The Art Of Divorce free porn video

It took me a while, but I’ve finally discovered what’s wrong with women. Men; no doubt about it, men are the problem.
As I sit here in this bus stop shelter, smelling the leftover piss, from the derelicts that sleep here when no one is around, I can see all of my mistakes, and they’re crystal clear in the rear view mirror of my mind.
I’ve got about an hour, so I can tell you about this chunk of my life. My life isn’t exactly going the way I’d hoped. In fact right now it’s an absolute disaster. I’ve been forced to take a long hard look at the way I live and treat people. But I’m still relatively young, so I can come back from this.
My biggest mistake was in believing that men would do the right thing. Neither of the men involved in my story did the right thing. Truthfully my idea of the right thing, is whatever is best for me, but I guess neither of them realized that.
My other mistake was in believing that other women would also act according to the rules and principles that I think keeps life organized. The other woman in the story was not supposed just swoop in and grab my toys before I was done playing with them.
So now I find myself taking this embarrassing bus ride back to my parent’s house to try and rebuild my life in the hick town that I was so eager to escape from. I’m sure those small town tongues will be wagging when I get there. It will definitely not be the triumphant return that I expected, but it’s not all my fault.
I’m a victim of conditioning. People are supposed to act a certain way around me, and when they don’t I guess I don’t make good decisions.
Men have always told me the same stuff since I was a little girl. “Oh Kathy, you’re beautiful; I’d do anything for you.”
They call me Kathy because that’s my name. I’m an apple in a world of pears and that makes me stand out. Being an apple means that my tits are bigger than my ass. Don’t kid yourself, look around there’s lots of pears out there but not too many apples.
Anyway my long naturally straight blonde hair and crystal clear blue eyes don’t hurt me much either. My daddy always said that I was destined to do great things and be a success in life.
Throughout my life thus far there has only been one boy for me Raphe Jenkins. He was the cutest boy in my school, and therefore in town. I latched onto him in the first grade and just never let go. He wasn’t as driven as I was, but he always played his part. When we got to high-school and I became a cheerleader, he had to get on the football team, or lose me. He didn’t like football much, so I had to motivate him to excel. He was a running back so I’d just tell him that when he got the ball that I’d stand under the goal-posts, and anybody that stopped him from reaching me could have some pussy. That lit a fire under him, because Raphe loved my pussy, and he hated sharing. By our senior year, Raphe had more touchdowns than any other player in the school’s history. He probably could’ve gone to college on a football scholarship, but that wasn’t in my plans.
Right out of high-school, we got married and moved to California. Raphe was a very good carpenter, and he got a lot of jobs around the city, so he could put me through college. While there I got my associates degree in business, and started working at the bank to gain experience. The first experience I gained was the fact that some of the people who worked in the bank, spent more money in a week on lunch than we spent on rent. They wore beautiful clothes, and drove expensive cars instead of pickup trucks. In short, they were living the life that I wanted. I’d spent a lot of time in school cultivating the correct image and losing my southern accent, now was the time for me to make my mark.
I started having Raphe drop me off, a block away from the bank in the morning, and pick me up a block away as well. That way no one would ever see me getting out of his old truck. Raphe was a good guy and I loved him in my own way, but there was no way I wanted anyone to see me in that truck.
One of the officers at the bank took a liking to me, and started helping me to develop into the person I wanted to be. I in turn helped him with a little problem he had whenever he was around me. It wasn’t that big of a problem; his dick just seemed to stand straight up whenever I was around. Like I said it wasn’t that big a problem since it was only about 4 inches long. I hardly even felt it when we had sex so I didn’t really think of it, as cheating. I knew that Raphe wouldn’t see it that way so I was careful that he never found out.
Anyway he started introducing me to the right kinds of people, and finally introduced me to Smith Benson. Was that classy or what, the man has 2 last names. Even his first name is a last name. Anyway Smith (that’s his first name) fell for me in a big way. He was an account executive for an entertainment representation firm. They handled all kinds of stars and athletes in a number of fields. I didn’t care which field it was as long as there weren’t any crops growing in it. Smith drove a Silver BMW. It was the most beautiful car I’d ever seen. He got me a job as his assistant, no more days as a bank teller for me.
From the very start I knew that Smith was interested in me, after all he was a man. I watched his progress trying to get into my pants and realized that as rich and powerful as he was, or as I thought he was, that I had power over him. For the first few weeks, I kept everything above board and business like. But I had to be careful too, because if I made him wait too long, he’d replace me with someone who would give him what he wanted. I intended to give it to him too; I just wanted something in return.
He took me to lunch in a different fancy restaurant every day. He got my hair done, and even started to buy me clothes and things. I explained to Raphe, that Smith was just trying to make sure that my clothes and manners didn’t call adverse attention to me, in the company we were keeping at work. Raphe, the jealous little boy that he was, had threatened to bust Smith’s ass, if he so much as laid a finger on me.
I think he followed us a couple of times as we went to lunch so I had to do something to get him off of our track. Raphe still didn’t like the thought of sharing me with anybody else, go figure.
Smith and I had one of his mysterious clients coming in, she was an artist from France, and had a big following all over the world. She was coming to the United States for the 1st time for a show. She was going to be here for a month before the show to finalize her new pieces. This presented an opportunity for us, I told Smith.
“What’s on your mind Kathleen?” he asked.
“Where is Amanda staying when she gets here?” I asked.
“We have an apartment/studio rented for her,” he replied.
“Do you have any carpentry work that needs to be done there?” I asked again.
“Well there are a few things that could be done, why?” he asked.
“Because, if you hired my husband to do it, we’d know exactly where he was and when, so we’d be able to be together without worrying about him finding us, and busting your ass.”
So Smith called Raphe and had him come over for a meeting 2 days later. They worked out all of the details, and Smith gave Raphe the keys, and they shook hands as Raphe left.
Smith then came over to me and told me to pay him for hiring Raphe. I knew exactly what he wanted, because his payments usually involved my 2 friends, Kneel and Bob.

Everything should have been perfect. Smith had gotten us a room, at a motel clear across town from the apartment complex Raphe was working at.
What was Raphe doing near the motel? You can train a puppy not to shit on your rugs, but you can’t train a man to do anything. Raphe was driving past the motel, because the motel happened to be located near the only fucking Burger Queen restaurant in town. When he saw Smith’s BMW, he waited outside the motel and saw us coming out.
Of course Smith and I didn’t know Raphe had seen us, we thought we had gotten away with it. Smith was happy, and I was disappointed but happy as well. I was disappointed because by now I had cheated on Raphe with 2 big city types and neither one of them had any idea that they hadn’t rung my bell. Sex with Smith was every bit as boring as with Mr. 4 inch Jones at the bank. At least I could have my cake and eat it too.
I could let Smith warm me up whenever we got together, then go home and let Raphe fuck the living shit out of me.

Raphe

I couldn’t believe that I saw Kathy coming out of a motel with that slimy ass boss of hers. I guess she was just too fancy for me now. She had been spending so much time with al of her big city cohorts that she was just too sophisticated for a country boy.
Well if that’s what she wants she’s welcome to it, I won’t bother her. I called a friend of mine back home and he said I should call a lawyer about a divorce, so that’s what I did. It’s gonna be kind of expensive, so I’m gonna have to keep working. It’s like that joke from the dukes of Hazard movie. “Why are divorces so expensive? Because they’re worth it.”
The lawyer had set me up with a Private investigator to get evidence, to prove my claim. He also told me that since we had no kids, and were both working that if I could prove infidelity, I wouldn’t have to pay Kathy any kind of alimony or support. That’s what I wanted just to be free of her.
At the same time I still loved her so much. I just couldn’t imagine why she would do this to me. Yeah, I could, why should I lie to myself. From the first grade, me and Kathy had both been in love with the same person, her. We always did, what she wanted, only this time I guess what she wants, she needs someone else to help her get.
I drove over to the apartment that I was supposed to be working in. I hoped that they’d have a microwave there so I could warm up my food from Burger Queen.
This should be an easy job, but it would be time consuming. I had to build a series of easels and stands in different rooms of the apartment, and a few on the deck out back. This was so the person that was going to live here could paint or do whatever they did, where ever they wanted. I was also supposed to look around the place to see if anything needed to be repaired. If I could do the repairs, I was supposed to do them and bill Slimy Smith for the work. If it was outside of my capabilities or comfort zone, I was to notify Smith so he could have it done before his client arrived.
As I opened the door, I noticed that it squeaked and kind of stuck when I tried to open it. I’d put that on the bill, and charge Slimy Smith fifty bucks for a shot of WD-40.
In the kitchen, among all of the state of the art appliances I found a microwave.
It was a really nice one too. As my burgers were heating up, I sat down at the table in the breakfast nook. I started thinking about Kathy again. There was no way I wanted to stay married to her, she was a….. Try as I might even now I couldn’t think of anything bad to call her. I guess I wasn’t wired that way.
I was pulled from my revelry by a sound. I wasn’t quite sure I’d heard it, maybe I imagined it. But it sounded as though someone had gone up the back stairway really quietly, like they were only wearing socks.
I probably did imagine it. I ate my burgers while the smell of charcoal grilled beef permeated the apartment.
I measured all of the open walls in the rooms that I was told to put the easels in. I had a better idea in a couple of the rooms it made more sense to build racks in front of the walls.
Once I had all of the measurements done for the interior, I looked at the outside. I had an idea here too. I thought I build the easel out here inside of an enclosure so that wind or rain or dust wouldn’t damage any pictures or whatever was going on. After that I cleaned up my mess and went home.
Kathy was there already. She was wearing one of those slinky night sets that she liked to lounge around in. I remember when she used to look just as good, if not better, in one of my old shirts or T-shirts. But she was too sophisticated for that now.
She came over towards me, and I pretended to have to put my tool belt away as she reached for a hug.
“Raphe did you eat, yet Hon?”
I wondered why the hell, she was asking me that. She can’t cook, and I don’t smell any food that she brought in.
What if I was hungry, was she just going to pull my dinner out of her ass?
“Yep”, I said, “I had Burgers.”
I guess I was hoping that she’d remember that I only liked Burgers from 1 place.
She knew that even though there was a McClowny’s restaurant on every corner, I only liked Burger Queen. The only one in town was right near the motel she’d spent part of her afternoon in.
“Well good,” she said, “Maybe we can spend some quality time together then.”
I noticed 2 things right off the bat. The first was that her fake city accent was gone and she was talking like she did when we first got here 3 years ago. That meant that she wanted something. The 2nd was that she smelled like she’d just taken a shower, and cleaned herself up. Getting rid of the evidence I guessed. She’d just been out fucking old Slimy Smith, did she really need even more sex, or was this just her way of fooling me into thinking that nothing was going on. I’m not as sophisticated as Kathy and Smith, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid.
I could have gone to college, I did have a lot of scholarship offers, and my grades were better than Kathy’s, but when we got here, I had to make the money so she could go to school.
She sashayed over to the bedroom door and just leaned in the doorway. I guess I was supposed to trip over my dick running after her. I just played it cool instead. I spread out my measurements on the kitchen table and pretended to go over them.
“Sweetheart I have to make sure that all of my figures are correct for this job,” I said.
“If I do anything wrong, it would reflect badly on you to your boss.”
“And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” I asked.
“I’ll be in soon,” I said.
She pouted but she went on into the bedroom anyway. She wasn’t used to not getting her way, but soon enough she’d be able to do things any way she wanted because I’d be gone. My heart ached, but I knew this was the right thing to do. My daddy had always told me that when you’re in a bad situation, the right thing to do was usually the one that hurt the most.

Kathy

I couldn’t believe that Raphe, my Raphe was making me wait to have sex. He should have jumped in here at the first glance. Normally as soon as he came through the door he was looking at me like a stallion in heat. And now not only was he not all over me, he was making me wait. Smith, and every other man I know, would do anything to get between my legs and I’ve got Raphe making me wait. I lay down on the bed with my legs just slightly parted. I wanted him to see the matching top and also the thong panties of the night set I was wearing. This set was perfect it was baby blue to set off my eyes. My breasts were barely contained in the top and it could be released with one tug, my ass like I said, wasn't anything to write home about but the right frame makes any picture better, and these panties were the right frame. They were so tiny they made my ass look fuller.
Smith had loved the way I looked in this set. Unfortunately, the whole thing had only taken about 10 minutes. We checked into the room, he had to make a couple business calls while I changed. He came in saw me, took his clothes off, pulled the string of the panties aside stuck his dick in me, grunted and thrust about 8 times and then just laid down next to me. I thought he was taking a break or switching positions but he was done. He even came inside me, what a fucking prick. He was starting to fall asleep until he saw the way I was looking at him. Then he just looked up at me and asked me if I wanted to do it again.
When I said "Oh yeah, I can hardly wait," he didn't realize that I was being sarcastic.
There was no foreplay, no touching, Raphe usually spends more time just eating my pussy, than Smith and I spent in the motel. I think it takes me longer to suck Smith's dick than we spent in the motel. Shit, Raphe had better hurry up and get in here.
I started imagining exactly what I wanted my husband to do to me, and I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew it was 3 a.m. and Raphe was already in bed beside me. The unusual thing was that normally even if I went to bed first, when I awoke the next morning Raphe would always be spooned up behind me. Even if we'd had one of our rare arguments, it was just how we slept. He used to say that we gravitated towards each other in the night. But not only was he not next to me, he was all the way on the other side of the bed, and he was facing away from me. I slowly rolled towards him and put my leg over his leg and hip, but he didn't react. I gently tapped him on the shoulder, no result. Finally when I shook him awake, he yawned and asked me what I wanted.
"Nothing Raphe, just go back to sleep," I said angrily.
I'm not sure but I think there was a hint of a smile on his lips, as he turned back away from me. This should have been a wake-up call for me that something, other than the things I had done was wrong in my marriage, but I failed to see it.
The next morning when I woke up to get ready for work, Raphe was already gone.
For the first time that I could remember he hadn't kissed me goodbye or said anything to me before he left. It was one of those things I could never cure him of. He always told me that if he got hurt or died, or I did, he didn't want us to go into the next life without having told me he loved me, or kissed me one last time. Raphe was a puppy; he wasn't a complicated entity so I never thought that he had any kind of plan or that anything was going on. But he had never refused, or said no to sex with me.
In high school Raphe got tackled and had a groin sprain, he supposedly couldn't move his lower body at all, without a lot of pain. When I visited him, with his mom, I asked him what he wanted. He lifted his eyebrows in a way to let me know that pain or no pain, he wanted pussy. His mom said she had to talk to the doctors for a few minutes, we fucked. It was that simple. I've heard that every man has times when he can't perform, and we are in our mid twenties now so maybe last night he was just tired. But why was he sleeping away from me. I still needed Raphe in my life, and in my own way I loved him, more than anyone else in the world. I knew I loved him far more than any feelings I had for Smith. But Smith was my ticket to the life I needed, and Raphe would never find out about him.

Raphe

I got out of the house as early as I could. I was really worried that Kathy would want to have wake up sex. It was strange, that I could go from totally enraptured, to total revulsion in 24 hours but here I was. Stranger still was the fact that emotionally, I still loved her so much and wanted for us to fix this. But the thought of having sex with her; the thought of putting my lips, or even my dick anywhere near that hole she gave Smith made me want to throw up.
So I found myself driving over to the Home Depot near the apartment before the sun came up. It was open at 6 a.m. I ordered my materials from contractor supply, and went to get coffee while my order was filled. I looked through their Tool section and got new blades for my jig saw and my circular saw. By the time I was done there, they were calling me to tell me that my order had been filled. I got receipts for all of the items to present to Smith for re-imbursement, and then I drove to the site.
As I pulled up in front of the apartment, I could swear the light was on, on the upper floor. I pulled into the driveway and when I looked again it was off. Maybe I’d mistaken which unit was lit up. It didn’t matter anyway since they were all dark now.
The person that Smith was leasing the apartment for wasn’t due to be there for a few weeks, so no one should be here now.
I got the keys out and started unloading my materials. First I moved everything from my truck to the large living room area. Then using the sketches and measurements I’d taken the previous day, I divided the load up into smaller packages and moved each package into the room it was designed for. The remaining materials, for the outdoor deck, stayed in the living room. I’d probably do the deck last and I didn’t want my wood ruined if it rained.
After all of that unloading and lugging heavy pieces around, it was time for a break. So I sat down to drink my coffee. I probably should have kept moving because as soon as I sat down my mind went back to Kathy. I imagined her doing all kinds of things with Smith that I was too dumb and countrified to know about. I remembered back when we first got to California, how I’d had to work for a contracting firm until I got my license and was barely able to keep food on our table, and pay Kath’s tuition. For that first year, every time she took another class we ate tuna or bologna for a week or two, so we could buy her text books. She was becoming a success and leaving me behind. I didn’t regret a single one of the things I’d done or given up for her. It just hurt so bad that she’d betray me like this. I couldn’t help it, the thought of living the rest of my life without her, had me desolate. Before I could stop them the tears started rolling down my cheeks and I had to bite my lips hard to stifle the urge to just break down and really cry.
It was OK for a few stray tears to escape under situations of extremely high emotion, but to just sit here bawling, was just not manly. Since my daddy didn’t raise no bitches, I wasn’t going to start crying now. As I wiped the tears away, I swear I saw movement at the top of the stairs. When I got my eyes clear, there was no one there.
I went back out to the truck to get my tool belt, and strangely enough felt better after the emotional release. The vibration at my side scared the shit out of me, and I nearly jumped through the ceiling. It was only my cell phone. I looked at the display and saw that it was Kathy, so I didn’t answer it. I needed to start preparing myself for the time when she’d no longer be in my life. I didn’t let myself think about where she was, or what she’d be doing. I’d know everything she did and with whom by the end of the day anyway. The PI would give me daily reports until we had enough hard evidence to go to court with.
I started framing the rack in the living room. The way I designed it the rack would be able to support canvasses and framed pictures in almost any width or height. There’d be adjustment bars every 3 feet so two or more pieces of differing dimensions could be viewed or worked on next to each other. For the living room I thought I would do one rack on the west wall and one opposite it on the east wall. If I built them that way the racks wouldn’t interfere with either the entry way or the fireplace. I started cutting the lengths of wood I’d need, then I drilled holes for the screws and bolts to assemble them.
I decided against cutting and drilling all of the wood at the same time, because I wanted to see how well the first one would work before I committed and possibly wasted all of my materials if the design was flawed. Also I started thinking that it might be good to have at least one rack complete just in case this guy got here early. Artists were known for being flaky so who knows what could happen.
By this time it was nearly lunch time and I knew where I wanted to go. Back to Burger Queen, damn those burgers were good.

So I got back in my truck, and headed over to the drive through, on the way over, I noticed Smith’s car parked outside the motel again. This time in a fit of rage I stopped, I caught myself though as I remembered my lawyer’s advice on doing anything stupid.
I crept slowly over to the expensive car, looking around to see if anyone was watching me. I removed a sharpened punch from my tool belt and punctured both rear tires. Then I went forward and flattened both of the front tires. I know it was childish, but boy did I feel better. Then taking the same punch I deeply scratched a line down the side of the car. I got back in my truck and drove off, feeling electrified.
I ordered my usual from the Queen, and decided that from now on I’d have to order less. Too many burgers and I’d have trouble replacing Kathy, when the time came.
While I was there another thought went through my head. The damage I’d done to Smith’s car would affect him about as much, as having to drive out and buy these burgers had affected me. It was a bit of an inconvenience, but nothing more. This sobered me up, and knocked the wind back out of my sails.
I was trading in the girl I’d loved since the 1st grade, for a few scratches and tires.
By the time I got back to the apartment I was nearly in tears again. I went back in ready to eat my burgers, and it just kept hitting me. There had to be something wrong with me, for her to treat me this way. Obviously yesterday wasn’t a one time thing. I now saw that they had only given me this job to keep track of my whereabouts during their time together. This could get really ugly really fast. There was really nothing I could do to save my marriage. Kathy had always been driven towards the good life. She wanted maybe even needed, things that I was never going to be able to provide. The fact that I loved her, and loved only her, didn’t matter. And in Smith she’d found someone who could not only provide those things, but was the kind of person she really wanted. The only thing for me to do was get out of their way.
I really thought that I’d hit bottom about all of this yesterday, but here it was again only worse. There was no way I’d ever get her back. It was like someone had just backed up a dump truck full of concrete, and then just dropped the whole load on me. I fell to my knees and just sobbed.
Every emotion I’d ever felt just oozed out of me, it was the most desolate sadness I’d ever experienced. Time had no meaning, I was overcome. I’d heard people talk about wanting to die when a loved one passed or left them, and I now knew how that felt. It was as if everything moved in slow motion, every action, every thought required my consent, and I couldn’t see a reason for any of it. Should I breathe in? Why? Why shouldn’t I just stop breathing and let go of the pain. If I died maybe she’d understand why I just gave up on life and feel sorry. Maybe everything would start over again and she’d never hurt me like this again. Maybe she was just a cold hearted snake, who had never loved me and never would. She’d probably just laugh when she found out I was dead, because it would save her and Smith the trouble of having to get rid of me or divorce me. My death would be the last gift I’d give her.
It was about that time that I felt the hand on my shoulder. I’m a pretty big guy, but I have to admit that hand, though it was tiny, completely scared the shit out of me. I jumped nearly through the roof. My heart was beating so fast, I got light headed. When I turned around, I saw a girl. Well maybe she was a woman, she was just frigging tiny.
Kathy is small compared to me, but this woman was tiny. She was barely 5 feet tall, if that. She had curly brown hair that cascaded down her back, stopping where it was blocked by her shoulders and spilling over the front. It wasn’t all of that hair that stopped me in my tracks though it was the expression on her face. I’d never seen so much concern in one expression. Her eyes were hard to describe, they were kind of a grayish green, that were piercing and inviting at the same time. They appeared to take in every detail of every thing they gazed at. The eyes didn’t appear to form opinions, there was no right or wrong in her gaze, it only measured and compared details. As if after seeing someone this way she could easily, replicate any and all objects she saw. And right then she saw me.
As my brain reconnected with my mouth, and I realized that I could talk, words started coming out.
“Hey, who the hell are you, and why are you here?” I snapped.
“You are so sad,” she said, with the thickest accented English, I’d ever heard.
“This is my house,” she said. “You make my, how you say, picture stands. Only I think you do better job, with these, what you call them?”
I was speechless, and words simply would not come out.
“I was on the 2nd floor hiding and I smelled the food again,” she said smiling.
“I was dying to just come down and eat with you. But no one is to know that I am here. I work day and night, but I have no ideas, only paintings with no, vision. I could do as well with a camera. This is not art.”
“And as I watch, you are consumed by this sadness. It threatens to take you away. You must tell me about it, maybe I can help?”

“Come let us sit down, we will talk about it.”
She led me over to the same table I’d been sitting at for a couple of days. All those times I’d thought I heard something, I guess I had.
She was again very tiny, and also obviously French. She was the person that Smith had rented the apartment for. So I guess technically that mad her, my employer’s employer. Or basically, she was, my boss’s boss.
She was nothing like that bastard Smith though, she seemed really nice. She was concerned and caring. Those were not the words I’d use to describe Smith. Well you could, because he was concerned with fucking my wife, and he cared enough about fucking her, to give me something to do, to keep me from busting his ass, when I found out about it.
She opened the bag and looked inside. Her little face lit up.
“Oh good,” she said, “You have enough for two.”
She busied herself spreading plates and silverware out, and ran back upstairs and came back with a bottle of wine of some sort. In a matter of minutes, the fast food looked like a sumptuous meal. It wouldn’t have surprised me more if she’d whipped out candles and a violinist.
“Amanda Anderson,” she said in that accent that I was beginning to like.
“That’s not a very French sounding name,” I said.
And you are?” she said with a smile.
“Raphe Jenkins,” I said shaking her tiny outstretched hand.
Then we sat down and ate my Burger Queen. We talked about a lot over the next hour or so. We talked about her paintings. We talked about the fact that she loved my rack system, both for displaying her completed works and for painting the ones that were in progress. She swore me to secrecy, regarding the fact that she was already here. She wasn’t supposed to arrive for almost a month. I promised her that I’d tell no one.
After a while it became obvious that we got along well. We also both had our own sadness. Neither of which we had yet seen fit to describe or talk about. I gathered that hers was about her work. I didn’t have much to do with art or painting but I was sure she was good at it. I had to admit though, that I probably wouldn’t know good art from bad.
By the time I paid any attention to the time, my cell phone was ringing, and I noticed that it was past the time I should have been leaving. I didn’t know how the time had just slipped away, but I felt better than I had in days. Amanda wasn’t Kathy, but she was a woman and a pretty one at that. If she didn’t think I was worthless, maybe there was life after Kathy after all.


Kathy

By the time I got home, I was expecting Raphe to already be there. I’d taken the time to shower at the motel, to get Smith’s smell off of me. It was kind of exciting doing this; I guess that the excitement was far better than the sex. Let’s face it what woman, especially one who needed her sex, would rather have it with an over 50 balding vanilla man like Smith, when she had a hunky husband like my Raphe. A big part of it was also the fact that Smith just used me. Like he was paying for it, and it was his right, to do it. Raphe on the other hand loved me dearly, and wanted to please me.
Then of course there was the control factor, with Raphe I was the one in control. If I wanted him to do something, or get me something; or if I wanted him to stop doing something, I just rationed out the pussy until I got my way. With Smith, he just looked at his watch and said let’s go. There was no debate; we didn’t even have nice lunches any more. The nice treatment was obviously just to get into my pants. Now that he was there, I was simply his staff whore and that was it. He didn’t introduce me to people any more, or try to teach me things. I didn’t even get to go to meeting with him anymore. And the sex was the same as it had been the first few times. No foreplay before, no cuddling and romance after, he just stuck it in me, grunted a few times, squirted into his condom, rolled over and fell asleep, leaving me extremely frustrated.
He might’ve been a high class gentleman, in society, but in the bedroom he was a fucking caveman. These past few days had made me want Raphe like never before. There were so many things I’d taken for granted about him, like the way he ate my pussy for what seemed like hours. He also had this way of nibbling my back, when we did it doggie style. I couldn’t wait for him to get home and erase these bad memories.
I decided to call him and hurry him along. After all he didn’t get any last night either, so he had to be as horny as I was. Raphe didn’t even have to be horny to want me, all it took usually was for him to see me, and he was ready. Smith had gotten me worked up, and the more I thought about wrapping my legs around Rape’s neck, the hornier I got. But after that, I really needed for him to just pound me into submission, the way that Smith was apparently incapable of doing. I was rubbing my pussy raw, thinking about Rape.
I hit the #1 on my cell phone and it called him. His phone kept ringing and finally went to voice mail. He must be really busy for him not to take my call. I got up and decided to try and cook something. This would be an adventure because I really didn’t know how to cook much. I looked in the refrigerator and saw a plate with several steaks marinating on it. This would be pretty easy; I’d just put them in the oven to broil, and microwave some kind of vegetable. I turned on the TV and found a cooking show. This was perfect, even though the old fat woman on the show was making chicken, she was broiling it, like I am. She was broiling baked potatoes with her chicken. I could do that as well. Then I’d just make a small salad and voila, dinner. Raphe would be so proud of me.
I couldn’t believe I was doing this. My face was actually flush from the warmth of the oven. I felt like some kind of pioneer woman. About an hour later Raphe came in. He kind of half smiled at me and went into the bedroom. He was walking with kind of a limp and I had trouble reading the look on his face. I’d known that man all of his life and he wasn’t that complicated, something was bothering him. When he looked at me, no matter what we were going through, all I ever saw on his face was love. When my daddy told him, that he was disappointed that I’d picked some ex jock/carpenter to spend my life with, and I hadn’t said anything to defend him, Raphe looked a little sad, but I could still see the love for me in his eyes. It was always there, under even the worst conditions. But right now, when I looked at him all I could see, was pain, and sadness. In the back of my mind I knew something was wrong.
“Raphe honey, are you hungry?” I asked.
“I made us dinner” I said proudly.
“It smells good,” he said quickly, “I hurt my back falling off the ladder.”
“I had to go to the emergency room. They gave me some pills for the pain, they’ve got me so sleepy, and I almost couldn’t drive home. I’m going to bed,” he said. Then he disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door. I turned off the oven and didn’t know what to do with the food, so I just left it on the table. Raphe would handle it later or tomorrow. We’d had sex under worse conditions, so I’d just wait for his pain to lessen then he’d want me.
I went into darkened bedroom and got under the covers. I could feel the warmth radiating from Raphe’s body. I was starting to get wet already in anticipation. I turned to Raphe for a kiss and found myself staring not at his face, but at his feet. I shook him, and he screamed.
“Raphe what’s wrong?” I asked.
“Any movement hurts my back,” he said.
“Well why are you lying that way?” I asked.
“I’m using the pillows to elevate my feet over my head to promote blood flow,” he said.
“Do you want me to get on top?” I asked
“I’m tired,” he yawned, “The pain pills have knocked me out.”
I just laid there for a while, part of me was so frustrated that I thought about going out and getting my self off, the other part sensed that something was wrong.
Finally when I was almost asleep I said “Good night Raphe, I love you.” The next thing I knew I was wide awake. For most of my life, Raphe had always told me he loved me. He was the first of us to say it. And on the rare occasions that I did say it first, and believe me there weren’t that many, he always said it back within microseconds.
This time he just mumbled something that was almost unintelligible. Though my conscious mind couldn’t really make out the words, my subconscious picked up on it and was wide awake. Raphe’s mumbled reply sounded a lot like, “Tell it to Smith.”
All of a sudden, my mind was firing on all 8 cylinders. There were 2 possibilities here. One was that Raphe was getting more than a little jealous of the time I spent with Smith, and was avoiding me and sulking, like the little boy he’d always been. The 2nd and worse scenario was that Raphe knew about me and Smith.
I couldn’t get to sleep; my mind just kept going over all of the facts that I had. I flipped over and turned my head near his. I tried to snuggle with him as gently as I could and as soon as my hand touched him he jerked away from me. I dozed off for a second and when I woke up he was gone. He couldn’t have gone to work, it was only 3 a.m.
I finally found him stretched out on the sofa in the living room. I went back to bed, but set the alarm to wake me early in the morning. I woke at 6 a.m. to find that he was already gone. I still didn’t know whether or not he knew, but he was definitely avoiding me, and it didn’t feel good.
I went back to sleep and woke up at my usual time so I could be in the office at 9 a.m. When Smith arrived at 10, I took him his morning Latte and scones and waited to talk to him. Smith drank his coffee and scanned the financial pages, I was supposed to simply wait for him to finish. This was another thing I didn’t like about him, his needs were so much more important than any one else’s. Was this the way I treated Raphe?
I’d never realized before now how much he must love me to put up with it.
“Is there something we need to discuss, my sweet,” he said.
“I think Raphe knows about us,” I said quickly.
“Good,” he said, “That should help to speed things up considerably.”
“What?” I said
“Yes, that means you can divorce him when it’s time and be with me. You and I are alike in so many ways,” he said.
“We both enjoy the finer things in life. We both are motivated to excel. We are compatible in everyway, we belong together,” he said.
“You’ve outgrown the hay seed carpenter. He simply can’t do the things that I can for you. He isn’t my equal anywhere,” he continued. I was shocked, so I started nodding my head as if I agreed with him, while I walked back to my desk. I needed to think about this. What Smith had said would have pleased my father, and up until yesterday me, to no end. My father had always thought that Raphe was beneath me. But Raphe had never shown me anything except love. He had constantly sacrificed to be with me. Smith on the other hand kept me around as a convenience. I was Raphe’s entire reason for living, his world revolved around me. Smith’s world was centered on himself, and he occasionally found time to fuck me.
Raphe never failed to curl my toes up, he made getting me off a priority when we had sex, and until a few days ago, our sex life was everything I wanted. Smith had yet to satisfy me. Raphe constantly told me how much he loved me; he’d do anything for me. Smith had never told me even once that he liked me or that I was pretty even. Even this morning all he said was that we belonged together. As if it was a merger of companies, to ensure both of better revenue.


Raphe

I got out of my truck, and pulled two bags after me. I walked up to the door of the dark apartment and juggled the bags and my keys. I turned on the lights and put the bags down on the table. I gently knocked on the door, leading to the upper still hidden level of the apartment. Almost instantly it opened as if she’d been waiting for me.
“I was not sure you would return,” she said.
“I wasn’t sure you’d open the door again, or even still be here,” I replied.
“I have to trust you,” she said stepping into the kitchen.
“What have you here?” she asked.
“Well I don’t know what you normally eat for breakfast? Or what you’ve been eating while you’re hiding out here. But I brought you this,” I said pointing to one of the bags.
She opened the bag and smiled. I’d brought her a double sized Mocha Latte, and a croissant with a selection of toppings she could add.
She nearly doubled up in laughter, and looked in the other bag. She looked dubiously at my Breakfast McClowny, as if it would leap off the plate and bite her. She also smiled when she smelled my strong black coffee.
The Breakfast McClowny was a totally American invention. It consisted of one of those synthetic egg patties, four strips of bacon, American cheese, and a sausage patty, all crammed between the halves of a sliced English muffin. Most people got fatter, just looking at one. Eating one was known to completely harden the arteries and clog them full of greasy fat deposits. The breakfast McClowny, was the reason America was so damned fat. Burger Queen had nothing like the Breakfast McClowny.
She shook her head as she gazed in wonder at the decadent sandwich. Then she ran around the kitchen turning the lights on and setting up plates as she had the night before. She for some reason got out knives and forks, and 2 cups. Then she ran back upstairs and came down with a small bottle of orange juice. She got glasses out of the cabinet as I sat in wonder.
As she was doing all of this running around, I took time to really look at her. Seeing her clearly in the light now, brought a couple of things into sharp focus. One was that this was a truly beautiful woman.
Not in that Las Vegas, California, blonde silicone bimbettes style. She was just a truly beautiful woman. She was the type of woman that, as she aged and grew lines in her face, and maybe sagged a bit here and there; would never have to worry about it, because all of these supposed flaws, would add character to her face. Instead of serving as the signal to head to the nearest plastic surgeon for Botox, the wrinkles and imperfections would add to her beauty. From the cascading curls to the wide spaced eyes and upturned nose; and especially her lips and mouth, this was a true beauty. I could spend hours describing her smile, the impish way that one side turned up and the other slightly down at the same time. Or the way she crinkled up her lips to express, both joy and confusion, within heartbeats of each other.
Though tiny, she was also very proportionate. Her proportions, created the illusion of size where there was none. Her breasts, when measured in terms of volume, were no where near Kathy’s but when placed on her tiny frame appeared larger. I’ve always heard about French women’s incredible legs and the reasons for them. I’ve heard it’s because they walk everywhere instead of driving, or from walking up the stairs of the Eiffel tower, but I had never seen legs like those anywhere. And at the top where they met, was the most perfect ass I’d ever seen. I have heard about men who have a foot fetish, hell I’ve even seen videos of guys jacking off between a woman’s feet. Until this moment I had never even considered the feet as an object of sexuality. But I could understand it now.
My Kathy would have seemed as big and ungainly as a cow, standing next to this woman. And dressed up in fancy clothes, it would not even be close.
Again I marveled as she took the items I’d presented and turned them into a feast instead of a meal, and seemingly enjoyed doing it. As we sat down across from each other, she quickly bowed her head for a few scant seconds and then raised it, smiled and began stuffing food down her throat with a gusto that had to be seen to be believed.
I looked at my plate; she had destroyed my Breakfast McClowny. She’d cut it in half and separated the components into 2 breakfasts. We both had a couple of slices of bacon, half of a sausage, and egg patty, a half of an English muffin that she’d spread jam on. We also each had a small glass of juice, and a cup of my black coffee.
“I hate that sweet, fake coffee you brought me,” she said, “It tastes like sheet, why do you all drink it?”
“I don’t drink it” I said, “But people here, think that you drink it like that in Europe.”
“I need strong black coffee when I work,” she said as she bit through a slice of bacon.
She reached for one of my pieces of bacon, and my hand reached out to stop her.
As our hands touched, an electric feeling went through me at the contact.
She smiled again and then playfully took my bacon. “We’ll share it,” she said with mischief in her eyes.
“Wait,” I asked “Why are we sharing my bacon?”
“Because Raphe Jenkins, I already ate mine,” she smiled.
I had never heard my name sound so sexy before. When she said Raphe Jenkins, I knew why my mom had given me that name. When she said Jenkins, it came out like jean-cans; and my dick just got harder than a bar of steel.
The only woman I had ever been with in my entire life was Kathy, and she’d never affected me like this. The thought of Kathy brought my mood down again, and Amana noticed.
It felt really strange, first I get a hard on from some French artist simply saying my name; meanwhile the thought of some half bald 50 year old asshole’s dick, in my wife’s mouth, made me want to gag every time I saw her or thought about her.
“So what will you do while I work today, Rape Jenkins?” she asked.
“I’m going to frame out the enclosures, on the deck, so you can work inside and I won’t disturb you” I said.
“Why do you not work on the racks you have started in the great room? That way we could talk while we work,” she said.
“That would be fine” I said, surprised.
I’d always imagined that artists would be temperamental and standoffish, like that fuck head Smith.
Amanda seemed so grounded and down to earth, that it was hard to imagine her as a famous artist.
I went out to my truck and got my tool belt and tool box. I brought the things I'd need into the living room. As I started to work I noticed that Amanda had already got a canvas from somewhere and was hurriedly adding shapes to the blank page with a small brush. It was fascinating and I thought I could watch her forever. She seemed to alternate between very deliberate and carefully measured strokes, and furious haphazard ones. Again it was not the behavior or the style I'd expect from a famous artist. I think the thing I loved watching the most though was the way her butt jiggled as she painted.
I was afraid to start my saw, I thought the noise might distract or startle her. When I saw her sit down in front of her canvas and look at it, I raised my hand and pointed towards the saw. She smiled and nodded that it was OK. She came over and watched me line up the pieces and then cut through them.
We started to talk and she told me why she was here early. It seems that she didn’t like any of the pieces she’d done for the show. They were just more of the same thing she’d already done. She didn’t think they were inspired, and felt like she was just selling out. The buyers and collectors would of course be happy because she’d panted a lot of things that looked like they were “Amanda Anderson” paintings, but she felt as if she should be breaking new ground, and continuing to explore her art. So she’d come in early to review her new pieces and try and do something different, hoping that the change in location, culture and environment, would set her creative juices flowing.
I in turn told her about my sham of a marriage. I left out the names, unsure of how she’d handle finding out that her agent was screwing my wife. She was very sympathetic. It was actually cathartic for me to get it out. I hadn’t told anyone about my situation except for the lawyer and the PI.
As afternoon rolled around, we went out to eat. We found a nice little restaurant down by the river. As good as it was, I couldn’t handle another Burger Queen meal for a while.
Amanda as I expected was great company, she made me laugh, and pointed out several of the differences between life in our country and in hers.
So it went for the next few weeks, I spent all of my days in the apartment with Amanda, turning it into the perfect studio for an artist. At night I arrived home barely in time to slip into bed and then get up before Kathy, and get out again first thing in the morning. The few times we did actually run into each other were hellish. With Kathy asserting that we need to talk, and me claiming to be too busy or too tired.
Finally 2 weeks before Amanda’s show, she “officially” arrived in town. She told Smith after seeing it that she loved the apartment and the rack system and outdoor enclosures for her work. She also requested that the craftsman responsible for the work be present, because there were changes and ideas she had, that she would like handled by him as well.
Smith told her he’d see to it.
I was happy about this development because it meant that I’d get to spend more time with Amanda, and that we’d be able to go places without worrying about someone recognizing her. Little did I know that my little bubble of happiness was about to burst.
I got a call from Smith requesting that I meet him in his office. I knew what that was about already. He was going to ask me to do the work that Amanda had requested,
The thing I wasn’t expecting was that when I got there early, I walked in on Smith, with his hand up Kathy’s dress inside her panties. Even though I had DVD’s and pictures of them together, seeing it right there in front of me, was different. I’d really thought that all of my emotions on the subject of the two of them were contained. It felt though as if someone had just ripped my stomach out through my throat. Smith had this look of lust on his face that was beyond description. Kathy looked as if she was just putting up with it.
When Smith finally noticed me standing there he snatched his hand out so fast that I thought he’d break his elbow. And Kathy immediately started with the classic line,”Raphe, it isn’t what you think.”
“Let me guess, Kath,” I said, ”Smith’s hand is frostbitten by your icy demeanor, so he had to stick it in your pussy to warm it up.”
“It’s just a medical emergency, and you didn’t mean to break your husband’s heart.”
“Come now old man, there’s no need to be trite about this,” said Smith.
It was the wrong thing to do, because at that point, I crossed the room and busted Smith in the face. There was a sickening crack, almost a popping sound as my fist contacted his nose. He fell over the desk and landed in a heap behind it. I started to go around the desk after him but stopped short. Neither of them was worth it.
“I told you if you ever touched her, I’d bust your ass,” I hurled at Smith, “She’s all yours.”
He was curled up behind the desk holding his nose and crying.
“Raphe wait,” yelled Kathy, following me out of the office, “We can fix this, it doesn’t mean anything.”
I got into my truck and just drove away. I spent the next hour or so just driving around aimlessly. I had to get myself together, but I couldn’t. I decided to do what the guys on TV always did in similar situations; you know go home and pack as much of my stuff as I can carry, then check into a motel. It didn’t work, as soon as I pulled up the bitch came towards me. I put the truck into reverse and pulled back out onto the road with her running after me screaming.
I decided that my best bet would be to just go do something I still felt good about. I needed an activity that would let me think while I did it. I also didn’t want to check into a motel yet because with Smith’s money it wouldn’t take him long to track me down. So I’d check into a motel just before I went to sleep and check out as soon I woke up. If I used a different place each night, they would have a lot of trouble tracking me.
Now that I knew, and they knew I knew, I needed to file first, so I called my lawyer and told him to make sure the papers were ready.
Then I drove over to Amanda’s apartment to work. When she opened the door, and smiled, it was like the sun coming out after a long, long rainy night. Her infectious good mood almost took me away from all of it.
“I was wondering when you’d get here,” she said brightly, “You are late.”
“Come and see what we have to eat,” she said.
That was the thing about Amanda; perhaps it was a European, or even a French trait. She was all about comfort. Eat, drink and be merry, no stress, the problems will work themselves out.
She had a breakfast spread that looked like it was waiting for a king. There were all sorts of muffins, and biscuits, coffees, teas, and juices, butters in differing flavors, jams and jellies, and spreads, cold cuts, bacon, sausages and ham. There were bowls of different types of fruits and melons, it was bizarre. If this was what she was used to, she must still be laughing at sharing my Burger Queen meals with me.
“What is all of this for?” I asked
“All of this is for us,” she said smiling.
“I called the agency, and told them I would need breakfast for 2. Come we eat, then you, tell me what has you so angry.”
“No,” I said, “I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to forget.”
“Okay,” she said, setting her mouth in that little pout she got sometimes.
“Then we just eat!”
As she said this she nodded her head, one time as if she had just settled a major dispute, it was adorable.
With only 5 days left before the show, Amanda had a lot of work to do to get her new pieces ready. Besides that she had several sketches she was doing, that might or might not make the show. She still hadn’t decided on a theme for the show. Sometimes she didn’t have one, she simply showed off her latest works, and offered them for sale through a gallery or broker. Her last show, had taken in over 600 thousand dollars, with the agency getting thirty percent and other fees she’d netted about 290 thousand after taxes. Her goal was to make a couple of million dollars and then retire. Part of the problem she had was, she just couldn’t resist traveling and buying things. It was as if she was looking for something, but she didn’t know what it was.
So after eating, Amanda made me promise to finish the racks in the smaller room upstairs that she used for working. The great room, as she called the living room would be used for an impromptu preview, for some of the gallery owners and art critics before the show. Amanda would work in the great room, giving final touches to her finished or almost finished pieces in the great room, while I gave her places to hang or position the things she was working on now.
I got my tool belt from the truck, and climbed the stairs. The first room I looked into, was not the studio, it was her bedroom. I don’t know what I was expecting but this wasn’t it. Kathy always had everything arranged neatly, and made sure I kept it that way.
All of her cosmetics and clothes were, lined up and organized according to item and color so she could put together outfits at the drop of a hat. Amanda’s room in comparison was chaos. It looked more like a teenaged girl’s room. There were things strewn all over everywhere. On the desk, a computer with a drawing program was turned on. A laptop with another graphics program running was on the bed, forgotten. The radio was on, and clothing and socks and shoes and panties and bras, and notebooks, and random sheets and scraps of paper were everywhere. I wondered how she ever found anything in the mess, but then it hit me. This randomness was like her, it hinted at all kinds of possibilities. It said that if you looked for it, you could find anything, but you had to commit yourself and look. It said don’t count on things just being the way you wanted them to. It said don’t make plans, just live.
I closed the door and smiled for the first time that day, and went in search of the studio. I found it a few minutes later and wished that I hadn’t, surprise, shock, and pain all vied for supremacy in my consciousness. The potent mixture of emotions brewed like soup in a kettle, and exploded out of me as rage. For the 2nd time that day I went off.
Amanda had a nearly photographic memory for details, she had been doing character studies of the faces and people she found interesting. There was a large canvas of the homeless woman, we had seen in the park. The guy from the drive-thru window at Burger Queen was there, in all of his greasy pimple faced teenaged glory. There were a couple of me as well, and she obviously saw me, in a different light than reality did. But then there were several of Smith, and of Kathy. And there was another painting of Smith and Kathy together. I wondered when she had seen them.
Did Amanda know about them? Did she know who they were? Maybe she’d been part of this whole thing from the start.
Seeing those images just brought the scene from earlier this morning back me in all of its intensity. A red haze covered my vision and I just reacted. Amanda worked sometimes in water colors and there were large jars of paint in many different colors that she used for mixing her paints. I grabbed a full can of paint and threw it across the room where it exploded against the large canvas, splashing paint all over a couple of pictures of that smirking and snarky bastard, Smith. Without even thinking about it I screamed in rage and unloaded yet another can of paint against Smith and one against the pictures of my unfaithful wife.
By this time Amanda had come running up the stairs to see what was going on, there was a man with her, he was horrified. Amanda took one look at what I had done and reacted decisively. She stepped into the room and handed me another can of paint, and then pointed at the still untouched painting of Smith and Kathy together. Then she nodded and stepped back. I opened the can and this time more deliberately splashed the paint on the canvass.
Then Amanda started giving me smaller cans of paint and I just threw them, ad hoc, towards the paintings until I couldn’t lift any more. I fell to my knees completely drained. Amanda sat down next to me, rubbing my head and shoulders.
“This is what you are so sad about, is it not?”
I nodded my head, I couldn’t face her. At this point the little man recovered from his shock and began yelling at me.
“Do you know what you have done?” he yelled.
“Each of those paintings was worth probably 20,000 dollars. You’ll spend the rest of your life paying for them” he screamed, “Oh, and you can’t get away with this, the security system has video of you doing it. Just wait until I get you in court.”
“You may not even be able to start paying her until you get out of jail,” the man was furious.
“Why are you so angry?” Amanda asked him calmly.
“These are my paintings, not yours,” she said, “There will be no court, no charges, and no payment.”
“And if your only concern is your commission, perhaps we can arrange it so you don’t have to worry about receiving compensation for any of my work in the future,” she continued.
“Perhaps you did not notice that, in the end I helped him throw the paint.”
“But I was just,” began the little man.
“You were just leaving,” finished Amanda.


Kathy

This part of my, of our story is, as my daddy always said, where the rubber meets the road. When Raphe walked in and found Smith’s hand in my pussy, I felt like my life had ended. Lately Smith had been using me more and more, but it was always the same.
The comparisons between him and Raphe were not only inevitable, but clear.
Smith just fucked me, and not even that well. To Smith I was something he could use as he wished, because he had paid for me. No, he didn’t pay me to fuck him; but he gave me things and hinted at a life outside of work. The life I’d always thought I wanted. He never told me he liked me, let alone that he loved me. In retrospect, I realized that he didn’t love me. He expended time and effort on me because like his car or his watch, or any of his other possessions, I was the best available at the time that he could afford. I reminded me of one of those things you see on the internet, the men’s version of the vibrator. I was his pocket pussy, only I was a walking talking, breathing one. Instead of paying 10,000 dollars for a lifelike sex doll, Smith was paying more than that for his own sex doll, me.
That morning was just another example of it. Our, or should I call it “his” sex life was nothing more than us going to a motel, or lately it had been his office, he’d pull up my skirt or dress (I could only wear skirts and dresses, I wasn’t allowed pants) he’d stick it in me, pump me 7 or 8 times then grunt and squirt, done. I always expected him to say “get out bitch,” or hand me 5 dollars after we were done, and I was getting sick of it. I no longer felt like myself. I was used to being sought after, and appreciated. I was used to being loved. I was used to Raphe, damn it I missed him.
It was then that I realized that after all of our lives, after all of that time; that I actually did love Raphe, far more than I wanted to admit. I had simply taken him for granted, because he had always been the