I knew he wouldn’t remember. I didn’t even try to remind him this time.

I did try to give him a little “hint.” A little something to jog his memory, maybe. Or just to let him know there was something different about that day.

I mean, it’s not often I come back to bed after my usual routine. Most mornings I go down and get the coffee going, set out our preferred breakfast items. We’re watching our calories these days. No more bacon and eggs. No pancakes, no French toast. Sigh.

He likes those high fiber cereals that taste like cardboard. I do low carb flatbreads slathered with a smidge of cream cheese, a few berries on top.

It’s working, too. I look great for my age. No rolls falling over those curves now. Three sizes smaller, too. I love that. I’m disappearing, my friends say. But actually, I’m reappearing. My old self, the one he fell for, is back. And this version is even better, I think. Older. Wiser. Wilder.

I thought I’d remind him of that by slithering back under the covers to wake him up in a more “interesting” way that day.

He said, “Yeah, okay, I’m awake,” and gave me a pat on the ass.

And then said, “The big report’s due today. I better get a move on,” and sat up stretched and headed for the shower.

Honest to God. Hand on the ass, but eyes on the prize. What can I say?

I love this man. I really do. Or that’s what I keep telling myself. I’m actually not entirely sure anymore. I’m comfortable with him, is more like it. And I’ve seen what my divorced women friends are going through. Is that enough to make me stay with Scott for the rest of my life, though. That is the million dollar question.

Not sure. Don’t want to think about it.

But the more I try not to, the more it keeps creeping up on me at work. That day, it didn’t help that all the women in the office kept asking me what our “plans” were.

Cheryl’s husband actually bought her an outfit to go to the best restaurant in town, on their fifth anniversary. Had it sent to the office. With flowers. And the cutest card.

I hate her.

No, I don’t. She’s a nice kid. And it’s not her fault that my husband doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body. Or that the one “bone” in his body that could’ve at least shown me a little “something something” on the morning of our 20th, yes 20th, didn’t sit up and take notice even with my firm, newly “renovated” ass rubbing up against it.

I mean, I’m only forty-two. Today, that’s not considered that old. And men love me. I could have all the “bones” I wanted. All day long.

And don’t think I haven’t thought about it, when they eye me up and down in the elevator or turn to take that second look as I walk past their desks and doors and whatnot. I know I’m still fuckable.

But the one man I really want to fuck doesn’t seem to care.

So, I came up with a plan. And I have no idea where this came from. Wait, yes I do. There was an article about all these local cops who got fired for going to those “happy endings” massage parlors. I guess they worked out a sort of “you rub my cock, I’ll look the other way while you rub the other cocks” kinda deal with them.

We have a couple not far from us. In these little strip malls. Nice neighborhood, very suburban, but they’re smart, those people. Our men are the ones who need them. I get it.

And then I got my idea. And slipped off to make a call.

It didn’t cost me all that much. I think the woman I spoke to was sort of tickled. I liked her. I didn’t understand a word she said half the time—Asian. Thick accent. But she giggled like a school girl.

So, I got him a present he would never forget. And I’d be there to see him “unwrap” it, too.

Went like this.

I sent him flowers. And a note telling him where to go, later that evening. I said I had a special present for him. I knew he wouldn’t “get it.” Not ‘til he got there.

And he would believe I’d picked the place. Sometimes I say things like that. Just to see what he says. He’ll smile and say, “Kinky.” But mostly he just brushes it off. I’m just talking, you know? It amuses him, but he believes it’s just talk.

So he showed up. Probably just to call my bluff. Maybe out of curiosity. Shook his head the whole way to the door, like he was thinking, “What the hell is that woman up to now?”

I saw. I was there. He just didn’t know I was.

The older Asian woman who ran the place smiled sweetly and said, “You Mr. Martin? Scott?”

“Scott Martin,” he said.

She smiled even more and said, “Yes, yes. Very special for you. Come this way.”

“Whoa, hold it,” he said. “What...are we talkin’ here? I mean, I’m no prude or anything but...”

“Very special for you,” she said. “Come!”

So she takes him to the “very special” room. It’s a bit bigger than the others. You can dim the lights and the massage table is very sturdy and well cushioned. There’s a love seat, strewn with pillows. A bar in the corner. A table for “refreshments” of other kinds. You can put music on the IHome on the bar.

I’d gotten some chocolate dipped strawberries and champagne. The music? Slow jams. Not his kind of music but the lyrics were so suggestive I figured he’d get the idea.

The woman waiting for him was hand-picked, too. Mei, she was called. Pretty one. Rounder than the others. More like me. Wrapped in a “kimono” thing. Actually just a robe made with Asian designs. Short, so that when she bent over you could see her moons rise.

She had great lips. Full lips, painted cherry red. And as he entered, she bowed to him. I loved it. You could see her breasts when she bowed. Got his attention, too. I smirked when I saw that.

She said, “May I call you Scott?” She didn’t have much of an accent, this one. Just enough to make him blush and smile like a schoolboy.

He said, “Sure! What...do I call you?”

“Mei,” she said. “Please, let me help you.”

She poured it on, this Mei. Slid those long, slender fingers up his chest and looked him in the eyes as she started to unbutton his shirt. Then slid them back down, slooooowly over his bare chest to help him unbuckle and get those pants off.

She made sure to let her eyes linger on his “package” as she stooped down to pick up those clothes from the floor.

And said, “Very nice,” as she walked over to hang them up, looking back over her shoulder to give him a “very special” smile.

And his cock rose up to salute her. I’m talking a big Louisville Slugger standing straight up in those shorts. In seconds. Jerk. All she had to do was smile?! Really?!

She came over and touched his chest again, and said, “I think you are ready.”

And he gave her this sheepish little, “Looks like.”

“You can take those off, too,” she said. And she let her fingers sort of skitter over his erection. It jerked. I was actually afraid he was going to cum all over his shorts.

She smiled and beckoned him over to the table. Once he was up there, face up, eyes closed, she got warm oil and started to rub slowly but expertly.

A real massage, except she slid her hands over that cock a lot, instead of going around it on the way down.

“You like?” she asked him once, taking his cock in her hands and stroking it slooooowly.

He could only nod his head. The fool was about to blow. I could tell.

So I had to get out there, then. Mei looked toward the hidden door I’d been peeking through. The walls are wood paneled and there are “cracks” between the boards. You can’t tell that one section is a door. Or see that one of those cracks is like a peep hole. For customers who like to watch.

I tiptoed in, in my little kimono, and as she stroked, I bent down and licked the precum off the tip of his cock. He startled and opened his eyes, but he was so aroused that all he could do was sort of gasp and stare helplessly as I took over the stroking while she continued the massage.

I squeezed his taut balls and said, “You like?”

He nodded and let his head fall back.

“Jeezus,” he said. “What are you doin’?”

“Oh, you know what I’m doin’.”

He nodded again, trying to slow down his breathing. So I leaned down and put his oiled cock between the big breasts he had always loved so much. His breath caught. He gripped the sides of the table.

“Oh, Jeezus, Cat, I’m gonna blow,” he said.

“Oh, well, maybe I should stop.”

“Nononononono! Don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”

I squeezed my tits together and moved up and down and licked the head every time it peeked out of my cleavage. And the girl leaned down and rubbed her nice little breasts back and forth, gently, against his face with those lips parted like she was really enjoying it, too. She even moaned a little bit.

And he started shivering like we were in Antarctica or something by then. And he’d started to grunt and buck his butt every time that head eased out and into my mouth.

The girl took hold of his cock for me so that I could get between his legs and lick his balls. She put more oil on and said, “So big! She’s so lucky!”

He let out a big grunt then. And started just about fucking her hand, but she “Shooshed” him playfully, and he tried to stay still but she kept smiling and stroking his cock with her experienced fingers. She knew all kinds of little twists and turns. I paid attention, to add them to my own routine.

And she kept those lips wet and parted. And smiled as if she was just so pleased when he started to fuck her fingers. I felt sort of left out. But it also sort of turned me on, watching him get off on her. Surprising.

This was a better idea than I thought.

But I had to keep my wits about me. So when I knew he probably couldn’t take another minute, I gestured to her and she tiptoed out of the room. And I quit licking and went over to the table to get those berries while he huffed and puffed.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Just hang in there, sport,” I said.

And then I went over to the love seat, held up the berries and said, “Come eat!”

“What?!”

“You heard me. Come over here.”

“Aw, c’mon—“

I opened the kimono, spread my legs, took one of the berries from the platter, set the platter down, and started to rub the other “cat” he liked to play with, with the chocolate end. He just sat there almost drooling all over himself as I slid the berry up and down my lower “lips.”

And when I parted them to let him watch me rub my clit with it, he managed to get down off that table and head my way.

I smiled drowsily and said, “You like that, too, huh?”

“I like a lot,” he said, sitting down next to me with that big cock waving in my face. I bent down to suck the tip and he moaned and looked down at me still stroking my clit with the very wet berry.

“You do it,” I said, taking his hand and putting it between my legs.

He did me one better. He eased himself down so that we were in a sort of “sideways 69,” his head between my thighs and his cock in my face. And he licked that chocolate off in no time. But no chocolate was necessary after that.

He kept licking and flicking and tonguing like he’d almost forgotten about his cock. But when I deep throated that sucker, he flung his head back and shivered.

“You’re killin’ me!” he cried. “I can’t breathe! I swear!”

I was having a little trouble breathing myself. My heart was beginning to pound and I could tell I was going to cum if I didn’t change up soon.

I sat up just long enough to stop him from lapping at my lips, then eased myself back down slowly, flung a leg up over the back of the seat and rubbed my glistening clit so he could watch. And he started to stroke himself, too.

“This is crazy,” he said, smiling at me. “We’ve gone crazy!”

“Good crazy, though.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Oh, yeah.”

I started to stick two fingers into my wet vag, first slowly and then faster and faster as I arched my back and panted from the pulsing that was starting to make me arch and shiver. I used some of the “juice” to rub around my erect nipples and I swear, I thought he was going to pull his cock off, watching me finger and fondle myself.

When I hoisted one tit up to flick it with my tongue, he gulped and stopped stroking but the veins in that cock were huge and I could almost feel it throbbing myself. Which turned me on even more, I admit. I started fingering myself even harder, yearning to feel him ram it into me soooo bad.

So I reached for him, and he laid his cock in the wetness and we just rocked like that for a while, letting his swollen head caress my clit until my lips almost sucked his cock inside me.

And he fucked me like we were teenagers in the back of that old car of his. I mean, he grunted and groaned and ground and pounded. And I shivered and shuddered and shrieked with pleasure.

I’m telling you, the hair stood up all over my body and my toes curled. If I’d died right then and there it would’ve been all right by me going out with a “bang” like that.

And the “BANG” was epic. Our muscles sort of seized up almost. We froze, straining into it. A cannonball of cum shot into me so hard I thought it would shoot out of my mouth and I grabbed his ass and held it there.

Neither of us could talk or even move for a few minutes. I just stroked his back, his hair. He was a quivering lump of jelly. His arms and legs couldn’t even work. We laughed a little, about that. He’d turned to rubber. Couldn’t hold himself up or even hold onto me. He was just limp. Wasted.

But he finally raised his head a little bit and smiled at me in a way I hadn’t seen in years.

“Happy anniversary,” I said. Teasing, but kind of serious, after what we’d just shared.

“I’m happy every day,” he said. “But I guess I better start showin’ you that more often, huh?”

My vag clutched his the cock still deep inside me. And it stirred. To my delight and surprise.

And I said, “Show me one more time.”

“They’re gonna kick us outta here!”

“Buy me a present, then. She’s a reasonable old girl. Slip her a couple hundred more’n’ we’ll call it even.”

He smiled and slid that not so limp cock back and forth inside me a little bit.

I gathered that meant, “Yes.”

And he said, “Do that thing with the strawberry again and I’ll slip you a coupla hundred.”

I gave his ass a slap. And reached for the platter.