It’s a fact ... Guy society stratifies somewhere in the fifth grade. And nothing changes for the next seventy years. You see it at any social gathering. There are jocks, lady’s men, nerds and the nameless, faceless herd all milling around in little clumps. But, you never see the guys from one group mixing with the other.
Sure, some of the jocks are lady’s men. And some of the nerds are faceless. But in general they all hang in the stratum that they occupied when they were nine years old.
I was never a lady’s man. But I WAS a jock; so-to-speak. I was a swimmer in college, which most of the jocks don’t consider a sport. But my varsity letter looked just like everyone else’s. So, when class reunions rolled around I always ended up with the jock group.
The only thing that I hate more than mixing with people I didn’t know, and reminiscing about things that I don’t care about, is having my nuts roasted over a slow fire. Nonetheless, I was standing there because my wife Janet demanded my presence. I believe her exact words were, “Come to the reunion or no pussy for you, buckaroo.” And since my wife is still one smoking hot lady, I wasn’t going to leave her unattended, while her former classmates leered at her cheerleader body.
That was why I was standing next to Mike Harper at my fifteenth year class reunion. Mike was a very average football player. But he was a lady’s man par-excellence. I was neither. Nevertheless, because I was standing next to him in the university’s official Varsity Club tent, he just assumed I must be worth talking to. And he was definitely leering at Janet.
He turned to me, one manly-man to another, and said, “Will you check out that chick over there.”
Seriously!!! He’s 36-years-old and he just called a mother of two a CHICK???!!!
I looked idly in Janet’s direction. She was standing with her back to us. Her long beautiful legs with their overdeveloped calf muscles and her stunning round butt were covered by by a relatively modest little black dress. Her thick, beautiful auburn hair hung down her back in lusterous waves, ending just above her tight, womanly buns.
To say that she retains a hard little body is an understatement. She was a gymnast and cheerleader in college and ahe is still a dancer. But it was her intelligence, her humanity, her cheerful outlook on life and her fundamentally rock solid sense of values that I fell in love with.
Why she fell in love with ME is a puzzle. But the gods work in mysterious ways and I had no desire to look a proverbial gift horse in the mouth. So I just went with my good fortune and married her. Between Janet and our ten-year-old boy and eight-year-old girl I am a very happy man.
Harper’s voice brought my reminiscing back to the present day. He was saying, “I remember her from my playing days. She was the hottest cheerleader on the sideline. I used to watch her when I wasn’t on the field. I heard from some of the other guys that she was the world’s wildest fuck. But I never had the pleasure.”
That was a little disturbing. I had to take what he was saying at face value. Because I didn’t know Janet in college. We went to the same school but it was a big place and we never crossed paths. Swim meets don’t feature cheerleaders. In fact, we were happy if 100 people showed up. I met her in grad school. Both of us are MBAs.
If she was a great fuck back then, it wasn’t on my watch. So all Harper’s comments did was set off a wave of nostalgia for those wild frat parties. I was not exactly celibate myself. A lot of women like sleek swimmer’s bodies instead of the musclebound football player types. So, I had my fill of hot women.
Nevertheless, I COULD attest that the title “World’s Wildest Fuck” still applied to Janet - even after twelve years of marriage. In fact, she spent several hours lovingly proving that to me last night. I forgot how uninhibited – and loud – she can get when our kids aren’t around.
Harper said conspiratorially, “Do you know anything about her? Is she married? What’s her story?” I said just as conspiratorially, “She’s married for sure dude. Don’t you see the size of the rock on her finger. And she seems like a really classy chick.”
If he could revert to adolescence, then so could I.
I added, “A woman like her probably has kids and she would never fuck around on her family.” I said that with conviction because I knew it and believed it. He gave me a condescending laugh and said, “Want to bet? Those are the ones who are the easiest.”
That seriously pissed me off. I said with some heat, “Why in the world would I bet on the fidelity of some poor woman - with a person I don’t even know.” He grabbed my hand, pumped it, and said, “Mike Harper, pleased to meet you. Now how much do you want to bet?”
What is it with these simple minded assholes? Life is just a game with them. Every guy in the treehouse is a friend. And every woman is a conquest. I should have told him right away that I was Janet’s husband. Anything other than that was morally reprehensible.
But, Janet was the one who had inflicted this douchebag on me. I hate reunions and she had dragged me there screaming-and-kicking. So now I just went with the flow. I know ... I’m stupid.
If I thought this dickhead had the slightest chance of making progress with Janet, I would have just walked away. I loved my wife far too much to use her as a betting chip. But this guy’s attitude toward her was so disrespectfully arrogant that I acted out in anger.
And I do really idiotic things when I get mad.
I said with loathing in my voice, “You could hit on that woman for the next month and you would STILL never find out whether she was the world’s wildest fuck. I can recognize the faithful ones. And I’ll bet you that she reserves all of her passion for her lucky husband!!!”
Dickbreath could tell that I was getting pissed so he decided to wind me up some more. He said, “Afraid to put your money where your mouth is? And why do you give a shit about somebody else’s wife?” I said, “Because if I make a bet with you I am encouraging you to do something that I think is despicable.”
He laughed uproariously and said, “I take what I want wimp. It’s the way of all of us alpha-males. If you’re not enough of a man to make a man’s bet, I’ll just keep you informed. But one way or the other, I am going to get into that sweet little pussy between now and next month.”
That was the point where I was sure that he was going to try, no matter what I said. And I wanted to stay on top of the situation. So I chuckled and said, “What’s your email address pal? I’ll ping you and you can brag about it. That is, if YOU are man enough. But if you want me to believe you I want the play-by-play.” He said sneeringly, “I’ll enjoy giving it to you.”
I said, “Remember, one month and then you’re a loser.” He said with his voice dripping contempt, “It won’t take me five days.” Then he handed me a business card and walked away chuckling.
Hmmm – Real Estate ... How appropriate...
That evening I pinged him from a Gmail account. I had just set it up under the name “hotcarguy69.” I figured that would be close to what Dickhead would expect from another member of the boy’s club. And that address was as far from my actual identity as you could get.
In the meantime, Janet was really disappointed with the reunion. I was happy about that. She told me that the women were either divorcees looking to line up their next husband. Or, they were girls who had never grown past their sorority days.
I wanted to tell her that I had met a glorified frat-boy who would make all of her friends look downright mature. In fact, I should have done that. But the gist of the whole challenge thing just seemed so juvenile that I didn’t want to admit to getting suckered in. It was embarrassing. And I had a feeling Janet would not be pleased to find out who the target was - and how easily I had been duped.
She then proceeded to kill me with sex. I think the realization that we had grown past college had finally hit her. And it made her insatiable. It was like she was trying to get in touch with her new reality as a mom and high achieving professional by fucking my brains out.
She does it on pure horsepower, not tricks. So that night she rode me vigorously, in every way a woman can ride a man, including sideways and she must have come seven or eight times. I wasn’t complaining but I hoped that she would get in touch with her new persona soon; before my circulatory system collapsed.
A couple of days passed and I forgot about my conversation with Dickhead. That was when my smartwatch told me that I had mail. Since the only thing my watch was synched to was that particular Gmail account I knew I had to surreptitiously look at it after Janet went to bed.
“Studboy1980” was just checking in. “Found out where she worked. Don’t know why a hot chick like her isn’t home taking care of her kids and her husband like a woman ought to. Makes it easier for me tho.”
Janet was an MBA senior economist at a local brokerage firm. This guy sold houses.
I sent back a terse, “Three and a half weeks left loser...”
The Friday afternoon of the first week studboy1980 sent, “Caught her at lunch. Always eats in the same place. She fell for the ‘knew you in school’ gambit. Going to be fucking her in a week.”
.... There is more of this story ...