Chapter 1

My name is Eve. I am a late forties female with lots of disappointments in life and still entertaining delusions of grandeur that fill me with emotional distress that can only be described as depression.

I don’t believe I am clinically depressed because I still laugh a lot and giggle at lewd jokes even in mixed company.

I have been married three times.

It is obvious that most of you reading this will think, “This bitch has had three strikes and she is definitely out in every sense of the word.”

Well, I want you to know up front that I beg to differ.

In my defense, my marriages were all failures due to no fault of mine.

My first marriage was to Billy McGee at the ripe young age of eighteen when I had a cherry just waiting there ready to be picked and chewed up into little pieces in Billy’s wonderful mouth that spent a lot of time between my legs paying me back for getting down on my knees whenever he snapped his handsome fingers.

Unfortunately, young Billy had joined the National Guard at the wrong time just before war broke out and he was shipped out that very same weekend with his rifle and all over to a place I never hear of before. A long story short all I got of Billy was a telegram that started, “We regret to inform you...”

I was already two months heavy with child and looked forward to a life as a widow with almost no income and a baby on the way to add to my difficulty. It was tragic but still a blessing in disguise when I tripped on an escalator in the department store and lost the baby right on the spot.

One good thing that came out of that was that I met my second husband who was old enough to be not only my father but probably my grandfather and added to his stable as a trophy wife to show off to all his male friends as a prime example of spousal perfection.

Mister Ferguson was born sometime at the end of the nineteenth century and was hanging by his false teeth and toupee surprising his personal doctors most of all.

I almost laughed when he asked me to marry him because he was really an old fart and that is no lie. Still, all things considered, he had a great way with his tongue when his dick was not working properly and he had oodles of cash that would give me a lifestyle that I felt I deserved after fate had taken away my first true love.

My second husband never expected me to love him; he just wanted my pussy and my anal and oral services available on demand. I suspected that underneath his sarcastic mannerisms he did love me but wouldn’t even admit it to himself after a period of introspection.

Needless to say, the marriage was a short one and I was left with precious little assets and a whole bunch of angry relatives that swore I was a gold-digging whore with evil intentions.

I left that town and headed to California just to get as far away from the bad memories.

I was in Los Angeles when I met my third and final husband.

He was handsome.

He was still in his early thirties in the prime of life and was filled with copious spunk that he wanted to distribute to as many different pussies as possible before he got too old to fuck any longer. I didn’t mind that he was a real ladies man and a pussy hound of the worst degree. I knew he was handsome and I happy just having him in my bed most nights because no matter how tired he was he could always get it up to service me as a ready, willing and able husband.

Then, he got into a bad scene with a divorcee with an obsession about his oversized cock and she finally decided to end her affair with a double homicide/suicide in a blaze of glory on page one of the Los Angeles newspapers in a seedy motel on the Hollywood strip.

That was the final curtain on husband number three and now I was up here in Lake Tahoe in the land of milk and honey and living in a single wide with no grass to be found in any direction until you hit the weeds next to the highway nearby.

I tell you this background story so you don’t think of me as some loser having three husbands and losing them all through no fault of my own.

Lake Tahoe was truly a beautiful place if one has a lot of money in the bank and youthful good looks to go along with it.

The truth was that I didn’t even have a checking account much less any savings and was living from paycheck to paycheck working on the Casino docks tending to the little boats that the casino used to provide entertainment to the high rollers looking to party in various ways while they lost a lot of money on the tables inside the casino.

I knew I was too old for working inside the casino as a showgirl, a drink and change girl or even behind the table as a dealer. I still was attractive for my age and my body was desirable to most of the males that I came into contact with but I knew the bloom was off the petals and that my tits were starting to sag a little with the march of time.

It is hard for me to confess that when I went into hiring office for the interview, I already knew there was not much open to me in the line of work opportunities but when the middle-aged guy with the huge beer belly told me about the boat laborer job I perked up and smiled my most seductive smile and told him, “I think I could do that job if you gave me a chance.”

The guy whose name was officially “Vito” told me he had to “vet” me for the job. When I asked him politely what that meant, he told me that I had to show my desire for the job and show my loyalty to management by bending over his desk and taking his cock all the way up from behind.