tagLoving WivesThe Athlete

The Athlete

byukresearcher©

Had I seen the advert asking for cuckolds to share their misfortune a year ago I would have thought it inconceivable that I might be telling this to you now. I thought that then I had a good strong marriage. Some might say that it is still a good marriage, some might even claim that it has been enhanced but I cannot write off twenty-five years of fidelity without regret. Mea culpa. What makes it harder to bear is the knowledge that it was my fault. There is a phrase, 'the author of his own misfortunes' which most certainly can be applied to me.

I have been married for almost twenty-six years to Beth who became my wife shortly after her twentieth birthday. Then she was size ten then but now she has expanded to a comfortable fourteen. I am happy with this - 'plenty to get hold of' I tell her and I still do like getting hold of her. Her appearance is very much how a Mum should look which is appropriate because we are the parents of two grown up daughters. Abigail the eldest will soon be twenty-six, (which should tell you something), and her sister Karen is two years younger. Both married and left home although Abigail did come back for a year.

We own a large Victorian house and have never lived anywhere else. We bought it in a very dilapidated condition and such houses were out of favour at the time but it is rather different these days. The mortgage is paid which means that we are sitting on quite a lump of money.

About three years ago, sensing that Abigail's marriage was in trouble, I had the attics, (old servants quarters), converted into a self-contained flat with big dormer windows. I wanted to provide a bolt hole for my daughter, reasoning that while she might hesitate to return as a member of the family, the flat would allow her to maintain independence.

Abigail moved in the week after it was finished having been hanging on for such an opportunity to leave her husband. Just under a year later she left again to move in with some chap who it seems had been on the scene for quite a while. Belatedly I realised that parental love had made me see her marital situation as more one-sided than it really was. That same year I was made redundant. I had been at that firm forever and quickly found that no-one wanted to employ a fifty-two year old man with obsolete specialist skills. Beth had not worked for years apart from unpaid charity work so we were both in the same boat.

Unemployment money was very little but fortunately we had a resource that could be capitalised on - namely the flat. We advertised and as we lived very near to a centre for sporting excellence, it was no surprise when the first applicant to ring the bell was an athlete. He assured us that he did very well at his sport and was able to comfortably afford our rather high rent. The fact that he was black did not bother us but apparently he had been rejected for several other places he had viewed - but always for spurious reasons other than colour. The news that he was a reserve for the Olympic team was a bonus because we were both avid watchers of athletics on television. It turned out that his girlfriend was even better, being considered a real prospect for a medal. Both of them were sprinters.

My wife and I took to Paul immediately because he was a really nice guy. Softly spoken, modest with a keen sense of humour and highly intelligent, he was the kind of young man that anyone would be proud to have as a son. He was not an extrovert but neither could he be described as shy. However I felt that it was his character as well as possible requirements of his sport which kept him in his flat for long periods of time when he was not actually out training. I do know that he gratefully accepted our invitation to either eat with us or spend an evening talking from time to time. Once as reciprocal hospitality, he put on a meal for us in his flat which mainly comprised the more exotic foodstuffs that he preferred. From then we included such dishes whenever he joined us and soon developed a taste for it ourselves.

Paul's girlfriend Serena was an exceptionally attractive girl. Technically black, she had a much paler skin than Paul and wore her head in multicoloured braids, creating the effect with bright beads woven along the strands. Her face had a serene beauty and I thought had some resemblance a disco singer of the eighties call Ami something or other. With what foresight had Serena's parents chosen her name? Her body had that full bursting ripeness without any superfluous flesh that seems peculiar to coloured female sprinters.

If you are becoming jealous of Paul having Serena, I must point out that he wasn't getting any - at least not very much. Serena stayed overnight in the flat with him on only one night per week, occasionally two but more often, not at all. I once said to him tactfully, "You don't see much of your girlfriend in the late evening."

"It's her damn trainers fault," he told me ruefully. "He believes in the philosophy that an athlete should not waste energy on extraneous physical activity."

"I always find that a nice sex session always puts extra spring in my step," I said grinning.

He grinned back. "So do I but sometimes I wonder. I get bloody frustrated occasionally and it is then that I always seem to do my best times."

When I was his age I was climbing all over Beth at every opportunity so I wondered how Paul stood it - especially with such a delectable package as Serena for a girlfriend.

Our house had a large secluded garden and since my redundancy I had been able to devote a lot of time to getting it nice. We were having a particularly good summer with a great number of warm sunny days. My wife and I took these opportunities to sit in the garden and Paul tended to join us - for the pleasure of feeling the sun on his skin rather than any need to get a tan. We saw more of Serena during those afternoons because she too had a liking for lying in the sun and invariably turned up when the weather was nice. When I say 'saw more of her', I mean that I saw virtually everything that there was to see because she wore the briefest of brief bikinis. After the first few visits, realising that the garden was not overlooked from any direction, she started to sunbathe topless. The bottom part of the swim suit which she did retain was hardly worth the bother - a small triangle of material nominally covering the pubic area held in place by thongs no wider than a shoe lace. She made no attempt to lie decorously and many times I was able to see how the string between her legs had worked its way into her slit.

I think that any man would get hot and bothered in my situation. I know that the sweat poured off me - and that had nothing to do with the heat of the day. Afternoon after afternoon I had to sit with my book held firmly on my lap lest everyone should see how much sight of the near naked girl affected me. Beth of course did notice. "You are nothing but a dirty old man," she said scathingly one evening. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself drooling over Serena the way you do."

"I don't know what you are talking about," I blustered. "I just sit and read my book whether she is in the garden or not."

"Don't think I don't know why you hold you book on your lap instead up in front of your eyes as you usually do, "Beth retorted. "I know that you can't read a damn word at that distance.

I was caught out and found guilty so it was time to cop a plea. "Is it any wonder," I said defensively, "any red blooded man would react seeing her almost naked most of the time."

"But not men old enough to be her father."

What about you looking at him - I've seen you do it and you could be his mother?" I counter-attacked. This was tenuous ground but I had observed her studying him reflectively from time to time. The trouble was that Paul wore loose fitting shorts, not the long voluminous lager-lout type but baggy enough to conceal what they are meant to conceal. Maybe a man's well-muscled chest or biceps turns women on - I never did know what women find attractive in men.

"I am not denying that I look at him from time to time because he is a very fit young man," my wife conceded. "I most certainly do not pant after him like a sex crazed teenager."

This had all the makings for one of our very rare rows so I quickly back peddled and changed the subject as soon as I could. From then on I was more careful, only lusting when Beth was not around or from a vantage in the greenhouse while pretending to re-pot plants.

I possibly gave a wrong impression of Beth in describing her only by dress size. She is well covered but her body is still firm. In contrast to me she has a young looking face, retaining much of the beauty from when we met if slightly faded now and easily able to pass for thirty nine or even younger. In fact it was only in direct comparison with the nubile girl that I was ever aware of her years. On the subject of age, I will tell an anecdote against myself. Recently I had to go to the chemist for some medicine after visiting the doctor. Admittedly I was ill at the time but the assistant pushed the money back to me saying, "People over sixty don't have to pay now but you need to fill in the declaration on the back of the prescription." It was kindly meant but I returned home thoroughly demoralised and swearing never to go in that shop again.

Over the years, to satisfy a social conscience, I have been involved with a fund raising group with its main activities concentrated round the Xmas period. There are however, committee meetings every month throughout the year. I had set out for one reluctantly leaving Serena, Paul and my wife sunning themselves in the garden. Returning just after 8 30, as I was preparing to turn into my road I saw an obviously very expensive two seater sports convertible parked on the corner with the hood down. It was a make of car that I had not seen before so, instead of turning I pulled in to the side of the road. Only after studying the lines of the vehicle for two or three minutes did I turn my attention to the driver. He looked familiar and I realised that he bore a marked resemblance to a famous javelin thrower who had held the world record for a short time. I had just decided that this was in fact the javelin thrower when Serena came literally skipping down the road. She got into the car, gave the driver a kiss and they roared off. Something about the intimacy with which she had greeted him suggested that he was giving her more than just a friendly lift.

In the middle of the following week, I was still debating whether to tell Paul what I had seen, when the accident happened. The first we knew was when the police car pulled up outside the house. Paul had been knocked down on a zebra crossing by a hit and run driver, and rushed to hospital in a serious condition. The car involved was later found burnt out, it had been stolen and for a time it was thought this had been a deliberate racial attack rather than just a joy rider.

For a short time he was on life support and remained in critical condition for over a week - it was a week after that before he was finally no longer in need of intensive care. His left leg was shattered, (requiring extensive pinning), his right arm was partially paralysed and the surgeons had needed to operate on internal injuries. For a time it was possible that he might lose his leg but although that danger passed it remained very unlikely that he would ever run again. The great irony was that the day before the accident Paul had come to us highly elated with news that he had been promoted to definite member of the 4 X 100 relay squad. Some improved times had made him a better bet than the specialist 200 metre specialist that he replaced.

Paul's parents lived over 200 miles away and initially booked into a hotel but we insisted that we would accommodate them for as long as required. They had our guest bedroom and provided a meal when they returned from the hospital but for the rest of the time they had the privacy of Paul's flat and able to cater for themselves. During that first fortnight we only visited Paul in hospital once and it was distressing to see tubes apparently coming for almost every part of his body. His parents were constantly by his bedside and Serena broke training to make a dutiful number of visits. A large number of fellow athletes also crowded into his hospital room when he was not in a position to appreciate their presence. The attendance of my wife and I was not needed at that time so we contented ourselves with providing back-up.

When it was certain that Paul would survive but that recuperation was certain to be a long drawn out process, his parents had of necessity to return to their home. During his first two weeks in a normal ward there were still plenty of visitors for him from the sports club but then the novelty wore off. Due to a ham string injury incurred by the main high jump prospect, Serena was now going for that event at the Olympics in addition to the sprint. As that great sports festival was growing imminent and with extra training for her new event, it may be mean to criticise Serena for deciding that hospital visiting rated only a low priority. The net result was that for the further five weeks before he was released, it was Beth and myself who bore the burden of raising Paul's morale every day.

In the days before his release we spent many hours in the flat taking the liberty of rearranging things. Trailing wires and clutter that could conceivably snag on crutches were pushed out of the way and items of furniture were moved to allow space of passage between. We also made considered enhancements like placing a stool in the bathroom, useful for either levering himself off the WC or perching on in front of the wash basin. When the ambulance men carried Paul up to his flat, we felt relief that the chore of hospital visiting was over but well aware that a period of even greater responsibility lay ahead.

That first night we did not see Paul apart from waving as he was carried past. Serena had come with him from the hospital with him and a couple of other athletes were waiting outside the house. The two males left about 11 p.m. and I assumed that Serena would be staying with Paul overnight but half an hour later I heard the front door close. Had I not been listening specifically, I may not have heard the powerful engine driving away minutes after she had left the house.

We did not go up to see Paul figuring that he would be asleep but my wife and I spent a restless night, both subconsciously listening for a cry of distress. Just before ten o'clock the next morning we went up together and crowded into his bedroom. Paul had just woken having heard our footsteps on the stairs. Dozey from sleep, he sounded to me rather less well than he had in hospital and he confessed that he felt more tender than he had expected.

Although I had spent many hours at his hospital bedside, I suddenly felt claustrophobic in that bedroom and stepped back out through the door then after a moment's hesitation, walked along the corridor to the kitchen. It was a conscious thought in my mind as I walked away that this was the first time that I had left my wife alone in a bedroom with another man - a man moreover who was already lying almost naked in bed. The fact that Paul was almost incapable of independent movement did not detract from my feeling of daring.

I must confess that there was an ulterior motive behind my quick departure. While not being at all homophobic I have no desire at all to touch another male, (apart from a firm handshake). Those nationalities who embrace and even kiss other men as part of social intercourse make me cringe. I knew that Paul would need assistance to get out of bed and preferred that Beth did it, not caring whether she got any pleasure from touching his young flesh. The visitors the previous night had left a load of dirty mugs and plates which had held either a Chinese or Indian take-away. While washing up, I could hear voices from the bedroom but could not distinguish individual words. As mentioned, I had deliberately left them alone but now I was filled with jealousy, straining my ears to hear what they were saying that I was not party to.

When Beth came through just as I had finished drying the plates her blouse gaped open - the top button was still fastened but the two below had come undone. "Paul has lovely soft skin, it feels almost velvety," she told me but, still suffering from the emotion described, rather than respond to her remark, I said shortly, "There was no need to show him your tits."

Shocked more by my tone than the actual words Beth stopped, stared at me for a moment and then said, with annoyance, "I had to really struggle to get him sitting up - that must have burst them open. I could have done with your help. I don't know why you disappeared like that anyway."

"Sorry - I didn't realise that you would need me," I apologised.

Beth laughed and making peace asked, "You don't honestly think that Paul is interested in seeing what I've got?"

"I don't know," I told her honestly - but then I have the ability to fancy a vast age range in females.

"When you were his age, did you fancy your mother's women friends?"

The question brought a vision of my mother's knitting circle - a collection of blowsy women who had a propensity for opening their legs to display acres of bloomer. It reminded me of how at the time, girls that I fancied, fastidiously managed not to give even the slightest glimpse of their underwear. "You're right - I'm just being stupid," I said.

"I came to tell you that I have got his dressings done. He's on the toilet at the moment and I'm going back in a minute to wash his back - Paul says that he gets very sweaty with not being able to lie on his side."

In hospital the time had come when he wanted to show us his wounds. His stomach scar had been on show for a while but now he lifted the covers to show us his repaired leg. I have no liking for viewing lacerated flesh but I peered under anyway to see what else I could see. All my life I had heard tales of black men's superiority in reproductive equipment and I was curious to know if there was any truth in the myth. I still did not know because he was wearing boxer shorts. "Is he still wearing those shorts?" I asked casually.

Beth shook her head. "Paul hated those shorts in hospital - he only had to wear them because women patients from the next bay could walk past near to his bed. He says that he always prefers to sleep naked."

The green-eyed monster got me again. "Then you've seen his penis?"

"I didn't have much option."

"Is it...Is it big?"

"Yes," she said without elaboration.

"How big?"

"Tom, I don't know," she said with a look of exasperation on her face. "I caught the merest glimpse and then I looked away."

"Then he got dressed?" I said.

"No - I had to dress him. You know he has some movement back in his arm and can flex his fingers but he still has very little strength in his hand and almost no co-ordination. I had to do nearly everything for him."

"Including putting on his underpants?"

"Yes - he managed to balance on his crutches while I pulled them up for him."

"Then," I said triumphantly, " - you must have seen a damn sight more of his cock than just a glimpse."

Beth looked me in the eye, gave me a mischievous grin and said, "Yes - I suppose I must have done."

Before I could reply, Paul called from the bathroom and my wife hurried off to scrub his back. We gave him his breakfast and stayed with him until after his lunch at which point his girlfriend arrived again with other male athletes in tow. Serena brought the bad news for Paul that she and the rest of the Olympic team were flying out two weeks early for extra acclimatisation. Even though the departure was late the following day, she did not stay the night.

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byukresearcher© 23 comments/ 101940 views/ 39 favorites

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