I know I didn’t do this right. I probably wouldn’t do it again, but this is how it happened and was probably the most likely result under any circumstance.
Jim and I had been married 21 years. At the time Jim would have told you it was a great 21 years. I would have said so too, but I’d have been lying. Marriage was what I expected. My parents were married for 50 years. I don’t really remember them being affectionate towards each other. That was where we were.
He and I dated for 12 months before we got engaged and we were married 3 months later. He was a good looking, hard working man. He was forceful and opinionated in the way he talked and acted, at the time I saw it as a strength and not a detriment.
Jim had a good government job and provided us a nice middle class life. We weren’t rolling in money, but we’d just paid off our mortgage early, we could afford new cars every 5-6 years, we had money for the girls college, and could splurge on a nice vacation every other year. We had Jim’s pension and did good enough in savings that we had some investments and owned 2 rental houses.
We had our girls and things went along normally. I settled into marriage. I was a stay at home mother. I raised my kids, kept house, and made dinner. Our marriage was what I thought marriage was. Actually what we both thought it was.
We had friends, mostly my friends, parents of kids my kids went to school with. We were invited to BBQs and sometimes went out with other couples. His friends were a few guys he worked with and one or two of the husbands in our group. The girls got older and after the girls were 16 I took a part time job working in a small boutique owned by a friend. Life went on.
During this time Jim put on about 40 lbs. I kept my figure. I was proud of it. I hit the gym 2-3 days a week, did weights, and swam. At 5’4, 130, shoulder length auburn hair, I still turned a head or two. I was always mistaken for being in my 30s. When the girls hit high school, every once in awhile they would mention that a friend thought I was hot. Their girl friends would often tell me I was pretty. In our social circle there were a few of us wives who kept their figure, but most hadn’t.
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During our marriage one thing bothered me often. We didn’t really communicate. Jim lectured. I did what was needed to manage the house. Jim was opinionated and very judgemental. What seemed strong when I was young, became just obnoxious as I got older. His opinion was right and anyone who disagreed was stupid. It made me sad when he went off. Some of the topics were interesting or, if it was about things that happened in our social group, I would have liked to have been part of a discussion. It was always Jim lecturing.
it was always something. When a local boy got arrested for pot, Jim railed about it being his parents fault and that they were bad people who couldn’t control their child.
He’d say, “I would show that kid what for and he would never do that again,” or, “I’d throw that kid out. See how much pot he can afford on his own.”
Then he’d look at me and say “It’s a good thing we raised our girls right. They would never do such a thing.”
I wouldn’t reply. He wasn’t looking for a reply he was just lecturing. I’d laugh inside since I was pretty sure our girls now 18 and 19 had smoked pot once in awhile when they were in high school.
When a neighbor’s girl got pregnant. He would go on about how his girls knew that they shouldn’t have sex at that age and how their parents couldn’t control her. Why were they letting her date that boy anyway. He’d say he would have slapped the kid and sent him running or scared him with his gun. How he’d use his gun to force the kid to, “Do the right thing.”
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All the while I’d be thinking about how I’d put the girls on the pill at 16 after having long discussions with them.
These lectures would go on for days. As long as the topic was a hot part of the neighborhood or work gossip he would go on.
The worst rants were when someone’s marriage ended or was in trouble. Our group like any other had its share of couples with problems. He would throw blame everywhere.
“He’s such a wimp. He doesn’t know how to handle his wife.”
“She was always a bitch.”
“She’s just a whiner.”
“He’s an ass.”
In almost every case of divorce the man moved out.
“I wouldn’t move out. It’s my house. Why should I be the one to move?”
Sometimes he’d go on about their sex life.
“I bet that guy couldn’t satisfy her. She needs a real man,” or, “She’s frigid, I bet she barely has sex him him. I would leave too.”
One time a woman took her husband back after he cheated. They’d stayed together. He’d go off about once a cheater always a cheater and how stupid it was to take the loser back.
It was funny and maddening to hear this. Our sex life was what I expected. We’d have sex 2-3 times a month. If I was lucky I’d have an orgasm during sex about once a month. We had 2 positions. Him on top, me on top. When home alone, I had a vibrating friend I visited at least 3-4 times a week.
We didn’t do oral. Funny thing, I would have, I probably would have done a lot of things. He just never asked, I never offered.
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There wasn’t a lot of romance or lead up to sex. No playful teasing. No hugs during the day. No making out on the couch. In fact, we rarely kissed anymore. Quick kisses hello goodbye. To initiate sex, He might roll over in bed, slide his hands up my chest and play with my breasts, and say “How ’bout it,” or maybe, “How ’bout a back rub.”
I never said no. I mean he never asked when I was sick or on my period, so for the most part I had no reason to say no. Plus, I liked sex. More would have been good, if it were accompanied by some flirting or romance.
My fantasies with my vibrator ranged from a romantic strong man winning my heart and taking me, to being picked up in a biker bar and used. He would die if he knew my fantasies or even that I had a vibrator.
So, given all this it often tied my stomach up to hear him talk about others like that.
At parties or get togethers he’d go off when he had an audience. Most people would either not respond or stand there nodding their heads in silence. He took this as agreement and would go on with his rant.
He of course didn’t see any of this. In his eyes he had the perfect marriage and life and I’m think to the outside world it looked that way. I often wondered how they talked about us when we weren’t there. Not expecting anything different, I didn’t complain.
On the other hand. I would talk to the wives. We were friends. We’d chat online, text, they’d visit the boutique. We stayed in touch. I would always hear at least the wife’s side of the story. I held the mother whose daughter got pregnant. I’d talked for hours with the woman whose husband left her. Most stories were sad, complicated, and not simplistic to deal with as Jim would think. They made me think about the communication in my marriage.
I think the one that finally set me off was when one of my friends had an affair. Afterwards they had stayed together and worked it out. She told me all about it. She wasn’t proud of it. Her husband was not a bad man. He just wouldn’t listen to her. She felt smothered and lost and she felt she was losing herself. They’d tried counseling, but he was convinced it was her. It wasn’t till the affair that he was shocked into paying attention. He didn’t want his current life or his marriage to disappear. They started working on it together.
Jim went on for months about how he’d never have stayed, that she was a slut. How he would have beat up her, or him, or both of them. He claimed he would kill one of them. He said he’d divorce her and take everything they had. The rant would change but he’d still rant.
Everytime he saw one of them, or saw them together he would start again. He’d call her a cheating bitch, and him a wuss. It was a lot to hear.
The second thing that happened was on one of our nights out. We were sitting in a pub type restaurant and I noticed a couple sitting at the bar. They weren’t really talking. I don’t even think Jim noticed. I watched for a while. Soon another guy came into the bar. He sat down next to her but leaving a respectful seat between them.
After a little while the woman and the guy started talking. He talked to the man the woman was with also, but mostly the woman. They became engaged in conversation. Then he moved from his one seat away right next to the woman. It was about then Jim noticed.
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“Look at that,” he said. “It looks like he’s hitting on her. If that were me I’d tell the guy to take a hike.”
“Why?” I asked. “They’re just talking.” I knew it was a mistake as soon as I said it.
“Why’s he talking to her?” he started. “She’s obviously with that other guy. Most guys don’t talk to women unless they’re hitting on them.”
He went on about how disrespectful it was and how he’d punch the guy out and drag his girlfriend out of there. He’d make sure she didn’t disrespect him again. I just listened to him rant.
I just listened. There was no use in saying anything.
One Saturday night it came to a head.
Jim had invited 3 guys he worked with over to play cards. I’d met the guys and I didn’t mind. They were nice enough. They were polite to me and it was Jim’s home and he was welcome to have his friends here.
The night started out normally. I welcomed the guys and got some snacks. They sat around the table talking and playing cards while I went in the other room to watch TV. It wasn’t a party or anything. No one drank to excess. I was meeting people so, of course, I had on a nice pair of jeans, brushed my hair, and a little makeup, but nothing I wouldn’t wear to the grocery store.
Generally I could hear what the guys were saying. I usually didn’t pay attention, this time, one of the guys, Enrique, started talking about a friend of his who was getting divorced. He had to pay alimony and child support and was struggling to get back on his feet. The ex wife already had a boyfriend and they were moving in together into her, their, old house with her kids.
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That set Jim off. He retold the story of our friend. He went on about how he would have beat the new boyfriend silly and have tossed her out of the house. I listened to this story again. I don’t know why, something just hit me.
I didn’t really have a plan. I went in the kitchen. Jim, Frank, Lloyd, and Enrique were all playing cards.
“Whatchya talking about,” I asked sounding innocent. I knew, but I wanted them to tell me.
Jim jumped in. He told me Enrique’s story about his friend. Then he went on and retold the story about our friends. He went on about what he would do to whom and how. The parts about hitting the guy or the wife really bothered me.
I couldn’t listen anymore. I don’t know what possessed me. I sat down on Frank’s lap, put my arms around his neck and asked, “So if I did this you’d hit me?”
“Cut it out,” he said. “Of course not. Get off his lap.”
“What would you do if I kissed him on the cheek?” I kissed Frank on the cheek. “Would you hit me? Or Frank?”
“Lisa, cut it out. You’re making a scene. Get off his lap,” Jim said. He wasn’t shouting but he was getting agitated.
“Ok,” I flirted. I kissed Frank on the cheek and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t want Jim to hit us.”
I should have stopped but I didn’t. I went and sat on Enrique’s lap and put my arms around him. Enrique looked past me at Jim. I don’t think he knew what to say.
“What about now?” I said to Jim. “Would you really hit me?”
“Get off his lap Lisa. You’re being ridiculous. Cut it out.” He was starting to raise his voice.
I got up and sat back on Frank’s lap. This time I kind of bent over so my ass was pointing right at Frank giving him a great view. Then I sat back on his lap and stretching up put my arms around his neck. Frank put his arms around my waist.
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“Lisa, the jokes over. Stop it. You’re making people uncomfortable.”
I looked over my shoulder at Frank. I wiggled my ass a bit in his lap. “Frank,” I said. “Am I bothering you?”
Frank laughed, “Well, not in the way Jim means.”
Enrique and Lloyd laughed. I looked at them.
“Am I bothering you guys?”
Now Jim was mad. His face was getting red. “Guys, I think the party’s over. I don’t know what she’s doing, but I think you should go.”
I got off Frank’s lap and, standing, I put my arms around Lloyd’s neck. My ass was practically in Frank’s face.
“Lloyd? Am I bothering you?” I purred.
Lloyd laughed, “You can bother me like that all you want.”
I started to realize Jim’s friends did not respect Jim as much as he thought they did. Jim always thought everyone respected and looked up to him.
I kissed Lloyd on the cheek. Pretty close to his lips.
Jim was sputtering. “That’s enough. Guys, get out. Lisa, go upstairs.”
The guys started to get up. I pushed my ass closer to Frank’s face, waved it a bit and kissed Lloyd on the side of his mouth.
“Do you guys want to go?” I pouted. “It’s my house too, I’m kinda having fun.”
They all sat back down.
“See Jim, they want to stay.” I walked over to Enrique, bent over, and with my ass in Lloyd’s face kissed Enrique actually on the lips.
“See, they want to stay,” I again said to Jim.
I don’t really know why I kept pushing it. Pent up anger? Whatever it was, I was having fun. Also, I have to admit, being such a flirt, the way the guys were reacting to me, and defying Jim was turning me on a bit. Ok, more than a bit.
Jim was pissed. “Get out! All of you!” he shouted.
I sat down on Enrique’s lap and kissed him on the lips. No tongue, just a kiss. I looked at Jim and said, “It’s my house too and I’m having fun. I want them to stay.”
Then to Lloyd I said, “You guys are having fun, aren’t you?”
Enrique laughed and said, “I am.”
Frank also laughed, “Well, I don’t know Enrique seems to be having all the fun.”
I crooked my finger at Frank and beckoned him over. Frank stood up and came over to me. I put my arms around him and kissed him. I was still sitting in Enrique’s lap, I felt one of his hands slip to my ass. Jim couldn’t see it. I kind of wiggled my ass into it. Enrique had his other arm around me.
I hadn’t really expected to go this far but I was getting turned on and I was enjoying Jim’s growing discomfort. Not because I liked that he was jealous. I liked that he felt he was losing control and that I was making it happen. I even liked the feel of Enrique’s hand on my ass.
I parted my lips when I kissed Frank. I felt his tongue against my lips.
“This is my last warning,” Jim growled. “Stop acting like a slut.”
My arms around Frank and sitting on Enrique’s lap I looked around at the guys and said, “You don’t think I’m slutty do you?”
“That’s enough,” Jim bellowed.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me off Enrique’s lap. My arms were around Frank’s neck so it pulled him forward as well. I struggled to get out Jim’s grasp. He was hurting me.
“Let go,” I hissed. I was mad. It was my fault, I did this, still I was mad.
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“I’m not letting you go until you behave and stop acting like a cheap slut,” he said.
I struggled some more, “Cheap slut? I’ll show you cheap slut. Maybe one of these guys could make me cum more than 6 times a year than your little cock can.”
I don’t know where that came from, but I said it.
Whap! He slapped me across the face.
Frank pushed him away from me. Jim let go of me. He turned to Frank and tried to punch him. Frank tackled him and grappled Jim to the ground. They crashed into a cabinet and knocked it over breaking a vase and a few other things. Now Jim was fighting. Enrique and Lloyd stood up and helped Frank hold Jim down. I dialed 911.
When they answered I told them my husband just hit me. They asked if I was safe. I said yes, there were some friends here restraining him.
Our town is not crime ridden. Two police cars were at my door in about three minutes. The cops took Jim outside and asked what was going on. The door was open. I could see him on the lawn, I told them we were having fun, I was picking on Jim a bit and He lost his temper and hit me.
I could hear Jim telling the cops the whole story. I couldn’t hear most of it, but when he said things like ‘being a slut’ or ‘the little whore’ he turned his head and raised his voice so I could hear him.
After hearing Jim’s story the cops came back they asked me about it. I confirmed it was true. However everyone, including Jim, agreed that he hit me.
In our state we have mandatory arrest with domestic abuse cases. Jim was put in handcuffs and walked to a car.
“You fucking slut,” he yelled. “We’re through. I don’t ever want to see you again.”
I stood at the door. I watched him. He gave me a last look as he got in the car. I don’t know why. I brought up my hand and in the way little kids wave, I waved and said, “bye bye.”
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I watched the car drive away. I was all wound up. I was mad, I was anxious, scared, and a little elated.
The guys all made ready to leave.
“You guys don’t have to leave,” I said.
I’m not sure how they took that. I said it because I didn’t want to be alone, but given what was going on before all this, they may have taken it differently.
Frank cleaned up the broken vase. Enrique stood up and came up behind me. He put his arms around my waist. “We’ll stay as long as you want,” he said.
His arms felt good wrapped around me. I sighed and leaned my head against his chest. It felt good. I hadn’t been in another man’s arms for 23 years. I just stayed there rocking for a minute or two, then looking at the other two guys I said, “Thank you.”