This is a story that took place just a few years into my marriage. I got married very young - probably a little too young - which is probably what led to the marriage's eventual dissolution. By this point, we'd been married for only about five years and I was in my late twenties.
I've always been a very sexual woman, but even so I was really trying to be good and stay faithful to my husband, Brian. Brian was my complete opposite in nearly every way. Where I was free and uninhibited, having lost my virginity at an early age, he was ultra conservative and even, dare I say, a bit of a prude. Of course, that was what attracted him to me in the first place! He found my spontaneity and exhibitionist streak exciting and I liked the idea of corrupting a good Catholic boy.
Not that I had been totally faithful. I'd had a few brief affairs with coworkers, but I always wound up breaking them off before they could get too involved. I had even developed a bit of a reputation for being a heart breaker, and young male hires were warned not to take my flirty behavior too seriously.
Here's the thing: I'm a big girl. I always have been. Because I'm also pretty tall (over 5'11"), I wear it well. I carry it in my chest, hips, and ass and - honestly - I wouldn't change a thing. Of course, now that I'm over 40, I've got saggy boobs and cellulite, but I still get my fair share of male attention. Back in the day, though, I was always able to turn heads no matter how many little skinny bitches were in a given room. Don't let anyone fool you: Guys like tits and ass first and foremost. I'm an H cup nowadays. Back then, I was more of a triple D. And I've always loved wearing tops that emphasize my assets. Plunging necklines are a must and I find that wearing a long, pendulous necklace gives guys an excuse to look right where I want them to look.
