Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
“Harlan, you don’t mind do you. The children do love to be with you,” she said. I looked at my wife. She was dressed to kill, but it – her efforts to kill – was not for me; she was planning on leaving me home again, to watch the kids, her sister’s kids. The two women were going out to paint the town presumably red. No news there; it had been happening a lot lately, lately being the last several years. Except for the inevitable family gatherings, Jennifer and I had gone almost nowhere together as a couple over that period. It rankled, a lot, but she didn’t exactly give me a choice. And, being the pussy-whipped wimp that I was, I let her get away with it. I’m a retired army first sergeant—twenty years active. She’s an executive secretary making pretty sizable bucks working for an ad agency in town, the town being Houston, forty-five minutes from our home in the burbs. We are both forty-seven, as this story begins, and still socially active; well, she’s socially active; I’m an active baby sitter and all around gofer. Like I said, my place in this household rankles. Jenny never wants to go out with me, unless you count the two or three movies a year that she deigns to let me escort her to. I had begun to think that maybe she was ashamed of me; the theaters were dark, so she had minimum exposure to criticism being out with someone who looked like me. Okay, me? Five-seven, one-seventy-five, thinning hair, but not actually ugly. But, not handsome either. I used to be able to dance, but I know I had to be a bit rusty now since it had been so long since I’ve been given the opportunity. Oh, and her? Five-nine, one-twenty-five, beautiful long auburn hair, ass and tits that are a threat to traffic. Jen is not actually movie star beautiful in the face, but she is far from unlovely. Okay, and yeah, she’s taller than me; well, so the fuck what. According to her and her sister, Marie, Marie, Wills, they don’t invite me because I didn’t like the kinds of places that they generally frequented. She was right about that. Sawdust joints filled with wannabe cowboys, rock clubs that I long suspected of selling more drugs than beer, and disco dance halls where the clothes made the man just didn’t do it for me. A hit to my ego them always leaving me behind? You bet. Ready to do something about it? I’m getting to that point. Marie is part of the problem. Divorced, snooty, and an all-around party girl; she couldn’t imagine a Saturday night without her wing-woman. But, whereas she couldn’t even imagine having me tag along with the two of them, she was more than happy with me in the role of baby sitter. Helluva thing. I like jazz clubs and soft music and classic cocktails rather than the yellow pepsi and unreconstructed musical racket my wife’s circle of friends seemed to prefer. I’d gotten, what I see as my high class tastes, from my dad, a retired Navy lieutenant commander, thirty years in. He’d actually been a bandleader in the Navy. He could play several instruments and had seen to it that I had an excellent musical education since I wasn’t interested in college. My instrument of choice was the piano; I was pretty good. The kids always want me to play for them when I’m sitting. It’s about the only time, apart from Christmas with the family, that I have an audience. I see the kids, Jenna (7) and Willy (8), as a definite upside even though they are not my kids per se. Jenny had not wanted kids; I did, so we didn’t have any; put another way, we do what Jennifer Ann wants. Like I say, my place in the household rankles, and I have for a while been close to making a move; I just couldn’t make up my mind what kind of move to make. Am I the village wimp? I guess, when it comes to my wife, I am. I love Jenny, and to be fair she always makes it a point to tell me she loves me. But, saying it and showing it are two entirely different things. Sex between us is okay, maybe once or twice weekly; but it isn’t anything outrageously kinky or exciting. I stood there in front of her. She was waiting for an answer. It came to me “Yes,” I said. “Yes what? she said. “Yes, I mind being a babysitter again. Frankly, Jennifer, I am tired of being left out and never being allowed to go anywhere with you,” I said. She looked at me funny. I had never said no to her for anything. She was obviously having difficulty processing this new information. “Harlan, why didn’t you say something before. You knew that Marie and I were planning to go out tonight. It’s Saturday night; we always go out Saturday nights,” she said. “Yes, and always without me,” I said. “Don’t you think that that’s kind of a weird situation for a husband and wife to be in?” I said. “Harlan, look, sit with Karşıyaka escort bayan the kids tonight, and we can talk about this tomorrow, okay? You can’t just throw a monkey wrench into other people’s plans at the last moment like this. It isn’t fair!” she said. I smiled. “Isn’t fair. I have plans of my own tonight. I’m headin’ out. You do what you want, but I’m leaving now. Have a nice time with the kids; they really are fun you know,” I said. “Wha…” She was all but speechless as she watched me walked out the door. I’d had no plans in spite of what I’d said to her, but then the military had taught me to improvise. I headed for the nearest bar. Richard’s bar and Grill was the best bar in Houston as far as I was concerned. I had been there a hundred times at least, though not lately. Richard’s was frequented mostly by true adults like myself, unlike the kinds of places my wife and her sister liked to go to where the clientele always seemed to be around twelve years old. Richard’s place sported an ancient piano, but one in excellent tune, and an equally ancient piano player who knew a lot of tunes. The music was mostly rhythm and blues, but some jazz if the clientele was interested enough to ask for it. The player’s name was Sam, if you can believe it. And yes, Richard, the owner, was mostly referred to as Rick. Go figure. I mounted a bar stool near the end of the bar furthest from the door. I looked around. It was still early. The place was maybe a quarter full, but I knew it would fill up pretty quick after 9:00. I smirked my satisfaction that I had had the cajones to stand up to Jennifer and leave her having to figure out what to do about the babysitting situation. Sam began playing some romantic stuff and a few couples got up to dance. I looked around for a likely partner, saw one, and left my martini sitting on the bar as I went over to her and asked her to dance. “Care to dance,” I said to the cute maybe thirty-something blond. She looked me up and down. “Uh, not right now,” she said. I’d done my best not to sound desperate, but I’m sure my face must have been bright crimson at hearing her reject me. “Oh, okay. Sorry,” I said. I turned and walked away. Over the next hour and half, I asked three other women, more or less in my age bracket, to dance; I was turned down by all of them. My luck was apparently gonna be pure shit tonight, I thought. I had been to Richard’s dozens of times, but I had never asked any of the women there to dance before; this was a wakeup call for me. What was wrong with me? Was I chopped liver as the saying goes? Before, it had always just been a few drinks and some light conversation with the barkeeps or other customers seated at the bar. Now that I wanted to dance, my batting average was nada. Maybe my wife and her sister knew something I didn’t. I know I didn’t have bad breath, or so I assumed. Looking around at the other patrons, I deduced that I was dressed okay. So what was wrong with me? I paid the bill and left before the place got really full. Okay, yes, I was humiliated. It was only about half past eight. I didn’t want to go home. Especially not with my tail between my legs. If Jen were there, I would be catching a busload of heat; right now, I didn’t need any of that. I wondered if in fact she were there, at home? It’d been around 6:30 when I’d left her; she could have gotten the neighbors’ kid, Rhonda, to sit if the teenager hadn’t had a date herself. An idea came to me. I’d know soon enough about that, I thought, that is about whether she had gone out or not. As bad as my luck had been tonight, I wondered about Jenny’s luck. If she had gone out with Marie, where would they have gone? Her favorite place, I knew, was the Hard Hat. It was across town, but I could get there in half an hour. If she had gotten a sitter, she might be there having the time of her life by now and probably dissing me for not being cooperative. I smiled to myself. Would she be glad to see me? I was maybe about to find out. I pulled into the parking lot and parked in the rear. My luck, good or bad, was holding, Marie’s car was parked two rows up from where I’d pulled in. I knew her plate number by heart, and I recognized it before I even got close. Was she alone or did she have my wife with her? I froze. Just as I got close to Marie’s car two naked feet planted themselves on the rear side window. The sounds of fucking were audible even with the windows closed. Marie had been married to a good man, Cass Wills. I doubted that Cass had come back to fuck his ex-wife in a bar’s parking lot. I moved closer to the car. I heard the woman screech. It wasn’t Marie; it was Escort bornova Jennifer. My heart sank. My marriage was over; that was a fact. I just had one thing left to do. I pulled my cell phone, went up to the car window, and began to shoot pictures. They noticed and began scrambling. One shot got their faces as well as their half naked bodies. I heard Jenny’s audible, “No!” The window got rolled down by a speechless drugstore cowboy; I looked down at the two of them. In a calm voice, I just told her to not come home early; I wanted a little time to pack up my stuff. Head down, a hang dog look no doubt painting my features, I walked away. A moment later she almost jumped out of the car pulling her dress down over her nakedness as she did so. She ran after me and grabbed me by the arm. “Harlan, please, give me a chance,” she pleaded. “I’m in the way, Jen,” I said. “I guess I’ve been in the way for years. You’ll be free now. We’re done.” She dropped her hand and watched me walk away. “Harlan, I need you,” were her parting words to me. ****** She at least had the decency to leave me enough time to clear out. Either that or she went back to doing what she’d been doing, but I doubted that. The babysitter was surprised to see me early and I assured her that she should stay and wait for Jen and her sister. It took me about a half hour to put together the stuff I needed: clothes, bathroom gear, and some other odds and ends and papers. Two suitcases filled the bill. The car loaded, I sat in the driver’s seat for a moment and looked at the house that had been ours for years and now no longer was. I was sad, very sad. I really had loved the woman; hey, probably always would; I mean twenty-one years of marriage; one doesn’t get over an investment like that without shedding a few tears. I found me a local motor lodge, paid for a week, and settled in. I set up my laptop, plugged in my air-card, and checked my savings account. Not too shabby, I thought; I had enough to hold me until I decided what to do. She had her own accounts and I had my own; that arrangement worked for me now. Divorce? Yeah, I guessed that that would be the way to go; it’s what I’d just told her, but was I sure? We’d likely have to sell the house to split the proceeds. Alimony? I smiled; she made twice my retirement money. If anyone had to pay, she would. Would I take it? I honestly didn’t know. She tried to call me several times on the cell over the next few days, so I went to the phone company and had my number changed. I would talk to her at some point, I told myself. But, for the moment, the wounds were still too raw. ****** I filed for divorce a few days later. My wife didn’t contest it. She did ask for a final meeting though. Ah me, the inevitable final meeting. The meeting was held at a restaurant we had favored while we were still a young a couple, The Shadows Inn. There were to be no lawyers, just us, kinda the period on the sentence, metaphorically speaking. I was early; she was late. I’d had a couple for martinis by the time she finally got there; I counted that as a good thing. “Sorry, I’m late, Harlan, really,” she said, taking a seat across from me. “How have you been?” “Well, let’s see: broken heart, no home to call my own, a shit load of humiliation, and a soon to be ex-wife who betrayed me and played me for a sucker for years. And, she’s even late for our final meeting together as husband and wife. So, to answer your question, Jennifer, I’m feeling fucking wonderful.” She was startled by the intensity of my sarcasm. “Harlan. I apologized for being late. And as for all of the rest, I was a shit. I am so very, very sorry for what I’ve done to you. You never deserved any of it. For me it was never about you…” “Yes it was, Jennifer. It had to be about me. You wanted someone, or someones, taller and better looking than me and you went out and found them. It was very much about me or rather what little I had to offer. “Let me apologize to you, Jen, for being less of a man than I needed to be for a woman of your class,” I said. “Clearly marrying you was a mistake; you were obviously way out of my league.” I said this last a little less sarcastically than I had my first words. “My God, I had no idea the depth of the hurt I was putting you through. I will never forgive myself,” she said. “But, as for you not being enough of a man for me, forget it; you were more than enough man for me, Harlan, or for any woman. I love you even now. If you were to stop the divorce, I would spend the rest of my life proving my love for you, Harlan.” She looked hopefully at me. “Can’t trust you anymore, Jen. I still adore you. üçyol escort You’re everything any man could want. Whoever you hook up with after this; well, I wish him and you both well,” I said. “You don’t hate me?” she said. “No, I don’t hate anyone, Jennifer, especially not you. I’m disappointed and hurt, as you said, but there is no hate in me.” We ate and carried on light conversation for the next hour. Finally it was time to leave. “Harlan, please keep in touch. It’s going to be hard for me at first not having you around,” she said. “Yeah to baby sit,” I said, laughing. Her face darkened. “Harlan!” “Sorry, Jen, that was a cheap shot.” Even though it’s probably true, I thought. She tendered me a slight smile. “Say hello to Marie for me; I did love the babies.” ****** The divorce was uncontested and easy. Three months after our final meeting at the restaurant, it was over. I was alone. I wasn’t sure about her. The terms of the divorce had Jennifer paying me $500 monthly for the next two years. Not a lot, but it was something. We did sell the house, and each of us got enough for a down payment on a new place which I wasn’t ready to lock myself into yet. We split the personal stuff amicably and prepared to get on with our lives. ****** The days after the divorce for me were, well, boring. My uninspiring, nothing little digs, a rented apartment at the time, and my “no” job situation left me with a lot of time to think. But, my thinking, such as it was, was disjointed and without direction. I needed to get my miserable, now forty-eight year old, act together and start the long road back toward some kind of normalcy. My first order of business was to get myself a job. I didn’t need the money, really, but I needed to be occupied with something; I needed to be up and doing. Without a woman, retirement sucked, and that in technicolor! I did get myself off occasionally, however, massage parlors and the occasional paid escort took care of my most basic needs. They were anonymous, made no demands, and really weren’t all that expensive. It worked for me. A search for a job that would suit me came to an unexpected end three days into it, the search that is. Sam, the pianist at Richard’s retired. Mr. Campbell, Richard, was looking for a replacement. Minimum wage plus tips. Well, the tips could be as much as a $100 a night, I was told. But, I wasn’t in it for the money; I just needed something to do; playing the piano was something I loved to do, and I was skilled at it. Heck, the customers loved me. Things were looking up, or so I thought. ****** I had been on the job and making fairly good tips, for almost a year, when I met her. Sylvia Moore was pretty, fortyish and sexy. She’d actually had the audacity to put money in the jukebox “while” I was playing. I looked over at her and was both angry and intrigued. Some of the patrons also looked at her wondering what the heck she was doing. She looked around at them, smiled, and said to all within hearing, “I just want to dance with the music man.” There were a few guffaws and some nervous laughter from the crowd as she came up to me. “You wouldn’t turn me down after I made a move like that, would you?” she said. I stared at her. “Huh?” I said. She giggled. “You wanna dance with me,” she said. I nodded. I don’t think I was altogether with it at that point. She kinda led me out onto the dance floor and we, well, danced, and that pretty close. Sylvia claimed to be a retired secretary. She had blond hair and a near perfect complexion. A little paunchy in the middle, but great looking tits and ass. We started off a little tentative, well I did; she, on the other hand, was totally in control of herself. Some four minutes later, as the song ended, we’d made a date for the following night. We danced some more between sets; she was captivating. ****** I was off; it was Sunday evening. I picked her up at her place, an upscale condo complex downtown. I was early. “Anxious are we?” she said, as we walked to the car. I snickered. “Not anxious, desperate,” I said. “Hmm, I like desperate men,” she said, as I helped her into the car. For some reason I knew not of, maybe something Freudian, we ended up at the Hard Hat. I hadn’t been there since that fateful night, seemingly, so long ago. We’d spent a good hour at the bar, drinking, waiting for an open table, which was cool. I wanted to talk more than I wanted to eat. Finally we were seated and were half way through our meal, and in my case my third martini, when they walked in: Jennifer and her escort. He was at least six-five and very handsome and, I thought, at least ten years younger than Jen. All of the old feelings came back to haunt me. Sylvia noticed. She also noticed who had caused it. “Someone you know?” she said. “Yes, the woman. She’s my ex,” I said. “Oh my. Are you okay? You look upset.” She said. “Truthfully? No, I’m not all right. The whole thing still bugs me,” I said. “Would you mind if we went somewhere else?” I said.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32