He uses the word “fuck” too much. Way too much. But twenty years on a submarine for Uncle Sam means he’s learned to use the word “fuck” to describe everything. As a military wife, I’m used to it; but he embarrasses our kids and grandkids when he talks like that in public. You’d never know he had two college degrees by listening to how he speaks or by reading what he writes.

Did you read his two stories about his bucket list? He’s melodramatic, isn’t he?

He is… but he’s mine and he’s golden as a husband. The big lug.

He’s a spartan writer, too, isn’t he? He wouldn’t use an adjective or an adverb if his silly life depended upon it.

He likes to think he’s “all stoic and shit” but he’s not. Trust me on this one. How much of a tough guy is he? Well, our house is full of pinks and blues, floral design everywhere, and, well, it’s feminine and pretty. You won’t find a masculine anything inside my home. Definitely not. Not in MY home. I’m in charge here.

You probably guessed this is Kim. I think you need to hear my side of what happened.

Gavin is a tough guy around men. No doubt about that. But around me? He’s a soft-serve ice cream cone. He melts if I just look at him. It’s so cute when he does it, too. My tough-guy husband will blather like a fourteen-year-old boy caught masturbating when I give him the upset-mother look. Twenty years a sailor; he’s full of salt for everyone but me.

People who know him, love him. Women, especially. I’ve made my peace with his recent “peccadilloes” as I like to call them. Yeah, he does stick his dick in other women now that he’s sixty-six but he never sticks his dick more than once in the same woman. You may think “What’s the difference if it’s a different woman each time or multiple times with the same woman”. The difference is that he is not attached to women he only screws once. He’ll be coming home to me. He’s still mine. If he needs to get his rocks off through his sexual bucket list with other women, I can accept his biological clock ticking away. He will soon lose his ability to get an erection anyway. He’s had one or two times recently when he found he could get it up but not get it off with me. He didn’t mention that, did he? I didn’t think so.

He doesn’t brag about the other women to anyone. I would know if he did. He keeps it to himself. Well, he did until now when he wrote about it here. You guys already know too much about his exploits, in my opinion. As for him sleeping with his best friend Tom’s wife, I don’t even know why Tom was his best friend. (He doesn’t know that I know. When he reads this, he sure will.) Tom’s second wife should never have been his second wife. Amy was underserved by both her husbands. She didn’t deserve their treatment and they certainly didn’t deserve her. She’s better off in Sturgis. Like I said, I’ve made my peace with Gavin’s peccadilloes. Even with that actress slut.

I am thankful Gavin waited until now. If he had done any of this while we were raising our children, I’d a thrown his ass out the door. Navy wives know how to draw the line. If they don’t, they are either ex-Navy wives or Navy ex-wives. A difference you can’t appreciate unless you’ve been there and done that.

Let’s get into this before I prefer privacy over accuracy. If you read Gavin’s version of events, you’d think he was some architect of adultery and that he somehow manipulated me into having sex with Willis. It wasn’t like that. Not even close.

Willis is a charmer. Women’ll know what I mean. He has a deep voice. When he speaks it’s like warm chocolate pudding; so sweet, so thick, and so decadent. The timbre of his voice is connected to my clit. Every time he utters a word, he pleasures me. I can’t begin to describe what happens inside me when he talks to me. I must’ve masturbated with him on my mind at least thirty times before we had sex.

I tried to satisfy myself with Gavin and with masturbation but it just wasn’t enough. I went through two sets of batteries in my Doc Johnson doing it, too. I stuck Doc everywhere there was a flat surface in our house. I sexed Doc freely, frequently, and unashamedly and all I could think about was Willis, not Gavin.

He has that mix of gray and black hair that is so sexy. He’s a broad-shouldered, big-muscled man, and he’s over six foot, maybe six-two; thick thighs, powerful forearms, and he has that cute tuft of hair that pokes out over his T-shirt inside his collar. In a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up, he’s a package of dynamite. His stride is manly and he walks as if his balls are too big between his legs. (They are, too!)

If you’re a woman, you probably have done this yourself. You meet some man and WHAM! You imagine him inside you before you can even say, “Nice to meet you.” With Willis, I was a hormonal teenager all over again the first time I met him. Gavin got it wrong when he said there were no hormonal urges at our age. I had hormones in my panties every time I was with Willis. Wet hormones. Really wet hormones. Women know the feeling I’m talking about.

I resisted as long as I could. You know that I’m sixty-four because Gavin kept talking about it. I wish he’d shut up about it, too. I shouldn’t have hormones that make me want to rip my panties off and hand them to a man as if they were keys to my kingdom. Willis did that to me. My thoughts about him were delicious, decadent, dirty… and the one time when I stuck Doc Johnson to the patio door, they were downright filthy thoughts, too.

He was my cocaine, or heroin, or meth. Whatever he was, he changed the chemistry in my brain. I wanted more and more. Gavin said I was chatty about him. I wasn’t. It was more like I had verbal orgasms. When I talked about Willis with Gavin, it was adulterous. Sinfully so. I had these deep desires to screw Willis. Talking to Gavin about Willis was…arousing, coveting, lustful… not sure of the words. I felt as if the more I talked to Gavin about Willis, the more likely I could cum by just talking. Gavin never caught me with my hands down my pants while I talked with him. Talking was like giving Gavin a facial and spurting Willis all over Gavin. How’s that for an image? They were only words, but I felt like rubbing one out whenever I talked about Willis to Gavin. Is that sick? Was it perverted for me to talk about Willis to Gavin and be aroused by it and to masturbate when I did? Call me perverted then, because I loved it.

It wasn’t Gavin setting up a series of events to manipulate my feelings towards Willis. No, it wasn’t. It was me resisting every carnal impulse in my body for months until it was stupid to keep doing the same thing any longer.

When I heard that Gavin thought it was okay for me to go to the charity ball with Willis, I decided to give Gavin one more chance to change his mind. I just came right out and told him that if he didn’t go, I was going to fuck Willis.

You know how all that went down. You read Gavin’s stories. But you know nothing about that red dress.

It’s cinnamon candy hot! It’s a sinful red, deep V-neck, lace-sleeve, split-front gown. I have rocked that look since I had breasts and it didn’t fail me now. I had sin on my mind and sinning needs access to all the right parts of me. I made sure of that.

So let me tell you what happened after Willis picked me up.

As soon as the limo door closed, Willis said, “I told you at the park that I want to have filthy, dirty sex with you. If you don’t want that tonight, then you can get out now.”

I looked Willis in the eye and said “We can’t do that with my panties on, can we? Take 'em off.”

I pulled up my dress and spread my legs. In an instant, those panties were on the floor and Willis’ fingers were inside me. This man knows how to stroke a woman. Two fingers curled, gentle but firm, in and out. I was knocking on Heaven’s Door almost immediately.

His lips on mine, we sucked tongue. I grabbed his ears and pulled his face close. His fingers were in me below and his tongue was in my mouth. I took his cocaine, his heroin, his meth as fast as it was given to me. Chemical ecstasy. Hormonal release. Pleasure exploding in my brain. My kitty turned into a pussy and then it turned into a cunt. The transformation, mutation, celebration, and denigration was swift. Within a minute, my thighs tightened, my legs shut tight; I trapped his curling fingers and I released my orgasm. I spasmed with his fingers inside me and I focused intensely on each pulse. It was a beautiful moment.

What a gentlemen he was. He waited for me to finish climaxing before removing his fingers.

He spoke first, “John, would you please close the window now.” The limo driver pressed the privacy button.

Damn. The driver had seen it all. All of what had just happened plus the better parts of me; I punched Willis. I called him a bastard for doing that to me.

Willis laughed and said, “I couldn’t resist. I’m sorry. The moment and the opportunity were both there and… carpe diem.”

I remember smiling and saying, “Forgiven,” then I called him a bastard again.

That’s when Willis reached over and touched my breast. Fingers touched the fabric and the fabric touched my nipple. Glorious.

He popped my right tit out of my dress. Willis did not hold anything back.

“And I want a picture of this.” He pulled out a small camera. I smiled, the camera flashed, I had just had my first One-Tit-Out picture taken. It wasn’t the last one that night but I didn’t know it at the time.

He took a picture of my panties on the floor and handed them to me. “Put these back on. Later I will have the pleasure of removing them again.”

I called him a bastard again and pulled them on.

He poured me a glass of champagne, held my hand, and told me how difficult it had been for him to sit and talk with me over the past months. He said he feared that every time he spoke with Gavin that Gavin would confront him about his desire. He thought Gavin could see how much he lusted for me.

I was amused. If I didn’t see that Willis lusted for me, how would Gavin ever see it?

I knew that Willis enjoyed being with me but it wasn’t until we were at the state park that he had blurted out, “I want dirty, filthy sex with you.” As soon as he blurted it out, he hung his head in shame and began to apologize. He said he was sorry and that he didn’t want to give me the wrong impression of him. He said Gavin and I had been the best thing that happened to him since his divorce. He said it was hard to begin with new friends and he didn’t want his moment of weakness to affect that. He didn’t weep but he could have if I’d said the wrong thing.

It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut and my clothes on. Any woman reading this knows that feeling.

Now here we are a month later, headed for the charity ball, and I am with the very man who made me change the batteries twice in my Doc Johnson. Life is good, don't ever forget that.

The social mingling and the dancing were everything I imagined it would be. When Willis held me in his arms, it was so tender. The soft lights, soft music, and the personal moments swept me away. We kissed often. We danced often. It was magical.

I confess I did something indiscreet. It’s all Willis’ fault, really. His fault, yes, but it was started by that other couple. Billy and Dolores. Billy B or T or something. They were hilarious. We met them in line for pictures. He was short and she was tall and curvy. He had a huge handlebar mustache. She could’ve bench-pressed him if she wanted to. When she popped her boob out for their picture, the photographer was stunned and just stood there. He didn’t know what to say or do.

Billy piped up and said he would donate $100 to charity for every person who would have his picture taken with his wife and her one boob out.

That’s when my bastard, Willis, raised his hand and said he would donate another $100 if he could touch her boob for the picture. Dolores said, “Hell, yes, honey, come on up here.”

I called Willis a bastard again the moment he said, “Let’s get Kim up here.”

Next thing I know, Willis wants a second picture. This time with the four of us. Of course, he wanted me to pop my boob out, too. I did. It was for charity so I thought it was okay. Next thing I know, Willis pledges a donation the same as Billy. He’ll donate $100 for everyone who takes a picture with me with my one boob out. Dolores and I were there forty minutes with people willing to donate another one, maybe two, hundred dollars more to charity just to touch my nipple or hold my boob. Willis made darn sure my wedding ring was in every picture, too. The bastard.

You won’t believe it but there were more women than men who wanted to take pictures with us. Some of them popped their boobs out, too. Between us, Dolores and I brought in $10,400 in less than an hour to the charities. I call that a successful fundraiser.

It cost Willis more than he thought it would. Good. That’s what happens to lovable bastards and he was certainly one of those.

It was close to ten-thirty when the last dance was called. It was “Love Me Tender”.

Willis gives the best hugs. You’ve heard that before. While Elvis was singing, Willis and I wrapped ourselves into each other. I felt his affection for me. My heart melted. I melted. My panties melted. On the dance floor, it was as romantic as two people can be among a few hundred other couples. You can sigh here if you like. I definitely sighed. I also kissed him deeply, sensuously, fully, completely. He may be the most romantic bastard in the world.

Still a bastard though. Elvis wasn’t quite done singing and Willis wasn’t quite done kissing when the bastard slipped both of my tits out of my dress and hugged me close. My nipples scraped across his lapels and his hand went between my legs into that split front.

He whispered in my ear; the timbre of his voice pleasured me almost as much as his fingers. He might as well have his tongue down there. That’s how good it feels when he talks to me.

“Touch my cock. Do it now and don’t take your hand off it until the song ends.”

So I did. I felt it grow until it was turgid, thick, swollen, engorged, I don’t care what word is used. It had to be thicker than a summer sausage. Shamelessly, I rubbed my hand on it and held it against his leg until the song finished. What others might think about a woman my age being indecent in public didn’t occur to me. I didn’t think about anything except Willis’ fat and very hard cock. The bastard.

I couldn’t tell you if the song ended too soon or too late. I was about ready to knock on Heaven’s Door again when it did.

Outside, when the limo driver asked where to go, I pointed to Willis and said, “His place”.

Willis nodded. I asked him how far away it was. When he said thirty-five minutes, I said, “Perfect.”

The moment the limo driver closed the door, I said, “Let’s get this bad boy out of there,” and I unzipped Willis’ pants. I thought Willis was joking when he said it wouldn’t fit coming out the zipper.

He said I had to undo his pants if I wanted to play. I told him I wasn’t playing. The bastard was right. I had to undo his pants to see it. When I did see it, I could not imagine a fatter or uglier cock than his.

You’ve heard about men with large bulbous-headed cocks, right? This one was bad ass. If you’ve seen one of those Angry Mama microwave cleaners, you’ve seen Willis’ cock. I don’t know the dimensions. Just know that it was menacing. The kind of menace that made me drool. I had to drool. I could barely get it in my mouth. My jaw hurt the next day from the stretching it took. His balls were huge, too. The man was practically deformed down there. I knew I was going to be de-flowered all over again. When you’ve had a monster cock for the first time, you will know exactly what I mean.

I checked that the privacy window was closed and then I went down on Willis. I jerked, I stroked, and I sucked his fat cock. I sucked it like it was my second blowjob ever and I wanted to do it right this time.

I bounced those balls, too. I could only hold one testicle at a time. Willis made all the right sounds as I brought him along. Watching his balls tighten up was a treat. It was like measuring your performance over time as you watched them contract. Willis moaned at some point and then he mumbled.

“In your cunt.”

He didn’t have to ask me twice. I pulled my panties aside and jammed myself on him like a crazy woman. I rode him hard and I rode him wet. He came like a fountain. He shot me so many times I couldn’t count. When he pulled out, I could see my cunt was gaping open.

“Catch that in your panties. Don’t lose any of it.”

I clutched my panties to my cunt. I was determined not to let a single string escape. None of it dripped on him or the limo.

My panties were a mess. “Cum-soaked” doesn’t do it justice. The lace let it leak out and I had to fold and roll and then fold them over and over. Cum ball might be the best way to describe it.

“Here, put them in here.” Willis handed me a plastic baggie he pulled out from one of the compartments. I dropped them inside and sealed it shut.

“This is for Gavin. I want you to give it to him in the morning and tell him that it is my cum that I put inside your cunt. Repeat that for me. The phrase is important. "This is Willis’ cum that he put in my cunt. He wanted you to have it.”

I shook my head in admiration. “That’s perverted and filthy and I love it. He will love it, too. You are a sick bastard, Willis. You know that? 'This is Willis’ cum that he put in my cunt. He wants you to have it.' ”

“You know what’s sicker, Kim? Sending Gavin a video of you licking my cum off your fingers. Give me your phone. It has to come from your phone number for the full impact.”

I played it up on camera as deliciously as I could. I thought it was dirty, filthy, and hot. Little did I know that Willis sent it with a scheduled delivery for the next night. What a surprise it was when our daughter picked up Gavin’s phone and opened it. She thought it was her Dad filming me. We’re not telling her anything different.

The limo driver interrupted us and said we would be arriving in five minutes. It was only midnight and the party was just about to begin.