When Our Love Was New

When Our Love Was New

This is for the Literotica 2022 Valentine's Day Story Contest. Please comment and vote accordingly. Please also read the other entries.

IT WAS ONLY February 13, but Valentine's Day—our eleventh anniversary—was on Sunday this year, so Saturday night seemed like a good time to get a head start on romance. Kim and I went out to dinner, I got the babysitter home before 10:00, and we retired to the bedroom after kissing our two boys goodnight (they were long since asleep in their beds).

I was tracing my tongue along that irresistible crease at the bottom of Kim's left breast—she couldn't pass the pencil test if her life depended on it—when I tasted something that had no business being there. The slimy texture and slightly bitter taste narrowed down the possibilities. A lot. Too much, in fact. I hadn't shot off on her breasts for at least six months, maybe more. The obvious conclusion caused my erection to start beating a hasty retreat.

It's amazing how fast your mind can work when pressed. I was pretty sure what it meant, but couldn't be positive. I didn't want her to know what I'd found until I had a chance to learn more, so I had to keep up with the program even though my dick was heading for the hangar. Before she could wonder why I'd hit the pause button while tasting one of her sub-boob creases—a place that used to be one of my favorite lick spots—I headed south.

She knew I was headed for one of her favorite lick spots and mmm'd her approval. After a brief stop to explore her belly button with a spit-soaked index finger, I dragged my lips to her mons but stopped short of the Promised Land. She rested her hands on my head without pushing. Yet.

Kim responded enthusiastically as I started worshiping her labia majora and minora. Her moans and motions inspired my little head to rise to the occasion again, confirming that it had no conscience. My heart may not have been in it, but my mind was saying "What the hell" and my dick was yelling "Hellya! Go for it!"

I didn't tease her as long as I usually did before attacking her clitoris with lips, tongue, and fingers, but still managed to bring her to two satisfactory orgasms before thrusting into her. Despite the return of my hardon, the blow to my confidence (and libido) meant I had to keep pounding away a lot longer than usual before finally spurting a feeble output. There might have been a bit of love involved, but it was mostly just lust, a borderline hate fuck.

Kim, of course, had no idea why I lasted so long. "Wow! What do I owe that to?" She giggled. "I mean, to what do I owe that?" Still the English major, even after a thorough rogering. "If it was something I did, tell me so I can be sure to do it again."

"Nope, just thought you had it coming." She giggled again, unaware of my double meaning.

"Boy did I! Over and over and over." The prolonged pounding meant she couldn't tell that I'd just dribbled. She was so out of it I could probably even have faked it. She cuddled up against my side, then threw a leg over me. Before she could start any more preparations for a second round, I begged off with the beginnings of a bad headache. She was disappointed but still grateful. "Would it help if I massaged your scalp?"

"I think a hot shower and sleep will do better." That sounded too much like rejection which I wasn't planning, at least not yet. "Can I get a rain check?" She nodded and rolled over to seek her own sleep while I headed for the bathroom.

The long hot shower didn't wash away my dark thoughts. I didn't think I'd be able to sleep, but not long after crawling into bed with Kim I fell into a dreamless sleep that lasted until she called me to breakfast. I quickly shaved, dressed, and joined her and our two boys in the kitchen.

Mark is eight and Jason is five. Kim and I met our junior year at Fresno State. She got the aforementioned BA in English, me a BS in Computer Science. She was from Modesto, I was a Navy brat from Lemoore, and we both thought the Central Valley was too hot and way too damn boring. We got married a month after graduating and weren't exactly flush, so our honeymoon was a weekend in San Francisco. We shoulda followed Tony's example and left our hearts there.

Thanks to a recommendation from one of my profs, I was offered a job with a small company in Monterey that did custom software for county governments. We found an apartment in Seaside, a few miles north. Despite no experience with either business or law, Kim landed a job as legal secretary in a small law firm and we were launched. She worked for almost three years until a few months before Mark was born. By then I was making enough to support us, so she became a stay-at-home mom and seemed to love it.

When the small software company was bought by a bigger one, I was one of the lucky ones who didn't get the sack. Instead, I was promoted and discovered that I enjoyed managing people and projects, in fact was pretty good at it. I got some stock options, we prospered, bought a house, settled into middle-income life. When both boys started all-day school, Kim started talking about going back to work.

Dipshit me, my only reaction was to start planning how to spend the extra money. Every once in a while I wonder if I could have headed things off if I'd reacted more wisely.

WHEN MY UNCLE Frank Lambert was stationed with the Army JAG Corps in Germany, he made the acquaintance of a young German Fräulein named Monika. He made such an impression that she followed him to the states and let him know that she was pregnant. They were married shortly thereafter. The result of that union was my cousin Herman, who was a couple of months premature (yeah, right) and a couple of years older than me.

Aunt Monika thought it would be cute to teach Herman to speak German as well as English, so from the time he started talking he was bilingual. After a few years he was saddled with the nickname Herman the German. Inevitably, by the time he got to middle school—thanks to the innate orneriness of young males—it was shortened to Germ (not Germy, that was reserved for another poor kid named Jeremy).

He didn't like it, so naturally all the boys except his good friends called him that, and sometimes even they couldn't resist tweaking him with "Hey, Germ!" then a fake sneeze, or a sly "Hey Germ, infected any girls lately?" They finally quit after he started beating the snot out of anybody who called him Germ, good friend or no.

He's too self-centered to realize it, but he's had hardly any good friends since, just acquaintances who act friendly when they want something.

Herman was a big kid who grew up to be a big man—6-3 and a solid 220, thanks to spending a lot of time in the weight room after he showed a real talent for football. His size and speed were fortified by his natural aggressiveness heightened by his frustration at being called Germ. The result made him an outstanding defender in high school (all-state MLB junior and senior years) and college (where he was bulked up and moved to DE).

Germ had no illusions about being good enough for pro ball. He stuck to his studies, went on to law school, and joined his father's criminal defense practice. It wasn't the largest law firm in town, but the best known (some critics preferred "most infamous") and definitely the priciest. The same bellicose attitude that made him a good defensive player made him a very successful criminal defense lawyer. He billed lots of hours and married a long-legged, big-titted brunette named Zoë.

Growing up, my feelings about Cousin Herman were mixed. Sometimes he was okay, but fairly often was a real pain in the ass. We were related, so our families got together pretty often. The tag Germ stuck with him, but now was more often wielded behind his back. He used his size to intimidate guys he didn't like, sometimes even his friends if he was in a pissy mood. I finally decided my feelings weren't mixed: I just didn't much like him.

More than once he hinted that I'd better not cross him if I knew what was good for me. After one too many such threats, I was pretty sure that Cousin Herman wasn't good for me but I should have known.

AFTER BREAKFAST, Kim reminded me we were going to Herman and Zoë's for an afternoon of swimming and barbecue. Since I'd rather eat snails and binge-watch Kardashian reruns than spend the afternoon with Germ, I'd forgotten. "Why don't you and the boys go without me? I don't need to watch Germ show off his dad bod and tell us what a great shyster he is."

This was always a sore point with us. She didn't share my disdain for Germ and was good friends with Zoë. "Oh come on, what should I tell them? That you're sulking because Marky and Jase love his pool and we don't have one?" The boys, her favorite ace of trumps.

"And you shouldn't call him Germ. It's childish, and he doesn't like it." I knew he didn't like it, that's why I did it. Which is a bit childish, I suppose, but aren't we supposed to nurture our inner child?

"I call him Germ because every time he leers at you I get this urge to wipe you down with Lysol. What a helluva waste of Valentine's Day." That won me a dirty look and a guarantee that everyone of us was going, which I'd known all along. On the trip over, the excited chatter of our boys anxious to hit the pool covered up how quiet it was up front.

Germ met us at the door in his bathing suit. "Hey, guys! Just in time! The pool's warm, the beer's cold, and the company's hot!" He ogled Kim the way he always did. I wished she'd shut him down the way I always did. She just giggled the way she always did. Sometimes my cousin really pissed me off. Once in a while my wife did, too.

We went out to the pool, had a few beers, then took our shirts off and jumped in. The afternoon was hot, the water felt good, and the beers mellowed my mood. We splashed around for almost an hour, then got out to lie on towels and dry off in the sun. As usual, Germ paid way too much attention to Kim in her bikini. She seemed—or pretended—to be oblivious. The water drops on my back lasted longer than my mellow mood.

Germ decided we needed another round of beers. He got up, but before going inside ducked in the pool house and came out buttoning up a wrinkled aloha shirt. I'd had enough of him for one afternoon, so I stood up and said we had to get going. Kim started to object that we hadn't had the barbecue yet, but I just reached down and grabbed her hand. She could tell I was going to yank her up, so she shut up and stood under her own power.

I started leading us toward the gate to the driveway, but Germ cut me off. I faked a smile and reached out to shake his hand, but he brushed my hand aside. "Fuck that, Cuz, you're family! Hate to see you go!" He gave me a bro hug then—of course—turned to Kim and wrapped her up in a prolonged full-body bear hug.

The bro hug lasted long enough for me to smell his aloha shirt, a pungent combination of sweat, stale cigar smoke, and a familiar perfume: L'Air du Temps, the only scent Kim ever wears. More to the point, Kim's the only woman we know who wears it. She can't get it locally, she has to buy it online. Her friends tease her that it's too old-fashioned for her, like the Old Spice their grandfathers used. Their gibes merely stiffened her resolve: L'Air du Temps was her exclusive signature.

Except now Germ was wearing it. I didn't have to connect the dots, the picture drew itself. I peeled her out of Germ's so-called hug and damn near dragged her all the way to the car.

THE RIDE HOME was ominously quiet. The boys were disappointed because we left before eating and could tell something serious was wrong. Kim was supremely pissed at my behavior, and I was itching to confront her with what I knew. As we walked into the kitchen from the garage, she turned to me with a look that was anything but loving.

"We need to talk, Phil. After we shower and change clothes, meet me the kitchen. You can use the guest bath." I had no desire to shower with her—something we did fairly regularly—but didn't like being told what to do. Tough shit, apparently. Sounded like I wasn't the only one loaded for bear.

Showered and dressed, we sat at the kitchen table, her with a cup of tea and me with a beer. The boys, as usual, were in the family room slaying vast hordes of God knows what. "Okay Kim, you said we needed to talk, so talk. It's your show."

I didn't sound friendly, and with good reason. I was pretty sure I knew what was coming, and I figured our world was about to change forever. She could tell I wasn't happy, but had no idea that I'd tumbled to what she was doing. She thought she was on safe ground, that I was Mr. Clueless and she was still in charge. Apparently she'd rehearsed the talk, it sounded like she was reciting a script.

"People change over the years, Phil. Some get heavier or start losing their hair, some lose weight and spend a lot of time at the gym, some take up a new hobby or go back to school, some change jobs or move to a new place—"

"And some break—" I hadn't meant to show my hand so soon, but she was so focused on her script she didn't even notice.

"Let me finish, please, Phil. Then you'll have your turn." I shrugged, a non-verbal "whatever," but for damn sure I wasn't going to sit there holding my tongue—or my dick—while she tried to justify fucking my asshole cousin.

"When we met in college, I could tell right away you were a nice guy and majorly romantic." Majorly? A grown woman—with an English degree no less—who says majorly? "You treated me with respect and affection instead of trying to get in my pants. That put you way ahead of almost every other guy I'd dated. Nice guys in this world are far too rare. It didn't hurt that you were also good-looking, a great dancer, and funny. Before long I was falling in love with you."

The condescending nicey-nicey stuff was making my hair hurt. It was getting tougher to keep quiet. Waiting for the "but", I moved from Defcon 4 to Defcon 3. "But everyone, even nice guys, need to change as time passes. It's called growing up." I majorly had to dig my fingernails in my palm at that one. Growing up, my ass, it's called changing, and sometimes not for the better. "More accurately, it's called evolution. Darwin said it first, evolve or die—" I couldn't hold back, but at least I managed not to shout 'I call bullshit!'

"Darwin said no such thing, Kim. He described how natural selection guided the evolution of species."

Machts nicht to her. "Whatever. You're still that same nice guy, Phil, but I've changed, evolved. Nice doesn't have the same appeal as it did when our love was new—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, and each kiss an inspiration. Jesus, Kim, what're you trying to tell me? I should get some tats and buy a Harley? Start diddling divorcées and slap you around if you complain? Get to the point, assuming you've got one."

"Phil, please! You're not making it any easier!" No shit. I had no desire to make it easier. She was pushing me closer and closer to calling her out. "This is serious. I'm talking about us, about our life, what it's become, maybe even what's to become of it." She stopped, waiting for me to comment, but I wasn't about to play her game. I waited to hear what she was trying so hard to put off saying.

"My life is too constricting, Phil. It's smothering me. I've got more to offer than just being a good housewife and mother. My life's ambition certainly isn't to be the best soccer mom in Seaside." Another pause. I still didn't respond. Just as she drew breath to continue her non-confession, a couple of tornados burst through the doorway.

"When's dinner? We're hungry!" Thanks a lot, Mark. Inevitably, there was an echo.

"Yeah, we're hungry!" You, too, Jason.

So her bombshell wasn't a confession of infidelity, just a bunch of whining about her lot in life. She fixed a gourmet dinner of maccheroni e formaggio con wurstel that delighted the Tornado Twins while Kim and I ate in frosty silence at the other end of the table. After an hour of television and the boys' bedtime routines, we spent one more hour not speaking while we ignored another program and the news. After our own nighttime routines, we slid into bed. No goodnight kiss, no pillow talk, no cuddles.

Valentine's day sucked from start to finish.

KIM FIXED BREAKFAST the next morning for Mark and Jason. I stayed in bed until she got them off to school, then slouched downstairs and poured myself the last cup of coffee. I called in to say I was going to work at home and started another pot. I sat at the kitchen table and waited for Kim to pick up the conversation, but she outwaited me. That's okay, I don't mind losing the little ones.

"I googled 'evolve or die' and like I said, Darwin didn't say that. A bunch of hack writers and a few phony philosophers did, but good old Charlie Darwin never said any such thing." You'd think that someday I'd learn not to be so fucking smug.

"As usual, you've completely missed the point, Phil." She kept repeating my name, a real bad sign. "I've changed in the years we've known each other, mostly in good ways. I've been a good mother, stayed in shape, tried to keep up with the music and movies the kids like, changed my hair and clothes to keep current, made some new friends, got active in a few important social and political causes..." She was on a roll, voice rising, gesturing to make her points like she was standing in front of a cheering crowd.

"You still have the same job, wear the same clothes, comb your hair the same way, have the same friends, play the same games...You listen to oldies stations and read the sports pages and watch your John Wayne and Alfred Hitchcock mov—

"And work my ass off at that same job I don't like any more, open doors for you, carry in the heaviest bags of groceries, take out the garbage, do all the outside chores, take care of both cars, give you foot rubs, coach the boys' soccer teams, go to their school events when I don't have to work, take them out for dinner or to the park once a week or so to give you some time off, cook dinner every Friday, make sure you get off befo—"

"Godammit, Phil, listen to yourself!" That got my attention. Kim never swears. "You've been doing those things ever since we got married. They're just swell—" She didn't put air quotes around 'swell', but I could almost see the acid dripping off her tongue. "Don't you think it's time you upped your game, learned some of the new ways to carry your share of our partnership?" She paused a beat. "I do."

"Like what, Kim? Help me here, I'm just a guy and don't have your keen insight into modern partnerships." I tried to drench my words in the same acid but, like I said, I'm just a guy. She was dancing around what I knew she had to be avoiding—her cheating. I was curious to hear how she'd try to justify it, but I wasn't ready to force the issue, at least not yet.

"We're just playing out our gender roles here, Philip." Oh shit. Now I'm Philip. I can't remember the last time she used my full name. "Men resist change because they've always had the power and don't want to give it up. Women welcome change, because anything would be better than the historic, out-of-balance power structure of women vis-á-vis men."

"I call bullsh—" I needed to clean up my debate style. Lose your temper, lose the argument. Reset time. "I don't agree, Kim. Yes, men ran things for centuries, but it's changing. Maybe not fast enough for you, but that's what things like affirmative action and Title IX are all about. And who's got the power in divorces, for Christ's sake? Unless she's caught banging the Chicago Bears defensive line in the living room while the kids watch, eat popcorn, and hold up score cards—" She tried to interrupt but I plowed on.