In real life, calling a woman a bimbo is NEVER a compliment. The term is used for an attractive but stupid woman. A bimbo is great for dating, but most men don’t want one for a wife.

Apparently, I am not most men. I married one ... and I couldn’t be happier.

She is actually my second wife. I tried conventional for my first wife, finding a beautiful, smart woman who was also sexy. That worked for seven years, until I found out she had been cheating on me for a year. A little over a year later, I was a divorced guy just looking for a new start...

I watched her unnoticed from my spot at the end of the bar.

This was the first time I had ever been in particular establishment, and I was slowly getting the lay of the land, so to speak, figuring out who were the regulars, who was here to drink and who was here to party.

Most of the time she was sitting at a table with five other women, but she would occasionally leave the safety of the table to dance with one of the young men milling around the bar, laughing and drinking. She caught my eye because she looked out of place. She looked to be about 15 years older than the others at her table, and her partners on the dance floor as well. They appeared to be in their middle to late 20s; she looked like she was about 40. She looked good for 40, very good actually, but she was still noticeably older than her acquaintances, despite the fact that she was dressed in the same style as her younger friends.

Her little black dress was mid-thigh length, perhaps a touch or two short for someone of her age, but she had the legs to back it up. It was also cut perhaps a bit too low in the front for someone of her age, showing off a generous amount of what looked like sizable boobs. Her long blonde hair was done up in a high ponytail and hung down to the middle of her back.

Upon further inspection, she looked like someone’s older sister trying to blend in with the crowd. She was just barely pulling it off thanks to her killer body, but I’ve seen much worse results.

I watched as some dark-haired youngster approached her at the table, obviously asking her to dance. A slow song was playing, and I saw the youngster pull the women close to him and gently run his hands up and down her sides, occasionally detouring to rub her ass or the side of a breast.

She didn’t try to stop his roving hands and the smile never left her face. It appeared like this had happened before, she expected it and was used to it. As I looked around, I noticed the same thing was happening with her younger friends. Maybe this was a common occurrence these days. I have been out of the game for 10 years.

Reflexively, I glanced at my left hand, for the thousandth time seeing the barren spot on my ring finger, the spot previously occupied by a wedding ring. The spot had been bare for the past year, my divorce becoming official six months. Since then, I had been making the rounds of various bars in the city, having a few drinks and listening to those around me living their lives. I wasn’t trawling for female companionship, it was way to soon for that, but it was a way for me to avoid the emptiness of my small apartment.

God, I missed having the life of a married man with two young kids. I loved coming home from work every day to the hustle and bustle of my household: my wife, Traci, preparing dinner and my children, Stevie, 5, and Wanda, 3, charging toward me at the door. I hated being a part-time dad, seeing my kids every other weekend.

I looked up from my shot of Angel’s Envy rye to see the youngster grab a full handful of the blonde’s ass as the song ended. He whispered something in her ear. I saw her gently shake her head, although the smile never left her face. I wondered how many times she nodded yes to the same question from other men. I noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring either, so I figured she was free to nod yes whenever she wanted.

Nodding yes, or at least saying so, was the reason I was sitting in this bar in the first place. My then-wife apparently had no problem saying yesrepeatedlyto her lover of more than a year. I didn’t find out for almost a year, then it took me some time to figure out what I needed to do. I didn’t want to become a part-time dad to my munchkins, but I knew that staying in my marriage would probably be worse for my kids because I wouldn’t be able to hold back on my anger for what would be more than 10 years until the youngest was out of the house. I knew that being the responsible parent would hurt me beyond belief, but you make sacrifices for the ones you love. My wife apparently didn’t understand that concept.

I never questioned Traci for a minute ... until I questioned her. We dated for almost two years and had been married for seven and I never had a clue we weren’t in it for the long haul. When I finally had my suspicions, it didn’t take long to confirm. She really wasn’t trying to hide her affair, apparently figuring that I couldn’t keep up with her superior intelligence.

I’m not sure why the older blonde with the younger women intrigued me. Yes, she was a very good-looking woman, beautiful even, but she gave off the vibe of being a “veteran” bimbo, not something you see every day. Think about it. The two things you never see: baby pigeons and older bimbos.

I stayed around long enough to see the blonde and her younger friends leave all together. That pleased me, although I wasn’t sure why.

Although I was mixing it up among the city’s many bars, I went back to the same place the very next week, honestly hoping to see the older blonde and her younger friends. An hour after taking the same seat I did the week previous, the same six women came in and grabbed a table. “Blondie” had her long blonde hair in a couple of high ponytails and was again dressed on the edge of too young for her age, wearing a tight red velour dress, maybe just barely reaching mid-thigh, and unbuttoned enough that her frilly red pushup bra and her large boobs were peeking into view on a regular basis. I know my eyes almost popped out of my head when I saw that look, and I could see that I was not the only one who noticed. The dance floor was going to be slick with drool.

I’m not much of a dancer, but I yearned to be closer, so after a while I worked up the guts to ask her to dance. I’m pretty sure I embarrassed myself on the fast dance as I had a tough time keeping my eyes off of her bouncing tits, but the second dance was a slow one and I got to pull her luxuriant body into mine. Unlike the young guys last week, I kept my hands where they belonged. Blame my mother for bringing me up with manners.

I invited her back to sit with me at the bar and she agreed. I was drinking Eagle Rare bourbon and she was drinking a mojito. I did my very best to look at her vibrant blue eyes as much as possible, although she did catch me peeking at her twin peaks several times. She sort of blushed but continued smiling. I guessed she was used to being ogled, especially when she was dressed to impressed as she was.

I found out her name was Jessica Arnold, and while she looked 35 and I had guessed 40, she was actually 45, making her 13 years my senior. She was the trophy wife of a rich business executive until he died four years ago, leaving most of his estate to his two children from his first marriage. After being a kept woman for 18 years, her art degree wasn’t very useful and she wound up working in the office of one of the nation’s biggest sanitary chemicals along with her friends at the table.

From talking with her, I don’t think she realized her personal style was both sexy and perhaps a little young for her. I got the feeling that her late husband enjoyed showing her off. After all, why have a trophy wife if you can’t show her off.

I also got the impression that while she seemed to be an incredibly nice person, she wasn’t necessarily the brightest candle in the pack. That actually worked for me, because I had seen enough supposed brains in the time I was married.

Traci and I both had college educations and good jobs. I always figured we were probably a good match in terms of intelligence, but when Traci got two advanced degrees online, I started to detect an air of superiority coming from her. Although I actually made more money than as an IT director for a defense contractor, she practically threw her doctorate into any room before she entered, expecting everyone to ooh and ahh over Dr. Traci Elliott. That probably worked in her world as she served as a professor of philosophy at the local college, but it didn’t carry an extra ounce in my world, which was based on the ability to do, not theorize.

I loved my wife, but a doctorate in philosophy? All it meant for me was that I had to do more around the house and with the children while she was earning her master’s and doctorate.

Forgive me if I seem a little dubious about her degrees. Looking back on it, I can see that her realizing her goal was also the beginning of our marriage unraveling. In her mind, that doctor title made her more importantpronouncing both “Ts”than anyone in the room who didn’t have that title.

Jessica and I talked for about an hour before she figured she should go back to her friends’ table, at least for a while. She was back there for about five minutes when a young blond guy asked her to dance. She hesitated but finally said yes and went to dance. I’ll admit to suddenly feeling jealous, even though neither of us had made any kind of commitment to each other.

She never came back to my corner of the bar because she spent the rest of the night on the dance floor with various partners. I wasn’t alone in spending the rest of my night watching her shake what God gave her on the dance floor. I was nonplussed when she allowed dance partners to rub various parts of her body on the slow songs.

I showed up at the same place the next week, knowing this time I wasn’t going to let Jessica get away from me. The six women showed up about 30 minutes after I did, and as usual, Jessica was dressed in what I was now calling in my mind “sexy questionable.” Her dark blue dress was even an inch or so shorter than last week’s dress, and I figured that her panties would be visible to a lot of the club almost any time she moved. The top was unbuttoned to the middle of her big wonderful boobs.

Jessica and her friends were at a table for maybe five minutes before I walked over, said hello and started to take her to the dance floor.

“Wait a second, buster!” chirped one of her friends, a tall brunette called Phyllis. “What the hell? Are the rest of us just chopped liver? You’ve never asked any of the rest of us to dance yet!”

I pulled up short. I never really thought about any of the younger women wanting to dance with me. I was flattered, but I was still concerned with Jessica getting away from me. She giggled, and when I looked at her, she kind of nodded toward Phyllis. I took the hint, and in my best courtly manner I asked Phyllis if she would like to dance.

“Mmm. Well, okay,” she said in a faux exasperated tone.

It’s not that Phyllis wasn’t a beauty in her own right. She had curves galore and legs all the way up to the plumbing. We danced a fast song and then a slow one. I didn’t start out holding her too close on the slow song, but she pushed her way right up against my body, getting an immediate rise out of my dick. She stayed right there throughout the dance, giving me an evil grin.

“You do realize that Jess is almost old enough to be your mom, right?” Phyllis questioned. “We all love her to death. She’s had kind of a rough go these last few years. Try not to be a jerk with her, okay?”

I nodded as I brought her back to the table, where Jessica was waiting for me. When we got out on the dance floor, she pushed her body hard against me, obviously feeling the erection that I had gotten with Phyllis. She gave me a smile and off we went.

We danced several songs, then I invited her back to my corner. My hard-on was obvious through my pants as we sat and talked for a few minutes before I leaned in and gave her a sensuous kiss on her lips. One led to two and two led to many more. I finally asked her if she would like to finish the evening at my apartment, and she agreed.

To make a long story short, her naked body was every bit as good as I imagined it would be. Her big boobs had very little sag for her age and felt both soft as well as firm, if you can imagine that. She was aggressive yet demure as a lover, and her oral skills were incomparable. I always thought Traci was a good sex partner. This woman recalibrated my scale and gave new meaning to the term “great.”

I’ve always been proud of my skill with my mouth and tongue, but I didn’t get a chance to demonstrate that skill to her until our second go-round of the night. I made her shake, shimmy, scream, wiggle, wriggle and finally orgasm, multiple times. I was pretty sure she even levitated off the bed once before I finally climbed up her body and sunk my hard-as-brick dick inside of her pussy. She screamed out one final orgasm before I filled a second condom.

“Wow. Somebody actually let you get away? Unbelievable,” she rasped.

We kissed deeply several times and I gently licked various spots on her body, like the insides of both collarbones, her neck and her belly button, drawing squeals and aftershocks. I wrapped myself around her and snuggled her securely. Maybe a minute later I heard her even breathing and knew she was asleep. Feeling pretty smug with myself, I drifted off as well.

As it was a Friday night, I didn’t set an alarm, and I didn’t wake until I felt Jessica stir. My heart fluttered when I opened my eyes and was face-to-face with gorgeous bright blue eyes. It had been some time since I had a reaction like that upon waking.

To be more exact, it had been about two years since I had that kind of reaction upon waking. Traci was my wife then, and this was before I realized that things were already going south.

Traci and I had been up late making love. Things had been a little off between us for the previous two weeks. Looking back now, the lovemaking session was probably to ease my mind so I wouldn’t realize we had a problem. Anyway, we went at it twice and she came at least a dozen times. I always considered cuddling and snuggling as part of the process, and we fell asleep in each other’s arms. We woke up the next morning still entwined, and my heart leaped upon seeing my beautiful wife. We made love one more time before we got up that morning. If I’d only known...

I fixed brunch. I was wearing a pair of gym shorts. I gave her a long-sleeve dress shirt of mine, which she put on over her white bikini panties. She only buttoned the bottom two buttons on the shirt. The shirt thing was kind of like a fantasy of mine. Damn, she looked hot.

After breakfast I took her back to her apartment. I figured she would put her dress back on before we left, but she just slipped on her heels gathered her things in her arms and walked out with me wearing the half-open shirt and her panties. Fuck, that was even hotter. We kissed deeply at her door. I had already lined up a date for the next Friday night.

I took Jess to a good Italian restaurant. We talked a lot and laughed a lot. On the way back to my apartment, we stopped off at her place so she could grab some clothes, but not too many. We spent Saturday at an art museum and I spent as much time looking at her braless tits and exposed legs as I did looking at the art. She was very knowledgeable about a lot of the art and spent a lot of time telling me little facts about what we were viewing, even though she knew I was only half listening. She knew my brain was having trouble keeping up when much of my blood was in my engorged dick. She made sure to brush her hand up against my erection several times at the museum, giggling each time she did it. It was a great giggle.

We started to date on a regular basis. We never discussed being exclusive, though, which I realized when I stopped by the usual place she and her friends went to on Friday nights to dance. We hadn’t made plans for that particular night, and I didn’t have a problem with her being out with her friends. I did have a problem when her dance partners took liberties with their hands and she didn’t stop them. I guess I considered her mine, and since I don’t willingly share my toys, I was more than a little upset with others pawing at her. After her third partner put his hands on her, I stepped in and asked her if I could break in. She didn’t know I was in the bar, but she smiled and agreed, although her partner was not exactly happy with me. We finished out the song, then I took her outside to my car.

“Maybe I haven’t made my intentions clear enough, so I’ll just say it, Jess,” I began. “I want us to be exclusive. Just you and me. That means all the time. Nobody gets to put their hands on you, even when you’re dancing. Can you go with that?”

She blushed and dropped her eyes.

“I’m sorry for that, Jake,” she said quietly. “My late husband never minded it and I don’t mind it. It’s been happening to me my whole life.”

“Can’t happen anymore, Jess. I don’t share and I’m a one-woman man.”

She pushed her hair back over her shoulder with her right hand; her signature move when she was thinking. She lit me up with her smile.

Dr. Tillman Kincaid was perhaps the most respected ophthalmologist in the tri-state area. I didn’t realize Traci was having eye issues beyond the ordinary. She had worn contact lenses for years, but Kincaid was well beyond her nearsightedness, and she had been seeing the same optometrist for years. She never mentioned having any eye problems, but there it was, on her iPhone calendar for the next Thursday at 1.

I knew I was invading Traci’s privacy and also violating her trust when I took her phone from her purse while she showered one evening. She had breezed in at 8 after supposedly attending a late department meeting and immediately hit the shower, not evening stopping to kiss me or check in on the sleeping kids. This was the second or third time in recent weeks that she practically ran to the shower without first stopping to acknowledge me or the children, and together with the other little things I had been noticing, I figured it was time to get proactive.

She rarely let her phone out of her sight in the previous few months, but in this case she had left it zipped securely inside her purse, probably feeling like it was safe. The first thing that surprised me was that she had it password protected; the last time I had used it there was no password. Being an IT geek, it didn’t take me long to figure out her password, and when I opened the phone her calendar came up right away. Unfortunately, I heard the shower stop running, so I had to put the phone back before I could check her texts.

Traci never said a word to me about her eye appointment, so I called over to Dr. Roy Pomerantz, our family optometrist, and asked if Traci had any eye problems beyond the ordinary. He hesitated a moment, then answered, probably not worrying about the privacy issue because there was no issue, he assured me. He started to say something, then hesitated again, and finally just asked me if I needed anything else. I said thanks and ended the call.

I took the afternoon off from work, and at noon I was sitting in the back of the parking lot of Traci’s building at the college. Thirty minutes later she came bopping out of the building, got into her car and started to drive. I didn’t have a hard time following her because after the first two turns I knew she was driving home. She pulled into the garage and left the door up as I parked down the block. Sure enough, a brand new Cadillac Escalade pulled into my empty spot five minutes later and the door on my marriage went down.