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I was raised believing in many myths; of course I wasn’t told they were myths. A good education will pay off and hard work gets rewarded were two of them. Then there were all those myths about relationships. Marriage is forever and solves all those ugly problems you had when you were single including access to sex. Your spouse is your best friend. Happy couples don’t argue. I shouldn’t have to work at a good relationship. Marriage roles are static and unchanging. Oh, and a big one, we can always repair a broken relationship.
Well, I had a graduate degree in engineering that I wasn’t using yet I was getting well paid for what I did, and what I did came easily to me, so easily that I often wondered why I’d spent so much time in university. Sometimes I thought the world would see through my guise and discover I was doing all this stuff, getting paid thousands a month to do it, and realize they could get it done for minimum wage.
The other myth that proved wrong involved my marriage. I finally had to own up to the fact that my marriage sucked. There’s a story about boiling frogs. Supposedly if you put a frog in boiling water, it’ll jump out; but if you put the frog in cool water and turn up the heat you’ll eventually end up with a boiled frog. The analogy fit my marriage. I’d started in cool and loving waters and the heat got turned up slowly and I was cooked.
I felt the emotional warmth leave my marriage as the years passed. It worried me and I have to admit I did little to rescue the situation, always figuring that tomorrow things would turn around. They didn’t. We both took up different interests and then different friends and then we stopped talking about either with each other. We even stopped eating together except for a rare dinner out. I took refuge in business travel; Melissa in her work and our children.
I evaluated one day and realized that what we had now was a big zero. Nil. Nada. Nothing. Whatever we had, once upon a time, was gone. I didn’t like that conclusion so I planted myself in the ‘denial’ stage of where our relationship was. I did it so well I was able to hide from the facts and emotions for another five years.
My catharsis came on a weekend in California. We were living outside of Boston but I had to stay over a weekend to accommodate late Friday and early Monday morning meetings at the company of one of my key client’s. Len Woodruff, the top exec at my client, talked me into joining him and his wife at a personal assessment seminar and workshop over the weekend — Saturday and half of Sunday. I had nothing else to do so I agreed.
By Sunday evening my life was transformed forever. The workshop had me churn through my brain over and over again, eventually taking ownership for the terrible state of my marriage and for not doing much to fix it. I wanted to love someone and share my life with someone dear, yet it wasn’t going to happen in my marriage. I accepted my role in things and, for the first time, seemed to see clearly that the best thing for Melissa and me was to end the marriage.
Of course, I reached a number of other conclusions about my life. I was fifty pounds overweight and couldn’t hide from that either. I drank too much. I smoked. I was addicted to several prescription drugs that seemed to help me sleep, particularly on red-eyes. I didn’t have much in the way of relationships with my two kids — now in their early-twenties. I was a workaholic and addicted to the ‘kicks’ from closing deals and making big things happen in the business world yet I really didn’t like the company I worked for and how they treated people — staff and clients.
I sat with Len and his wife Dot that Sunday night at their home in Malibu. They’d each had some realizations about their lives and were going to work on setting things straight for themselves.
Their list of “ah-ha’s” however paled compared to mine. They were intimidated by my list and the profound implications it had for changing one person’s life — me. We talked a long time about how my marriage, job, work habits, and health were boiling frogs. I resolved to start to turn things around. Len made me promise to show-up the next morning and finish his strategy project. I did.
I flew back to Boston on Wednesday. The six or so hours on the transcontinental flight gave me time to do some more assessments and create some plans for my ‘new’ life.
I passed up the free cocktails on the flight honoring my pledge from Sunday to rid my dependence on alcohol and also lose some of the weight that it contributed to. I tossed my last cigarettes away at Len’s house and had gone cold turkey. On the flight I could taste the nicotine but closed my eyes and told myself that a smoker was not the person I really wanted to be.
I’d also tossed the last of my drugs down the hotel toilet. I’d started on the drugs to help me deal with jet lag; I resolved that another way to do that was not to encounter jet lag. Stick to your time zone, fella!
I added up my net worth and was pleased it had some significance to it. A divorce would pare bakırköy escort it down in a major way, but I could still survive on a lot less in the workplace. I didn’t know what I’d do about my high stress job, the pressure chamber of a company I worked for and clash of values I was feeling, but I knew over the next months I’d explore other options.
I called each of my kids from the plane ‘just to say, hello.’ Both were pleasantly surprised and were able to talk. I thought that at least those relationships might not be totally trashed by my errant behaviors. Julie worked in New York and Christy in Philadelphia.
When I landed in Boston I went home instead of putting in two or three hours at the office. The house was empty. I poured myself a large Diet Coke and sat on the back patio and thought about how to open the discussion with Melissa. Eventually, I fixed myself some dinner.
Melissa came home about eight o’clock. I was reading at the kitchen counter. We did our ‘how was your day’ and ‘how was your flight’ dance. In the awkward silence that followed I studied the woman that I used to love. I wondered where the love had gone.
“Melissa,” I asked slowly — my voice cutting through the silence between us, “do you love me?” We’d stopped saying those words to each other years earlier.
She looked at me with a thousand questions on her brow. She slowly responded. “Is it time?”
“Time?” I asked.
“Time to end it — to end the marriage,” she said.
“Yes, I think it is. I’ve had a good chance to think about it while I was away. I don’t think we can save it. It died a long time ago really.”
“We’ll need lawyers and all that I suppose,” she said resigned to our mutual conclusion. She poured herself a glass of red wine as she spoke and then drank it down in one long gulp.
I said, “I can use the same firm we use at work. Part of their business handles divorces. I assume you’ll use Bud Cole down the street?”
“Yes, probably. I’ll talk to him. How will the rest of this play out?”
I thought for a moment, “I’d like to stay here tonight. I’ll use the guest room and bath. I’ll find a place over the weekend.”
“We should tell the kids,” Melissa commented as though we might call to inform them that we had a good rainstorm at the house.
We called the kids but initially we only reached Julie. We were on our cordless phones sitting across from each other as we shared the news of our break-up. Julie was only mildly shocked; I guess she’d watched a lot of the erosion take place before her eyes. Not that we ever fought or had knock down drag out battles; it was just a silent erosion of love because we’d done nothing to protect it, to bolster it, to reinforce it, to make it grow and prosper. Eventually we reached Christy; she was a more broken-up over our break-up than we were.
I devoted the rest of the week to ending the relationship despite having a huge workload. I also started living in a local motel until I could find a more permanent place. Friday, I spent a few hours with Brad Sutton, the lawyer I was eventually routed to that would handle my end of things. We worked up a page of ‘principles’ that would govern how I thought the assets should be divided.
I drove out to the house after an early dinner and talked to Melissa; she agreed to most of the property division principles. We made a few minor changes that we could both agree to. After we’d finished the paperwork Melissa gave me one of her ‘come hither’ looks. I raised my eyebrows.
She said, “You know we were always good in the sack together. Shall we end this on a high note … upstairs?”
I slowly nodded my assent and she took my hand and led me upstairs to the master bedroom that had only just ceased to be familiar.
We stood opposite each other taking turns in undoing the clothing that we had on. As I bared Melissa’s generous but now sagging bosoms we paused for a few minutes while I paid a lot of attention to them. Melissa had her head back just enjoying the sensations I was telegraphing to her body from sucking and fondling her tits.
After a few moments of this we continued until we were both nude. Melissa steered me backwards to the bed where I collapsed to a prone position. She knelt between my legs and inhaled my half inflated cock.
Melissa had always been good at blowjobs when she was in the mood. Tonight she was in the mood and it was one of her best or even her best. Perhaps she wanted me to miss her after we’d split. This would do it.
She ran her tongue up one side and down the other then sank her head and throat down on my rod until her nose just grazed my pubes. She’d come all the way off me, often with a long strand or two of juice continuing to bridge between her mouth and my rod.
The whole effort was efficient and effective. I was hard and highly stimulated in only a few minutes. I warned her.
She said, “If you’re up for it we can probably get a double in. I mean the kids aren’t around and we both have all night.”
I was up for beşiktaş escort it.
Melissa finally knee-walked up my body until her moist cunt was centered over my now hyper-extended shank. She reached down and positioned me at the entrance to her vagina and then ever so slowly sank down until our groins were tight against each other. She surprised me by leaning and kissing me open mouth with lots of tongue and passion.
Then our wild oscillations into each other’s bodies started. She was rising and dropping rapidly onto my cock, our bodies slapping together at increasing speed.
Without warning, she suddenly shouted, “Oh shit, I’m cuming. I’M CUMING BIG TIME! FUCK MEeeeeeee.”
My body had gotten itself right up to the brink and I’d just started to think about ways to hold off until she came. So instead I gave into the urge to ejaculate into her. I allowed that wonderful sensation of orgasm to sweep over me and I sent about ten jets of my jism into Melissa’s body.
In the meantime she was arched over me in a most provocative and sensual pose, temporarily frozen in time as her climax claimed her body, mind and spirit.
She fell into my arms and we smoothed and stroked one another. Her legs started to cramp up and so she carefully spread herself out lengthwise over my body so that we also stayed connected. We kissed some more.
As I finally slid from her body with some of our combined fluids I slithered down the bed and pulled Melissa’s legs over my shoulders. I was staring at a lovely pussy. After studying the landscape I feasted on the entire area, allowing my tongue to fuck the open vagina and enjoy the tasty fluids that we’d put there and capturing and sucking on the clitoris and the surrounding and protective flaps of skin.
Melissa went into some state of ecstasy as she ran her fingers lazily through my hair as I continued my banquet. As I got things reasonably cleaned up orally I added my fingers, entering her delicious pussy and finding the familiar area I knew would excite her to another orgasm.
I was right, for in a minute Melissa’s hand slapped the bed beside her as she crested into another climax … and then amazingly another minute later into another. She was talking to me as she went through her writhing and gyrations of pleasure; “Oh, fuck me with that tongue. On shit, you’re going to bring me off. Keep those fingers in there. Put your whole hand in there. That’s my spot … right THERE! Oh, fuck, FUCK! Fuck me. Bring me off. I want you to come back in there tonight. I want more of your cum in there. I want to suck you some more. I want you to come over me and pound into me. Oh, fuck, that feels good. Right there.” She went on and on; she was unusually vocal tonight.
Finally, she pushed me away. “If you do that anymore I’d melt away for the rest of the night. I want us to do ‘it’ one more time.” She shifted around on the bed and pushed me onto my back again.
She inhaled my prick, this time sucking the last of our combined juices from the drooping shaft. She was expert again and restored me to full readiness in a few minutes. Melissa continued to add some erotic fuck-talk to her ministrations often as she worked on me. Both were effective.
When I felt ready I pushed her onto her back and positioned myself between her legs. I put my rod about an inch in and then withdrew. I could tell this frustrated her. She was ready for a rough fuck and deep penetration.
I reinserted myself, this time allowing a fraction of an inch more than the prior time before I withdrew.
She looked up at me, smiled but said, “Bastard. Just fuck me! Fuck me hard!”
I smiled and penetrated her again, sinking in perhaps an inch and a half and then withdrawing again. Then I allowed almost two inches to fill her then two and quarter then two and a half. I kept it up, sometimes slowly withdrawing and sometimes yanking myself out with all the speed I could muster.
Melissa came again at the three-inch mark where I did a rapid withdrawal. Of course, I’d added my thumb to the area to stroke her clit. I paused and let her enjoy the partial fullness and her climax.
As she regained some semblance of cogency I withdrew and continued my slow penetration game: three and a quarter, withdraw slowly, pause, three and a half, withdraw slowly, pause, three and three-quarter, jerk my rod from her body, pause, and so forth. We were both enjoying the game.
I teased until I was entirely buried to the hilt in her pussy. When I paused there, deep inside her, I could feel her cuntal muscles rippling up and down my sensitive cock. I’d made myself sensitive to any stimulation by the game.
Melissa looked up and me and said, “Now, will you fuck me.”
I said, “Perhaps.” I yanked my entire rod from her body in a rapid movement. Melissa came again.
“Oh shit,” she said. “Every time you do that I cum — sometimes big, sometimes small. That was a big one.” She looked down between us as I lined up to penetrate her and added, “Perhaps that’s because you are the beylikdüzü escort biggest I think I’ve ever seen you. Fuck me sailor!”
This time I started to pump into her with the serious intent of bringing us both to orgasms and filling her pussy with whatever cum I had left after my first sojourn in her pussy. She locked her legs behind my back and helped me sustain my gyrations into her body.
Not too long after I could feel my interior plumbing start to switch over to ejaculation mode. I’d once imagined little train engineers inside me throwing switches that diverted my plumbing systems and turned on green lights along the track from my balls to Melissa’s cunt.
“I’m near,” I whispered to Melissa.
“Me too,” she panted.
I felt my pumper start its machinations, pulling the creamy mix from my scrotum into the canals and routing it forward. Each surge of my pumper brought me increased pleasure; it also signaled me to pound all that much harder into Melissa to ensure that I delivered fast and deep in her vagina.
The fluids jetted from my body into hers as my body arched above her and my breathing stopped as the wave of pleasure hit me. I froze in place.
Melissa was arched into me yet I could feel her interior muscles rippling along my cock, pulling me deeper into her and ensuring that my seed went effectively deep. Our bodies had no way of knowing that Melissa had had her tubes tied years before.
I collapsed into Melissa’s welcome arms and we rolled to our side, stroking our sweating bodies one last time.
A few minutes later we showered together and I redressed. Melissa just slipped on a robe but left the front untied and seductively appealing. She saw me to the front door and we kissed goodbye. We both knew we’d never repeat what had happened that night. It was the end of a marriage.
I lined up a few apartments to look at Saturday morning and by noon had made a selection of furnished place ‘Back Bay’ not too far from where I worked in Boston. One of the decision points became the full gym (complete with trainer that came in three evenings a week). Saturday afternoon while Melissa was apparently out running errands I packed up the car with most of my clothing, a couple of cartons of books, and another of personal keepsakes. By dinnertime I was moved in and feeling better about life. At least I’d taken some remedial steps.
I walked the City Saturday night, stopping by the office to clean out the accumulated mail. I felt relaxed about the way things were going. I was committed to keeping the stress out of my life.
Sunday, I started the day with a long workout in the gym. What made it long was that I took my time, seeking to avoid stress injuries to unworthy muscles. When I was through I took a brisk five-mile walk around a loop along the Charles River. I was sure I’d lost ten pounds. I’d gained two; now I was fifty-two pounds overweight.
As the business week progressed so did my morning workouts. Basically I’d traded my commute time for gym time in the morning and again at the end of the day. I was walking the mile or so to work as well.
I also changed my diet. I started heading for salads and fruits rather than pizza and pasta. I stuck to my resolution to avoid alcoholic drinks and not smoke. My body wondered what was happening and often complained, but I just overrode those concerns.
The divorce settlement actually went smoothly, most likely because both Melissa and I had good, well-paying jobs. We split the assets and there’d be no alimony. We agreed to jointly own and time-share a vacation home we had in Maine, promising each other we’d be quite flexible about sharing the lovely place. We maintained some estate planning insurance and things that we’d set up to be sure the kids were taken care of if anything untoward happened to either or both of us. That about summed things up.
I had started a new life.
Six Months Later
Some life changes are catastrophic and others happen more slowly. It took six months for the divorce to be finalized. During that time I lost forty-five pounds and significantly toned up. I was now jogging five to seven miles daily — not bad for a fifty-year old guy. Further, I’d stuck to the elimination of my bad habits. I felt the best I had in years.
At work, I’d put an emphasis on staying on the east coast within a three-hour non-stop flight as I did the marketing and sales part of my job. I did make one trip out to LA to finish up some additional work for Len’s company. He told me he was sorry to see me finish but realized I was in a life transition. He wished me well and assured me we’d stay in touch. We joked a long time about mid-life crises; I assured him I’d come out whole.
Even though some of my colleagues kidded me about getting lots of pussy now that I was single, I was not dating. Although tempted and even coming close a couple of times, I had never actually cheated on Melissa.
Now, I couldn’t imagine hitting the bar scene — ‘meat lockers’ my younger colleagues called them. I also wasn’t going to any church; I didn’t belong to any co-ed clubs; and I wasn’t taking any courses with pretty co-eds around. There was nowhere in my life where I’d meet single women except possibly at work and I had a personal rule about that I wasn’t ready to give up yet.
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