Chapter 8: Another Affair

Shortly after mom and I had done our thing together, I made a decision that was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. As I have said many times, I had an extremely large set of boobs, boobs that at times required some hard-to-find bras that would actually fit properly. And hold me the way they should. However the real problem was their sheer weight, they pained my shoulders as they hung, especially when being braless. I visited my doctor a few times and although I do think that he enjoyed the sight of them every time I had an appointment, and he never did anything inappropriate with me, he did suggest a boob job, a boob job that reduced the size of my rack.

Wyatt and I had some conversations and discussions about the prospect of getting the reduction done, the pros and the cons of it. Neither of us really wanted to see them go, but we both understood that their pain and problems would only get better. Wyatt encouraged me to do whatever I had to do to feel better. So, I went ahead with breast reduction.

The results were not good, I hated how they looked, the scars were so visible, they were quite small, and I kept them concealed for more than three years. Wyatt was the only person, other than the doctor that I allowed to see me topless. It took a long time before they began to heal. The scars got less visible, and I began to feel better about them; they also began to grow back closer to their original state, although quite a few sizes smaller than they were. Today, it is hard to tell without carefully looking at them that I had any type of surgery at all.

It was almost fourteen years into our marriage when I took a seasonal job in a food processing plant. I enjoyed that kind of work, and I feel that I was quite good at it. I had been working there for about a month when my supervisor, who was fifty-five years old, and I was thirty-one, asked me out for coffee after our shift. At this time, I was working evening shifts, the regular hours were four o’clock in the afternoon until one o’clock in the morning. However, several times we had to work overtime to finish what needed to be done. My husband was used to me getting home late, and because he was working dayshifts at that time, he would be sound asleep when I did get home.

About a month into my time there, my supervisor, Dave, asked me to go for coffee with him one evening after work. I didn’t think much about it and agreed. I met him down at one of the local twenty-four-hour coffee shops and for close to an hour and a half we talked about many different topics. We seemed to hit it off well; it was almost like he was the dad I hadn’t had for the last twenty years. I got home that night early in the morning, Wyatt was sound asleep, I was able to get into bed without him knowing that I was home.

For the next month or so Dave would invite me for coffee after work on several occasions, usually two or three times a week. He always paid for coffee and quite often bought me breakfast as well. There were several times when Wyatt would drive me to work, and I would get a ride home with someone else that I worked with. Quite often that was Dave.

About a month after I had started work there and had met Dave, we had gone for coffee, and he had agreed to drive me home. He had done it a few times previously, so he knew where I lived. When we came up to the turnoff to our home, he drove past and then pulled off to the side of the road. That was when he first made any type of advance that was of sexual nature. He leaned over to try to kiss me and feel my boobs at the same time. His hand briefly felt my boobs over top of my blouse. I automatically stopped him, I was shocked, nothing in the past had given me any idea that he would be interested in me for anything other than friendship. Friendship was what I wanted; I wasn’t interested in this older, rather unattractive man in a sexual way at all. I stopped him immediately and asked him to take me home.

Dave did as I asked, pulled away, restarted his vehicle and then drove me home; neither of us spoke. Once home, I got out of the car and without saying a word, I walked into the house and got ready for bed. But that night I couldn’t help thinking about Dave and what he had attempted to do. I thought about it for the next couple of days as well. It was the weekend and I wouldn’t see him again for a couple of days. The words that my mom had told me several years ago were running through my head: all men are the same Rachel, they just want tits and tail, and if you don’t give it to them, someone else will.

I felt like I had really fucked up, I had this guy that treated me so good, was so kind, and conversed with me like no man ever had before, I cherished our times together talking after work, hearing him tell me that I was a wonderful worker, and that I was also a great looking young woman. I loved that stuff; I would have gone for coffee every single night if he had asked me, and now all he wanted was something in return, and I turned him down. I wondered if he would ever ask me to go for coffee again, I didn’t even know if I could look at him or if he could look at me again. I was struggling with my feelings. I decided that if he was ever to ask me to go for coffee again, I would let him have me, I was nothing more than a slut anyway, so why not let him have his way with me, I was getting what I wanted out of it, so why not give in to his desires.