When we finally married, it was surely for love. She is long gone from me, but I love her to this hour. I always will. I can feel it. The dreams are such a relief, I sometimes hate being awake.
So much to look back on. She made it so good for me! She would do anything to please me, sexually and otherwise. If only I hadn't been a drunk.
Well, we didn't live together at first when we married. I don't know why not. She stayed where she was, with her parents, and I lived in an apartment 100 miles away, or got by on the road, never with more than a few dollars to my name. I saw her a lot, but was gone a lot, too.
She was my wife, though, and I could tell she felt as good to be married to me as I did to be married to her. We both found things to do and for a few years, we were married but lived apart. I was an authentic drifter, she said. Before I met her, one night I found out what all my friends wanted from the hamburger place a few blocks away, walked up there fully intending to bring back the food, but saw the highway sign and strolled on down and put out my thumb. I went out for hamburgers and never came back.
The man who lived next door to her and her parents was one of only two men who have ever scared me with their mere presence in my life, and I have been friends with murderers, including professional killers. This man was like the other one I felt fear around -- short hair, button-down shirts, clean clothes, very regular jobs, wives, kids, guys living the day-to-day but somehow they scared me.
This man who lived beside my new bride when I was holing up to the north had been married twice to the same woman. He had, without doing drugs nor drinking, d her ass so hard he tore her flesh inside the hole. She was surgically repaired, divorced him and lived alone but for their daughter.
Somehow, he made his way back into her home and damned if she didn't marry him again. And again, after a little while on whatever he had that passed for best behavior -- he'd have laughed at the idea -- he buggered her so roughly that he tore her ass up inside and she had to have the surgery again.
Once again, she divorced him, this time having two daughters to raise alone.
Someone in her family had won a Pulitzer Prize for a Baltimore newspaper, around 1935-45. She won the great ass of all husbands, I would say, and so she married him again. I think they were married 3 times.
During their last marriage, the wife took a job on midnight shift at some company, while the ass worked "swing" shift, about 3-11 so he got home right after his wife left for work every night. They needed a babysitter as a result, so somehow my blushing bride, who was 21 and alone too much, took the position, and sat with their girls in the evenings.
She was supposed to leave when the husband got home, but there had never been any way that was going to happen. Knowing her -- the wettest pussy I ever felt or saw, eyes crossed with desire when turned on, and I never touched her hole when it wasn't slippery wet -- I love to imagine how she felt that first evening she babysat the girls. She knew she would have the girls in bed when he got home and she would be alone with him in his house at midnight with the door locked from the inside and the two of them to work out whatever sort of friendship they would have.
The very first night he came home to his new concubine, my wife, she had all the house lights off except one over the stove downstairs, and she told me she waited for him naked in his bed, belly down with the blanket pulled down just far enough to expose her magnificent, naked ass to this ass-xxxxxx xxxxx she now worked for ($2 an hour and all she could eat).
He d her ass with a purple passion as soon as he got out of his clothes and closed the bedroom door. I was so almost in awe of what she had done and how she had put herself at the mercy of a man who had none that I never asked for much detail. Strange, since I was always starving for detail in every other affair and quickie and all-nighter she had, that I knew of. (I told her to cheat and keep secrets from me, to turn us both on and she promised me softly that she would.)
Imagine for yourself how she must have felt with her ass bare to his onslaught, and
how he must have reacted to open his bedroom door and feast his eyes on the sight of my wife's bare ass. She probably had her legs apart so he could see her asshole, since she knew that's what he would be hunching like an animal. Imagine her listening as he got home downstairs and came upstairs and down the hall and opened the door to his bedroom, now theirs. He had a new wife-volunteer to be the target for his ass xxxxxx hunger, and he fed on her like a lion, I'm sure, though she kept the details secret, mostly.
They did a lot more than that, too. I'll tell you more when you come down from this one. We lived in Ohio and his first name was Harris.
