My wife, Marge, and I have sex four or five times a week. She loves to fuck, and to have me suck her cunt. She'll suck me, but won't let me cum in her mouth.
She manages the female clothing sections of a major department store chain in one of our city's malls. My name's Bill. I write a monthly column for rural electric cooperatives in all states bordering the Mississippi River.
Shortly after one on a sweltering afternoon, I ducked into a neighborhood bar for a cold one. I had started to order another drink, when a sexy-voiced female said, "Wouldn't you rather come over to my place for a glass of wine?"
Startled, I turned to see who was talking. It was Karen, a woman in my wife's bridge club. She owns several automobile battery stores. I grinned. "Hi, Karen. If you live near here, I'll take you up on your offer. Matter of fact, I'll go if you live far away."
"C'mon, it's just a short walk from here." Thank goodness. The heat outside was oppressive.
When we reached her apartment, she said "Take off your tie and make yourself comfortable while I get the wine." She returned with two glasses of Merlot, touched her glass to mine, and said "Cheers."
"Don't you get lonesome living here all alone?" I asked. She had been divorced for about three years.
She laughed. "If you're wondering about my sex life, I get all the sex I can handle."
"That's not why I asked," I stammered.
"Tell me, Bill, do you get all the sex you can handle?"
"Yes. Sure But --"
