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I was 30 when I got married and 34 when I got divorced. In spite of the way it ended, I don’t think there was any way to know at the time that things wouldn’t work out. My wife was smart, funny, and pretty, and we shared a lot of interests. We were both voracious readers, enjoyed traveling, shared the same circle of friends, and neither of us was much of a drinker or partier. I suppose the problem was that we waited a long time to get married, and by the time we did, we had both almost reached that point where we decided on separate paths and different emphases in our lives.
Sandi was a teacher out of college, but she had enough of that after four years and decided to go back to law school when she was 26. I was a researcher at a hedge fund. I was good at what I did, but I’ve never had much professional ambition. I always preferred to work hard from 8 to 5 and have my nights and weekends to myself. So while my younger colleagues were busting their asses and getting promoted around me, I stayed where I was, largely forgotten by the company. About the time we got married, I explicitly decided that this was how I wanted it to be. I developed a lot of outside interests—running, swimming, foreign cinema, ancient history—and told myself that work would be a means to the end of enjoying life and my new interests. At about the same time, Sandi started getting noticed at the law firm where she was an associate. She started putting in long hours and weekends, and believed that contentment was always around the next bend. By the time she made partner two years into our marriage, she had developed a taste for the “good life,” by which I mean expensive cars, jewelry, working vacations, and bad but popular restaurants—in short, all of the shit that is scientifically proven to not make people happy.
To make matters worse, our sex life had never been very good. I was very attracted to her, but she wasn’t at all adventurous in bed. We were a bit on and off while we were dating, so part of me believed that she just needed a firm commitment from me in order to let herself go in bed. That turned out not be the case. I could never tell if she was fucking me just because that’s what married people did, or if there was some part of her that really wanted me to fuck her. She was never a big fan of giving or receiving head, but it wasn’t long after we were married that she basically stopped doing it at all. I had to ask her to suck my cock, and in my view, there are few things more demoralizing than begging for a blowjob from a woman who can’t tell if she’s more bored or disgusted by what she’s doing. I tried telling her about fantasies while we were fucking—nothing at all very exotic—but she never once took the hint and reciprocated or acted on any of the things I told her.
Long story short, I couldn’t take it anymore, and asked her for a divorce. It wasn’t out of the blue obviously, and she certainly wasn’t happy with me before that, but she felt wronged by my decision. She interpreted the fact that I had a lot of professional potential that I chose not to fulfill as somehow disrespectful towards her. Beyond that, because she wasn’t very interested in sex, an unsatisfying love life seemed to her like a ridiculous reason to end a marriage. So we parted on ambivalent terms, she bought me out of our house in the suburbs, and I I eventually got a two-bedroom condo in the neighborhood where our first apartment together was. I never once doubted that I had made the right choice.
A few months before Sandi and I started falling apart, a new girl started work in the HR department at my company. Her name was Alison. She was a pale Midwesterner, very short, maybe 5′ 2″, quiet, plain, and somewhat overweight, but she had pretty eyes, a cute nose that was just a tiny bit crooked, and a dry, biting sense of humor (once you got to know her) that you almost never find in a woman.
I said hi to Alison in the cafeteria one day when we were both sitting alone reading, and we got to talking. She had just graduated from the University of Iowa and moved to Chicago because her older sister lived here. It turned out that she had an encyclopedic knowledge of The Simpsons, loved Monty Python, and could quote entire Thomas Hardy poems by heart. She was one of the coolest people I had met in a long time, and I found her very sexy in spite of her weight, though I had no plans to act on it. Things were bad enough with Sandi and I didn’t want to further complicate them. I think I also had a feeling that the situation with my marriage was coming to a head, so I was content to let it unfold in its own time without doing the unconsciously self-destructive things people often do to provoke a crisis.
Once Ali and I started having lunch regularly and talking in the halls, some of the young male researchers and analysts—most of them douchebags just out of college who knew fuck-all about women—would ask me about her with shit-eating, mirthless grins. On one of the few nights when I joined them for drinks after work, one of them got pretty loaded and started making lewd remarks about Ali, asking if I was halkalı escort a chubby chaser, etc. I feigned laughter and leaned over so that no one else could hear what I whispered in his hear, which was that, whether or not he apologized, I was probably going to wait for him to leave the bar and then knock a few of his teeth down his throat. His face went gray, and he ended up sneaking away via the bathroom 15 minutes later, but my only half-serious threat did the trick; he obviously told all his friends about what had happened, and nobody ever said a word to me about Ali again.
When the divorce started going forward, things got pretty bad for me. Work suddenly got busy, I was still living in the house but sleeping in the guest room, and I was trying to find a condo at the same time because I didn’t want to move twice. There were some bad scenes with Sandi, and I felt like a zombie at work most days. At the same time, Ali was doing some traveling to our other offices in California, Germany, and the UK, which was good and bad: bad because it would have been nice to be able to talk to her about what was going on, but good because, as I said, it wasn’t the time for me to get distracted thinking about another relationship. We barely saw each other for about a month, though we talked via email and IM pretty regularly. She was having a good time and learning a lot, and her boss had told her that she was likely on track for an assistant directorship if she kept doing as well as she had been. I was very happy for her.
She got back around the same time I found my condo. We had made plans the week before, when she was in London, to have lunch the following Friday, since I was going to be out most of the week before that dealing with the inspectors, the title company, and the movers. I had already bought my lunch and sat down when I saw her come into the cafeteria. She had really transformed: she looked like she had lost about 15 pounds, and was made up and dressed much more sharply than usual.
“Whoa,” I said, “look at you! What’s this new look? Dressing the part of an aspiring assistant director, I see.” She laughed and sat down opposite me with a big smile. I think for a moment she was going to hug me, but then remembered where we were.
“And you’re looking the part of an exhausted aspiring divorcé,” she said sympathetically. “Have you been getting any sleep at all?” I knew I looked like hell—dark circles, rumpled clothes, the works. She opened her purse and pulled out one of those cans of diet protein shakes.
“Yeah, well, whatever. I’m bored thinking and talking about that. Tell me about your trip.” She talked for about ten minutes straight about work and travel, and about how her horizons had been expanded. It was great to see her so excited about something. People with an extremely dry wit tend to be cynical, and I sometimes worried that she was too jaded for somebody who hadn’t even seen anything of the world yet. But today she acted—and looked—completely different.
“So since that’s apparently all your going to have for lunch,” I said, pointing to her shake “I guess it’s not out of line for me to comment on how good you look. You really look like you lost a lot of weight.”
“Not out of line at all,” she said, smiling wide and shaking her head. “I started working out early in the morning at the gyms of the all the swanky hotels we were staying in. Plus, we were working so hard that I barely ate anything, and the pounds just started coming off. So I made a resolution to keep it up, and when I got back I joined a gym and got a personal trainer who now runs my entire life,” she laughed. “You know what else? I used to think that no matter what I looked like, as long as I did a good job I would get ahead. But just a few months into my first job, I can see that that’s bullshit. Look at all the people in the executive suite here—unless they were born with money, most of them are tall and good looking, and half of them have no talent at all. So rather than get indignant about it, I just said to myself, ‘Fuck it—their game, their rules.’ And here I am,” she said, “and best of all, I feel fantastic.”
We saw more and more of each other at work over the next two months. There was definitely unspoken anticipation in the air between us as I waited for my closing date, which meant that I would finally have a place of my own and no reason to leave the city every night for a depressing encounter with my soon-to-be ex-wife. Ali was looking better and better every day. She was getting a lot of attention from the executives now, and she would tell me hilarious stories about the awkward advances they were making towards her now that they realized she existed. Once she stopped dressing frumpily, it was possible to get an idea of her figure. Things were going so perfectly between us that I wasn’t at all surprised to find that she had my ideal shape: curvy and voluptuous, with nice, athletic legs, wide hips, and big, beautiful tits. I was so enraptured with the latter that one day at lunch, while she was talking about someone in ikitelli escort her department that she would like to fire if she ever got the opportunity, I suddenly realized with embarrassment how much time I was spending looking at and admiring her cleavage. I looked up at her and shook my head a little in an effort to concentrate. She stopped talking for just a second and smiled knowingly, and I knew that she knew exactly what I was thinking.
The Friday night after my closing, with my new condo filled with unpacked boxes and a mattress with no box spring on the floor of my bedroom, Ali and I went with a small group of the few people at work I didn’t mind spending time with to a bar on Rush Street to celebrate my new beginning. Neither of us was dinking very heavily, and I knew that she knew that we would be going home together that night. It was exciting as hell to think about, though I started getting a queasy feeling when a little voice piped up in my head and said, “Ah, another career girl, eh? What if you get back to your bedroom with her tonight only to find that you’ve caught another little hottie who’s uncomfortable with her own body and only wants to fuck you face-to-face? You’re already such good friends—are you going to have the guts to cut this one loose?” It was a stupid thing to start worrying about, but one of those big life failures like a divorce can really fuck with your head.
I drowned out that little voice with a shot of tequila (Ali took one too), then leaned over to her and said, “So how much longer are we required to stay here and celebrate the new condo that I want to take you back to right now?” It was just before 9pm, and the sky was not quite dark yet. She leaned towards me, put her hand on my upper thigh whispered back, “I’ll go out and get a cab.”
We were walking into my building by 9:10, holding hands and swaying just a little—whether from the tequila or the arousal, I’ll never know. I lived on the ground floor, and when I opened the door and turned on the living room light, I was ready to give her a perfunctory tour of the place, But before I could open my mouth she three her arms around me and starting kissing me, as if to head off any waste of time I had planned that might detract from our first night together. Her mouth was fresh and tasted just a little like the mixed drink she had ordered right before the tequila. I was instantly hard, and as soon as I had put my arms around her waist, she jumped up, wrapped her legs around me and started pulling off my tie and unbuttoning my shirt. I practically ran with her into the bedroom, where we both undressed each other in no time. She pushed me down on the bed and then got down on all fours in front of me.
“I hope you don’t think this is too forward,” she said, “but we’ve known each other for months, we’ve talked plenty, and now I just want to do what I’ve been dying to do since you introduced yourself, which is to get that beautiful cock in my mouth.” I practically came right then and there, and realized that that little voice in my head had gotten it wrong for the last time.
Her mouth was hot and wet, and she used her tongue with an expertise far beyond her years. I opened my eyes after the initial lightheadedness subsided, and saw her head bobbing up and down on my rock-hard dick. She was holding herself up with one hand, and holding her hair back with the other so that I wouldn’t miss a second of the masterful blowjob she was treating me to. I could see her gorgeous, pale boobs swaying to the rhythm of her sucking, and at one point, when she pulled back from my cock to take an admiring look at it, a thick rope of her saliva and my precum stretched between her lips and my swollen, purple head, then collapsed under its own weight onto my hardwood floor. For me, in the end, it’s all about aesthetics, and that was the scene that did me in. I knew instantly that I was in love with Ali—and that I was about to blow a huge load of jizz all over her.
She saw that I was about to come and pounced back on my prick like some jungle predator, now kneeling with both hands free to cup my balls and knead my ass as she sucked. I bucked my hips as I exploded into her mouth, and she greedily swallowed every drop of it. She kept me in her mouth for a full minute after I came, running her tongue around my shaft, studying every vein and contour for future application.
By the time I recovered enough energy to pull her off my cock, my mouth was watering for a taste of her. I shoved the mattress head up against the wall and lay down on it on my back. “Come here,” I said to her, “time to saddle up.” She knew exactly what I had in mind. She crawled up beside me, swung her knee over my face, and lowered herself down onto my mouth with a sigh of contentment. I began by running my whole tongue lightly up and down a few times over her completely shaved pussy, which made her shudder and moan. I looked up and saw her hands pressed against the wall, heard her breathing heavily, and saw her looking directly into my eyes. I was ecstatic that she liked to watch istanbul escort too, and I was determined to put on a good show for her. I kissed her pussy gently, making love to it with the greatest care. Then I started drawing little circles around her clit with just the tip of my tongue, careful not to actually touch the button until I was ready. This was almost too much for her, and she began to move her hips in time with my tongue. Her little groans of ecstasy were growing louder and louder as I zeroed in on her clit. The second that I brushed it with the tip of my tongue, she began convulsing and screaming, “Oh God! Oh fuck!” which made me hard all over again. I squeezed her ass tightly with both hands and increased the pressure on her clit, which brought her off immediately.
She collapsed on top of me, then rolled off on her side with her back to me. She was breathing like she had just run a race and twitching every few seconds as the orgasm radiated throughout her body and slowly melted away. I kissed and bit her neck while I ran my fingertips around her nipples. As her breathing slowed, she lifted her right leg and grabbed my hard-on. She rubbed the head a few times over her cunt, lubricating it before she slid it inside her. We fucked lazily like that for a long time, and I ran one hand up and down the side of her smooth, beautiful body while I held a fistful of her soft hair in the other. From the noises she was making and the way she surrendered to the more forceful tugs I would make when I thrust especially deep inside her, I could tell already that she liked it kind of rough. This realization was like a little peek at the vistas of unexplored pleasure that awaited me and Ali. A few seconds later, I came inside her for the second time in a half hour. She turned to me and smiled.
The next month was beyond blissful for me. She came over to my place nearly every night (I gave her a key within the first week), and our repertoire expanded quickly. Among her favorite things were for me to fuck her from behind while spanking her ass and biting her on the back hard enough to leave marks. She also loved it when I grabbed hold of her hair tightly while she was sucking my cock and forced her head where I wanted it to go. For my part, I loved fucking her soft, gorgeous tits and coming all over them. And her handjobs…
I had always fantasized about being tied up and getting jerked off. I told Ali about it one night right before we fell asleep. The next day, when I got home from work, I found her sitting on my bedroom floor with a glass of wine on one side of her and a bottle of lubricant on the other. She was wearing a tight navy blue suit that I had told her I thought was sexy, and a scoop neck white silk blouse with a string of pearls. She had tied lengths of rope to the foot of my bed and to the base of my dresser. I opened my mouth to speak, but she put her finger in front of her mouth to silence me.
My heart was pounding as I got undressed and lay down in front of her. She tied my hands first with the ropes from the dresser, yanking the knot tightly, and then my feet, making sure the ropes and my body were taught. She squirted some cold lube onto my hot prick, and began rubbing it in with just the tip of her index finger while she raised the wine glass to her mouth and drank. She took her time teasing me and running her nails up and down my shaft. Even when she finally started jerking me in earnest, she would stop every twenty seconds or so and let my rigid cock snap back onto my abdomen like a mousetrap, throbbing in anticipation of her touch. At one point she slowly unbuttoned her blouse, undid her lacy bra, and lowered her beautiful breasts over me as if she were going to engulf my cock in their warmth. But she never so much as brushed them with her nipples. She knew how much I lusted after the feel of those tits around my prick, and she used that lust to torture me. After about an hour of this I was almost drained by the intensity of the game. Sensing I was reaching my limit, she let me drop one last time, got up on her knees, and straddled my thighs, which further immobilized me. With a wicked grin, she grabbed hold of my cock with both hands and pumped it fast and hard until I shot a gusher of cum all over myself and her forearms.
She stopped for only a second as I lay exhausted and gasping for breath. Then, as my cock reached the height of its post-orgasmic sensitivity, she started jerking me again slowly and rubbing her thumb around the head of my prick until I begged her to stop—which she didn’t do, of course. The louder and more earnestly I begged, the wickeder her smile grew. She was in heaven. The intensity of the erotic discomfort made me shudder uncontrollably, and the impotence of those shudders against the firmness of the knots she had tied and the weight of her on my legs created a chemical flood in my brain that exceeded in heightened awareness any drug I had ever tried. It was pure torment—for a split second I would want to kill her, then just as quickly I would feel an overwhelming desire to merge with her body and become one. The back-and-forth seemed to last an unbearably long time, and then… she stopped. She laid my cock gently down, undid the ropes, and lay down beside me. We kissed deeply, then got in bed together and slept until 3am, when we woke up together and made love for a long time without saying a word.
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