Sometimes you just had to forgive them for being so damn good looking. Harry was beautiful, movie star beautiful, except that he was tall. But let’s face it, he was boring. He didn’t have the entertainment value of Des or Curtis who would go for it behind the garage or standing up in a canoe. But Harry was tall, lean, and Polynesian – so lovely to the eyes… like Greg Louganis in the middle of a dive.
He was gorgeous to look at, but strictly missionary in the sack. Des could go at it for hours, munching, licking, sucking, worshipping the female form. No matter what the size or shape of the lady, he could exhaust her with foreplay and then plunge into her with the strength of a body builder, biceps bulging and sweating.
Curtis would pull it out in the middle of the day while cleaning the garage and start workin’ it until she was enticed enough to drop to her knees and suck his banana. He had a big dick for someone so short. Sometimes she would have him stand on the ladder to get better leverage.
Harry was tall, and honest, and hard working. He would be a good husband and father for her children. He was gentle and reliable, so she settled, but she still wanted more. The housework was complete. Her house was spotless. The beds were made perfectly. Not one speck of dust was evident. All the laundry was hanging out on the line to dry.
She went outside to get the mail and saw Mr. Wilson up the street. He waved and she waved back. He was watering his yard. “Hello!” she called out. He kept on with his watering and she took the mail back inside to organize it into stacks of throw away, bills to pay, personal correspondence, etc.
She still wants something more. She wanted a little thrill. She went outside to take down the laundry and began folding the clothes, putting them into neat stacks, organized into categories: boys’ room, kitchen, bathroom, etc. Mr.Wilson pops into her mind.
It just seemed natural to walk by his house early one afternoon wearing green shorts, a green halter top with pink polka dots tied at the breast to emphasize her cleavage. She also wore sunglasses, and some strappy sandals. If he happened to be in the yard, she might stop and talk for a few minutes. Maybe he’d invite her in for a drink? It seemed harmless enough.
The kids were napping. She’d have to make it quick – and there was the rub. The kids were left by themselves while she went off to satisfy her wont. Women might understand her wanting a lover, but the men stayed out of it.
They all thought poorly of her for it, but frankly no one ever really enjoyed Harry’s dull schoolboy charm. Still, Mr. Wilson? Balding, paunchy, moustached, greying, friendly, unassuming Mr. Wilson? He was the love of her life, so she said. But at what cost?
No one could figure it out and in the end she lost her kids. Dependable Harry took over. The anger and disappointment of her affair caused a rift in the family that lasted until that old goat, Mr. Wilson died. Even her own mother testified on Harry’s behalf. “You don’t leave your children to run off and have an affair,” she told the judge.
Harry never lost a step and he was remarried in short time to a woman who appreciated him for exactly what he had to offer – a regular paycheck and the missionary position once a week.
(First published 6/6/12)
