Letters from the Attic

THE TRUTH SPILLS OUT

Our attic was a mess. We had box upon box of junk that didn't need to be kept in the first place stacked willy-nilly into the rafters. I sweated like a pig in the July heat and mentally bitched at myself and Jill for letting it get this bad. Though Jill was an absolute peach, she had hoarding tendencies where memorabilia and financial records were concerned and I was now living with the result, and probably would be all day.

We met in college and married just afterwards. Jill caught my eye early in our freshman year, but we did not begin dating until the end of their junior year because Jill was dating someone—Rick Taper. She was my type in every way, a pole-vaulter, she was a tall, athletic, Nordic blonde with beautiful high breasts, broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and remarkably firm buttocks that belled out beautifully into her shapely legs. She was a looker too, with big blue eyes, high cheekbones, a pert little nose and full lips. When Rick idiotically cheated on her I made a beeline for her, and promptly bounced off several times. We'd all heard about what Rick did, there weren't many secrets in a community as small as ours. I don't know if it devastated Jill and she just lost confidence or had reached the conclusion that all guys were little shits unworthy of trust. Whatever the issue, it took months before she was even willing to go to lunch. Once we started dating though, we soon knew we were right for one another. We were married in July after our junior year.

Both of us were highly idealistic about teaching. I dreamt of becoming a high school head coach and athletic director because I was on a partial athletic scholarship for football and I was decent at it, managing to be all-conference safety my last two years. Coaching seemed like a natural extension of everything I was doing, but Jill dreamt of being an art teacher. We found a perfect match in two open positions in a north Georgia school system during our last year. Jill would take over the entire art program and I would become safeties and linebacker coach for the high school team and teach history—easily my favorite subject.

Had it not been for Lee Timkins, a narcissistic, foul-mouthed, petulant little Napoleon who held the head coaching position, we both would have stayed in teaching. That was a bit like saying I wouldn't have gotten wet except for the rain. By the end of my first year I was looking for a way out, and even though I'd been advanced to defensive coordinator by my second year it didn't help. By the end of our fourth year I'd found my escape route and took it. Timkins had the gall to try to shame me into staying "for the good of the boys" as though he actually gave a shit.

I went to work for, and then gradually earned a piece of, an emerging custom home construction company owned by one of our team sponsors. I'd done some work on a framing crew with my uncle and had also worked short stints as a carpenter and a plumber's assistant during the summers, so I had a little bit of a head start. But the job was mostly about attention to detail and motivating the subcontractors who were handling the building, both I was good at doing. Steve, my business partner, was everything coach Timkins wasn't. He was smart, direct, generous with praise, fair on compensation, and honest to a fault.

In the last five years we have become one of the most successful homebuilders in the North Georgia area. We're not the biggest, but we produce excellent product and earn a very solid living for our families. Steve's wife Wendy, who keeps the company books and is a randy little tease who never quits dropping hints about what she and I should be doing in the storage room, was just another compensating benefit of the move. Being outdoors and on the move all the time helped my appearance and my disposition. I managed time to work out and the work itself helped me stay tanned and fit and to burn off all the extra energy that normally plagues me. Jill liked the results just fine.

The attic was dusty, dry and enormously hot, but I was now more than half done. A light at the end of the tunnel thank God! I took another slug of ice water, relishing the taste of the Jack Daniels I had worked into it, and grabbed two carboard boxes that had a third smaller box on the top. A bridge too far as it turned out. When I lifted the three and headed towards the stairwell the top box tumbled off the side and crashed to the floor, spilling its contents all over the rough pine.

"Well shit" I muttered.

It was a box of old letters. They were yellowed and like all the paper in the attic, bone dry. It would be explosive kindling should a spark ever hit it. I put down the two large boxes and stooped to gather up the letters and reload back into the box when a photo fell out of one.

"Holy shit."

"Are you okay?" Jill asked from below. "I heard something fall. Did you fall?" Mother hen, she was always worried about me, which was a good thing most times, but felt downright intrusive just now.

"I'm fine! I just dropped a box!" I yelled.

"Okay, well take a break if you need to" Jill responded.

I thought I'd do just that, not because I needed to, but because the image on the photograph demanded attention. It was of Jill's college roommate Carmen Velasquez. One of my teammates and I had walked all the way across campus behind Carmen just to watch her ass sway. My friend astutely observed "that girl's a walking erection." I laughed then, but it was a damned good summary. Where my Jill was light, Carmen was dark, where Jill was athletic, Carmen was voluptuous, where Jill was serious, Carmen was a mischief-maker prone to equal fits of laughter and hot anger, where Jill kept her charms to herself, Carmen flaunted hers. She had a mass of thick lustrous hair so black that it looked blue in the sunlight and the kind of breasts you dreamed of squeezing, full, round, and surprisingly taut given their size. Her nipples were daydream generators, often poking through the skimpy tops she wore. The photo would have caught my eye just because it was Carmen, but I was stunned because Carmen was nearly naked in it.

Carmen was perched on an orange sofa. She was on all fours and wearing only a tiny navy-blue string bikini. The photo was taken from behind her and to her left side and looked professionally staged. Carmen faced the camera over her shoulder, her dark hair swept over her right shoulder to give the viewer a clear view of her face. Her giant tits strained against the small triangles struggling to contain them. Her legs were staged too, the left leg up and the right one back to reveal a dark blue G-string splitting the deep crack between Carmen's sweet round ass cheeks and a teeny triangle of fabric covering her pussy. The photo looked like an outtake from a masturbation scene. Carmen was looking straight at the camera, her right hand buried in her pussy lips beneath that bikini bottom, her mouth slack and her eyes half-lidded with lust.

The questions rushed at me a mile a minute. Why did Jill have a half-naked picture of her college roommate? What was the point of Carmen sending it? Did Jill do an exchange? Had Jill sent pictures like this to Carmen? And why?

I flipped the photograph over and looked at the back, pausing to rearrange my rapidly expanding cock before the pubic hair cut it in half. The backside contained nothing but a date. I compared it to the dates of the letters spread out in front of me and found the one post-marked with the same date. I opened the letter and began to read. My hands were trembling, and it wasn't from the heat.

Most of the letter was typical chit-chat; how are you and Paul, we're fine, went to see grandma in Brazil, Tim is a pain in the ass as usual, but doing really well at his brokerage. Finally, there was a reference to the photograph. "Hope you like the photo. Tim took it. You can guess what happened next. Thought you might like it!! I loved yours! Ultra Hottt!! Keep 'em coming!!" Carmen's letters to Jill had ended about the same time Tim and Carmen moved to the town next door.

Curiouser and curiouser, I put the letter box back together and stowed it away. Then I thought better of it. If I left the letters up here, I'd never be able to get to them without Jill wanting to know why I was spending so much time in the attic. I took the letter box down on the next run, praying that Jill wouldn't intercept it. I wrapped it in a couple of trash bags from the garage and locked it into the built-in tool box on my truck.

That was Saturday. On late Sunday afternoon I told Jill I had some paperwork to catch up on the office and that it would probably take a while. I wanted to be at the office when it wasn't full of prying eyes. I brought the letter box out of the truck, pulled off the trash bags and separated out all of the letters from Carmen from other junk. There were over forty of them spread out over several years starting after the two roommates had graduated and married and ending two years ago. I flexed the letters to see which ones contained photographs. Most did. I pulled each of them out and laid them across my desk, careful to check that they were dated so that I could put them back in the proper letter when I was done.

And then I reached for my cock and started massaging it. Many of the photos were sexy, but ordinary. Carmen frisking her dog's ears, Carmen hanging on Tim's shoulder, Carmen twirling in a short dress with a pleated skirt and stilettoes. But at least half could have come right off the pages of a men's magazine, some from Maxim, some from Penthouse. The photo that fell out first was tame by comparison to some of these new ones. In several, Carmen was completely or partially nude, her giant D-cups and wide dark nipples on plain display. In several Carmen was in some form of incredibly erotic sexual pose, often with a sex toy of some kind. My favorite of these was a simple shot of solely of Carmen's breasts chained to nipple clips. Carmen's hand could be seen in the bottom of the photo, her index finger snaked around the chain tugging it down.

For some reason a photo which really caught my eye appeared to have been taken in a Mexican beach resort. Carmen was lying on her back in a wicker lounger, her head tilted slightly up by an unseen pillow. She was wearing a tiny black string bikini bottom and nothing else. Instead, a Fedora was strategically positioned over her ample breasts and she was looking off in the distance as if sleepy. The look said "I've just been fucked hard and I'm about to drowse off." The effect was ridiculously sexy.

I put the photos back into the letters, saving out four favorites, then began reading the letters. The language was as veiled as a Harlequin romance but their meaning was unmistakable. Jill and Carmen had been lovers, and had been for a long, long time. Their love was playful, exuberant, and constant.

I wondered why on earth Jill had kept it from me all these years. Clearly, she was embarrassed, but why? Jill and I had conservative upbringings, but not ridiculously so and we were anything but prudish in the bedroom. Did she think I wouldn't understand? I not only understood the attraction but shared it, the very thought of it made me hard as a rock. I'd already reconstructed Carmen and Jill's dorm room out of memory and imagined Carmen lying on her back, her underwear pulled aside as it had been in one of the photos, but with my wife's mouth sucking on Carmen's hot wet snatch, her fingers slick with Carmen's juice and Carmen's fingers wrapped around Jill's head.

I checked outside and the coast was clear. I locked the office door, took the photos into my bathroom, and started stroking my cock with my right hand, focusing on the nipple clip photo. I dreamt about what it would be like to have Carmen kneeling right in front of me wearing them, her mouth open, maybe tickling the tip of my cock with her tongue. Within a couple of minutes, I could feel my orgasm building all the way down in my toes. I pushed it off as long as I could, letting it build until my balls ached and I exploded so hard that it left me light-headed.

I stored the letter box in the large lockable cabinet in my desk and the four favorite photos in the glove box of my pickup. Over the next weeks I took the photos of Carmen out so many times that the edges became frayed. I had to admit that I was becoming careless. If I didn't straighten up, I was going to get caught. I had to do something to break this logjam, because beating off to a bunch of photos in an empty construction build site certainly wasn't going to do it.

BROACHING THE SUBJECT

How do you tell your wife that you've learned that she's bisexual? "Oh honey, by the way, about you and Carmen...I guess I was wondering what phrase you preferred first off, muff diver? carpet muncher? rug bully?, eatin' the fuzzy taco? clit ticker? Dirt diver?" I mean, I just had no idea. I started several conversations in my head, only to shut them down. Honestly, I was fully accepting of the fact. I had, I recognized, an oddly inconsistent view of homosexuality between women rather than men. While I abhorred it in men, I found sexy in women. I didn't spend too much time worrying about this contradiction. My mind was not only adjusted to the fact that Jill and Carmen had been lovers and perhaps still were, but was actively generating fantasies about everything related to it. What had they done? Where had they done it? Who was the dominant? What would it be like to watch them go at it?

I arranged a Saturday night getaway in Atlanta to make the big reveal and talk Jill through it. I rented a suite in one of the best downtown hotels and made reservations for a back-nook seat at our favorite restaurant. Jill had a tendency to very private and very twitchy about anything sexual in public. Make no mistake about it, Jill was absolute hell on wheels once she made it to the bedroom and put her mind to it. Jill was playful until the gloves came off, at which point she wanted what she wanted and demanded it right then and there. Fortunately, I was happy to oblige her.

Still, Jill left all that attitude behind in the bedroom. She was keenly worried about the way she looked to the outside world. I knew that if I didn't handle it right, Jill would shut down the conversation, demand that the letters be returned, destroy them, and that would be that.

I didn't want that. At the very least, I wanted an honest conversation with Jill and to tell her that I thought her affair with Carmen was a complete turn-on and that it didn't affect the way I felt about her at all. At best, he wanted Jill to get comfortable enough to invite me to at least watch one of her sessions with Carmen, and, if I got really lucky, to participate. I waited until Jill was about half way through her second drink before beginning.

"When I was cleaning the attic a while back, I was moving a box of letters you had and I accidentally dropped it. I was putting the letters back in and a picture fell out. I wasn't snooping, but it was a picture of Carmen" I began.

Jill froze, understanding immediately what was afoot.

"I...wow...well...what...?" she ventured.

"What did I See?" I asked. "I've seen everything now. I was fascinated, so I took the letters and read them all, and I...I looked at the photographs too."

"Oh Jesus! Oh fuck!" Jill panicked, looking like she was about to bolt.

"Please" I said reaching across the table and putting my hand on hers. "I'm fine. You're fine. We're fine. I love you. I'm not mad at all. I'm disappointed that you didn't feel like you could tell me, but it doesn't hit me anything like it would if I had found out you were being unfaithful with another man. It's just not like that with me. I love you."

Jill stared at her drink and swirled the pink concoction around her martini glass.

"I need to think" she said. I knew better than to rush her, so I waited, and waited, and then I waited some more, rubbing the back of Jill's neck as she sipped her drink.

JILL GOES DOWN MEMORY LANE

Paul's revelation sent me immediately back to college. It was Carmen to whom I had run sobbing when I busted into my boyfriend Rick's room only to find him simultaneously fucking and having his balls licked by two tri-delts. I was very naïve and had absolutely no foundation for comprehending what I saw, much less for with dealing with it. I'd run back to the dorm bawling my eyes out and it was Carmen who held me and helped me get the words out, reaffirming that this was all on Rick. In the following weeks, Carmen's humor and constant friendship helped me get by and to reconstruct my sense of self. When I fell into a funk all over again, it was Carmen who picked me up and get me back on my feet. It was also when we became lovers.

In retrospect we both should have seen it coming. Though we were distinct opposites, we cared for one another deeply, trusted each other instinctually, and opened up to one another fully. One day Carmen found me sobbing in the fetal position on my bed, reliving Rick's unfaithfulness all over again. She held me and lovingly stroked my hair and face. I can still feel her fingers it as though it were yesterday. A glance between us produced a kiss, which produced more kisses, then tongues, then an all-consuming passion that swept away books, pillows and clothing. Carmen had peppered my eyes, neck, and lips with kisses as we fumbled out of our clothing, then trailed her mouth down my body raining kisses, licks and nips. She dove into me with a vengeance, licking, sucking and nipping my clit and labia until I reached a thrashing climax, fucking my pussy into her mouth and fingers. We had laid in one another's arms long afterwards, before I whispered "teach me" and, giggling, we switched roles and repeated the script all over again, just to make sure we were getting it right.

In the following months I refused to date men, but exuberantly played with Carmen. Carmen went online and bought a strapon dildo with a large penile extension on one side, and an angled probe that inserted into the wearer's vagina, and jokingly called herself the "manstitute" when she wore it. Because Tim and Carmen had already begun dating in the spring semester the year before and were clearly headed for the altar, their relationship provided the perfect cover for me. To all the world Carmen and Tim were the lovers, while Carmen and I were just best friends.

Tim was every bit the match for Carmen. The son of a Louisville tobacco heir, the lanky young man was brilliant, sharp witted, gregarious and fun-loving, and totally enamored of Carmen. And why wouldn't he be? Carmen's inky-black hair, huge tits, hourglass figure and saucy disposition were a universal turn-on across campus.

We had agreed that our love affair would be secret, even from Tim, but Carmen freely "loaned" me Tim, at least indirectly. Despite his infatuation with Carmen, Tim had the hots for me as well. When he picked up Carmen, he made it a point of asking "where's my girl?" and hugging me tight so he could cop a feel of my ass before I pushed him away. It was all great theatre for Carmen, who had all the confidence in the world and never once got jealous. Once I began to date Paul, we played games with Tim and Paul without ever letting them knowing they were part of it. One night we agreed that I would use Carmen's dildo to masturbate right behind the door when Tim came by to pick her up. It was a turn on to Carmen to know that I was right there, getting hot, with her boyfriend inches away from me.

When Tim was about to arrive, I took my position behind the door and pushed the dildo deep into my body just like we planned, but when Tim knocked and Carmen, clad only in a tiny bra and thong, cracked the door to tell him she'd out in just a minute, I whipped out the dildo out and started bobbing my head in an exaggerated blowjob pantomime. Carmen slammed the door and we broke into gales of giggling lunacy before tumbling back into our beds. Tim heard the laughter from outside the door and no doubt knew he'd been had, just not quite how.