Heard It From A Friend...

Our daughter, Rose, was going to start her senior year of college. She really wasn't happy with either of us over the divorce, but she did her best to understand.

"She should have divorced you before she started to sleep with Bill, but if she didn't love you anymore and loved him, the divorce makes sense to me. Everybody should be with the person they love, Dad. Hopefully you will find that person someday," Rose said.

"I thought I did when I married your mother," I grumped back. "I never expected to get replaced. I don't recall our vows having a replacement clause in them."

I saw her roll her eyes, but she wisely kept her opinion to herself. I kept my opinion to myself about what would happen if the same thing that happened to me would happen to Rose in the future.

I didn't even try to date for the first six months after my divorce was final. Unlike some guys I knew, I didn't live my life to please my cock. I always thought there was more to life than sex.

I didn't advertise my divorce, but I didn't shy away from talking about it when people found out. Gradually, though, I noticed more single women seemed to be crossing my path. I suppose I could have gone out with a different woman each week if I had wanted. It was ironic. In my 20s, seeking out dates was hard work. In my 40s, women were seeking me out.

I asked a divorced friend about that after about a month.

"You're a good guy, Norm. You're good-looking, fit and have a good job. That makes you a hot commodity. Single women our age out-number guys pretty good, and a lot of 40s guys are busy chasing 25-year-olds, narrowing the field even more," he said.

"I never looked at it that way, Al."

Over the next six months, I went out at least once every weekend. I'll admit I tried the occasional 25-year-old, but I also tried the occasional 55-year-old.

The last 25-year-old I dated just about put me in the hospital as she tried to drain all my bodily fluids out the end of my dick. We fucked enthusiastically three times that night, and my 46-year-old body was barely able to function the next morning.

"I hear they have pills to help you old guys with that problem," the young lady in question giggled.

My adventures with the 55-year-old women were easier on my body... and my ego. The older women were less physical but more appreciative. That's not to say that they just lay there, however, and I came away from my encounters with those women with some healthy back scratches and a deep bite mark on my left shoulder.

My second Christmas as a divorced man was quickly approaching when Bob Isaacs walked into my office, closed the door and plopped down in the chair across the desk from me. He looked very uncomfortable.

"What's up, boss man?" I asked.

"Uh-umm, Norm, are you taking a date to our company Christmas party next week?" Bob asked uneasily. "I mean, I know you date a lot these days... and you're always welcome to bring anyone you want..."

I watched sweat break out on Bob's forehead. I had no idea where this conversation was going.

"I wasn't planning on taking anyone again this year," I answered warily. "Why?"

He blew out a stream of air from his lips. He looked so bad I was starting to wonder if he was about to tell me he had a serious illness or something.

"You know my wife is kind of a force of nature... and a busybody who thinks she knows what's right for everybody, right? Well... she really, really, really thinks you should take her old college roommate, Lainey. Lainey's been divorced for a few years now from a cheating bastard, and Marilyn thinks you two would be perfect for each other.

"I know I've got no right to expect you to say yes to me, but if you don't, Marilyn's going to make my life miserable."

"So what's wrong with this Lainey? She got two noses on her face or something?" I asked half-joking.

"No, nothing like that. No deformities. She's got a great personality..."

"There it is," I interjected. "The old great personality. That's code for troll, you know."

"No, really, I swear she's not a troll, but she really does have a great personality. Please, Norm. Please," he whined.

I chuckled. He winced. I knew his wife was a beautiful woman. I wondered if she was that kind of beautiful woman.

"All right. I'm in. But Marilyn's going to owe me big-time," I announced.

"Deal!" he rejoined, suddenly looking a lot healthier than he did a few minutes ago.

"So now that I'm officially on record as a sucker, describe Miss Personality to me, at least," I said.

He spent the next two minutes telling me my mystery date was 5-8, about 130 pounds and had long blonde hair down to the middle of her back. She was a former NCAA Division I scholarship volleyball player and still looked fit, even after having a child. She was an actuary with an insurance company, meaning she was smart and detail-oriented. Hmm. Interesting combination.

"With everything she's got going for her, then, why is Marilyn trying to set me up with her?" I asked.

"You know my wife. She can't help herself. She thinks you two would be perfect together."

The Isaacs-Forsman Christmas party was always a lavish event, featuring live music, hors d'oeuvres, prime rib, a speech by our CEO, Phillip Isaacs—Bob's father—and several awards. It was a formal affair, the men wearing their best suits and the women wearing gowns or fancy dresses. Phillip Isaacs' wife, Phoebe, oversaw the event from top to bottom, making sure everything was first class.

I picked up my date at Bob Isaacs' home, feeling somewhat like a 14-year-old out on his first date. Marilyn answered the door when I rang the bell, inviting me inside after kissing me on the cheek. I smiled self-consciously when Bob came up to greet me.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Isaacs. Yes, I'll make sure to have her home at a reasonable hour," I snarked, knowing Bob would pick up on how I was feeling.

He grinned back at me. I expected a comeback.

"Don't make me have to get in my car and come find you two, young man," he responded as we both smirked.

My date picked that moment to make her entrance... and believe me, it was an entrance. She strode into the front room in a curve-hugging, turquoise, floor-length gown featuring a slit high up her very toned left leg. Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail that fell halfway down her frame, and her eye makeup highlighted a pair of beautiful azure eyes. Did I mention her thick, kissable lips?

I tried to speak, but no sound came out of my mouth.

"Well-said, Norm," Marilyn purred, my face turning crimson.

Heads turned when Lainey and I walked into the party room together, and I knew it wasn't because I was wearing a new Armani suit. Phillip and Phoebe Isaacs greeted us soon after we walked in.

"Lainey, dear, so good to see you again. Are you spending some time with the kids? Did you bring your son with you?" Phoebe asked. "You don't mind if I steal your date for a bit, do you Norm?"

I smiled as Phillip warmly shook my hand. I had worked for him for 18 years, and the relationship I had with him was more than that of just employer-employee; I viewed him as sort of a second father. My own father had died two years after I went to work at Isaacs-Forsman, and he became the guy I went to when I needed fatherly advice.

He and Phoebe had checked in with me regularly when he found out about my problems with Marcy. They were aware that I didn't date for quite a while after my divorce, and while I certainly didn't tell them, I knew they were informed about my recent dating habits.

"We've known Lainey almost as long as we've known Marilyn," Phillip said to me. "It's nice to see her with a good guy... assuming you're going to be a good guy, son."

I didn't miss the fact that he called me son, and what that conveyed.

"Yes, sir. I'm not sure if there will be any kind of relationship after tonight... Marilyn set this night up... but I certainly will be respectful. Trust me," I said.

"I do," Phillip said. "I'm glad we understand each other."

Lainey and I spent almost the entire night together, discussing our lives up until that night. She was a good dancer, and I especially enjoyed the slow dances when she melted into my body. A couple of times during the evening she was approached by other men asking if she wanted to dance, and she always deferred to me first. I really didn't want her to dance with anybody else, but since we really didn't have a relationship, I didn't feel like I had the right to stop her from dancing with others. She seemed to sense my mood, though, and turned down all who asked her.

I had a very nice night and ended it with a passionate kiss at the Isaacs' door. I had her put her number in my phone on the ride home.

I was still parked in the Isaacs' driveway when I hit her number.

"So what are you doing tomorrow?" I asked.

I had to hand it to Marilyn; she was absolutely correct. Lainey was perfect for me... and we hadn't even had sex for our first five dates. That came on date number six, and was amazing for both of us... if making her pass out during an orgasm is any indication.

I had no idea how long it had been since Lainey last had sex with anyone, but she was completely responsive to me when we started to kiss on the sofa in my apartment after a night of dinner and dancing. I was never going to be mistaken for Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly, but my ex-wife liked to dance, so I learned well enough to hold my own. Who knew that skill would come in so handy in my life? Certainly not me, but on this particular night Lainey seemed more than a little revved up when we left the club and went to my apartment.

We were soon making out like teenagers on my sofa and she didn't hesitate when I let my hands start to wander. Her naked tits were soon in my hands, not quite a handful but still a nice amount with very erect nipples. At 40, she was still practically a perfect Norse goddess with her platinum blonde hair and flawless alabaster skin. I took her by the hand and led her to my bedroom, where I finished removing her clothes and discovered a gorgeous muscular ass and legs all the way to the plumbing.

She was soon laying back on my bed with my face buried between those long legs, her gushing wetness slathering me. I tapped her legs and helped her move them over my shoulders, getting my tongue in ju-u-ust a little deeper into her depths. I heard the moaning turn into squeaks, then shrieks, but if she was forming words I couldn't tell. I felt the orgasm building from deep within her and intensified my efforts, swiping her distended clit with my tongue before sliding it as deep as I could get it inside her.

I heard the scream just as she bucked her hips up really hard, slamming her pelvis into my lips and nose and knocking my head back. I grabbed her hips in self-defense, shook my head quickly to clear it, then dove back in while she finished her climax... except that she suddenly fell still and silent. I had never had a woman pass out during sex, so I quickly looked up to make sure I hadn't killed her. Satisfied I hadn't, I waited almost a half-minute before I felt her start to regain consciousness, then I dove back in. She was quaking again almost immediately, although this time she didn't pass out. I did that twice more in quick succession before I gave her a minute to recoup while I slowly regained my wits and crawled up her body before sinking my diamond-hard cock within her mushy core.

She gave a bone-stiffening moan when I sank in all the way. I started pumping slowly and forcefully and picked up speed as she got in rhythm. Her strong legs and butt meant she could buck back as good as I gave, and I got a final orgasm from her before she took me to heaven after about 20 minutes. I came really hard, nudging her cervix several times as I lost control.

As we cuddled together afterward, she looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face.

"What the hell happened back there?" she asked. "Everything was AMAZING, then I think I shorted out or something. I wasn't here, then I was back. WEIRD AND AMAZING."

I smiled broadly, incredibly broadly to be accurate. I was mentally high-fiving myself.

"I've never been able to do that to a woman before. Came close with my ex, but you are my first. You are incredible!" I enthused.

"Can you do that again sometime... not tonight, though, I don't think I could take anymore," she responded quickly. "Can I be the second, third and fourth as well?"

"Your wish will be my command," I said before leaning forward and planting my best kiss on her.

Two weeks later I met Lainey's 13-year-old son, Shawn, who called Bob and Marilyn uncle and aunt, and who was very impressed with my ability to play tabletop hockey, foosball and Frisbee. I got the feeling his father didn't spend a lot of quality time with him when he had visitation. The first day he was tentative around me. By the end of the second day, he was trailing me around like a puppy.

"So along with all of your other... good qualities... you didn't tell me you had a Pied Piper thing going on with kids, too," she said.

"I love kids. I would have had four, but my ex didn't want any more after the first one," I said. "We had agreed on having two, but she reneged on that deal, reminding me often it was she who was sacrificing her body.

"Still, she was a good mother to our daughter. I can't fault her as a mother. Hell, I couldn't fault her as a wife until just about the end."

"From what you and Bob and Marilyn have said, she seemed to be a good woman at one time. What happened?" Lainey asked.

"I'm still not totally sure. From the little bit she had said, it started out innocently, but somehow, she fell in love with him while she fell out of love with me. She told me he was her 'soul mate.'"

"Her loss is my gain. Come on now, enough about her," Lainey said.

Six months later, she accepted my engagement ring. She switched jobs so she could work in my city, and we began to look for a house in which to live.

I asked Lainey to marry me on a Saturday. The next Monday at work, Bob swaggered into my office with a big shit-eating grin.

"Okay. Okay. Marilyn was right," I said to Bob, who just sat in the chair across from me looking smug. "Okay, I bow down to her 'rightness.'

"What's this going to cost me? You've got that look on your face."

"Not a damn thing. Just be a good stepdad to my favorite 'nephew,'" Bob said.

"Got it," I responded.

A week later Bob and I were having a drink at a quiet pub after work. Bob and I had gotten to be pretty good friends since I started dating Lainey. I looked up and saw Tim Wycliffe sitting at a table with a pretty young woman of about 25. The last time I saw Tim, about a year ago, he and Laura were trying to make it work. Apparently, it didn't take.

"Hey stranger, how's tricks?" I asked as I walked up to his table.

I saw him flinch when he spotted me. I got it. My going to him was the beginning of the end of both of our marriages.

"Hello, Norm. How are you doing?" he asked.

"Not bad. Don't mean to interrupt. Just wanted to say hello," I said.

"You're not interrupting. By the way, this is Anna McGill, a friend," he said, his blank face telling me the 20-something was nothing more than a date. "Anna, this is my friend, Norm, the man who ruined my life."

Anna looked shocked. Tim saw her face and realized he should explain, at least the Reader's Digest version.

"It was his PI who caught my ex-wife cheating... and then I told him about his own wife cheating... and the rest is history. He divorced his cheating bitch. I tried to reconcile with mine; you see where that got me," Tim explained.

He turned to me and gave me a crooked smile.

"I don't know if she went back to sleeping with her boyfriend, but I found out that they were back in touch about a year after this whole thing started. Can you believe that?" he asked.

He asked how my life had been going, and I told him about getting engaged to Lainey.

"The way you left things, I thought you might never again get married. She must be a special lady to overcome the scars Marcy left," he said.

"She's a very special lady. You're right," I said.

"I am sorry things didn't work out for you, Tim. Honestly."

"Well, if you're going to get married again, I guess that shuts the door on your ex, then," Tim said.

I gave him a quizzical look. I thought I shut the door on Marcy when we divorced.

"You haven't heard? Seriously?" he asked.

"Heard what?" I asked.

"Marcy's boy-toy left her. Hasn't your daughter told you? Seems that the soul mate thing wasn't reciprocal. She wanted a ring. He wanted to date around for a while. She thought it was love. He thought it was just sex... very good sex, with a very willing slut."

"Wonder why Rose hasn't told me, although I really don't care anymore," I said.

"When I heard, I honestly thought she'd give you a call, try to get you to take her back. I'd bet Rose told her about your engagement, so she didn't even try."

All things considered, I'd have to say I'm one of the luckiest people alive. How many people can say they had a great marriage for about 22 years, then found a second true love. Lainey and I connected perhaps even deeper than Marcy and I did, both in bed and out.

Then there was Shawn. He quickly became much more than my stepson... he became my son in every sense of the word except for his last name. He remained fairly close to his father after his parents' divorce, and I tried to never interfere with that, but we, too, established a very close relationship, even if he rooted for the Chicago Cubs and I rooted for the New York Yankees. We compromised by rooting for each other's teams when they weren't facing each other, since they were in different leagues.

When Lainey and I bought our house, it had four bedrooms. The master at one end of the second floor had an en suite bathroom, and the bedroom at the other end came with a smaller bathroom with a shower. While that would have made a great guest room, it wasn't even a consideration that it wouldn't be Shawn's room. If we had any second thoughts about giving him the room, he dispelled them when he pointed out that the separation would help muffle the noise coming from our room. Lainey blushed deep crimson when he said it, but Shawn tried, unsuccessfully as it turned out, to at least take some of the embarrassment out of his statement.

"Come on, Mom, I'm 14 years old. You don't think I know what you guys will be doing in your room?" he said.

"This is your fault," Lainey asserted. "He's been hanging around with you way too much."

Rose fell in love with Lainey immediately when they were introduced, before I asked Lainey to marry me. I know she was a little jealous of how close Shawn and I had become.

"Finally got the son you've always wanted," she said to me, a little bit of tension in her tone.

"It's great fun to finally have a son, Rosie, but you'll always be my little girl. Your place in my heart will never be taken. Shawn's just carved out his own niche," I told her.

We hugged fiercely.

"I'm so glad you found somebody, Dad. I was so afraid you were going to be alone for the rest of your life," she whispered.

Even though I never asked, Rose kept me updated about her mother's life. From what my daughter said, Marcy dated a platoon of losers, most at least a decade younger than her, some in the range of men that my daughter might date. Rose joked with Lainey and me that she was afraid to bring men she was dating around her mother for fear that Marcy might make a play for them.

Rose got married two years after I married Lainey. He was a big guy who spent a couple of years playing minor league baseball. When he left baseball behind, he used his degree in business to get a job in finance. Like with Shawn, we bonded over baseball, even if he was a fan of the Atlanta Braves. Put the three of us in a room together, though, and it could get pretty heated, pretty quickly, and Lainey and Rose would often go out shopping while the three guys would watch a game.