You've Lost That Loving Feeling

"Take your nightgown off," I commanded, "and whatever else is underneath." Surprisingly, she did as I requested; now totally naked, she stood with her hands modestly covering her breasts. Seeing her naked again after all this time was bittersweet. She was still sexy as ever, but lost to me. It was like back when I was a kid doing Christmas window shopping at the San Francisco Macy's in Union Square. So many wonderful things to see, but unreachable behind the window glass.

I moved around behind her, roughly cupping her ass cheeks with my hands. "I love this ass," I told her. I began to caress them a little, because damn, they felt fine!

"I know your ass got a little bigger from having Chloe, but that just made me love it more. I don't give a shit that you're packing a little cellulite, because carrying my baby that made it that way. This ass is perfect." Impulsively, I leaned forward and planted a kiss on each delicious cheek.

Standing up, I pressed myself into Andrea from behind and, wrapped my arms around her, replacing her hands over her breasts with my own. "These tits of yours are amazing, I loved kissing them and sucking on your nipples. Sure, they sag a little from you nursing our daughter, but to me they're still the best tits in the world. No other woman's tits even come close. I don't care if they sag down to your fucking knees, your fuckin' tits will always be perfect!"

I let go, walked around in front of her, and caressed her cheeks. "This face, this amazing and wonderful face, Andrea, is what made me love you the minute you walked into the rehersal dinner, late and soaking wet. This face is what I couldn't take my eyes off of during Terri and Zach's wedding. You may look at your face and see wrinkles and age spots, but when I look at it, I see the woman I spent the night with at the L'évêque hotel. No matter how old you get, your fuckin' face will always be beautiful."

I moved my hands down to her belly. "And this is the perfect belly that carried my daughter. The stretchmarks only make it hotter. I adored this belly. Remember how sometimes after we made love, I'd cover it with kisses and lay my head on it afterwards? Fuck, even statues in art galleries are jealous of this belly!"

Andrea said nothing, just nodded silently. I knelt down in front of her, running my hands up and down from her thighs to her ankles. "These incredible legs, I loved how sometimes you'd wrap them around me and lock your ankles behind my back when we fucked."

Andrea gasped as I pressed my nose into her pubic hair, inhaling deeply. "Your vagina, this wonderful thing that my daughter came out of, this amazing place I loved to kiss. I really miss going down on you. I loved everything about it. Do you miss it too?"

I heard Andrea whisper one word, "Yes."

Standing up, I suddenly pointed to the bed. "You owe me a damned birthday present," I snapped, suddenly angry, "lay your ass down on that bed and spread your damned legs, NOW!"

She did so reluctantly, as if unsure what was going to happen next. I, however, was completely sure. My erection was uncomfortable under my suit pants, but nonetheless I laid facedown and, fully dressed, buried my head between Andrea's thighs. She lay there stiffly, unsure of what I was about to do.

"You took a lot of joy away from me," I told her, "so for my birthday I'm taking back one thing that always made me happy."

I shut up and positioned my mouth was against the entrance of her vagina. Then I began a series of light kisses on her outer labia, which morphed into licks and nibbles before I began painting her inner labia and clit with the tip of my tongue. Slipping an index and middle finger into her vagina, I was pleased to hear her moans of pleasure.

Quickly slipping my fingers in and out, I continued painting her labia and clit with my tongue, and felt her long legs begin to quiver slightly. She reached down to run her fingers through my hair, but I firmly pushed her hand away. I'd told her no touching, and I meant it. This wasn't about her, this was only about me, about my pleasure, and she had no say in it.

This was no rush job, oh no. I took my sweet time, savoring every aspect -- her taste, her scent, her sounds, the warmth of her body, the tremors as her climax rippled through her, not once but twice. Then there was the joy of her squeezing my head between her beautiful thighs as she climaxed.

When the aftershocks of her orgasms had passed, she whispered, "Daniel, please, I want you inside me." That's when the horrible memories came rushing back, triggering my feelings of humiliation.

I heard Lisa's distinct voice in my head again, asking Andrea if she was going to spend a weekend getting her brains fucked out, or staying home with me, Mr. Baby Carrot. I recalled their laughter, followed by Andrea's reply that she was thinking about it. The memory of it cut through me like a butcher's cleaver, and refreshed pain coursed through me. I stood up.

"I'm sorry, Andrea," I told her, "I'm not going disappoint you with my little dick." I turned and stumbled out of the room, the sound of her soft sobbing behind me.

The Scotch had worn off enough that I managed to undress, and fell into bed, not bothering to wash off the pussy juices remaining on my face. Falling asleep with traces of her scent on me gave me comfort, albeit it meager, just as it had back when she loved me.

~~~~~~~~~~

My head throbbed as I felt Chloe's little hand shaking me, her excited voice instructing me. "Wake up, Daddy! We're going to see the fishies at the 'quarium!"

Groaning, I glanced at the clock. It was 7am, and Chloe the early riser was true to form. I knew Andrea never slept in, so I asked Chloe to tell Mommy please bring me some headache pills and go eat her breakfast while I got in the shower,

It felt good to stand under the hot spray, and slowly my memories of the night before began reassembling. I remembered refusing my young coworker, then getting drunker on the way home, and then... Andrea. My eyes got wide as my brain was flooded by the memories of running my hands over her, and then me going down on her. I couldn't recall when I'd enjoyed that amazing body of hers last, but in my drunken state I'd certainly made up for lost time.

Yet despite Andrea's pleading, along with my own desire to make love with her, I no longer had the confidence to think my dick would please her. My wife and her bitch buddy Lisa had damaged me. I'd walked - more accurately stumbled - away.

As I stepped out of the shower and toweled off, Andrea's words from the night before kept repeatedly echoing in my head: "Daniel, please, I want you inside me."

I kept asking myself, What did this really mean? Was she saying it simply as a means of placating her guilt and to stop me from reminding her what she'd done? Heaven knows I'd thrown the carrot remark back in Andrea's face on a regular basis. Sometimes when we were out grocery shopping together I'd deliberately point out a tiny attractive woman and say, "Maybe I should ask her out. I'll bet my dick would be big enough for her." I'd said cruel things like that, making her cry several times a week, yet she hadn't given up!

Or was she perhaps saying it as a way to trick me into cancelling the divorce and reconciling? I was still unclear as to why she would even want that, given a few months prior she was preparing to drop me for her horrible ex-husband.

Then I heard a rational Daniel-voice in my head say, "Remember Occam's Razor: The best explanation of any phenomenon is the one that makes the fewest assumptions. Maybe Andrea genuinely meant what she said about coming to Seattle because she wanted to stay married. Perhaps she was being truthful when she said she'd do whatever it took to win you back. You've gone overboard to test her resolve, and it hasn't broken yet."

My rational Daniel-voice had a point. Since Andrea had moved in I'd turned into a cruel monster, just to make her so miserable she'd bail. She'd responded not by fighting back, but instead by offering to go to couple's therapy, or anything else to help me to heal. She was doing everything she could to prove herself to me, even if it meant not objecting to me dating other women. As much as I was loathe to admit it, based on the evidence my wayward wife had proven she was truly remorseful.

Not only was Andrea remorseful, but I had to admit to the slight possibility that maybe, just maybe, she still loved me. If this was indeed the case, though, I was faced with a tough question of my own: After all that had happened between us, did I even love Andrea enough to reconcile?

As promised, I'd made Andrea's life absolutely wretched, yet she'd remained resolute and unwavering. I should have felt satisfaction at the trials I'd put her through, at achieving payback for the pain she'd put me through. I should have, but I didn't; instead of satisfaction, I felt shame and disgust at the things I'd done.

This was the woman I'd deeply loved for 5 years, the mother of my wonderful daughter, and I'd emotionally tortured her. I'd wreaked havoc on the career and reputation of her ex-husband, and the dirty bastard had deserved every ounce of it. Inadvertently, however, I'd also caused Andrea's life and reputation in Portola Valley to become collateral damage, and she'd suffered for it. I felt shame about that as well.

If I hated Andrea with every ounce of my being as I'd portrayed to my friends and family, I shouldn't be feeling guilt and regret. My late night drunken debauchery on my birthday had demonstrated my true feelings: I loved and very much missed my wife. As hard as it was for me to accept, maybe it was time to swallow my pride and open the door to reconciliation.

Lost in thought, I hadn't heard the bathroom door open. "I brought you some Ibuprofen like you asked," I heard Andrea's voice say, "and a glass of water, too." I turned towards her before I realized I was standing completely naked, with only a towel in my hand for cover. I also realized my cock was semi-erect, probably a result of me thinking in the shower about how I'd gone down on her the night before.

"Thanks, you can just leave them on the counter," I said as I quickly wrapped the towel around my waist. Andrea was wearing jeans and a red flannel shirt, with the top three buttons of the shirt open allowing a hint of cleavage, a gold chain necklace with my wedding ring dangling in the middle of it. Now that I was sober, I appreciated her fine tits even more.

Andrea put the painkillers and the glass of water down on the bathroom sink counter, but didn't leave. Instead, she just stood there staring at me. It was getting a little awkward, what with me wearing only a towel.

I finally broke the uncomfortable silence by asking, "Something on your mind, Andrea?"

"About last night," she began, "all those things you said about me and how I'd ruined you, did you mean all that, or was it just the alcohol talking?"

I would have shaken my head in vigorous denial if it didn't hurt so much, so I just looked at the floor and breathed a sigh of frustration. "It wasn't the alcohol talking, Andrea," I told her, "it was the truth. To me, you were perfect from the second I laid eyes on you. I remember everything about that moment; how you ran in with a gust of wind and rain behind you, how the rain plastered your long wet hair to your head, and how everyone in the place loved you, me most of all, although I'd just met you. So yeah, everything I said last night was true, every damned word of it. You were always the 'A' team to me, there's never been anyone else."

Having said that, I grabbed the glass of water and took the Ibuprofen. Almost defensively, Andrea wrapped her hands around herself and asked, "What about that woman you've been dating in Chinatown? The one whose perfume I smell when you come home?" Once again, her eyes welled up, and tears began to run down her cheeks.

It was time to finally come clean. "There's no other woman, Andrea. I faked it so you'd think there was. Every so-called date I went on, I was by myself. Your cheating crushed me so badly, I wanted to hurt you back. I was even hoping you'd get discouraged, give up on reconciling and just leave."

Wiping at the tears, Andrea looked at me and said nothing for a few seconds. Then, she quietly asked, "What about the perfume?"

"Samples I took from a cosmetics counter in the mall," I explained. "I kept them in the glovebox of my car for when I needed them to fool you." I wasn't sure how Andrea would react to my confession, but I suddenly felt unburdened. My confession and the Ibuprofen kicking in seemed to have done the trick, my headache had suddenly vanished.

"What about Cherry? I thought she was going to fix you up with some of her friends?"

"Probably because my temperament's so much like my uncle's, Cherry's very protective of me. She'll do anything I ask of her, which includes minding her own damn business. After you showed up on their doorstep, I asked her to back off. I doubt the two of you will ever be best friends, but you're still Chloe's mom, and I didn't want our daughter or her cousins to sense any bad feelings between the two of you."

I shrugged, "Besides, I'm a grown-ass man. If I wanted female companionship, I wasn't going to get some from Cherry basically pimping me out to her friends like a damned gigolo."

"So you never..."

I shook my head, with no trace of my former headache. "No, not once. As stupid as it sounds, I was taking our vows seriously until the divorce got finalized."

It took her a second, but I think she was a little angry realizing I'd deceived her. She scowled and snapped, "You put me through hell, you know that? I already hated myself for what I did, but thinking you were seeing other women was torture." I might have begun to regret hurting Andrea, but I found it hard to be sympathetic; with the misery she'd put me through, she damn well deserved it.

"Well then, maybe you got a taste of what I was feeling," I snapped back, "finding out the love of my life was planning to fuck another guy with a bigger dick."

That one hit home. Andrea's face drained of color, and she looked down at the floor in shame. This was quickly turning us from two hurt spouses into a couple of emotional heavyweight boxers exchanging shots to the heart. We were about to take our daughter to the aquarium, going with this misery between us was going to ruin the day. I had to do something.

"Looked, Andrea," I said, trying to be sympathetic, "I'm not saying it was the right thing to do, but you hurt me like I'd never been hurt before, and I wanted to hurt you back, at least a little. But it's over now, and there's no more secrets at least from my side. I'm not totally sorry for being cruel to you, but what I am sorry about is my losing sight of how us hating each other might cause Chloe trauma in the future. If all we're going to do is keep cruelly one-upping each other, it's better for Chloe if we let things end and just concentrate on being civil."

And there it was. I'd admitted my wrong-doing, extending an olive branch to the woman I'd loved above all others, but also the woman who'd hurt me like no one else could. We'd finally reached the end of the relationship and resolved things; with tensions relaxed, I thought the two of us could live in peace until the divorce was finalized, then go our separate ways.

Andrea's thoughts, however, differed from mine. She shocked me by stepping in close and wrapping her arms around me, her clothed body pressed against my naked chest. I felt the cold of my wedding ring on her chain necklace pressed against my sternum. My dick, which had gone soft, began to harden again.

"Daniel, we don't hate each other," she said in a low voice, "if you were true to your vows and there's never been anyone else, that means you still love me, right?"

It pissed me off that Andrea would even ask that. "I won't dignify that question with an answer," I scoffed, 'the fact I refused to ever consider dipping my dick where it didn't belong should tell you everything you need to know." Stepping away from her, I added, "What's not clear is how you feel."

Andrea quickly shot back, "I chased you here to Seattle to and begged to get you back, doesn't say something?"

I felt like I was on a damned emotional roller-coaster. I'd gotten calmed down now I was angry again. Trying to not shout, I told her, "All that tells me is you realized too late that you'd made a mistake and backed the wrong horse. Maybe you'd finally figured out what a cheating bastard your ex-husband is, despite his dick size. Who knows?" Did I say emotional roller-coaster? No, this was more like a runaway train.

"But I hadn't made the decision yet. I was torn," she asserted.

I began putting on the clean clothes I'd stacked on the bathroom counter. Trying to stay balanced, I pulled my briefs on while shielding myself from her sight. Not wanting Chloe to hear us fighting, I hissed, "Torn? Bullshit! Andrea, if you really loved me, there would have been no decision to be made! Besides, you'd already concocted a cover story to spend the weekend with him, so it's kind of obvious who you were going to go with!"

"Daniel, please," she begged, "I already told you, I made that up as a cover story in case I decided to meet Dwight, but I never did!"

Still trying to keep my voice low, I explained, "You say you never actually slept with him, and I kind of believe you, but I'm sure you did plenty of other things. I keep picturing you two naked together, that asshole's lips on yours, your hands and mouth on his big dick, and his hands on your tits and ass! How do you think we'll reconcile with those images in my head?"

Straightening herself up to her full height -- at 6'3", always impressive -- and thrusting her chest forward -- equally as impressive -- she stated very slowly and deliberately, "Daniel, I swear to you I only kissed him lightly a few times when he took me to lunch."

Ticking off her fingers for emphasis, "I haven't been naked with Dwight since before our divorce, I have not touched or kissed his penis, and did not let him touch my breasts, my ass, or any other part of me that was exclusively yours."

Buttoning up my shirt, I noticed the fourth button on Andrea's shirt had somehow come undone. I saw she had no bra on, and the inside curvature of her breasts were barely visible. I could also make out the bumps of her nipples under the flannel. It was all incredibly distracting, but I maintained my composure, responding, "That may be true, Andrea, but you were definitely considering it."

"I can't deny that I was, but in my defense, I didn't. You may find this hard to believe, but although Lisa was really pressuring me, I still didn't feel right about going away with Dwight. It was almost like she was forcing me to do it." I was going to blurt out an angry response, but Andrea held up her hand. "I know, I know. I was an idiot. At 49 years old, I had no business taking advice from someone who I later realized was only pretending to be my friend."

Taking a step closer, Andrea gently took my left hand and placed it over the ring hanging in her cleavage. Twenty-four hours earlier I would have snatched my hand away from her warm flesh like it was an open flame, but having my head clamped between her thighs last night and being in proximity of her perfect tits now had seriously weakened my resolve. Not unexpectedly, I felt my dick stir within the confines of my briefs. Seeing her eyes flick momentarily downwards towards my crotch, I hoped she didn't notice.

Using the soft, intimate tone usually reserved for right after we'd made love, Andrea semi-whispered in my ear, "Daniel, as far as I'm concerned you're my man. I did a horrible thing, and I promise if it takes me the rest of my life, I'll make it up to you. I'll make those pictures in your mind disappear." She moved my hand from the rings, slipping it beneath the flannel material to press her right nipple into my palm.