Any and all references to people are strictly a figment of my imagination and should not be construed as having to do with anyone that actually lives in Coffeeville, KS. This is not a cheating story but one of a new and fulfilling romance because the husband has cheated, the fact that the new lovers aren't the same skin color shouldn't take away from the romantic aspect of the story.
I wasn't sure about our move to Coffeeville, Kansas, it was a smaller city of just over ten thousand in the middle of what I considered nowhere, seventy-five miles north of Tulsa and famous for one thing, the Dalton Gang shoot out in 1892, the city still has a celebration every October commemorating the event. When the community people figured out the Daltons were robbing not one but two banks they took a stand in a gunfight with the five Daltons. The brother who survived had been shot 23 times and lived to serve a fourteen-year prison sentence. Who gets shot 23 times and lives? Of those stopping the Daltons four were killed which is mainly what the October thing is all about.
My husband Darnell, (everyone knew him as Denny), thank God, had graduated at the top of his class as a chemical engineer and was hired right away by the Sherman Williams Company headquartered in Cleveland. We were located at the Bowling Green facility and I loved it, we were close enough to Nashville so that we went without anything concerning culture but far enough away that we could enjoy the sort of country setting of a smaller city. With a degree in business management I landed a job as store manager for the local Wal-Mart, sure you can scoff, but the pay and benefits were good, as it turned out I was the first black person to hold that position. The fact that I was also the first female manager for that store was icing on the cake, I was twenty-seven, good looking and full of energy, the world was my oyster.
I recall the day Denny waltzed into the kitchen proudly proclaiming he had landed a position as head scientist and we would soon be moving, everything covered by Sherwin Williams, I was so happy and giddy I forgot to ask where. Lying in bed after an average love making session, it seemed to be the only kind we had, it was never earth moving and it was anybody's guess as to whether I might climax. Making sure my needs were met in the bedroom was never high on his list of priorities. Lying in the dark I realized I had no idea where we were moving me to.
"Where are we moving to by the way?"
"You're gonna love it Wendy, it's the home of my great-great uncle Frank Wickware, you know, the baseball player."
Oh yes I knew the one, I'd heard the story a hundred times, ranked as one of the top three pitchers in the Negro Leagues, his nickname was rawhide and he pitched for a total of nineteen different teams from 1909 until he left baseball in 1925. It was said that he would have ranked with the all-time greats had his skin been white. Yes, I knew the person and I knew where he was born, the middle of nowhere in the far south of Kansas, not exactly a hub of fine culture, or anything else from what I knew of it. My heart sank, the very next day I began researching Coffeeville in an effort to steel myself for the inevitable.
Coffeeville is a city of just under ten thousand people, they have one high school, one middle school and one elementary school that serves the entire city, there are jobs in industry, white collar, blue collar and entry level positions for those who want to work. John Deere has a big plant located there and Sherman Williams has operated a smelting facility there since the early nineteen hundreds. Along with that demographic are all the small businesses and agriculture surrounding the area, the median income ranges from thirty-six to forty-three thousand with over forty five percent of all homes occupied by married couples.
The cultural aspect was what I considered fairly normal for a Midwest town that had originally been mostly agriculture based, about 68% white, 13% black, 11% Hispanic or Latino, American Indians, Asians, and other ethnicities made up the remainder. While researching the town I noticed they had a large Wal-Mart Center and contacted them immediately, as luck would have it there would be a manager's position opening within six months at that very store. With me being not only female but black I felt I had a good chance of landing that position. Three weeks after contacting the headquarters in Arkansas I was notified that the position was mine if I wanted it, I accepted.
We'd been there several months which brings us to the present. Denny and I are what are considered DINKS in the working world, double income, no kids, we both make good money and live in a nice home located on the outskirts of town. Coffeeville had every convenience we needed but would never compare with somewhere like Nashville, or even Tulsa for that matter which was less than two hours away. When I tell people that my husband is the head scientist at the Sherman Williams plant I get the impression they think he's something he isn't.
Black men in positions of authority are typically portrayed as being on the taller side, broad shoulders, long legs, muscular body, shaved head, handsome facial features and in command, always in command. Unfortunately, a lot of good young bosses and supervisors are set up for failure when they're compared to the stereotype of the very few who do fit that image. My husband is one of the those not fitting the stereotype. He's five foot-eight of average build, no six packs or taught biceps on this guy, he wears his hair cut close, dresses like the nerd scientist he is, pocket protector and all the other normal nerd qualifications. The worst part about Denny, he is average at best in the bedroom regardless of what I do to try and spirit him on.
It was always all about him and his needs. I've read and heard stories of all these huge unrealistically hung black men servicing the little white wife married to a limp dick pansy ass husband, except I've never met one of those guys. I lost my virginity at nineteen in college and had a few lovers before meeting and falling in love with my normal run of the mill guy, Darnell. None of them, I mean not one had a penis beyond average for all males worldwide, some were a little longer, shorter, wider, thinner, but there were no twelve-inch beer can diameter cocks that either myself or any of my girlfriends ever encountered.
We girls reached the conclusion that no one group had the market on big dicks. In fact, my bestie Shirley did a bunch of research and discovered that the number of penises over seven inches is less than ten percent throughout all cultures and a nine-inch penis is found on less than one percent of all males worldwide. Our ultimate finding was thus, they're all about the same give or take an inch in most cases, of course there are the tiny dicks and the extremely large, but they aren't the norm, regardless of race.
At four and a half inches and not very fat my Denny was on the lower end of average, which I took into consideration when I agreed to marry him, what he had wasn't the biggest I'd had, but with foreplay and affectionate attention he nearly always got me off when we started being sexually active. Besides, I was marrying more than his dick, he was sweet, kind, and attentive, at least in the beginning, now with the greater responsibilities of the lead scientist position his mind was often elsewhere instead of on me. I initially thought it was the job that captivated his time and thoughts, that would change all too quickly.
I would look at myself in the full-length mirror after I showered and wonder why he wasn't paying more attention to me, my legs are long and shapely, my hips have a slight flare to them and my butt is what my brother calls "sweet", whatever that's supposed to mean. I have a slim waist, a flat tummy and 34C breasts, my facial features and flowing hair look more white than they do black. Yes, I am a mixed-race baby, my father is Danish, my mother is a deep brown, my skin hue is the color of light brown sugar, height wise I'm on the shorter end of the spectrum at five foot five.
We had been in Coffeeville about ten months when I got tired of sitting in an empty house waiting for my husband to trudge in, eat, shower and plop his ass in front of the TV. I needed something to occupy my time when Denny was working late at the lab, or, at least I thought he was working. Those nights were usually Tuesday and Thursday, he was always home just after eight but that still left over three hours for me with not much to do. One can only clean, dust and rearrange so much, so I joined a fitness center/gym and began attending the nights he worked late. The fitness portion occupied most of the space, but at the end of the building was an area twenty feet by the width of the building that contained a free weight area, or gym if you like.
