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Sexy senior brings sparring spouses back together.
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jack_straw
jack_straw
3,220 Followers

Let me stress first that I do not recommend the method my wife and I used to patch up our marriage. But I do have to say it worked for us.

If my wife's friend Elaine hadn't used her bottomless well of sexuality - not to mention her tight, horny little body - to bring us back together, Debra and I would have more than likely gone through with a divorce neither one of us really wanted.

After almost 25 years of marriage, we sort of hit the wall. It wasn't really anyone's fault, or, more precisely, we were both equally at fault. I was an asshole and she was a bitch. I screwed around on her, and she retaliated by screwing around on me. It had always been a volatile relationship, made worse by the fact that I drank way too much.

The bottom line is I had an affair that lasted the better part of a year with a younger co-worker, a blonde divorcee who had become a close friend and a drinking buddy. When Debra found out, she got even with me by going out to bars four straight Saturday nights to meet other men - co-workers and such - who fucked her royally, then she brought home the evidence to throw in my face.

After the fourth time she came in at 4 a.m. stinking of sex, I'd had enough. I was drunk, having sat at the house - alone - drinking beer since coming home from work that night around 10, and we had a vicious row.

I'm ashamed to say that that night was the only time in my life that I ever wanted to hit my wife, she infuriated me so. But even in my inebriated state, I knew better than to do that. So rather than do something I'd regret for the rest of my life, I finally stomped out of the house, got in my car and drove smack into a sobriety checkpoint. Of course, I was arrested, and spent the rest of the night and most of the next day in jail before Debra finally bailed me out.

At that point, I realized that I needed help, with my drinking and with my marriage. The thing is, I never once stopped loving Debra. If I had, I wouldn't have cared what she did, and I did care. It hurt me, and I cared that I'd hurt her. I knew that if we were to survive as a couple, I needed to get away, get sober and get some treatment.

When I got home, we had a long serious talk, and we agreed to a separation. I packed my things, took a leave of absense from my job, and checked myself into a substance abuse treatment center, where I stayed for three months.

After I was released from rehab, around the first of July last year, Debra wasn't ready to take me back, so I moved in with my brother and his wife, and that's where the story really begins.

But first, let me backtrack a little and give you our background. I was born, raised and still live in a fairly large Midwestern city. My name is Al Johnson, and only under extreme duress will I admit that my given name is Alfred.

I had an older sister who was killed in a car crash a number of years ago, and I have two younger brothers. My dad was a mail carrier with an ego and a heart as big as all outdoors, and my mom was a nurse named Betty.

My dad's name was Alfred Murray Johnson Jr., and he was damn proud of it. Unlike me, he liked the name Alfred. He used to call himself Alfred the Great, usually accompanied by his big booming laugh. One of the ancillary tragedies of my sister's death was that he hardly ever laughed like that afterward. He died of a heart attack six years ago, and I think it was a broken heart from grief, because he and Sis were really close.

Anyway, nobody was surprised that I was named Alfred Murray Johnson III, and I hated it. The one good thing about it, though, like that kid in "A Boy Named Sue," it made me pretty tough. It seemed like at the start of every year in elementary school, some punk would tease me with a chant of "Allllll-fredddddd," and I'd punch their lights out. After a couple of times, they'd leave me alone and call me Al, the way I wanted, and everything would be fine the rest of the year.

Of course, the neighborhood where I grew up wasn't any place for wimps. It wasn't exactly the inner city, but it wasn't suburbia, either. Fortunately, all of us boys grew up to be pretty sturdy. I'm 6-1 and weigh in now at 225, and I'm blessed with a metabolism that allows me to eat anything I want without really getting fat. The 40 extra pounds I carry now over my weight in my youth are the result of a dedicated love of beer that ultimately landed me in trouble.

I met Debra Potts in sixth grade, and we had an on-again, off-again relationship all through junior high and high school. Truth is, we were both in love with each other from the start, but we're both pretty headstrong and stubborn, so when we weren't fucking, we were fighting.

That continued into our college days, at the large local university, until one afternoon late in my sophomore year. Debra called me and told me we had to talk. We had been back together this time for about six months, and, as usual, we'd let our passion run wild.

This time, though, there was no off-again for us. Debra was pregnant, and since she was at the time a pretty staunch Catholic, abortion was out of the question. The solution, then, seemed pretty simple. We got married, and at age 20, I had a wife and a child on the way.

After our daughter was born, Debra went to work while I finished my degree in journalism, then I went to work for the local paper and helped put her through business school, in accounting. We had a son about three years later, and that was it. Debra had her tubes tied, and we settled in as a rather boisterous, sometimes contentious family.

I stayed at the paper, working as a sports writer, and Debra worked for a large company in the accounting department. Eventually, the kids grew up and when our son left to go to college, it was just the two of us again.

Now I've always been a touch jealous where Debra was concerned, as she was with me. Any man would have been, because she's always been a knockout. She's tall, about 5-9, maybe 5-10, and well-built, with a healthy pair of 36Ds that are an immediate attention-grabber and a nice ass that is meaty, but firm. She's got thick, dark brown hair that she's always worn pretty long, and big brown eyes set perfectly in a pretty face.

I've always been considered good-looking, sexy even, and I never had trouble attracting women. I've got brown hair - or did until it started turning gray on me - a thick moustache and steel-blue eyes, and I now have to wear glasses all the time.

I'm not going to dwell on the affair that triggered our marital trouble. It happened, and I was honest about it when Debra found out and confronted me on it. I offered to move out, but she said no, and I should have been suspicious that she was planning to avenge herself by fucking other men on the side and rubbing my nose in it.

Whether my staying or going would have made a difference, though, is questionable. I personally think my affair gave her an excuse to do what she'd been wanting to do for awhile anyway. She was always telling me about all these men at work who were hitting on her, and I think it finally started getting to her.

It's entirely possible, considering how easily she slipped into a slut mode, that maybe she'd already stepped out on me a couple of times before she found out about my affair, and she just quit trying to hide it after she learned about my indiscretion.

But I don't have any proof of that, so I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt. Let's just say that the last year before our separation we had begun to drift apart, and I drifted into Martie Gleason's clutches, and maybe the same was true for Debra. It doesn't matter, because all of that is in the past, and best left there.

I didn't see a whole lot of Debra or the kids while I was in rehab, nor did I see her much after I got out and moved in with my brother Steve and his wife Shelley. Steve is my youngest brother, the only one who lives in the same city, and he was glad to have me. They're both in their early 30s and don't have children. I went back to work, and spent my free time as sort of an unpaid housekeeper.

I should describe the place where my brother lives, because it's kind of relevant to the story. It's a funky old place not far from downtown, in an area that's close to the university. As you come in the front door, which actually faces off to the side, you enter a combination front room and kitchen area, with a bar separating the areas.

The front room has the large hide-a-bed sofa, and that's where I slept. At the other end of the room, there are two doors. The one on the right opens into a sort of sitting room, where they keep the entertainment center - the big TV and stereo, along with a couple of chairs - with the bathroom on the left toward the back of the room. Beyond that is the large master bedroom at the back of the house.

The door on the left opens into a kind of parlor, with a large, old overstuffed sofa in the middle of the room, a large rolltop desk along one wall, a large closet, a second entrance to the bathroom and a door to the master bedroom.

I had been staying with my brother for about three months, and I was getting close to a crossroads in my life. I felt like if I stayed there much longer something bad was going to happen, because I could sense that Shelley was starting to develop a case of the hots for me. She's a cute little thing with short brown hair, and she's very sensual.

Because of my hours and the hours Steve and Shelley work, the sleeping arrangement usually worked OK. They were in bed by the time I got home most nights when I worked, anywhere from 10 to midnight, and if they woke me up in the mornings as they got off to work, I could easily go on back to sleep once they left.

But on nights when I was off, or on some Sundays, I'd hear them having sex, and it about drove me around the bend. Shelley's a real moaner, and I think she got a kick out of teasing me with her moans of passion when she and Steve got going good.

For some reason, I just wasn't interested in dating other women while I was separated. Fraternizing was frowned upon in rehab, and, afterward, I didn't feel secure enough in my sobriety to risk taking out a woman I didn't know.

Besides, I wasn't sure whether having sex while separated - but not divorced - from my wife constituted cheating or not, and after my earlier experience, I chose to err on the side of caution.

So I didn't get laid for a very long time, about six months, which was an eternity for me. And listening to my brother and his wife fucking all the time just made things worse.

It got so bad that I had started masturbating on a pretty regular basis, something I had quit doing when I was 15 and discovered the wonders of pussy. By regular, I mean two, three, maybe four times a week, and I was getting tired of it.

Besides, the plain truth is that I was miserable without Debra, and it wasn't just the fact that I wasn't getting any sex, although that was a large part of it.

When you're alone as much as I'd been over that period of time, with nothing much to do except read, you do a lot of thinking, and I'd been thinking about how badly I'd screwed up a pretty damn good thing. We'd had a lot of ups and downs in our relationship, but living without the woman I loved made me realize just how good I'd had it. And I'd blown it by being a drunk and a philanderer.

It all came to a head on the Saturday before Labor Day. I had to work that Saturday, because it was the first big weekend of college football. Steve and Shelley left around noon and asked me if I would tidy things up before I went to work.

They were going to a party, then going dancing that night. When they went out like that, they usually brought friends home for an after-hours gathering. On those occasions, I'd either stay up and enjoy the camaraderie for awhile, or I'd retire to the parlor and sleep on the old sofa.

I did pick things up, did the dishes and dusted, as I watched football on the small TV in the kitchen. The more I thought, and the more I brooded, the more I came to the conclusion that it was time to either fish or cut bait. It had been almost a month since I'd seen Debra or the kids, and I was lonely.

In fact, I hadn't even heard from her in over two weeks, and I finally made up my mind as I got ready for work. I was going to go to the house the very next day and have a sit-down with my wife and kids. I was either going to come back into their lives as husband and father, or I was going to file for divorce and start building a life on my own. I was in limbo and I'd had enough of it.

As I expected, Steve's house was dark and empty when I got home from work at about midnight. It had been a hectic night and I was tired, but also keyed up. When you work at a job where deadlines are so important, you get such an adreneline rush that it's hard to come down at the end of a shift.

Before, I'd always joined the gang at our favorite pub and drank my way back to normality. But that was no longer an option for me, so I was binging off the walls when I got back to Steve's. I was also horny as hell, since I hadn't taken care of business in about a week.

I fixed a sandwich, had a glass of tea and turned on the TV. It didn't help that one of the channels I flicked past was showing a commercial for "Girls Gone Wild." Shit, I thought to myself, that's just what I needed to see. I was wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants, and my cock was tingling with need.

I decided to take a chance on pulling the bed out, crawling in and jacking off, in hopes that Steve and Shelley wouldn't bring home guests. I got settled in, pulled out my trusty copy of Penthouse Letters and started reading.

My cock immediately came to attention, and I stroked it hesitantly through the fly in my pants. But I was reluctant to really get into it, because I just knew that the moment I got going good, Steve and Shelley would come in with a crowd of people, and I'd look like a fool.

So it's a good thing I didn't really get to smoking, because a little after 2 a.m., sure enough, I heard Steve's car pull in, followed by another car. I sighed and put my book down in the little magazine cabinet by the sofa, right next to the KY jelly I hadn't had a chance to use.

Steve and Shelley were in rare form, lit to the gills, and they were accompanied by a good-looking woman, a brunette named Karen. She was a friend of Shelley's who had gone clubbing with them. Now I was intrigued. Had they taken pity on me and invited someone to come take care of me? Or was she there to join Steve and Shelley and add to my torment? Or was she just there to have a nightcap and maybe some coffee before heading home?

I sat up on the bed and greeted them, and Karen kind of looked at me funny when she saw me sitting up on a fold-out bed. Steve fixed her and Shelley a drink, then Steve went into the sitting room to put on some music, and Karen followed him.

I asked Shelley what the score was with her friend. She gave me this real seductive look and I knew then that the answer was Door Number Two.

"She's had the hot for Steve for awhile, and I've had the hots for her, so everybody's going to get what they want tonight," Shelley said. "Even you. I'll bet if you come in after a bit, you can probably talk her into screwing you after we're done with her. Lord knows, you need it."

"Do I ever," I said with a sigh. "But I don't know. I'm still married, although for how long, I don't know."

Just then, Steve and Karen returned to the kitchen and it was apparent that they'd already done some smooching, because they had this conspiratorial look about them.

Things were getting weird. I knew that Shelley had some bisexual tendencies, but I hadn't expected her to be so open about it to me. And while Karen was very nice looking, I couldn't see barging in while the three of them were having sex and trying to spirit one of them away. Nor could I see myself joining in a foursome with my brother, his wife and her friend.

As it turned out, events suddenly took a different tack. Steve and Karen were getting a little touchy-feely on the chair by the window, and Shelley was watching with a look that was clearly lusting, when the phone rang. She answered it and spoke to someone she obviously knew pretty well.

"Hey you guys are coming after all?" she said into the phone. "Yeah, he's here. No, he's still up. Sure, see you in a few. Bye."

Shelley's eyes had a real gleam to them now. She looked over at me and smiled broadly.

"Guess who we ran into at Sebastian's?" she said to me. When I looked at her quizically, she continued. "Debra was there."

"Oh?" I asked, as my stomach started to churn. "Was she with anybody?"

"Uh, huh," she said.

"And you invited them to come over here and party, right?" I said, loudly in disbelief. I was pissed to no end. "That's just great. It's not enough that she whored around on me because I was stupid enough to have a fling with some other woman, but now you've invited her to bring her new boyfriend over here so she can humiliate me some more? What the fuck were you thinking? Well, fuck all of you. I'm not gonna stand for it. I'll go get me a hotel room somewhere, and then she can fuck whoever she wants in front of whoever she wants. And then tomorrow I'm collecting my things and getting the hell out of here."

And I got up off the bed and started into the parlor to get my clothes back on and take off. This was the final straw. The fact that my own brother and sister-in-law were going to aid and abet my wife in humiliating me was a betrayal that I just didn't understand.

Fortunately, Shelley realized what she'd done and quickly moved to make amends.

"Al, Al, please, it's not what you think." she said as she followed me into the parlor and caught my arm. "Debra doesn't have a boyfriend at all. She wants to see you. She misses you, and she has someone with her that you need to meet, someone who can help you. Come on, honey, calm down. Look, I know she hurt you, but you hurt her too, and you have to get past it. Maybe after tonight, you guys can start healing. Come on back. Please?"

I sighed and felt my anger dissipate. And truthfully, I was now intrigued further. Debra had someone I needed to meet? Someone who could "help me?" I didn't have a clue what I was in for. I went back in and apologized for my outburst. I was still in my night clothes, but I put the bed away, and had just sat down on the sofa when I heard Debra's car pull in.

I have to confess, I felt like I was on my first date when my wife walked through the door. Man, she looked good. She was dressed up in a pair of black slacks and a short-sleeved white blouse with black trim, and she was still well made up. We hugged and shared a nice kiss, and that's when I got my first surprise.

Trailing right behind Debra was a petite blonde who looked to be in her mid-50s, who Debra introduced as Elaine Stark, her new best friend from work.

To say that dynamite comes in small packages doesn't do Elaine justice. She's small, maybe 5-foot-1, without an ounce of fat anywhere. In fact, she looks like a woman who works out quite a bit, which, indeed, she does. She's got gorgeous legs and a tight pair of A-size tits that I've never known to be covered with a bra. She wears her blonde hair cut real short, almost in a boyish style.

If there is any drawback, it is the fact that she isn't just drop-dead pretty. She's nice-looking enough, just not gorgeous, and her face shows that there are some miles on the odometer. But that is more than offset by her overall package, and the fact that she has one of the dirtiest minds I've ever seen in a woman, especially one her age.

She was wearing a two-piece dress of a pretty thin material, gray with a light floral pattern. The top was a short-sleeved button-down blouse, which revealed clearly that she wasn't wearing a bra, and a short mini-skirt, with a pair of white stockings and white heels.

jack_straw
jack_straw
3,220 Followers
12