hands, do flips, and work magic on the high bar and rings.
He had wide set big green eyes, sandy hair, and a well framed face. He cut a handsome figure, and in college he was well liked and popular with the girls.
However, Tommy had a down side, all men do somewhere. Tommy was incredibly shy. Raised an only child by a widowed grandfather on a farm on the lower Eastern Shore; he was very much the quiet reflective type. To be sure, talent and intelligence aside, Tommy, raised a lonely little boy by a taciturn old Scotsman, had an inferiority complex a mile wide and as deep as the Marianas Trench. Of course, that sense of inferiority, that single personal frailty, played havoc on Tommy when it came to girls. He might have had the pick of the litter. He might have had dates for every event, every dance, for every single activity if he'd just had the gumption, the courage, to step up and ask.
Sandy was everything Tommy was and more. First she was gorgeous. Like Tommy she had that Gaelic DNA which, in her case, produced, the best, the most beautiful girl imaginable. She had fiery red hair, captivating pale green eyes, and that classic pale, almost translucent, complexion that, when mixed with just the tiniest smidgen of freckles made her the most devastatingly beautiful girl in six states.
Sandy was smart; maybe not as smart as Tommy, but she was certainly smart. She got good grades. She studied hard, and by graduation day she was ready to take her place with the best in elementary education. In fact she was good enough to land a second grade teaching post in a tier one primary school that was just a quarter of a mile from the high school where Tommy started.
She had personality too. Sandy was the classic extrovert, and she had that almost frenetic concupiscence that made her the center of attention everywhere she went. She was the school party girl. That didn't mean she was promiscuous, not even close. Sandy's maiden name had been MacDonald, and like Tommy, she'd been raised in that strict Scottish Presbyterian tradition that absolutely forbade delivery of any carnal product of any kind before marriage. By the time she graduated she'd certainly been kissed a lot, and some of the boys may have been lucky enough to get the slightest passing wave at one of her succulent little 34B perfect pear shaped breasts, but no one had come anywhere near close to her most sacred places. Those treasures inside her panties; that sweet little vagina with its curtain of soft labial flesh, and her tight little anal cave were as pure and clean as they were on the day of her first nativity.
Sandy was adorable, effervescent, pretty, chirpy, bouncy, and absolutely pure. Only one person would ever be destined to reach inside one of those soft blouses and caress those delectable breasts. Only one man would ever lower those panties and take full measure of the most perfect red fringed Mound of Venus God had ever created, and that one man the pert littler Sandy MacDonald had decided would be Mr. Tommy Campbell.
Sandy zeroed in on Tommy about halfway through the second semester of their junior year, and, for sure, she closed him in on him like a U-Boat that had sighted an unsuspecting merchant vessel off the coast of a well-lighted American shoreline. The boy never had a chance.
She saw him first while he played midfield for the varsity lacrosse team. To her Tommy was poetry in motion; a young Greek God. She arranged to have a friend introduce her, and after that, Tommy, the poor innocent was labeled, stamped, and delivered grade A choice USDA Sandy MacDonald prime rib. He never saw it coming.
Happily Ever After
They both graduated cum laude, and when Sandy's parent's put together the classic Christian wedding, big cake, long lines of ushers and bridesmaids, and of course, the classic traditional service with all the old fashioned vows everyone knew this was one marriage made in Heaven. No man, no beast would ever break up this happy family.
As was said at the outset everything went perfect for the first four years; then something, or some things, began to go awry. Be sure it was Sandy; poor Tommy didn't know a thing until, like that devastating morning August 8, 1945, it hit, and like Hiroshima it hit with catastrophic clarity.
Sandy had been unbelievably happy, or at least she thought she was. She had the perfect man, the ideal sensitive lover, a terrific career, and all the things that were supposed to make for a perfect life. Still something wasn't just quite right.
Oh the loving was right out of a Harlequin romance. Tommy knew all the ways how to make her happy.
He was heavily into foreplay, only the most affectionate cuddling followed by the best, had she known, cunnilingus any woman could dream of. Tommy knew where her G-spot was. He was like an al-Qaida terrorist when it came to her delicate little clit. He knew just the way to slowly stroke his fingers up and down the sides of her swollen moist fleshy labia. He knew just where to put his tongue, just how much pressure to apply with his lips. And using his fingers and thumb in those oh so special ways he could get her to jump through all the right sexual hoops, and that with just the most minimal vaginal penetration.
Tommy's only real fetish, a fetish Sandy learned to love, was his love of her mound when it was freshly shaved and then softened with soothing creams. Her vaginal cavity was small and tight, and it seemed like the creams he used made her even more sensitive when he went to touch her. Though the complete absence of hair made her private area appear childlike and virginal she learned to love his gentle ministrations. After all she thought, his were the only eyes, his were the only hands, and his penis was the only one that would ever touch or penetrate her sacred treasures.
Of course, always, after a long and delicious foray of tongue and finger Tommy knew precisely when to rise and mount his loving sweetheart. Sometimes he went in missionary, sometimes he rolled her over and went in doggie style, and sometimes he sat back and pulled her atop him. Afterward, they'd lie side by side, and as reliable as Big Ben he'd slowly regain his full manly size. Hard and erect, he'd then pull her close to his side and oh so slowly and gently slide back in till the full length of his manhood engulfed her. Tommy had a splendid organ; neither so large as to cause damage or gross pain, but thick and long enough to give her the sensation of complete utter and total fullness.
They'd lay there, together, in full and complete harmony until, through nature's whim; he'd ejaculate one more time. Those last special moments, with him in her, together side by side were her favorite times. She could always feel him get larger and larger just prior to his final orgasm. It was the most profound build up and climax any woman could ever imagine let alone actually experience, and with Tommy it was a regular event.
It was always those moments, those final moments when they lay in embrace, him fully inside, her pressed tightly against his manly frame, that she felt the most complete, at one with nature and nature's universe, in harmony with her man, the man she loved beyond all humanly measure. Sandy had no idea just how wonderful a lover Tommy really was. No matter, when he was finished she was always utterly and completely exhausted.
Tommy was a considerate lover. He asked her for an occasional drop down for some tongue and mouth work on his solid little eight inch soldier, but once he realized she was just a little too fastidious about his occasionally unexpected outflow of semen he graciously stopped asking. He also believed that anything that had to do with her anal cavity was just too degrading so he never asked for, and she never volunteered that orifice. He didn't care, and he believed she didn't either; after all, he was too much of a gentleman to ever leave her without the requisite number of orgasmic experiences.
To be sure, Tommy was good in bed. He was damn good, God damn good, and no other woman, if they'd ever had the chance would have ever doubted that Sandy got the best, the very best sex any mortal woman had a right to expect.
Maybe that was one of Sandy's problems; it was always good, maybe too good. Tommy it seemed hit a grand slam home-run every time he came to bat, and he hit it with regularity. They hit it on Friday night, Tuesday night, every single Saturday afternoon, and sometimes on the occasional Sunday right after church.
Sandy never got a quickie; for Tommy it was always the longie, only the best for his girl. But like too many trips to the Louvre, too many eighty yard passes for the touchdown, too many long exquisite evenings of fondling, loving, cuddling, sweet talking, and total fulfillment Sandy grew bored.
Then there were other problems. Sandy could expect like clockwork at least one or two surprise presents every week. Somewhere during the week there was the inexpensive box of candy, the loving card, the spray of flowers, the carefully saved for piece of jewelry, the unexpected scarf, a favorite book or DVD, the unanticipated pretty little nightie, and, without fail, every gift was accompanied by a torrent of hugs and kisses.
Of course, money was tight. They were planning a family and would need every cent for a house and children. Sandy managed their finances. Tommy had a strict allowance. She knew exactly how much money he had, and she knew all too well every single extra penny he had went into presents for her. It was almost unbelievable; nobody could be that affectionate, that deeply in love; that overawed that they spent every waking moment thinking up ways to make her happy, but that was Tommy. She often asked him why he didn't spend more on himself. His answer was reliably the same; the only thing he really liked was the happy expression on her face when she received a present. Sometimes it made her feel a little guilty.
Oh they had their arguments, their fights, but even they were miner. Sometimes she'd even pick a fight just to get Tommy's dander up, but he was just too God damned smart. He'd always see right through her. He'd make peace, make her happy, and once in bed, he'd make her wish she never started anything.
She couldn't even make him jealous. For one thing everybody they knew liked Tommy so much no one ever even considered trying to hit on her. She was Tommy's, and that was that. He was just too attentive, too loving, too caring, too perfect; no one dared try to penetrate their idyllic life.
That bothered Sandy in another way. While men kept their distance out of respect for Tommy, she was always deflecting the passes of her wanton girlfriends. It was like she had to be on guard twenty-four hours a day seven days a week just to keep all the sex starved women away from her man. Of course she knew Tommy would never cheat. He even laughed and told her sometimes how this or that woman thought she was getting somewhere when in fact he had nothing to do with any of them. After all, he loved his Sandy.
Then there were other things. Tommy did the dishes. Tommy did the laundry. Tommy vacuumed, Tommy washed, cleaned, scrubbed, he tidied, he nurtured, he spoiled. Tommy was the perfect slave, and what was really scary was he knew it, and he enjoyed it, anything, and he meant it when he said he'd do anything for her.
But alas, there was the money. There never seemed to be quite enough money. Both of them were school teachers so they knew they'd taken a kind of vow of poverty. They'd agreed to save every penny they could. Aside from being Scottish, they wanted to save up enough to start a family as soon as possible.
They both wanted children; they wanted them desperately. Tommy said he'd prefer girls so he could dress them up like their mother and show them off all around the neighborhood. Sandy didn't care; she figured three maybe four kids, boys, girls, it didn't matter. She sort of preferred having boys. She had this mental picture of Tommy coaching his boys, training and molding his little men into the kind of man he'd become.
Here was the real fly in the milk. Sandy knew the time when she'd have to start churning out the little munchkins was just around the corner. It scared her. It scared the living shit out of her. Babies, oh she wanted them, but babies meant she'd give up her job, she'd gain weight, there'd be stretch marks, she'd stop being sexy and pretty for Tommy, and she'd have to go through the hell of child birth.
Of course poor Sandy never understood most men, and especially men like Tommy, found women to be their most beautiful when they emitted that soft life announcing glow, when they evinced that new soft rounded curvature and that unique genteel moisture only a pregnant woman could give. No, she only thought about the lascivious looks of other women as they gazed longingly at her man. How could she fight them off if she was fat and tired with a growing baby inside?
For sure, she wanted to please Tommy. More than anything she wanted to build him a big family; she was just so afraid, so terribly afraid.
Married four years; time was up. Sometimes she felt like she was a suicide bomber walking around Times Square with a rack of dynamite strapped to her chest. But she couldn't articulate the fears she felt, not to Tommy.
She was terrified of ever telling Tommy how scared she really was. Sure they talked about everything. Communication was one skill they were terrific at. But if she told him how scared she really was, she knew she'd be letting him down, letting him down big time. She decided to just close down around it, hide her senseless fears, keep them to herself. Tommy wanted kids. She wanted kids. The time for her to step up, stop taking the pill, and start planning for the next chapter in their lives was just weeks away, and she was scared super shitless.
The Serpent in the Garden
Long about middle of their fourth year of married life Sandy's school got a new vice-principal. His name was Bill Moyers. He was married, in his mid-thirties, with two teenaged kids, a hot wife, and a tongue that could've sold matches in Hell. Good old Bill was the classic sexual predator. He could size up a woman, and immediately tell where her weaknesses were. Worse, he was one of those guys who took a special sadistic delight in piercing a girl's armor, turn her blissfully happy home life into a humiliating deceitful travesty, and most satisfyingly turn an unsuspecting happily married man into a hapless cuckold. Bill was one heartless son of a bitch.
Bill took one look at Sandy, saw the insecurity, and knew he'd found fertile soil. It was time for the bastard to go to work.
The first thing he did was to arrange his lunch break to coincide with hers. Then, one by one, through the sleight of clever scheduling he moved Sandy's closest friends to other time frames. Once she was isolated he slowly, carefully, and methodically went to work.
Sandy wore nice clothes, but not everything was brand new. She had what she considered an especially nice plaid suit, a little worn, but she still thought it was quite nice. Of course Bill very sympathetically and very discreetly found the fray in the collar. The next day he gifted her with a pretty little gold piece of jewelry. It covered the minuscule blemish perfectly.
Sandy, of course, was delighted but she said she had to decline it, "Oh I think it's lovely Mr. Moyers, but my husband doesn't approve of my receiving gifts of jewelry from strange men."
Bill was the gentleman, "Of course, no man would like that. I agree. Why don't you just wear it while you're in school? Put it on when you're at work. Take it off when you leave. Your husband will never know, and if he doesn't know he won't be offended."