Thursday Nights
Chapter 1

Special thanks to ErikThread for the great editing. His skills make the story easier for you to read, but then I changed some of it. So, any grammar mistakes, misspellings, or punctuation errors you find, I DID IT.

This is the first of a two part story. The second part is finished and will be posted in one day. If you prefer, you can wait until the second part appears and read the story in its entirety. Please vote and leave your comments.

Cathy and I were part of an ever changing group of attractive young people who spent a lot of time together. We were young and enjoyed spending our evenings at some of the local clubs, dancing, drinking, and having fun. Some weekends guys attended ballgames while the gals went shopping then the group reformed for an evening at someone's house or apartment. At one time or another, a guy and a gal paired off, and then separated and rejoined the group. Several of the females were pretty wild. They probably had sex with every one of the men. They switched partners pretty regularly.

Cathy had dated two or three of the guys in the group but never seriously. Her sister Sherry was part of the group, too. However, Sherry was one of the wildest. They often arrived together, but Cathy went home alone. She seemed insecure when her sister wasn't around. After the first few dates Cathy and I had, we sort of drifted away from the group and eventually married. We didn't start a family right away. Cathy was just barely twenty-one and I was only five years older. She had a rather mediocre job. She declined my suggestion she go to college, thinking if she dedicated more time to her job, she might end up with a promotion. After three years, there was no promotion in sight so Cathy agreed it was time to start our family. She quit work near the time our first child was due and stayed at home until we had three children and they were all old enough for school. She missed being with adults and the excitement of doing something besides taking care of a home and our children. After a couple of part time positions, she got a pretty good job with one of the large companies in town. Her income wasn't great, but it helped out when we bought our first home.

Although I couldn't use my cell phone while I was at work, Cathy usually called me during my lunch hour, or I called her because she frequently left a message on my voice mail. She liked to ask if I needed her to do anything at home, talk about what she would do later that day, or the activities the children might spend their afternoon doing. She also liked to ask me if I had any suggestions for our dinner that night.

After several years of feeling like the walls of our tiny house were going to burst, Cathy and I were finally able to afford a larger home. Our oldest child had just turned thirteen, and with the prospect of having three teenagers, we wanted as large a house as we could afford. The house we found was huge, upstairs there was a master bedroom across the back of the house, and four smaller bedrooms down that same hall. It was a real bargain, partly because it had been vacant for a couple of years, tied up in a nasty divorce proceeding. The bank had finally foreclosed on the loan and auctioned the house to the highest bidder, a real estate investor. That investor just wanted to turn the property quickly, so he added a few thousand dollars on top of what he paid for it, which meant The Preston family could afford to live in a much better neighborhood than we expected. We were particularly attracted by the exceptionally large rear yard, which would allow our children to stay home rather than roam the neighborhood after school. It was something we were becoming more concerned about with so many homes lacking a stay-at-home parent to supervise their children's activities.

However, because the house had been vacant for a while it had been neglected, both inside and out. I'm fairly handy as a weekend carpenter so we were able to do most of the interior repairs ourselves, particularly the cosmetic damage done by the former owners. Most of the money we made from selling our smaller home, which wasn't as much as we thought it would be, went to repairs for the new house. According to the real estate investor, the husband had accused the wife of cheating and the wife made similar accusations against her husband. At separate times, the two had gone through the house doing some damage in an effort to get back at each other. The damage was pretty easy for me to repair, but it also gave Cathy and me a few opportunities to renew our promises that we wouldn't do that to each other, the same promises we had made during our wedding ceremony. We had a solid marriage and loved each other.

Our three children learned to handle paint rollers and brushes with some skill, probably because we allowed them to select the colors for their own bedrooms, so long as it wasn't something wild. We also discovered we had to leave bedroom doors open during the day so the house would stay cool. When the weather got a little cooler, I planned to do something about the air conditioning ducts in the attic.

It seemed like the yard was the most neglected part of the property, including a wide, irregular shaped sloping back yard full of trees. No one had ever done much work back there. I had cut down some of the smaller trees and was slowly digging up the stumps. There were also a few larger trees, but they needed some extensive pruning to make a nice rear yard where we could spend some time outdoors. As summer approached, we were still outside every few days, working in the back yard and trying to keep the grass in front of the house growing. We pulled weeds from between the grass plugs, and shaped the few small plants we'd added to hedges on either side of the front entry.

Part of my enjoyment of working outside was having the love of my life doing her own thing outdoors, not far from me. My wife, Cathy, has a really hot body. At least I think so. Her breasts aren't really large but she often wore a brief halter top without a bra, trying to get a little bit of a tan on the exposed skin. She usually wore very short shorts when we worked in the back yard, which I loved, especially when she would squat down and I could see inside the crotch of her shorts. She seldom wore panties, which made my view even better, especially when she was bending over with her cute butt sticking up. Cathy said when she got hot and sweaty, every thing she was wearing stuck to her wet skin. She had also encouraged me to work without a shirt too, and occasionally I'd pull my shirt off and leave it by the door. Like her, I rarely wore underwear under my cutoff jeans, for the same reasons she used.

We occasionally indulged in touching and stroking, but were careful. We were aware one of the children might walk into the back yard, so our playing was pretty tame. However, it led to some intense late night lovemaking after the children had taken their baths and went to their beds.

We were very lucky with neighbors. A couple across the street and two doors down had a thirteen year old boy, Kenneth, the same age as our son, Benny. Missy, their daughter was nine, while our daughters, Becky and Tina, were eleven and eight. Most of the other families had much younger children. Although she was only eleven, our middle daughter was looking forward to earning some baby sitting money.

One evening, just before dark I was carefully trimming the new hedges. I happened to glance up at Cathy and saw her looking down the street. She blushed, shuddered, and her nipples got hard. Then she looked down, as if she was hiding her face. I didn't understand. I knew I hadn't said anything to make her blush, although I was good at that, commenting on how sexy she looked when perspiration made her skin shine or reminding her I was interested in some more intimate action as soon as we could close our bedroom door. I also recognized the shudder as her reaction to something that caused a tingle of sexual arousal. I turned to see all three of our children walking down the street. They were coming toward our home because their playmates, the two Hanson children, were walking up the sidewalk toward their front door, but I didn't see anyone else on the street, or in their front yard.

"It's Thursday, Jerry. The kids are coming, I guess I'll go finish supper," Cathy announced as she stood and dusted off her knees.

It took a couple of hours to finish supper, clean up the kitchen, and oversee the children as they took their baths then hugs and kisses for each of them when they were finally in their beds. I hadn't been sitting in my easy chair long enough to reach for the television remote when Cathy grabbed my hand and pulled me up the stairs to our bedroom.

During the seventeen years of our marriage, sex had always been important to both of us. I'm sure as time went on our sex life wasn't as robust as when we were younger. Yet, we still had sex at least one night during the week and then again sometime over the weekend, often early Sunday morning, particularly if the kids stayed up late Saturday night and slept late the next morning.

That night, after supper, we took a shower together, playing in the warm water as we washed each other, and then had the wildest, most intense sex we'd had in several years. I must have licked her through five or more orgasms and she wanted me to give her a rough fuck. She kept telling me, "Harder, harder, faster, faster, Jerry. Fuck me."

When she wasn't satisfied with how hard I was pounding into her, she got on her knees and had me behind her so she could slam her hips back at me every time I thrust forward. Cathy also woke me up before daylight the next morning and gave me a blow job that curled my toes.

As I was driving to work that Friday, I realized that for a few weeks we had gotten into the habit of having sex every Thursday night. When I got home that night, after we got the kids to bed, I asked Cathy what was going on.

She blushed as she tried to explain. A few days after we moved in, Sue Hanson had come over to visit. She and Cathy became pretty good friends. They found things to do Saturday or Sunday, taking all five children with them, with Sue driving their huge old Suburban. It gave Barry and me a whole day to watch a ballgame, play a round of golf, or just have a day without the family around.

A few weeks later, Sue Hanson had walked across the street with half a chocolate cake she'd baked. Cathy tried to get her to come inside for a few minutes, but Sue said she didn't have time. It was Thursday and she needed to get back to her house to finish supper. Cathy asked her why she was in a rush, so Sue explained that she and Barry always had sex on Thursday nights. They would get the kids inside, feed them supper, and put them to bed an hour early, because they were allowed to stay up an extra hour the previous night.

It seems that Barry had complained about not getting as much sex as he wanted so Sue told him to pick a night, any night of the week. Then he had to agree to help her with supper and putting the kids to bed early. After that, she would devote the remainder of the night to him, beginning with a blow job then any position he wanted as long as he let her sleep four hours.

While we were working in the front yard, Cathy saw the Hanson children going inside for their early supper and early bedtime, which meant Barry and Sue were going to have sex later. It turned her on and made her horny. She took me to bed where we enjoyed the best sex we'd had in a long time.

After her explanation, I started laughing and teasing Cathy telling her I was surprised when I realized our mid-week lovemaking had become a Thursday night routine. I told her she had beaten me to the punch because about the time we moved into the house I'd thought about getting a porn video for her to watch the next time I wanted sex. I told her I'd figured I only needed to play the first minute of the video to get her in the mood but now all it took was knowing the neighborhood children were going to bed early.

Cathy blushed and said, "All you really need to do is help get our kids to bed a little early that night."

"I'm already doing that," I said and watched her nod.

"Yeah," she agreed, "That's part of our good cop — bad cop roles." Somehow, over the years, we had gotten into the habit of Cathy asking me if I agreed or wanted things done differently, and then she issued instructions while I made sure she was obeyed. She did the same for me, but not as often as I had to do it for her. Our eleven-year-old middle child, Becky, was the ring leader. If she was told it was time for her bath, the other two just followed because they knew they were next. I often remarked that she could already think like an adult and I was looking forward to the day she really was an adult. I could sit back and never need to make another decision.

A few weeks after Cathy revealed the reason we had developed a habit of Thursday night sex, I was in the back yard trimming the larger limbs I'd cut off the big trees. I planned to cut the wood into smaller sections and eventually have some firewood for the fireplace. My son came outside and waited until I could hear him. When I turned off the chain saw, Benny told me supper was ready.

I put my tools away and went inside to wash up for supper. I asked Cathy, but she said I didn't have time for a shower. By the time all three kids had taken their baths, and were in bed with their lights off, I was finally going to take my shower. Cathy was already in bed with her back to the middle of the bed. Her nightstand light was turned off.

After my shower, I went to bed, just lying on top of the covers for a short while to cool off and get really dry before I rolled over to go to sleep. I thought Cathy was already asleep. She was breathing deeply and hadn't moved since I walked into the bathroom. Just as I pulled the sheet up to my chest, I realized it was Thursday night. The simple thought of what day of the week it was started an erection I wanted to use.

"Cathy?" I said her name quietly. I didn't want to wake her up if she was already asleep. She didn't respond and the next thing I knew it was morning.

"Morning, Sweetie," Cathy greeted me when she came down for breakfast and walked over to me for a kiss. She walked behind each of the children as they were eating breakfast. It had become a routine time when we all talked about our plans for the day or events that were coming up which needed a parent's attendance.

Those early morning conversations were also when we made decisions that were important to our family. Cathy didn't want to manage the family budget, she preferred we discuss how much money she would spend or ask me to transfer money to her account if she didn't have enough for an unusual expenditure.

Most mornings I helped the children with their breakfasts while I packed my lunchbox, and Cathy cleaned up the kitchen after I left. There was at least half an hour after I left before she needed to leave for work. Her days were a lot shorter than mine were. Including travel time, I was gone about ten hours a day and she worked about five hours a day. Most days she had a very short commute, easily getting home before the children. I worked at a fixed site and Cathy's hours and location changed, depending on where she was supposed to be on any particular day during the week. The company she worked for had more than twenty stores in the city. Cathy visited each store for a few hours each week, allowing her to end her work day by two in the afternoon. She drove her personal vehicle and was paid a generous reimbursement of her automobile expense. Many days she drove over one hundred miles throughout the day.

I could help with morning things for the children, but Cathy usually handled anything during the day and in the afternoons, which was one of the reasons for our noon telephone calls. I couldn't leave the plant during my shift, but Cathy could get off just about any hours she wanted, as long as she got her work done. She was the one who attended school functions and extra curricular activities. She took them to doctor's appointments and went shopping for their clothes. I always tried to help Cathy as much as I could. However, I also worked twice as many hours as she did and made more than three times what she did. With my employee benefits, it was about four times her salary since she had very few benefits.

I picked up my lunchbox and stopped for a minute to hug my wife, "I missed our Thursday night," I whispered in her ear.

Some of the color drained from her face as she turned to pick up her coffee cup, almost spilling it as her hand shook. "Yeah," she said. Cathy took a deep breath and added, "I think I must have been really tired last night. I don't remember when you came to bed." She followed me out into the garage closing the kitchen door behind her. As soon as she was sure the children wouldn't hear her, Cathy said, "I'm sorry, Jerry. I'll make it up to you."

I stood beside my pickup, looking over the top of the hood at her, "It's okay, Doll. I love you. See ya this evening."

"Yeah, me too. Bye," Cathy said and turned around. She had walked back inside the house before the garage door was fully opened.

It wasn't the goodbye I usually got, but I didn't think very much about it at the time. She usually said, "I love you too, too much."

When we first married, I worked a late shift. Cathy had a little blackboard hanging beside the refrigerator for her grocery list. It's where we would leave notes or write various reminders of upcoming events. She would often leave me a note about something because she was at work when I got up in the afternoon. She would write "Luv U 2, 2 much." I usually left her some kind of sweet note, but her note was always the same. Any time I told her I loved her, she started saying what she used to write, "I love you too, too much."

It must have been a little over a month after the first Thursday we missed having sex when I realized it was more than five weeks in a row, when I had not made love to my wife on Thursday night, or any other weekday night. She had almost stopped coming outside to help me in the yard, too. However, it was the other nights that were really bothering me. There had been no lovemaking during the middle of the week and on three of the Saturday night/Sunday mornings Cathy had complained that she didn't feel well, was on her period, or was already gone from the bed when I woke up.

Something was wrong, very wrong, and I wasn't sure what I was going to do about it. I had just realized that our lovemaking had suddenly been reduced to less than a fourth of what it had been two months earlier.

I had mentioned the reduced frequency of sex a couple of times and Cathy seemed to have some kind of excuse, but we hadn't really talked about the problem when we had time for just the two of us to sit for a good conversation without interruption. I was determined to discuss the matter with my wife. It was a Saturday and I was also determined to finally get the largest limbs removed to the wood pile so I could finish digging up the stumps and begin clearing out the undergrowth at the rear of the house. The school year would end soon and since moving to the new house, we hadn't decided what we would do about child care for the summer. We really needed to have a good discussion about a variety of things.

About mid-morning, Cathy brought me a bottle of water. "Sit down a minute, Baby Doll," I told Cathy after she handed me the bottle of cool water.

She sat down on a wide double tree stump I'd planned to leave in place as a seat, or a place to leave some pots to grow greenery. I started to sit down beside her, but her arms were folded across her chest and she was rubbing her palms up and down her upper arms.

"Hey, Doll, what's happening to us?"

Cathy shrugged her shoulders, "I don't know what you mean, Jerry." She wasn't looking up at me, she was watching the toe of her sneaker as she pressed it down in some soft soil, and then did it again in another spot, watching the mark the bottom of her shoe left in the dirt.

"I'm talking about you and me. Do I need to ask my mom to stay with the kids so we can go away for a long weekend? Do we need some special time to be together?"

Cathy turned her head, looking at the house as if she was trying to decide if she liked the looks of it, sort of tilting her head to one side. She shook her head before she answered. "No, I don't think so. Jerry," She turned her head back toward me, but didn't look up. "Are you unhappy?"

"I'm a little unhappy with why you aren't interested when I want to make love to you."

"I don't reject you, Jerry. I've always enjoyed sex with you. You're a very sexy man." There was a short bark of sound, not really humor just a sound that she wanted me to think was laughter. "Sue thinks you're a very sexy man."

"I could care less what Sue thinks. I want to make love to my wife, not some woman who doesn't interest me. Sue belongs to Barry. I belong to you and I want to show you how much I believe that. Don't you want me anymore?"

"No, Jerry," she paused then looked away. "It's not like that. I want you. I thought we were doing pretty good."

"Cathy, I've made love to you four times in the last six weeks. Did you know that?"

She looked up but quickly looked down again, "That's not enough for you?"

"Not hardly, it's about a fourth of what we had three months ago."

"Really? I guess I didn't realize it was that bad."

I started to ask why she hadn't noticed we'd gone from having sex twice a week to about once every two weeks. Instead, I took a deep breath, "Is there someone else you'd rather make love with?"

Cathy was on her feet, her face red, "What? Why would you ask me something like that? Jerry, how dare you?"

Before I could say anything, Cathy was stomping off, on her way back to the house. I knew she was under a lot of stress at work. Her department was being reorganized to accommodate more computerization. A new supervisor, who insisted on being called Mr. Westland, had been hired and Cathy was afraid she would lose her job or be asked to take a lesser position.

One tree stump was giving me a lot of trouble. The roots had wrapped around a large rock near the surface. I think I worked for another hour then put away my tools and went inside to take a shower. Maybe Cathy and I could have our talk after supper. When I walked back into the kitchen, there was a note on the blackboard, "Gone to the store."

I grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and drank it down, quenching my thirst, just doing anything to put off thinking. I threw the empty bottle at the trashcan, and took a second beer, opening it as I sank into my easy chair.

I'd been sitting down for about fifteen minutes, staring at the blank screen of the television, when my middle child, Becky, came into the family room. "Hey Dad, are you done outside for today?"

"Yeah, I decided to take the rest of the day off. Where are Benny and Tina?"

"They went to the store with Mom." She sat on the couch for a full minute before she asked, "Dad, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Beck, but make it an easy one," I teased her. That I knew of, I was the only person to call her Beck. "Your ol' man is getting old. His brain doesn't work as fast as it used to."

"Give me a break," she scoffed. "I know you're only forty-two. Mr. Hanson is forty-seven. He says a man doesn't start getting old until he's over fifty."

"Oh good, then I have a few more years. What's your question?"

"What's wrong with Mom?"

"I don't know," I pretended ignorance. "Is she getting old, too?"

"That's not what I meant. You remember my tryouts were Thursday?" When I nodded, Becky said, "Mom said she was taking off Thursday afternoon to come to my tryout, but she didn't show up. Last week she didn't go to Benny's troop meeting."

"Really?" This was really strange. Cathy and I usually discussed the children's activities I couldn't attend and I just realized she hadn't mentioned either event. Becky was showing some good soccer skills, which we were encouraging. The last time I'd talked to Benny's scout master, he was really impressed with the leadership skills our son was showing. If I recalled correctly, the meeting Cathy missed was when the scout master had planned to give parents an overview of the troop's summer activities, including a two week camp Benny was looking forward to attending.

"Yeah, she said she was at the tryouts. She said I probably didn't see her, but she didn't know whether I made the team. She told Benny she got held up at one of the stores, but he told me when he called the office they said she'd already called in her time for the day."

"Tell ya what, Beck," I was prepared to strike some kind of bargain with my own daughter, just to keep her from being worried. "Don't bother your Mom about this. I'll talk to her. I know her job has been pretty tense the last couple of months. We may need to give her a little slack."

"Okay, Dad. Thanks." She stood and started to walk across the room, but turned back to tell me, "Oh, I almost forgot. Mrs. Hanson wanted me to ask if Benny, Tina, and I could spend next Saturday night at their house. We're gonna eat pizza and go to a late movie. It's a cartoon movie, but I forgot which one. She said to tell you there will be ten children and four adults. I think one of the other adults is Mr. Hanson's sister or something like that. I guess if I didn't explain it right, you can call her."

"Okay, I'll call her, or your Mom can call."

"Would you do it Dad? Will you call her? I'm afraid Mom will forget what Mrs. Hanson says."

"Okay, Beck. I'll call Mrs. Hanson."

Sunday was a very quiet day. I planned to find some time to discuss why Cathy missed the kid's events, plus a few other things, but we probably wouldn't have time for our conversation until the afternoon. I spent a little time across the street talking to Sue Hanson about the children's party. She said it was a rare opportunity and I should take advantage of it. I told her I was way ahead of her. I'd already called the hotel for a reservation.

Cathy took the kids to an afternoon movie and when she got home, she wanted to take a long bubble bath while I got the kids to straighten up the family room and take their baths. After the kids were finally in bed, I took my shower. When I came out of our bathroom with a towel wrapped around my waist, I found Cathy in our bed, with the covers pulled up and tucked under her shoulders.

I walked over to her side of the bed. "Hey, Baby Doll, what are you hiding under there?"

I was playfully trying to lift the sheet, but she had a firm grasp on it. Suddenly, she kicked the covers to the foot of the bed and jerked the towel from around my waist. Every thought about a serious discussion with my wife instantly left my head.

"Oh my God." I couldn't believe it. Cathy had shaved her entire pussy. I'd teased her that I was going to catch her unaware and do it myself some day, just to see if she liked it. My cock popped up, the fastest erection I'd had in a long time.

"Hey little boy," she used her little girl teasing voice, the one that always sent chills down my spine. "Do you wanna come play with me?"

My mind was spinning. Her nipples were already hard and I didn't know which lips I wanted to kiss first. I fell across the bed and started kissing my wife. We didn't get much sleep that night, but neither one of us seemed to care. I know she made me cum three times and I stopped counting her orgasms, I think after about the eighth one. Sometime during that night, I asked her for a date the next Saturday and told her that as part of our foreplay, I wanted to shave her before we had sex in the hotel room I'd reserved.

I could barely wait for the kids to leave Saturday so Cathy and I could get dressed for our special date. Even after seventeen years of marriage, when she went to the trouble, Cathy could look almost as good as the twenty year old I'd dated and she could attract the attention of every man in a room. We put a few things, including a change of clothes, in a small bag and checked into the hotel. Then we went downstairs to the club where a small live band was playing a variety of music. It was still a little early so we had a couple of drinks then went to the restaurant for a good meal. Cathy was sitting on the same side of the booth with me. All the time we were eating, she was flirting with me, giving me little touches on my hand, a slow rub along the top of my thigh, and with one leg crossed over the other her swinging foot would come over and tap against my shin.

While we were sharing a slice of cheesecake for dessert, Cathy took my hand and put it under her dress. Good Lord, the woman wasn't wearing panties. Her pussy was bare and she was wet, but no longer smooth. There were bristles like those that a man would have if he didn't shave all weekend. However, her hair was a lot softer. I started getting hard and Cathy patted the crotch of my dress pants telling me I had to wait until later.

We went back to the club and I sat at a corner of the bar while Cathy joined the crowd on the small dance floor. She had always liked to dance a lot more than I did, but I liked to watch her dance. I must have two left feet or I would forget to move while I watched my wife twisting and turning in front of me, so I'm content to sit at the bar and watch while she dances with the crowd. Even the twenty-something guys would get close to her, rubbing on her as they danced. Most of the time she was looking at me, rather than the guys on the dance floor, sending me one of those looks that made my cock hard. That's the same thing she did when we were dating, always letting me know I was the man she wanted. For eighteen years, if she left the dance floor, she would come to the bar and back up between my legs, using my thighs as armrests, while she cooled off or got another drink. Instead of sipping her drinks, she just drank them down, so she could go back to the dance floor. I knew she was getting pretty tipsy, but that was why I was there, to take care of her when she had too much to drink. She wasn't falling down drunk, but she could be a little reckless.

Some of the people in the bar were really having a good time. For a while, the dance floor was so crowded, I lost sight of Cathy, but I was watching another couple, too. For a while they were on the dance floor, really rubbing each other, almost dry humping. She was riding his leg, the light color of his slacks showed the wet spot she left on the top of his thigh. Finally, they went to a booth behind me. I could see them in the mirror behind the bar. They ordered drinks and began making out. He had an arm around her and his other hand was under her dress. I knew what he was doing. Her head was back, her mouth was open, and then she started shaking. She finally slumped forward with her forehead on the table in front of her and rested there for a little while. They enjoyed their drinks and left the booth. They both smiled at me as they went back to the dance floor. It was a hot show and they knew I had watched them.

After that twenty minute show, I again started looking for Cathy. I left my bar stool and walked around the edge of the dance floor. I found her in a dark corner, dancing with a man a little older than the younger crowd on the floor. He was probably in his mid-to-late thirties. When Cathy saw me, she waved and went back to her dance and I returned to my barstool.

When the crowd started thinning out, I finally got Cathy off the dance floor. I had my arm around her as we rode the elevator up to our room. She was blitzed, silly drunk, giggling, and talking baby talk. She could barely help me while I was taking her clothes off.

"I'm going to shave you, Cathy."

"Okay, baby. You just go right ahead. Shave Cathy's pretty little pussy." She giggled as she climbed on the bed and spread her legs. She giggled a little more and said, "Pretty little pussy, little pretty little pussy, pussy little pussy," getting all the words mixed up. We'd always had fun in bed when Cathy had a few drinks. It was the only time she would talk nasty.

I got all my shaving things, including a hand towel I soaked in warm water. I started to wipe her pussy off and noticed how wet she was. I stuck a finger up inside her vagina, planning on a little tickle. I knew exactly what that slimy feeling was.

"Hey, Cathy," I tried to keep my voice neutral when I really wanted to yell at her. I moved my finger in and out of my wife, "Who fucked your pretty little pussy?"

She giggled, "Wayne." She giggled again and wiggled her hips, "Wayne fucked Cathy's shaved pussy." Cathy giggled some more and tried to hide it by putting her hand over her mouth. "Wayne's fat cock's in the pretty little pussy."

"Where did you go to fuck?" I didn't exactly growl, I still wanted to know how my wife had managed to fuck someone when I was watching her all night long.

"Fuckin' in the men's room. Fast fuck in the men's room."

"Who is Wayne?"

"Fuck buddy Wayne. Thursday fuck buddy, buck fuddy, Wayne."

I wasn't sure who Wayne was, but I had my suspicion, although I'd never met the man. So, I asked again, "Cathy, who is Wayne?"

"Boss man Wayne," she answered as my finger moved slowly in and out of her cum filled pussy. "Fat cock Wayne. Fuckin' in the men's room, Wayne."

I was no longer interested in shaving my wife's just fucked pussy. In fact, I seriously considered going back down to the bar to see if Fat Cock Wayne was still there. Instead, I pulled Cathy up to the head of the bed and got her covered up. I brewed the complimentary coffee then sat in one of the chairs and watched my unfaithful wife sleep for a couple of hours.

I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but I knew I wasn't going to be happy, no matter what happened. My wife of seventeen years, the mother of our three children, and the woman I loved, had just admitted that she'd fucked another man. From the words she used, it sounded like it wasn't the first time.

The real reason my wife and I were no longer making love on Thursday nights was that she was fucking Fat Cock Wayne. She had broken all the promises we had made to each other. The number of times we had talked about how much we loved each other didn't seem to matter to her. It takes time for love to grow strong. It doesn't die very quickly, but I feared my love for Cathy was hemorrhaging.

When I was sure Cathy wasn't going to start throwing up whatever was in her stomach, I walked out of the room and closed the door quietly. I wasn't really that drunk. I'd only had a few drinks and I'd eaten more of my dinner than Cathy had eaten of hers. She'd only picked at her food. In addition, I'd had several cups of coffee while I sat around for a few hours. I went down to the restaurant to order a big breakfast, regretting the club had already closed. I might have enjoyed a few minutes with Fat Cock Wayne.

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