Honest Evaluation

I had never once doubted my sex appeal. I was always highly sought after for dates since my teens, was on the Homecoming Court in both High School and College, and had three proposals of marriage that I turned down. However, at age 31 I, Britt Compton nee Saunders, was having a crisis of confidence in my sex appeal.

I married George Compton two years after I graduated from a Big Ten University with a B. A. degree in Communications and a minor in French. George is a very good-looking, trim guy and seemed to have a high libido; which I very much enjoyed. We talked about having at least two, likely three or four, kids right around my 30th birthday and we both seemed to be on board with that plan. Our sex life was always active, at least three or four times a week, often more.

My crisis in confidence started shortly after my 29th birthday. George was starting to be less amorous, less spontaneous, and less excited about hitting the sack together. I tried sexy lingerie, aphrodisiacs, weekend trips, blow jobs, offers of anal, and about everything else that I could think of (including all of the techniques suggested by my bible, Cosmopolitan Magazine). Everything I tried was unsuccessful; in fact there were diminishing returns from my endeavors which really made me frustrated. After about a year of shrinking returns, where we were down to one fuck every two weeks, I needed more information and another approach.

During this time George wasn't nasty, we didn't argue, he said that he loved me, I just couldn't seem to turn him on. This period coincided with what I perceived (not really correct, it turns out) to be less attention from other men. While I usually dressed conservatively, I had some very apparent assets that usually got me looks from every male between 18 and 80 on the street or in business or social settings, but I perceived that I was getting less of those looks.

I have a high metabolism and was always in decent shape but about six months in to my declining confidence period I joined a health club and intensely exercised four or five days a week for six months, and after that six months from my look into the mirror it seemed that I was sleeker than at any other time in my life.

I kept up the exercise even after it clearly didn't alter my appeal to George because it was a good outlet for me -- although as most people know it also had a tendency to increase my sexual desires.

About the time that I turned 30 I decided to seek advice from friends who I could trust to keep confidences. I confided in one single and three married female friends. They were of little help. Three of them pooh-pooh my concerns, and when pressed offered advice that was much less helpful than Cosmo's. One of them really tried to help but she was having trouble identifying with my problem.

It was about this time that Jubal Phillips, my brother's best friend from college, visited. My brother Tim, two years older than I am, and his wife live in the same city as George and I and have two kids. His friend Jubal is a serial monogamist, at the ripe old age of 32 having been married and divorced four times. Jubal was thinking of moving to our area after his last divorce, especially since he was interviewing for a really good job at the same large international corporation that Tim worked for.

I had always liked Jubal, and at one time had a crush on him. He was a big, strong, and very personable guy with rugged looks that greatly appealed to about half of the female population. I had met two of his wives and seen photos of the others. They were all strikingly beautiful. As far as I know there was no cheating by any party that led to the divorces; Jubal's side of the story, that I got through Tim, was that he was a bad judge of women and that all of them turned out to be flakes. "I need a stable woman, like June," June being Tim's wife, Jubal announced on several occasions.

George and I went over to Tim & June's house the first Saturday that Jubal was in town, and had a pleasant time. Jubal and I really liked playing with Tim & June's kids, and even had an impromptu fun tag football game, me and Tim's eight year old boy against his six year old tom-boy sister and Jubal.

After a few vanillas post kids-bedtime we five adults had a raucous good time, sometimes entertained by Jubal's light-hearted stories about his wacky wives. When George and I were getting ready to leave Jubal asked me if I knew of a health club nearby because he needed a workout and if his interview went well would want to join. I invited him to be my guest at my health club the next day and we worked out at the same time, though not really "together"[he primarily lifted weights heavier than I am, while I did mostly aerobics, although we did run on adjacent treadmills for about 15 minutes] and then had a smoothie afterwards.

***********

Jubal did get his dream job and moved to our city about a month after our get-together at Tim's house. He moved into an apartment complex that was almost right next to my health club, which he joined as soon as he moved in. At his request I picked out some drapes and other amenities for him since I have a good eye for color. I would say that we worked out at the same time about three times a week.

After Jubal had been in town for about a month when we were having smoothies after a Saturday workout he said "It's none of my business but because I like you Britt, I'll ask you anyway." I was a little taken aback but just nodded so he continued. "Why are you either unhappy, frustrated, or both?"

That knocked my socks off, not only because he hit the nail on the head but because he was direct enough to ask. "Uh...why...uh...don't, eh do, you think that I'm...uh...unhappy or unfulfilled?" I stammered, realizing only a couple of seconds after I said it that I didn't use his word "frustrated" but my Freudian word "unfulfilled." Given his raised eyebrow I think that he picked up on it.

"Because you're different than you used to be; you're not as self-confident and laid back as before. If I'm prying tell me to fuck off, but if you need someone to talk to I'm a good listener -- lord knows that I've had enough practice with my four wacky ex-wives."

After a long pause during which I stared into and sipped my smoothie I replied "It's difficult to talk about and I don't feel comfortable talking about it with a man. I've talked to four of my women friends, and they were no help, and I'm..." I didn't finish the thought; my voice just trailed off.

"Actually if four females weren't any help maybe a man's outlook would be. I think you know me well enough to know that I won't down play it, judge, or gossip," he said, moving his hand across his mouth like he was closing a zipper.

I don't know why I picked that particular time to break down but I did. I started quietly sobbing with my head in my hands while sitting at a thankfully outdoor table at the smoothie place.

Jubal silently cleared our table, gently grabbed me by the arm, and led me to his car. He sat me in the front passenger's seat, rolled up the windows and turned on the air conditioning. "OK, spill," he commanded once the air conditioning was up to speed.

"I can't," I half-sobbed.

"Yes you can," he retorted.

I took a deep breath, regained my composure and said "I don't have sex appeal anymore. George is totally disinterested in sex with me, guys don't look at me like they used to, and I just feel like a blob."

Jubal laughed. The bastard actually laughed! I got really pissed and smacked him on the arm and yelled "You bastard, it's not funny." I tried to open up the car door, but he had the child lock on, gently grabbed my shoulder, and said "Sorry; please listen to me; laughing was inappropriate but it's hard for me to believe that the sexiest woman I know has no confidence that she has sex appeal."

When I stared into his face I think that he suddenly realized that he had called me the sexiest woman that he knew, and would have liked to take it back; however, instead he made light of it and dealt out some happy horseshit like he thought that I was kidding, etc.

I finally calmed down. "I just don't have a solution. I often think that maybe I need an honest evaluation of my sex appeal to rid me of my demons. Even if I'm good looking and have the right equipment I must be a really bad lay for George to have no interest in me."

We talked for another twenty minutes or so, he asking the details of why I felt the way that I did, me providing mostly honest if incomplete answers. Finally he said "I'll think of something -- I want to help, Britt."

"Thanks for listening Jubal," I said as he released the child lock and I opened up the door. "It did actually help some to talk about it; and I'm sure that you will keep my confidence, even form Tim and June."

"My lips are sealed," he smiled and then did the zippering of his mouth thing again.

Almost every time Jubal and I worked out at the same time he gave me one bit of advice or the other. As a joke he even one time handed me a fake business card (it obviously wasn't done commercially but just on a computer printer) saying "Jubal Phillips; Sex Appeal Evaluator; for an opinion just show up naked at..." giving the address of his apartment. "Reasonable rates starting at $100/hr." When I first apparently had a shocked look on my face he laughed hysterically. I chased him around his car until he let me catch him and then pulled his ear until he cried "Uncle!" That incident did lighten the mood for me.

After I had gone without sex for at least three weeks after the fake business card incident, post-workout Jubal set me down and said "It's time that you had a confrontation with George. There are a number of possibilities. He's sick and doesn't know it, he's seriously ill and afraid to burden you by telling you how sick he is, he's having an affair, he's decided that he's homosexual, or maybe more than one of these possibilities. In any event you have to know -- you're driving yourself crazy. Confront him -- NOW."

I had been trying to avoid a confrontation -- because I'm basically confrontation-adverse and always have been -- but I needed to hear this advice from someone that I respected. I promised Jubal that I would.

***********

It took me two days to steel myself to confront George. Then on a Friday night I got home before him but didn't start dinner. When he came in with a stern voice I said "Sit down George."

"Uh...what's up honey," he defensively said.

After he sat I said "I can't go on living like this. We haven't had sex for more than a month, you have no sexual or romantic interest in me despite the fact that I've tried dozen of different things, and I don't think that I'm so ugly or undesirable that you should avoid all sexual contact with me. What's wrong...I want an explanation, and NOW!"

For the next fifteen minutes George tried to refute what I was saying. I gave no quarter. He started sweating profusely. Finally he put his head in his hands and without looking at me but only into his hands said "About two years ago I finally started to admit to myself something that has been eating at me most of my adult life. While I believe that I still like women -- although your experience would seem to refute that -- I have had an intense attraction to men."

"Did you ever act on that attraction?" I asked with much less venom or shock than I thought that I would have.

"Yes, a couple of times," he replied.

Suddenly everything in the world was clear to me. My last words, as I got up to leave, were "And you were too chicken shit to tell me and instead merely let me twist in the wind?"

He moved his head from his hands and said "I'm sorry Britt but I..."

I didn't hear the rest because I was already in the garage with car keys in hand. After I backed down the driveway I called Jubal; he answered on the second ring and obviously knew from caller ID that it was me."

"Hi Britt," he answered, "what's up?"

"Are you doing anything right now?"

"No, nothing important..."

"Do you have any visitors?"

"No, I'm by myself..."

"Stay there, I'm coming right over."

When Jubal answered his apartment door he had a strange look on his face. I couldn't really see his face after that because I had my eyes closed as I pressed my lips hard into his. After we had a delicious kiss that lasted at least a couple of minutes I broke it off. At that point he had a smile but it was a confused smile.

"George is gay," I mumbled as I kissed him some more on his neck. "I hope that you're up to fucking a horny bitch because if you're not I'll rape you," I snarled, trying to undo his belt with one hand while trying to unbutton my blouse with the other. Neither was working. Jubal solved the problem.

The animal literally ripped my blouse off, popping all of the buttons, made quick work of my bra, and started sucking one of my tits in earnest as he used both of his hands to drop his shorts, pull down his boxers, and step out of them, apparently easy to do since he was motivated and had no shoes on. Once his hands were free he made equally quick work of my skirt and panties and while still sucking a tit, while alternating planting kisses all over me, he carried me to his bed and flopped me on it.

In the next fifteen minutes he made up for my lack of sex for the last month by sucking my clit and abusing my G-spot until I screamed, and then unceremoniously sticking what I later found to be his large uncut cock so far up my pussy that I thought that he was trying to tickle my tonsils. When he ejaculated into me my orgasm was so powerful that I was amazed that I didn't pass out. We stayed intertwined, however, for many more minutes, occasionally hit with aftershocks that themselves were almost as good as any other orgasm I had ever had in my life.

Finally we disengaged and stared into each other's eyes with sly grins on our faces. Finally Jubal spoke. "My expert evaluation is that you are by far the best fuck in my experience; in fact so good that I'm not even going to charge you for my evaluation."

I playfully punched him in the ribs. "Well I'm not as definitive as you are. I think that I'll need another hundred or so fucks before I can properly evaluate you -- although I have to say that it's looking good!"

We both laughed, I sucked his cock until it had the desired turgidity having fun playing with foreskin that I had never before had the pleasure of playing with. Then I mounted him and as he mauled my tits I did my best to fuck his dick off, culminating in another almost synchronous debilitating orgasm for each of us.

I didn't leave his apartment that weekend. Jubal did go to my house when I knew George wouldn't be there and got some clothes for me (since he had ruined most of what I had on Friday) and my laptop. I don't really know how many times we fucked and/or sucked through Monday morning, but I had more orgasms than during any three day period of my life -- but about triple.

Monday morning at breakfast as Jubal was serving me some French Toast he off-handedly said "So are you moving in?"

"Well you have some say in it -- but unless you prevent me from doing so I'll be here tonight and every night until you kick me out or make me wife #5," I nonchalantly replied between mouthfuls of French Toast (good sex always makes me horny; the great sex I had just experienced made me ravenous).

"Sounds like a plan," was his equally nonchalant reply.

"Oh, by the way, I'm seeing a family law -- i. e. divorce -- attorney this afternoon. I made the appointment Friday in anticipation of a breakup with George."

"When you anticipated the breakup did you also anticipate fucking my brains out this weekend?" he snickered.

"A girl has to have some secrets," I smiled before again stuffing my face with food.

************

Things can move along really well, and quickly, if you are sufficiently motivated and know what you want. Before our weekend of debauchery I thought that Jubal and I clicked and that we may be suited for each other. After that weekend I was sure that I not only was in lust with him, but in love too. Apparently he felt the same way because by the Saturday after our weekend we had moved all of my stuff either into his apartment or into storage.

Monday I saw Sally Mission, attorney at law. She was an orca. She had George served on Tuesday at his office. George wanted to talk when Jubal and I were moving the last of my stuff out of the house I had shared with George, so I sat down with him.

His part of the conversation was happy horseshit about how he might just be going through a phase and would want sex with me again in the near future, how splitting our assets wasn't a good idea, how he had "only" been with another man three times, and like pathetic crap.

I tried to remain polite, but I was very firm. I eschewed the option of giving George another chance, and was so excited about living with Jubal that my panties seemed to always be moist.

After I completely shot George down, since I wasn't asking for any alimony even though he made about $15,000 a year more than I did, and since I could wait until he sold the house to get my half of the equity out of it the divorce went through without any significant problems and without delay.

The weekend after my divorce went through Jubal took me to a four star resort for a week. We had a fantastic time out of the sack and in the sack it was other-worldly. By then our bodies and libidos were completely attuned to each other and each sex session seemed to be almost universally better than the last, as impossible as that seemed to be.

I did screw up my birth control, however, and about four months after my divorce was final I went to my OB/GYN and confirmed what a home test already demonstrated; I was about seven weeks pregnant.

When I got home that night I laid out all of the information I had been collecting about houses [in good school districts] after I served Jubal one of his favorite meals. "OK, dude," I said, it's time to pony up. We need to get a house -- we start by visiting the ones I've circled on the real estate pages. Then we need to talk about baby names, and get some furniture."

"Why do we need to do that?" he deadpanned, already having been appraised of the home pregnancy test result.

"Because with your animal magnetism you screwed up my brain, I messed up my birth control, and today my doctor confirmed that the home pregnancy test was accurate, that's why dude!"

"So I guess you think that I'll marry you," he said with a diabolical grin.

"You should be so lucky, four time loser," I chuckled. "The only reason that I would marry you would be to get a live-in dad for my kid," I snickered, with my own diabolical grin.

"Tell me -- great fertile goddess -- if I eat you to two orgasms, and then fuck you through two more tonight, will you marry me despite the fact that I'm a four time loser?"

After I long pause where I pretended to be weighing my options, I said "OK, as long as you asked so nicely."

He did!

I did!

*************

That night of four orgasms for firs time pregnant me was eight years and three kids ago. I've already almost doubled the time he's been married to me compared to his other four wives combined. His evaluation is still that I'm his best fuck ever, the at least four times a week that we enjoy carnal relations with each other, and I admitted several years ago that he's my best ever too.

Jubal is no longer a serial monogamist -- just a monogamist -- and I no longer have a lack of self confidence in my sexual appeal.