(This story is posted on the Literotica website. Do not repost anywhere else without the author's consent. Thanks to my biggest fan for the idea for this story. For fans of my stories, they know what kinds of things to expect. This story deals with similar themes as the stories by wannabeboytoy, seducedHylas, and Dark Betrayal, namely cheating, betrayal, and heartbreak. If stuff like that isn't your cup of tea, then you probably shouldn't bother reading it. I do not condone any of these actions in real life. This is just a story. Enjoy.)
(Marcus)
My life was perfect.
Some see turning 40 as the beginning of the end, but I saw it as a new beginning. My name is Marcus and I couldn't have been happier about where I was in life. Married to my lovely wife, Linda, for almost 18 years now. And I had a good house, great friends and a good job. My cup was full.
My marriage was still going strong. We had had our rough patches in the past, but we had settled into our groove. She was an interior decorator, and the group she worked with had really grown over the years and gained a strong reputation. She started out decorating homes, but now she helped new businesses set up stuff and create a warm inviting atmosphere. We lived in a fairly rich area of the state, new businesses were always going up, so she was kept busy.
Her job complimented mine well. I was always good with my hands, so I got pretty good at woodworking. I knew my way around a shop with the best of them. After I graduated college, I got hired at a wood shop at a nearby school. Me and Linda moved around a few times, but we settled at where we're at now, and I found a job at the local school here. On top of teaching the students the finer points of the shop, I was an assistant coach on the varsity football team. Much like in the shop, I was never loud, never mean, never a dick. I was a coach to these young men, not a taskmaster. The head coach and most others I dealt with were that type of guy, kind of taskmasters, but I could tell the players gravitated towards me more than them. That old saying, you get more flies with honey than vinegar, kind of applies here. I was pretty popular with most of the players, and the students I had tended to feel the same way. But, with that relaxed attitude comes the fact that I had been working the same job for years, with no promotions or added work. Sure, I was happy where I was job-wise, but sometimes, I would have been more than happy to gain a little bit more responsibility within the school. But I wasn't too aggressive about moving up and it wasn't really a big deal that I didn't. I never wanted to be more than this. I just did my job to the best of my ability, and gave these students someone they could like and trust.
Spending all day in the shop allowed me to indulge myself. I loved custom woodworking, just creating things out of blank blocks of wood. Most of the furniture in our house was made by me. Dressers, tables, even my marital bed. All built by me. I built some things to sell as well, hoping to supplement our income at shows and stuff like that. I was moderately successful. But as the years went on, coaching ended up taking up more and more of my time, so I had fewer opportunities to create. It had reached the point where I was coach first, shop teacher second. But I loved to coach. I loved to mold these children into good, upstanding adults. Like this one guy on my team, Raymond. He was such a good kid, but he was a shy boy. He would come to me for advice. He was an average looking guy, but he was a lineman so he was a bit husky. But he was a good kid. The son I never had. And he had confided me that he had a crush on one of the cheerleaders, Becky. She was a good girl, a bit preppy, and way out of his league. He asked my advice, and I gave him the best wisdom I could. About dating and girls. And I was happy to say Raymond had worked up the courage to ask Becky out and they were going to prom together. Things like this left me fulfilled, being a father figure to these young men. And that wasn't the only time I helped mold one of my students into strong adults. I was happy.
With my wife being a decorator, and me a woodworker, you could imagine that our house was the shit. And it was. Two stories, awesome furniture (if I do say so myself), interesting decor, it was great. But there was one thing missing. One hole in our house that would never be filled.
I still remember that day when I heard the news. Me and Linda had been having trouble conceiving, as we had been pretty hot and heavy during the first year of our marriage. We went to the doctor where we found out the truth. Linda would never be able to conceive. She could never give me what we both wanted. Children. I cried, we both cried, it was the darkest point in our marriage. We fought, we screamed, we cried. I was forced to confront things, confront my marriage.
I loved Linda obviously. She was beautiful, clearly. Not overly striking, but the type of beauty that sticks in you, that keeps making you think about her. My first thought was that she was a bit of a hippie, with her dressing in weird clothing, and also that she was kinda of a bit kooky. But she was far from a hippie. Hippies are laid back, you know, calm. Linda was not. She was tough. She was demanding. Her very unique sort of fashion was misleading, a facade, hiding her hard as nails interior. The only thing I could think of was what she was like if you got past her hard exterior. It had to be a smokescreen. There had to be a soft side to her. I became obsessed with her, obsessed with that soft side that she must have. I had never met a girl like her.
And I was the jock, the all-American guy. But Linda just grabbed my attention. I was fascinated by her, by her uniqueness, and this grew into love. Our early relationship had been a bit volatile, as she was very passionate, and there was some friction that developed. I tried to get her to grow up a bit, stop being such a wild child, and she wanted me to loosen up. We had had some fights, horrible fights, about our different lifestyles. But we eventually pushed through it, and married soon after graduating.
She had grown into a great, professional woman, but she still had her uniqueness. She was silly, she had funky tastes in things and she was so fun. And I had loosened up a bit. We both got what we wanted.
That made the news we got devastating. I always wanted kids. I loved kids. But she could not provide them for me. I had thoughts, dark thoughts, wondering if I should stay with her if she could not provide me with children. I was an only child, and my name would die with me if I did not have children. I wanted to live on. I wanted someone to carry my genes and my family's history once I was gone.
Me and Linda talked for a long time confronting this fact. A lot of fights, a lot of tears, but we had pushed through it. I finally came to a realization: if I had to choose between having kids, or having her, I would choose her. I would rather share my life with Linda than with anyone else. I had made my choice. I accepted I would never have children. It still gnawed at me, I would admit. It came up in my head every so often and when it did it felt like there was a pit in my stomach. I would bury those thoughts, accepting the choice I made. We never adopted or anything like that. I had nothing against it but I felt like I wouldn't be able to look past the point that they were not mine. Maybe that makes me a jerk, but it was the truth.
However there were some blessings to not having children. We didn't have to put money away for them. All our earnings could be used for ourselves. We lived humbly for a few years, saving money. Our dream was for us to retire early, travel the world, and live our lives totally together. We worked hard and saved up and we were getting close to our goal.
One other pro to not having to worry about kids was to not worry about birth control. No pills for her. No condoms for me. I hadn't used a condom since college. So our sex life was good. She always kept me satisfied, and she was willing to try new things.
I had stayed in good shape. Being a football coach allowed me access to the weight room, so I stayed pretty fit. And I didn't look like too much of an old man yet. Sure, I had a little gray, but Linda assured me I looked distinguished. I had a few wrinkles, but I would say I was still a good looking guy.
So life was good. Our marriage was good. Our home was good. Our jobs were good. We had money. My life was perfect.
Then the doorbell rang.
***********
It had been a normal day, like any other. Me and Linda had gotten home from work and we were discussing our day as we were starting dinner. Linda usually had more excitement than I did, as she traveled around town to different places and establishments. She had even met a few celebrities. So, I usually let her talk about her day and usually didn't give many stories in return. Hey my days are usually pretty boring anyway, and her stories were usually more interesting than mine, and I enjoyed living vicariously through her.
"So, this place is huge. Just totally open floor space. Just a big canvas for me. I can't wait to get to work in it." Linda said with a smile.
"It sounds great." I said. I marveled at how far my wife had come. When she was in College she was so cynical, such a downer. But I had seen that spark in her. The spark that said there was more to her tough exterior. Through our marriage, our trials and tribulations, she had grown so much. The Linda I knew in College would never have gotten this excited over anything. She would never smile this wide. I took some pride that I was able to bring this side out of her.
That was when we heard the doorbell. We glanced at each other in confusion. We didn't get many visitors so I had no idea who it could be. Probably a solicitor or someone from the church. I put down the wooden spoon, brushed off my hands and made my way to the front door, opening it up.
I was surprised to see a girl at my doorstep. As soon as I opened the door she looked straight up at me, taking me in. She didn't say a word for a bit, she just stared. I took her in for a moment. At first, I thought she was one of the students from the high school, but I didn't recognize her. And she was the type you would not forget.
She was stunning. Her face was gorgeous, with expressive, blue eyes, full lips, and smooth, tan skin. Her hair was black, cascading from her head, full and lustrous, falling past her shoulders. She was a petite girl, probably a head shorter than my six foot frame. And, uh, I don't want to come across like a dirty old man, but this girl had enormous breasts, straining the fabric of her pink blouse. They were just huge, and she clearly knew it, as the blouse was spread to show a hint of her cavernous cleavage. Those suckers were practically the size of watermelons it seemed like, especially in relation with her otherwise lithe frame. I looked past her boobs, to see her wearing a tight pair of jeans, leading down her legs to the pair of sneakers on her feet.
