My name is Sally and at the time of my story I was 19 years old.
I had married at eighteen and regretted it soon after. The trouble with my husband was that he thought he was a good lover.
He wasn't.
He was good at the romantic bits of foreplay, bunches of flowers, chocolates, kissing and caressing.
Unfortunately for me - or any other woman for that matter - was the fact that he would usually come in thirty seconds flat!
And he was a one-shot man.
It was because he was good at the build up and was blessed with a big stiff cock that the final let-down was so bad. I ended up in tears many times in the first few months of our marriage, tears of frustration.
To make matters worse, Tom was a bit of a control freak. For instance when I started having driving lessons, he told me I was wasting my time and money since he would never allow me to drive our car and we couldn't afford two cars.
And although my parents had strongly approved of him as a potential husband before we married, he seemed to turn against my family as soon as the confetti had blown away. He made any sort of excuse not to visit and put up barriers against me going to see them on my own.
When my brother, Paul, and my sister, Sarah, did drive over to see me he was very offhand with them too.
I grew more and more frustrated and unhappy but I had no one to unburden my troubles on.
We lived in an apartment block near the middle of town. It was very convenient but old fashioned. For instance, there was a washroom in the basement, with washing machines and dryers, all coin operated. There was also a coffee machine.
I used the washroom every Tuesday morning, mainly because it was busy on Mondays and Tuesday was the quietest day of the week there.
There was often one other user on Tuesday, a black man with greying sideburns who I took to be nearly forty, although I learned later that he was thirty-two. We often sat chatting and drinking the machine coffee whilst watching the dryers slowly revolving with our clothes in them.
I began to look forward to Tuesday mornings. Nathan, that was his name, was articulate and spoke with a northern accent. He told me his parents had worked in the car industry but had moved back when the far eastern manufacturers reduced sales of the home product and many workers got laid off.
"Nowadays they've got robots that can do the work of twenty men, and do it perfectly every time. It's the only way our people can compete but it is sad for those whose livelihoods are ruined," he said.
He was well read, had a good job on a local newspaper and had been married at some stage but it had finished two years back. He never went into much detail about that sort of thing, any more than I did. He liked to talk about politics and the state of the economy when I let him! But he could chat just as easily on lighter things, such as fashions and food. I loved chatting to him but sometimes I just sat and listened. I found myself liking him quite a lot.
I decided on a bit of teasing. One Tuesday I dressed in a short tight skirt and an off the shoulder tank top with my bra straps highly exposed. But it didn't appear to have any effect on Nathan. I tried other things, like a pair of skin tight pink cut-offs that showed the line of my panties very clearly and a see-through blouse with a red bra underneath.
I decided teasing Nathan wasn't a worthwhile game!
However, one day I had to pop out to the pharmacy before going down to the laundry room. I got there late and a bit out of breath. I had on a plain black skirt of modest length and a deep pink satin blouse that was ever so slightly small so it was stretched across my tits.
Nathan looked pleased to see me. When we sat down, side by side, he put his arm around me and stroked my shoulder. It wasn't all that sexy or anything. He just seemed fascinated by the smooth material and let his fingers roam softly over my shoulder and upper arm.
