Chapter 2: Air Force Squadron Life

Lydia hasn't always been a whore. For a good part of our married life she was the quintessential air force officer's wife raising our two children and keeping our home while I pursued my air force career as a fighter pilot. (Lydia was then and still is today the love of my life and will always be the love of my life. I may sometimes admire and lust after other women with big tits and plump, juicy cunts, and may actually fuck them and have them suck me off, but that is for just pure physical sexual ogiastic pleasure and doesn't have anything to do with my enduring everlasting love for my woman, Lydia). Why and how Lydia became a whore is probably more my fault than anyone else's, although it was never my deliberate intention to turn her into a whore. It just kind of worked out that way. That story is kind of interesting in itself and this might be a good time to take a time out to tell it.

When I married Lydia she was a stunningly beautiful, bubbly, fun loving, sort of happy-go-lucky 20 year old auburn haired young woman with a perfectly proportioned 38c-24-36, 5' 10'', 112 pound athletic body sitting on a pair of long slim legs that were crowned at the top by a delectable, slightly protruding, and inviting pussy mound with two slightly fleshy plump outer pussy lips that defined the gash of her pussy valley containing the delicate moist petals of her inner pussy lips. The top of the valley was guarded by a fleshy sheath protcting her clitoris nestled in a trim bush of soft light brown pubic hair and at the end of the valley were the fleshy gates protecting her chamber of love, her cunt hole, just a couple of inches above her ass hole. Her tits were firm pear shaped mounds of creamy flesh with upturned tips of large, light brown, dimply areoles with taut nipples poking saucily up at a 45 degree angle that begged to be sucked. She had the kind of body that would stop a Mack truck dead in its tracks and make a man's mouth water with erotic lust and desire to posess her cunt with his cock and mouth and tongue.

Today, after 22 years and two children her body is still as taught and enticing as it ever was. She is only about 3 pounds heavier but it's all in the right places. The biggest change is in the way she carries herself now with a dignity, poise and sophistication that reflects such a degree of quiet maturity and self confidence that she exudes a powerful aura of electric sensuality that only comes from the certain knowledge that she knows she is a stunningly beautiful and sexually desirable woman and that she could have any man she wanted.

I have had men tell me that when they are with her at dinner or just having drinks together and talking, that she has a way of moving with such a slow, sensuous, languid grace such as whenever she would take a sip of her drink, or raise her fork to eat something, or just adjust her hair while giving them her complete undivided attention with such a quiet laser like intensity and interest in them, that it made them feel like she was imagining that she was sucking their cocks or fucking them and that was so erotic that it drove them crazy with lust for her body.

Lydia and I were married immediately out of college and I entered the Air Force as a brand new second lieutenant and started pilot training to get my wings. The first 7 or 8 years of my air force career were pretty standard with nothing remarkable to talk about. I got my wings and was assigned to a squadron and Lydia and I began our life in the air force together.

It was a great life. Being part of a squadron was just like being part of a big family or more precisely, a clan. We did everything together. The guys flew together, training and honing our combat skills, and itching to use them for real. We were a bunch of young, hard charging, aggressive, studs with egos so big that we each thought we were the best damn fighter pilot in the world. You had to be that way in our business. We had a saying: In the fighter business winning is the only thing; second place is dead. If you didn't believe in your self and have supreme confidence in your ability to win a fight to the death in the air, then you would probably end up dead in the end anyway.

We flew hard, partied hard, drank hard, and chased women hard, (but never around our home base; I mean we may have been blinded by our super egos at times, but we weren't stupid. The rule was, 'Never chase cunt around your own flag pole'.)

Our wives were all beautiful, sexy women, but Lydia was in a class by herself, a goddess queen among princesses. There was something about being a fighter pilot that just attracted beautiful women. I never saw a fighter pilot's wife that didn't turn me on enough to make me lust after her body secretly wishing that I could fuck her, but poaching on a squadron mate's wife was not done. Wives from outside the squadron were fair game, but never one of your own squadron wives.

A fighter pilots wife partied with him, had his babies, kept his home for him, cheered him on when he was up, mothered him when he was down, and fucked his brains out and sucked his dick and ate his cum when he was horny- which was most of the time. When he deployed away from home, she managed the homestead for him and kept the home fires burning hot until he returned. In short, she was always there for him when he needed her.