Fate Made Amanda My Wife

This story is based loosely on true events in my life. Aside from the names of the women involved (which I've changed to protect their privacy) I will let the reader guess where the story turns from fact to fiction.

As a single man of 31, I would often go to my hometown's bars on weekends, carrying a guitar on my back in case I might get to serenade a few people (and once in a while I did get such a chance). The other thing I liked about bars was that most of the women, including bartenders and waitresses, were friendly to me. Like most men, I craved female attention, and bars were my most likely places for getting it. I could walk up to almost any woman, and she would let me greet her with a hug and/or kiss; sometimes she would return the gesture. I was mindful, however, that most women already had husbands or boyfriends, and I had no intention of infringing on those relationships. So kissing was as far as it went. Well, maybe the occasional slow dance if there was a dance floor and a live band was playing.

Then one mid-winter Friday night, I walked to a table where 3 women were sitting. They seemed very receptive to my affection, for each one not only kissed me back, but allowed the hug to last a full minute. Once I finished embracing the last one, they invited me to sit down with them. I took my guitar off my back, draped my coat over the empty chair, and took a seat. The ladies told me that 2 of them (Amanda and Andrea) were sisters and the other one (Kristin) was their neighbor. Amanda's hair was black, in a short, geometric style; Andrea's was dark-brown and shoulder-length; and Kristin's was either light-brown or sandy-blond, ending just below her neck. When I mentioned to the sisters how interesting it was that both their names started with A, they told me their mother had wanted twins, but instead they were born 6 years apart, with a brother in between. Amanda, 30, and Andrea, 24, lived all their lives in a small town a short distance south of my own; Amanda had graduated from her high school the year after I had from mine.

Soon the band began to play a slow song. I asked Amanda if she'd care to dance; she accepted. For 3 or 4 minutes we danced cheek to cheek, my eyes closed most of the time. Once the song was over, we kissed and embraced tightly, then walked back to our table. A few songs later I got to do the same with Andrea, and a song or 2 after that, with Kristin. Thus I got to dance at least once with each of the 3, but the one with whom I clicked the most, and thus the one with whom I got further dances, was Amanda. We seemed so comfortable dancing in each other's arms that I began to wonder to myself whether Amanda was just another woman to kiss at a bar, or something special was starting to bloom.

The next several Friday nights, I saw the same 3 ladies again and danced more slow dances, again mostly with Amanda. Soon Amanda and I got comfy enough with each other to exchange last names and phone numbers. We expanded our relationship beyond the bars, each of us treating the other to dinner on alternating weeks. Then, about 3 months after we first met, I offered to take her to my place; she accepted.

Once we arrived at my place and shed our winter coats, I put some slow music on the stereo so we could dance to some songs that I liked but most likely would never have been played at bars. One song by Alabama summed up how we were dancing: "Face to face, heart to heart, body to body..." After a few dozen songs spanning more than an hour, we turned the stereo off and walked hand-in-hand to my bedroom.

Once we closed the bedroom door I said to Amanda, "I don't know about you, but I feel horny."

"I'm glad you do," she replied, "for I'd love to feel you inside me."

We took our time undressing each other. I lifted her shirt, then she lifted mine. We embraced and kissed for a minute so I could feel her bra-clad breasts against my bare chest. The sensation of them against me when we were fully clothed and dancing felt good, but now the feeling was even more pronounced, and it triggered in me a rock-hard erection that couldn't wait to be freed from the confines of my jeans and underwear. So Amanda and I resumed taking off each other's clothes, article by article, until we were completely nude.

I asked Amanda to sit upright on my bed while I lay down with my head cradled in her lap. I wanted to suck on her breasts, even though she had no milk to offer me. To my delight, she answered that the idea of nursing a partner intrigued her as well, so she happily obliged. I sucked gently for about half an hour, switching breasts every few minutes.

Then she said, "You know, honey, if we made a baby together, I could actually have milk for you, as well as for said baby. And my bio clock is starting to tick anyway."

Being somewhat desirous of offspring myself, I replied, "Well, darlin', no better time than now to start makin' one."

I arose from her lap, spread her legs gently, and touched her vagina with my penis, which by then was oozing a love drop or 2. I gently slid inside until I could feel the head touching her cervix. I held still for a minute, then began a series of gentle thrusts. Having learned in my 20s to postpone ejaculation when I so desired, I wanted to postpone it now so I could allow Amanda to have her orgasm first. So a few times I halted thrusting, again holding still for a minute before resuming.

Then it happened. Amanda shrieked and moaned, and I could feel the flow of her vaginal fluid surrounding my penis. A few strokes later, it was my turn. I warned her of my own impending orgasm; she responded by wrapping her legs tightly around my waist. I erupted like a volcano, shooting nearly a dozen thick ropes of semen into her womb. After I shot the last rope, she relaxed her grip on me, and once more I held still inside her, until my penis went limp and came out virtually on its own. Amanda and I spent the rest of that night in my bed, in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow.

Two weeks later I answered Amanda's knock on my front door. She told me she had taken a pregnancy test that morning and it turned up positive. Over more time, we mulled our options; we eventually decided to get married. So we arranged a simple ceremony performed by a justice of the peace, with Andrea and Kristin as witnesses. Almost 9 months from our first night of passion (and 7 months after the wedding) Amanda gave birth to our daughter, who is the light of my life, next of course to Amanda herself.

"Amanda, light of my life," one of my favorite country songs goes, "Fate should have made you a gentleman's wife." Fate did make this Amanda my wife, and I wouldn't trade her for all the world's wealth.