Loving My Husband
- 2 years ago
- 7
- 0
My Loving Husband free porn video
Adam Gunn
copyright 2013
~~~~~~~~~~
The suave gentleman was observing me at the charity ball, never rudely or in a fashion that might be obvious to others, but twice he caught my eye, the second time I smiled to him. I enjoyed the exquisitely tailored Italian tuxedo, the sweep of his Greek nose, the slight salting of his dark mane. If he was twenty years older than I, I didn’t disqualify him on that account.
And when I stepped onto a patio for air, I realized he was following me. A rock garden was below me, I led him to it.
‘Are you stalking me?’ I asked, the smile intimating my jest.
‘I do hope I’m not that transparent. But you are charming, you know.’
‘I glad you think so. I’m Jacqueline.’
He took my offered hand not in a shake but an embrace. It was then I saw the ring on his left hand. ‘Very pleased. I’m John. What an interesting name.’
‘My mother had a crush on President Kennedy when she was young. What brings you here, John?’
‘My wife, the woman with the larger than necessary hairdo, is the chairwoman of the event, and she seems to believe my presence necessary.’
We were simply two bored people sharing a drink on a balcony. ‘What do you do?’ I asked.
‘I’m a partner in the architecture firm of Miller, Young and Carter.’
‘Hmmm, which one are you?’
‘None of the above, my last name is Butler.’
‘And would I know of any of your work?’
‘Perhaps. The NCG building downtown?’ A well proportioned skyscraper that I enjoyed looking at from across the river. ‘I had a hand in that. There are others like it all over the country.’
‘It must be heady work.’
‘There are times. But too much of my life is spent worrying about how many elevators a building needs or telling a client, no, the plans are finalized, can’t be changed. And what is it you do?’
‘Other than flirt with married architects? I’m a branch manager for Frick Bank.’
‘Which branch?’
‘Downtown. Ninth and Grant.’
‘And is being a branch manager of a downtown bank a satisfying position?’
‘It has its moments. But too often I’m concerned with customers who seem to think it’s my fault they’ve bounced a check.’
We chatted for ten, perhaps fifteen minutes before John pleaded a need to discover if his wife required him, and again he entwined my hand in his, telling me how pleased he was to make my acquaintance.
~~~~~~~~~~
It was more than a week later that one of my clerks hailed me. ‘Miss Schulman, a Mr. Butler is on the line for you.’
‘Good day, how can I help?’
‘Hello, Jacqueline, this is John Butler.’
‘Yes . . .’ The name failed to ring a bell within my memory.
‘We met at the charity ball some days back.’
‘Oh, yes, how are you?’
‘Fabulous. And you?’
‘Wonderful.’
‘I was wondering if perhaps we might have a cocktail sometime.’
I took it as a social invitation, and might have turned him down for at that time I had no lack of potential dates and John, after all, was married. But I’d enjoyed my moment with him, and so agreed to meet him in the lobby of the Gouverneur Morris for nothing more than a glass of wine.
The assignation was filled with conversation, other than the handshake as we sat and departed there was a complete lack of physical contact. But our eyes searched each other’s face as we talked. On that night it was of the football team’s chance of making the playoffs, or the Broadway play that was coming to town, or where I’d graduated from college. After two glasses of wine I departed, somewhat reluctantly.
Days later, over a lunch at Ruth’s Chris, he asked, ‘Jacqueline, may I ask why you aren’t married?’
‘I tried that,’ I confessed, ‘it didn’t work out so well.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be. He was a scoundrel, I know of at least four affairs he had in the six years of our marriage, and when he grew bored of me I was relieved.’
‘And you’ve been divorced for . . .’
‘Over two years. I’m very happy about it now, actually. The best thing is that we never conceived, I thank the Lord I don’t have to concern myself with visitation rights and child support. And how long have you been married?’
‘Twenty two years. We have two children, Rob is just graduating from Princeton, Emily is at Stanford.’
‘And your wife?’
‘A long story, I suppose they all are. She seems to have lost her enthusiasm for me. I’ve been devoted to her, but I’m not certain it’s the same as being in love.’ I found the explanation likely to be truthful, sympathized with him.
Twice more we had cocktails or lunch, I became more enamored of the sense of romance in the man, the style with which he never failed to open a door for me or hold my coat. He had a limited sense of humor, and seemed to look to me for topics of conversation. He was obviously bored with his domestic life, and he mentioned more than once that any day he happened to be with me was interesting, even exciting.
When his wife departed for a three week sabbatical with several of her society friends, the invitation to dinner held a certain lack of surprise. I knew what the result of the evening was possibly going to be, had I had any intention of rejecting a physical relationship I would have never have met with him that evening. The restaurant he selected was dark, timbered walls, crystal and linen, and we found ourselves in a booth, mostly hidden from the gaze of other diners. The fare was Continental, hand crafted and delicious, the wine dark and red. John, of course, had little idea of how to begin a seduction, and so I assisted him by brushing his hand with a finger as he held his glass, placing my palm on his arm. He made no effort to return the physical touch, but his eyes alerted me to his desire.
When we returned to my house, I invited him in for ‘coffee.’ I clearly remember that first time we made love, how he softly kissed me, seemed almost reluctant yet anxious to fondle me, the shyness and clumsiness he exhibited as he donned the proffered condom. However, once we were entwined, he was strong and sure of himself, and his thrusts deep and stout. To my enjoyment, as he came he stared into my eyes as if he were trying to enter my mind as deeply as he was penetrating my body.
In the three weeks of his wife’s absence, he returned to my bed five or six times, often staying until morning. We came to know each other’s flesh as a cartographer studies a map. He reveled in my body, twenty one years younger than his, and I found his sexual techniques to be creative and delightful. Yet it was not purely physical, both before and after our congress we talked of our histories, our desires. Simply, we fell in love.
~~~~~~~~~~
Following that first rush of lust we slowed, partially because there is only so much desire one can participate in, but mostly because John was required by societal pressures to be with his wife most evenings. Later that year, on the occasion of his fiftieth birthday, I was of course unwelcome at the party attended by eighty people including his close family, but he later told me that the private celebration I treated him to four days later was more moving.
In those first two years, John never spoke to me of leaving his wife or divorce, I never asked him to make me anything but his lover. I gave up seeing other men, not because of a request from John, but because the longing for bodies other than his was no longer present within me. I was satisfied with the amount of time and loving John could spare for me, never begging him for more, always anxious for the next time we might be together. I accepted the generous presents he offered me – jewels, an antique table that suited my foyer, a fur coat – with gratitude and a sense that these were love offerings, not a payment for services rendered. And I gave him gifts as well, although my limited means meant they were less lu
xurious, John appreciated them nevertheless.
His acquaintances were off limits to me, I did not demand excursions to his country or city club, I knew my part as a mistress and accepted it serenely. A few times we were able to slip out of town for a romantic weekend at a hotel or bed and breakfast where we would gorge upon each other.
‘Would you enjoy heading out with me over Memorial Day?’ John queried eight months into our affair. I knew of the resort, eighty miles southeast of the city. A reproduction French Chateau, world class dining and spa, two golf courses for John. ‘Of course!’
‘Some friends of mine might join us. Would that upset you?’
‘Of course not, but aren’t you worried that your wife will find out?’
‘These are my friends, not hers.’
On the drive John told me about Scott. He was from St. Louis and as a young man he’d been fascinated by the Gateway Arch, decided to become an architect. He received a scholarship to the University in our town, and at an Alumni event – John was well on his way to becoming successful by that time – the two met. Despite the difference in ages, the two had immediately become friends, and when Scott earned his Masters, John brought him into the firm. His wife was Margot, a wonderful woman who John’s wife was poisonously jealous of.
Over lunch at the resort I found Scott, only three years my senior, tall and handsome, wavy black hair, to be perhaps a little formal, but Margot, a petite blond enchantress, had an incredible sense of humor, irreverent but not scathing. ‘So you’re the lady John’s been seeing. Ooooh, I see what it’s all about! Nice work, John.’ Then to me, ‘Honey, I assume you know he’s a sex maniac. Don’t worry about it, we all just ignore it.’
The chatter over lunch was about their child, John’s godson, five years old and incredibly precocious, and the architecture of the resort. I found myself drawn to this couple, obviously very much in love with themselves and John, I was drawn into the affection through osmosis.
After the meal with our permission and blessing the men played golf, Margot and I patronized the spa. We bonded quickly, chatted easily. It was not until three hours had passed, over a glass of wine Margot confided, ‘Scott was a little shocked when he found out John was having an affair. I wasn’t, his wife is a churlish woman. One time, when she discovered a woman she was on a committee with was a Democrat, she resigned! Can’t have degenerates like that in decent society, can you? I have no idea what John’s doing with her. Since he met you he’s been on cloud nine.’ When she asked me of my tribulations as a mistress she seemed sympathetic, I trusted her immediately.
Dinner with the couple was joyful, the conversation sparkling, the anecdotes hilarious. Sunday and then Monday passed too quickly, strolls through the gardens, swims in the pools, conversations and cocktails in their room or ours. John was gladdened that his friends were now mine. The four of us became intimates, I was invited to their home for dinner, a place that was off-limits to John’s wife due to a contretemps I never completely understood, I sometimes met Margot for drinks.
~~~~~~~~~~
It couldn’t last, of course, nothing does. Two years and seven weeks after John became my lover, his wife discovered my existence. That first evening, according to John, she was a tyrant, abusing him verbally, accusing him of sins he’d not committed although he never denied his adultery with me. That night he came to me and slept within my arms.
The divorce was as appalling as one might expect. John was determined to take the high road, and he gave his wife more than was expected, his lawyer advised him he was being over generous. And yet the woman wanted more, including revenge. Luckily, the grown children understood the divisiveness and kept a level head. The first time I met them they treated me civilly, even though they realized I was ‘the other woman.’
Even during the most difficult periods, when John was in the throes of losing his wife and more than sixty percent of the wealth he’d accumulated, there was never a time when he blamed me or rationalized it was somehow my fault. When he was depressed he came to me for comfort, understanding.
And then, suddenly, the papers were signed and John was no longer encumbered with a spouse. Margot threw a ‘happy divorce’ party at a chain restaurant, about fifteen people attended, and a savage roast of John’s ex-wife was the theme. I was welcomed not as her successor, but as another member of the group.
Of course, I wondered about my future, I loved John, but my friends warned me he would change, throw me aside for an even younger woman, desert me. I publicly denied that possibility, but secretly worried that the three years I’d spent with John would be for naught.
A month after the divorce, we escaped from the snows of February to a windward island, and for three days we did little but swim in the crystal sea, dine casually and make love. On the fourth evening, John asked me to join him at the table in the living room of our suite, and it was then that he laid his soul bare. ‘Jacqueline, you must know how much I am in love with you. I want to spend the rest of my days with you, and I hope you feel the same. But before you and I go further, I think you need to consider what I have to offer.’ The first thing he showed me was an accounting of his financial status – it indicated that even after the divorce he was still worth a few millions of dollars, and his annual income as a partner in the firm was in the neighborhood of the mid hundred thousands. Then we discussed our age difference, and that if we were to marry we would have at the most fifteen to twenty good years. At that point his physical attributes would likely begin to suffer, while I would just be entering middle age. Finally, he told me that he didn’t want children, he considered offspring for men of his age was a conceited and foolish notion. ‘Now, I’m not going to do anything silly on this trip, such as propose,’ he promised. ‘At some point in the future, months, perhaps a year, if we’re still together I probably will. But we need to forget the ugliness of the past few months, and you need to think through the situation and be certain that the life I can offer you is one you can accept.’
‘I understand,’ I smiled, and then sat on his lap and kissed him. We made lazy love before we dressed and ate a late supper.
I became more of a part of John’s life, although he kept his own apartment, sleeping there more often than at my townhouse. In the changed circumstances we could dine at restaurants without a sense of clandestine mystery, John introduced me as the woman he was dating to his friends and associates. When I agreed that playing golf might be an interesting diversion he arranged for me to take lessons at his Country Club and by the summer I was barely proficient enough to begin playing on Sunday afternoons with John and another couple. I was afraid, of course, that I’d embarrass myself or John with my incompetence at the game, but when I’d whiff, John would simply smile, he never told me ‘Keep your head down’ or gave other unwanted advice. His friends at the club welcomed me, but there were those, particularly women, who gossiped behind my back and ignored me.
It was in early December that John took me to New York for Christmas shopping and plays. The weather that weekend was warm, a Hansom cab clopped its way through Central Park, John asked him to stop at Bethesda Fountain for a photograph. Suddenly, John dropped to a knee and asked, ‘Jacqueline, will you be my wife?’ I cried happily, and accepted as I had intended to all along. Scott and Margot were lurking behind a bush, at the drop of a ring they rushed from hiding to pour champagne and celebrate with us.
I suggested a pre-nuptial agreement, but John wouldn’t hear of it. ‘What is mine, dear, is yours. I trust that you are entering our new life with a commitmen
t, I know you won’t take advantage of me.’
In February twenty-two people including his children, members of our families and friends such as Scott and Margot accompanied us to the island of St. Lucia where John and I became man and wife, and then three days later welcomed in 1995.
John and I purchased a five bedroom estate on an acre and a half. John never suggested or even hinted that I shouldn’t work anymore, but I quickly tired of the race now that I had no need for monetary rewards. John encouraged me when I quit to concentrate on landscaping our grounds and furnishing our house, playing golf with my friends and throwing myself into charitable causes.
John and I traveled each year, once to an American city, and again to a European or another foreign destination, it was my pleasure to discover new ports of call and plan the trips for John’s amusement. And in the winter, we escaped to one or another Caribbean island for a February escape, usually accompanied by Scott and Margot.
June and July were always particularly mirthful months. The third weekend in June was the Invitational golf tournament at Scott’s club, less prestigious than ours. On Thursday the boys would play a practice round, on Friday they’d spend the entire day at the club, boozing afterwards until the wee hours while Margot and I shopped and concocted new recipes for alcohol, on Saturday the final round would be played and then in the evening we would be feted at a ball, the women in extravagant summer gowns and jewelry, the men handsome in their suits and ties. If they had been fortunate enough, our men would be presented with a trophy for their fine play, then we would dance with our husbands and then with the opposite partner. Three weeks later, the process was repeated at our club.
Our lives drifted by, no emergencies of any sort, kindness and loving between us. John and I were, as many of our friends observed, the happiest couple they knew.
~~~~~~~~~~
John and I escaped to the Bahamas for our fifth anniversary. On the exact date, our love-making was extended and delicious. Yet on the very next evening during a moonlight walk by the sea, John shocked me. ‘Dear, have you had an affair yet?’
‘Of course not,’ I said with distress in my tone. ‘Why, do you think I’m having one?’
‘On the contrary,’ he smiled. ‘I can think of no wife who has shown less tendency to stray. If someone were to offer me a large bet on your fidelity, I’d accept quickly.’
‘Then why did you ask? Are you having an affair?’
‘Absolutely not,’ he contended, ‘and I doubt I ever will. You were the only woman I slept with during my first marriage, and I see no reason to believe I’ll choose to sleep with anyone else in this one. No, the reason I ask is that I suspect at some time in the future, years from now perhaps, you’ll have a need for another man. Not because you’ll fall out of love with me, I don’t think that will ever happen. But we both know that infidelity is commonplace . . .’
‘I’m not common!’ I interrupted.
‘Of course you’re not,’ he agreed. ‘But I was going to add that statistics show that women in May-December relationships have a greater tendency to require exterior stimulation. Jacqueline, everything suggests that you will eventually have an affair. Should that ever happen, know that I won’t begrudge you. Just remember then that I’m the man you love, that you’ve vowed to stay with me for the rest of my life. And realize I want you to enjoy your passion, not be furtive and unhappy with your choice.’
‘Are you saying you want me to go to bed with someone else?’
‘No, not at all. I’m simply saying that, if it ever does happen, you needn’t think it’s the end of us, or even that it’s wrong.’
‘Well, I’m never going to do that.’
‘I accept your word, then.’ And we sat on the beach, he soothed my emotions, kissed my shoulder and in the sand we made love.
~~~~~~~~~~
The years flowed, we remained happy, in love, and devoted to each other and our friends. I was never bored, never wanted more than the cornucopia I had been granted. Then, in the eleventh year of our bliss, tragedy struck.
Dottie
- 28.08.2020
- 7
- 0
