Neverland, Don't Go Back There!

Author's Note: This is another installment in my series of related stand-alone stories about the women in a monthly neighborhood Book Club.

All sex is between those 18-years and older.

*****

Prologue

After the cellphone text interruption, I pressed 'Play" for the audio book to continue.

'She rose from her knees, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and took the offered solo cup, gulping down a healthy swig of beer before handing it back. Then without words or direction, Melissa knew what to do. She wanted it, ... no, she needed it just as badly as the others in the room, noticing all their thermometers rising in this hot scene. She wondered if her roommate watching from the doorway was feeling the heat.'

Listening to her story as I drove to my appointment, the urge built in me and became overwhelming. The bra was too thick when I clutched at my chest, and I couldn't pinch my hardening nipple. But I wanted some kind of relief! I squirmed in my seat needing it, and I couldn't resist anymore!

Reaching into my purse on the passenger seat, I rummaged blindly through the contents while using my other hand on the steering wheel to keep the car on the road. I sought the three-inch long distinctive cylinder shape the fingers of my right hand knew so well.

'Discarding her panties and bra, she crawled onto the bed naked and into position on her hands and knees. Melissa stopped with her head at the side of the bed. She opened her mouth with hunger in her eyes as she looked up at the next one anxiously standing there, waiting for her attention."

As the audio book continued, I finally found it; about the size of my thumb, a little larger than a tube of lipstick, with one tapered end and the other end belling out just a little. Withdrawing it, I pressed my thumb desperately trying to find the small button on the belled end, then held the button down until it started shaking in my hand. I arched back in the driver seat as I slid the tube down under the waistband of my leggings settling it against my growing clit and left it there, trusting my panties to hold it in place.

"As Mark placed the purple head between her lips, his friend bucked into her from behind, pushing her forward to devour the fleshy shaft."

Now placing both hands on the steering wheel, I tried to focus my attention on the upcoming curves in the road as the story and vibrator reminded me of a night so long ago. A place just like in the book where she was taking two guys at the same time.

In the story, she was already on her third and fourth studs at the fraternity party that evening. The scene from the audio book sounded so familiar, and I wondered if Melissa would end up taking them all before the night's over.

My gawd, when Allison picked this for our neighborhood book club, I didn't know how much I'd relate to it. This brought back memories from that evening at my first college party over twenty-five years ago, ... from that other life years before I met my husband, a part of my life he knew nothing about.

Intro

Did you ever have a life changing moment? Something happens or a few things happen together so quickly that you can never forget? Something that changes you forever? Well, it happened to me when I was almost 24 years old.

When I was growing up, my best friend Lynn and I (Wendy) lived beside each other for as long as either of us could remember on the poorest side of town. I was two years older, but she was the only girl close to my age in our very small neighborhood. Her family had a little more money and a nicer house than the one I was raised in, since her father had a real job and worked for a living.

My family was living on disability payments from the government with my dad claiming some imagined back injury and mom unable to read or drive a car. Starting when I was about five years old, I spent many afternoons playing at Lynn's house, with her mother often inviting me to spend the night there.

When Lynn's mother heard raised voices coming from my home next door, usually on a Friday or Saturday evening, she would turn on the TV or some music to drown out the noise, and she'd tell me I was sleeping over that night. She knew my parents were drug addicts, having watched mom's growing dependence on painkillers after I was born. She told me later that dad worked so hard for three years taking care of me and my mother, that when he hurt his back, he just gave up. So, she tried to help me if she'd hear them growing angry, when money and supplies were low. But at my young age, I merely knew they were my parents and had God-like power over me when I was at home. It wasn't until I was a teenager that I realized how dysfunctional my home life really was.

In the ninth grade, Lynn hooked up with a steady boyfriend with her parents' encouragement. Bob was handsome in a rugged way, hardworking, and he was like a rock with his dedication to his girlfriend. He just seemed a little too up tight and controlling toward her for my tastes. But Lynn's parents liked Bob, trusting him to always watch over their teenage daughter.

I was almost two years older than Lynn and our classmates, since mom didn't bother to enter me into school when I was eligible. It took social services intervening a year later to force her to send me to school. Even then, I had to repeat the first grade due to missing too many days. So, being older than most of our classmates, most of the boys we knew in junior high seemed too young for me. And my own parents were not the type I'd ever want any boyfriend to meet.

When we transitioned to senior high school in tenth grade, I was able to find older boys about my age, and I was looking for an escape from living at home. At age 18, I might have left home. But without a high school diploma and having no skills, my options outside of my home, such as it was, were no better. So, I remained living with my derelict parents to finish the last few years of high school.

Even though I grew up with those drug addicts, my parents didn't allow me to try drugs. I doubt it was out of any concern for my health or safety, and more likely that they just didn't want to share their own supply. By the time I was old enough to understand what was going on, the sight of them in their stupor on the weekends convinced me why I never wanted that life.

When I was eighteen, I spent more time in the evenings outside of the house looking for any kind of diversion or entertainment which didn't cost money. Some people might think even a poor, thin, plain-looking, busty girl could find her way into nightclubs and easily hook up with a guy who would pay for her drinks. But with the twenty-one-year-old drinking age in my state, I couldn't get into the local nightclub or any of the bars. Everybody in our small town knew everybody, and the bar and nightclub owners weren't fooled by fake IDs.

I often resorted to hooking up with older boys or a few who were my age, and there were four guys I could always count on as regulars with their gang leader, Rick. They always had ways of procuring beer, a bottle of wine, or even hard liquor. Rick even pointed out a local drunk who would buy it for them. I just wasn't about to deal with that drunk on my own, knowing what he'd want me to do with him for the liquor. I may have been a slut, but my gawd, he was disgustingly filthy!

Yes, once I started drinking, I enjoyed sex! At first, it was alcohol which loosened my inhibitions, after Rick offered me a few drinks. But the guys would start teasing me or daring me to do things for another drink, and I found the excitement in their eyes to be my aphrodisiac when they would cum for me. They wanted me! And I enjoyed their attention, which was something I found missing when I staggered home at the end of the evening. That liquid courage the boys gave me helped me by numbing the sounds of my parents' fights when I'd return home.

I didn't really have sex to pay them for the alcohol they provided, because I wasn't a whore! After a few drinks, I found it just as exciting that I could excite THEM! And it wasn't just Rick and his friends, but there were others as well. Many of the boys I knew wanted to spend some time with me! They all knew it only took a few drinks to get me started. I was rather popular, just not one of the A-lister types.

I'll be the first to admit my lifestyle had its downside. But I didn't catch anything in high school the free clinic couldn't cure, except for that one time in my senior year when it took an abortion pill to fix it.

We finally graduated high school, and Lynn, Bob, and I went to a university not far from home, where Lynn and I shared a dorm room on campus. Bob wasn't the frat boy or partying type, so Lynn wasn't into the weekend drinking and partying either. She focused her studies on the arts and creative writing, while I was satisfied with general studies, not really knowing what I wanted to do. The only reason I went to college was as an easy way to get the Pell Grants and student loan money, so I could afford a safe place to live away from my parents.

I was never a high achiever in school. During my last two years of high school and after I turned eighteen, I was focused on going out at night and using Rick, his friend's, and others' alcohol to numb my return to that dysfunctional home life. So, in college my drinking habit was hard to break, and studying was low on my list of priorities. I didn't do any other drugs, as those where my parents' choice of entertainment since I was born. But if the alcohol flowed, my mouth and legs were easily opened to whoever provided it.

***

It took four years in college for me, with several trips to the free clinic and a second and third abortion, before I finally woke up to where my alcoholic life was headed. And it wasn't even the shots of penicillin or the abortions which made me realize it.

The beginning of the end started with the guy I thought was my 'boyfriend', the fraternity chapter's President in our Senior Year, the guy whose bed I often slept in at the frat house. I asked him if he was taking me with him for his Spring Break trip to his parent's house in Florida. That's when he told me I had to take any stuff I had out of his room and that I couldn't come back! It was in March just a few days before the beginning of the week-long break, two months before graduation.

"Sorry, Wendy," he began "but my parents said they'll cut me off if I don't find a girl they'll approve of for a future wife! I asked Jennifer to go with me to Fort Lauderdale for Spring Break. Jenny said you need to be gone when we come back. So, it's not my choice."

I was long past crying about such put-downs. I angrily fired back with my own snarky retort, suggesting what Jenny could do to him with an oversized strap-on. But after that sting, I convinced my best friend and roommate to help me get over it by going with me to share a motel room and spend the week away, escaping our dorm room. Bob was working that week, and he couldn't go with us to watch over his girlfriend, so Lynn was free to party with me without his hovering to bog her down.

After the fourth night in a motel there, I'll never forget waking up in our room in the morning with a big guy asleep beside me, and I couldn't remember how we met or how he got there! After we roused him and kicked him out, we cleaned up, and Lynn and I left the room to get breakfast. We were walking along the sidewalk about a block away from the motel, when passing an alleyway across the street. Police were cordoning off the alley with yellow crime scene tape, and we couldn't avoid seeing the ambulance crew as they removed a girl's lifeless body from a dumpster!

Seeing the dead, naked body of a twenty-something year old girl pulled out of that big metal box, I thought of the stranger in my bed less than an hour earlier. He could have easily picked me up and thrown me in there. I thought 'That could have been ME!'

So, with that string of events, my life changed!

The New Me

After that eye-opener, I swore off alcohol ... and the sex which always accompanied it! I didn't need to go to Alcoholics Anonymous or pair up with anyone to watch over me. The haunting memory of that dead girl's body never left my mind.

Lynn and I returned back to our motel room, packed up, and went back to finish the last weeks of school before the graduation ceremony. And I moved away when I accepted a job as a bank teller in a distant town. I needed to get far away from my hometown and college, to leave that party girl's reputation behind me.

Starting my life over, well away from where we grew up, where no one in the new town knew me from those school days, I lost contact with Lynn. She stayed behind in our hometown, marrying her boyfriend and settling down.

I used the remnants of my student loan money to afford a cheap one-room apartment and was barely making enough as a bank teller to cover the rent and food. And I often missed that sense of being wanted or desired by others with their intimate physical contact. But my usual way of "socializing" always meant drinking, which I swore to quit. So, I satisfied my needs (rather often) with a vibrator to reduce the desire to go out looking for it.

After a year of sexless sobriety, I cautiously started looking for guys to date again. But I was still torn between the cravings for a drink, and that image of what it might lead to. Whenever a guy would ask me out on a date, as soon as he'd mention the possibility of going to a bar, the craving for a drink would start. Then that girl's body would wave a red flag in my mind, and I'd reflexively say "No, thanks!" Or if we'd go to a restaurant for dinner, as soon as he'd suggest a bottle of wine, it turned into a frosty evening, with the alcohol craving fighting that girl's body in my mind. It wasn't that I didn't want to have sex with them. But the triggers would have me craving the alcohol to ruin the evenings.

It was only by chance that one Friday at the end of work a female co-worker asked if I had a date or any plans for the weekend. I admitted that I was just going home to spend the weekend in front of my TV. A male co-worker in the bank overheard us and asked if I'd like to join him taking his kids to a skating rink, and I readily agreed.

Alex was a little older than me and worked as a middle manager. I thought he was a cute but adorable nerd, with an obsession for adding numbers together. If you said you were twenty-eight years old, he might reply 'That's like Shelly and my youngest daughter, Lexi's ages together.' His divorce was final a year earlier when I first started working there. His first wife had taken off with another man, abandoning him to care for their two elementary school-aged girls. When going through his divorce, he had trouble finding fulltime help he needed to take care of his kids. He tended to spend the evenings and weekends with just his daughters for company.

He knew me as the quiet and conservative girl. So, at the end of that evening at the skating rink, I only reluctantly kissed him on that "first date" with his two girls watching us. But I got along well with his kids and Alex started including me in their weekend plans. The girls quickly became attached to me and a few months later, Alex offered me a full-time job as their live-in nanny, and I quit my job as a bank teller. I felt like Fran Drescher in the TV series "The Nanny", I just wasn't quite as brash as she was at this point in my life.

No, I didn't move into Alex's bedroom! He really was hiring me as their nanny and gave me my own room in their house. Neither of us wanted to set a bad example for his impressionable daughters. He paid a good wage, just as he would anyone else who would take care of the kids. With the room and board as the live-in nanny, and with regular duties and work hours, the job turned out to be better and easier than being a bank teller.

Being the single father, Alex raised his two young girls alone before hiring me. Without his wife there, he didn't drink at home with his worrying the kids might pick up the bad habit, and the temptation for alcohol wasn't there for me when I moved in. He did invite me out on a few dates for just the two of us when he'd hire a babysitter. When we went out on those dates, I told him that I very rarely drink, trying not to sound like a prude, but not admitting to him that it was really to avoid the loss of control I knew would follow. He respected my choice, and he only occasionally ordered a glass of beer for himself. And after two years together, Alex proposed marriage when he was promoted to the position of vice president at the bank.

I transitioned from the nanny job to become the kids' stay-at-home stepmom. That's when I moved into Alex's bedroom. We had a great but unadventurous sex life, and I was content with just missionary or his spooning into me from behind, and sometimes I'd ride him cowgirl style. He would go down on me for oral but seemed reluctant when I offered to do the same for him. I think he was just shy and not very sexually demanding, and I imagined his first wife probably didn't like oral with him or rebuked him if he asked for it, so he always seemed to want to please me.

With the girls growing into their teens and becoming more self-sufficient, my work around the house became much easier. Although I did keep a sharp eye out for them, volunteering to chaperone every school activity, always knowing where they were after school, and making a point of meeting all of their friends and the other parents.

In my spare time, I started focusing on staying in shape with daily workouts at the gym and taking cooking lessons for better home cooked meals. I raised the girls to help me when fixing family dinners and taught them to cook, making it a family fun time every evening. I tried desperately to encourage the girls, ensuring they would always want to spend time at home!

The girls turned out great with my oversight throughout their teenage years. My husband might have been somewhat clueless, but I was vigilant for the red flags from my own derelict life and kept them out of trouble, advising them on which boys to date and how to act with them. When the time came, I even had the talk about the female things which fathers often want to ignore.

Once the girls were out of the house and away at college, I did loosen up a little and sometimes risked drinking just one glass of wine. Occasionally! But usually at home and with my husband there. Those were very rare and very special nights when he enjoyed the effect it had on me. He just never connected the glass of wine with my being more amorous and sexually aggressive, or if he did, he never thought of how much more amorous I might become. Other than being friskier with him, he couldn't see any other indication that alcohol had any effect on me.

Now that Alex and I've been married for twenty years, my life has turned out perfect, all because I quit that alcoholic sexual wildlife! Before we married, he insisted on meeting my parents, once. He never made that mistake again. But he knew nothing about my wild school days, thinking I was raised by those drug addicts to be a shy girl! And with his reluctance to talk about his first marriage, we never discussed our past love life.

The Book Club

There were a dozen ladies at the neighborhood book club when Sandra asked, "What made you pick that book, Allison?" and we could all hear the reproach in her tone.

We were all sitting in Allison's living room this Saturday morning, and she had provided the usual assortment of pastries, coffee, and tea for the monthly meeting. This was her turn to host, and as hostess she chose the book at last month's meeting for all of us to read for this morning's discussion.

"I felt like reading something sensual and erotic this time," Allison responded. "We always get those best sellers or 'recommended by other book club' types. And I didn't feel like reading about another talking octopus again."

"It certainly was erotic," I admitted. "But the author's name? 'Brenda J. Best'? That can't be her real name. It seems like a marketing ploy. She'll probably shorten it to 'B. J. Best', then later to 'Best comma B. J.' to attract attention."

"The main character in the book, Melissa wasn't believable," Sandra pointed out. "What girl would ever want to do something like that? It's no wonder the author wouldn't want to put her real name on it."

"Well, ..." Lori began, "I would agree the character build-up was sketchy. It seemed to jump from her dating a lot of different guys in high school to suddenly being gangbanged by the whole frat house in college. That last chapter having her staggering into her own dorm room the next morning, then ending with her going to the free clinic a week later ... "

After her last run-in with Sandra a few months ago, I was a little surprised that Lori was offering to give her opinion this time. That gossip of Lori's cheating husband apparently simmered around the community for months, before Sandra shared it with Julie and me. I was just relieved when Lori overheard us that Allison jumped to Lori's defense, because I couldn't afford to draw Sandra's attention too closely to my life and past.

"It says on the book cover this is Book One in a series," Julie added "The next book might go more into her childhood and provide her motivations. I just wondered what her childhood must have been like."

"I could understand her wild behavior if she grew up in a dysfunctional home," I suggested, trying to sound ambivalent. "Maybe she was trying to escape something at home, like an abusive father or brother. The alcohol she wanted on every date just released her inner slut. Or maybe she craved the attention boys would give her when using her."

"No," Sandra insisted. "Any girl who grows up abused doesn't want more of the same! They want a man who treats them with respect!"

"But it doesn't happen overnight," I pointed out. "It takes time to get over abuse. In the meantime, they might crave the applause they get by doing what boys like. And some might never find a way out, other than with alcohol, drugs, or even extreme sex. I know I partied a little when I was younger, to get away from my parents. I think it comes with age and being a teenager."

"Do you still enjoy gangbangs?" Sandra asked, and we all knew how she does it. If you take a position to disagree with hers, especially about sex, she's quick to suggest you're a slut or whore for defending it.

"You're trying to put words in my mouth," I replied, trying to deflect, but still wanting to get my point across from my own experience. I felt passionate about defending the girl in the book, but I wasn't about to admit it was because I had done something similar. "I know what it's like growing up with parents who fight all the time! All you want to do is get out of the house, to get away from it. And as the saying goes, 'Any port in the storm.' That's the type of bad girl all the boys want to go out with, or the type who gets picked up by pedophiles or ends up on the street. They need the attention and compliments they're not getting at home. Sex is just an easy way for a girl to get that approval."

"I just can't believe any parents would leave their daughter alone at an abortion clinic right after she graduated high school like that," Sandra again insisted. "Who tells their daughter 'It's your problem, take care of it!' That's another reason I didn't find it credible, they were not acting like real parents, and I just couldn't get into it."

I could only think 'You obviously never met my mother.' While that wasn't what my mother said, she was lacking any sympathy while sitting with me in the clinic under those same circumstances.

"Yeah," Julie piped in, "that part about her first abortion before she went to college was a downer. But the sex scenes at the frat party were rather hot. I know I had to stop and take a break before going back to continue reading!"

"She had at least twenty guys in just that one college party!" Sandra exclaimed. "How many different men have any of you had, in total, let alone within a few hours!? I've only had two in my whole life, my first boyfriend, then my husband Jack! ... Allison? Have you been with twenty different men?"

Sandra was staring at Allison, waiting for an answer. And Allison wasn't the type to provide many details or opinions in the club meetings. But she surprisingly answered, "There was my first husband, then three others I dated briefly before I met my current husband," and she left it at that, casually reaching for a pastry and no longer looking at Sandra.

"How about you, Lori?" Sandra asked, seeming satisfied with Allison's answer and turning her attention.

I dreaded the moment when she'd turn to me. I really had no good answer I wanted to give. Back in my younger days, I dated any boy who had a six-pack of beer or a bottle of something stronger, and I couldn't remember them all! And the college frat house parties were often a blur, sometimes for the whole weekend. I was desperately trying to think of a non-committal response and distraction.

Lori replied, "I married my first boyfriend, and I was pregnant by the time I was nineteen," she started. "I can relate to how she must have felt at that age. But you all know Allen cheated on me, so I'm not discussing numbers of partners!" and she angrily crossed her arms, defiantly glaring at Sandra, as if daring her to say anything else or pressure her for more. But Sandra backed down and let it go.

"Did you have a lot of experience before you got married, Wendy?" she asked, looking at me with her tone now sounding less confrontational.

"You all know I didn't meet Alex until I was in my mid-twenties," I replied. "And I wasn't a virgin. So, yeah, I have more experience," I admitted then glanced around at the others. "But we're here to talk about the book, and not Sandra's inexperience," and I reached into the bowl holding slips of folded paper to select the first book club question to read out loud to the group. "The first question is, 'Who envied the number of guys the slut had in that one night?' and most of the women burst out laughing, knowing it wasn't a real book club question.

Julie joined in by quickly reaching into the bowl, snatching another slip of paper. "Here's another one, 'Does swallowing yogurt or oysters for practice count as experience?'" She quickly added "Sandra, you like raw oysters, don't you?" and the laughter increased with a few groans of "Yew!"

Sandra just turned a little red, having lost control of the discussion. I could tell that Julie and I might be on Sandra's blacklist for future social gatherings. But I'd rather miss a few parties than risk any further probing of my past with her personal questions.

Surprise

"Wendy, I wanted to make tonight as special as you are to me," Alex said as the waiter held my chair.

We were at a very exclusive restaurant, and I knew he had planned something special for our twentieth wedding anniversary. He seemed like a little boy with a secret over the last few days, all excited and wanting to tell someone.

"I've already ordered our dinners and wine," he said after he sat, and the waiter showed him the wine bottle. Nodding his head at the selection, the waiter then opened it and poured a small amount in Alex's glass to taste. With his nod of approval, the waiter then filled my glass and Alex's before departing.

"I know you almost never drink when we go out. But I thought on this special occasion you might have a glass of wine with me. I've already taken the liberty of ordering their Wagyu sirloin steaks for both of us. These steaks are supposed to be the best in the world, and it pairs with this 2022, Caymus Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa. This is the vineyards 50th Anniversary wine, and I thought it appropriate for our twentieth anniversary."

"How so?" I asked, looking longingly at the wine glass. His statement piqued my curiosity. Knowing his obsessive attention to detail with numbers, there had to be some clue to his surprise there.

"Well, first ..." he started as he reached into his jacket pocket to withdraw a long narrow jewelry box. Opening it, he showed me an emerald necklace. "Emerald is the stone for a twentieth anniversary." He took the necklace out and reached over to place it around my neck.

"It's gorgeous," I exclaimed as I ran my fingers down the chain and held the stone. "Thank you."

"That was just the first surprise to mark our twenty-year anniversary," he added. "We need something for another thirty years to make up the rest of the fiftieth wine anniversary."

So, my number-crunching husband's mind has more to add, and I could hardly wait to hear it. I hesitantly picked up my wine glass.

"I found your old friend, Lynn online, and contacted her," he began.

I only hoped my face didn't give away my alarm at his delving into my past. I tried to maintain a neutral expression as I took a sip of the wine, hoping this time it might calm my nerves.

He went on, "She mentioned your thirty-year high school reunion is coming up and put me in contact with your class secretary. I've already RSVPed that you'll be there with a 'plus one'," and the gnawing tension in my stomach made our pending dinner a waste of time.

I took another swig of wine, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply at the storm of memories, reminding me of others who might be there. Then opening my eyes, I looked again at the wine glass and slowly, carefully set it in the middle of the table, leaning forward a little trying to push it out of reach. With my husband's surprise, I couldn't trust myself to limit it to just one glass, wanting to proactively drown the unsaid rebukes I knew would come if he talked to some of my classmates.

"I made a reservation for a room at the hotel about two miles from where they're having the reunion dinner and dance! You'll be able to reconnect with your old friends from high school!" and he sounded so pleased with the 'surprise' that I didn't know how I could destroy him for it!

Trying to find a way to subtly break it to him, I started by sounding a little terse, "You met my drug addict parents that one time before we married, remember? So, you know my reason for not wanting to go back there."

"That's your parents," he said as if that excused the matter. "We don't need to visit them when we're in the area for the reunion. The hotel is twenty miles from where they live. You've mentioned Lynn as being your best friend in high school, and she'll be there. So, it's your chance to get back together to talk about the good times."

My panic was starting to set in with his enthusiasm, and I was struggling to smile as I tried to think of a way out of this mess. How could I take my loving husband to be in the same room as the people who knew me in high school. Many of them knew my reputation back in those days. Some of the girls were particularly catty, after fighting with their boyfriends over rumors about me. All it would take is one or two of my former classmates to suggest I was an alcoholic slut to cause problems. They could destroy everything I've worked so hard to change!

Over twenty years sober, and Alex still thinks I'm just a prude who never wants to drink, and I'll only touch this one glass of wine to be polite. He doesn't know my past and how much I want it. He doesn't know that with a glass or two of wine in this restaurant with other men around, I would want to suck and fuck all of them!!!

Alcohol and sex were addictions which went together ever since I started drinking ... and fucking! It's like cigarettes and coffee. If you smoke a cigarette every time you have a cup of coffee, then every time you pick up that cup the cigarette just naturally follows. You don't need coffee with every cigarette, but with every cup of coffee the craving for the cigarette returns! I could have sex without drinking like I do with Alex, but I can't drink without sex!

Even twenty years sober, for me the link is still there. If I finished this glass of wine, my self-control would evaporate and the craving to have him in me would grow. And in a restaurant like this, I'm worried I might blurt out what else I'd be willing to do with anyone for another glass of wine.

"I'd rather not go to the reunion," I said, knowing he would need a reason for my refusal. "Lynn and her husband Bob were my best friends, because they understood why I wanted to get out of my parents' house. Lynn lived next door and heard enough of their fights over the years. But the rest of our classmates weren't as kind."

"O-kay," he replied, stretching that word out reluctantly, and I knew his obsession with number-crunching wouldn't let this go. He needed that number "30" to add up to the wine's 50th anniversary to complete the evening of our 20th anniversary.

His mind must have been swirling and grasping at ideas to finish it! "We can still go to the hotel to stay overnight that evening," he said. "You could at least meet with your best friend who graduated with you thirty years ago!" and I knew there was little hope of changing his mind. At least I might be able to keep him from meeting anyone else from my class. But the risk was that there would be more of my classmates back in our hometown area for that weekend.

With my tension building, I was distracted and my resistance faded. The sight of the wine glass in the center of the table drew my hand like a moth to a flame. I leaned forward to reach it, slowly bringing it back for just one little sip. 'He's returning me to my old stomping grounds where he might run into one of those boyfriends!' I thought. 'I need to relax and clear my mind. Just one little sip!' And as the minutes ticked by, my thoughts continued, 'I deserve one more taste of the wine!'

I struggled through the rest of dinner, barely touching the steak. 'Just one more sip won't hurt' as the image of that dead girl's body faded.

The dinner lasted almost two hours, and the wine was getting to me. I could smell the men around me. 'Just one more sip,' and the waiter looked so inviting as he held the wine bottle. 'Stop it! Focus on your husband! What was that he just said?' as my hand moved unconsciously, lifting the glass to my lips. I tried. I really tried resisting the temptation as best I could. When I tried shifting the conversation to sex, Alex managed to keep it neutral, always taking us back to talking about the kids or my volunteer activities. With each sip of wine, the need was growing in me, as I even forgot about why we were there.

The waiter must have refreshed my wine glass when refilling my husband's, and the bottle was empty by the time we finished dinner. At least I think it was the same bottle we started. By the time we left the restaurant, I was back to feeling like I hadn't felt in decades!

Cravings

The ride home was a new first for my husband, but not for me.

As we walked to the car, I had one thing on my mind and had trouble keeping my hands to myself. I wanted to kiss him, to touch and feel him. He held my door for me to sit in the passenger seat, and after walking around the car he sat in the driver's and started the car for the drive home.

As we pulled out of the parking lot in the relative privacy of the car, I couldn't resist any longer as the last of the wine was finally absorbed into my bloodstream. It had built throughout the dinner with each sip of wine adding to my growing arousal. Now about twenty minutes after we finished that bottle, I was reaching my peak.

I leaned over the center console toward Alex as he sat behind the steering wheel, and placed my hand on his thigh, slowly running my palm up and down his right thigh.

After some sexy banter and massaging his member through his pants, I felt it harden as it pushed its way along his right thigh. When we paused at a stop light, I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned to kneel on the passenger seat. I pulled the seatbelt around me in this position and buckled it to silence the dinging alarm.

"What are you doing?" he asked sounding curious.

"Just drive," I said, and I leaned down, unzipping his pants and fished his stiff member out. Then I took the cockhead into my mouth as I began bobbing my head on it.

When I was younger and sober, I didn't like the texture or taste of a man's thick ejaculate. I would never give a guy blowjob to get started. But a glass of wine always removed my reluctance, as I would crave his reaction with my efforts. Now with at least half a bottle in me, I needed it! I kept Alex's cock in my mouth, enthusiastically sucking and bobbing my head through the entire drive home. By the time we pulled into our driveway, he hadn't yet cum. But now I desperately wanted to taste it!

"Oh, WOW!" he finally exclaimed after he stopped the car and picked my head from his lap. I reluctantly allowed his cock to slip from my lips as he said, "I'll need to give you a necklace and dinner out like that more often!"

He put his stiff shaft away and got out for the walk to our front door, and I think he still hasn't connected the dots that all it took was the alcohol.

Trying My Best

Once we were inside the house, I pulled Alex to the bedroom and started undressing him.

"You've always been so good to me," I said seductively as I was unbuttoning his shirt. "And I didn't get you anything for our anniversary," I added, trying to now sound like an innocent little girl with my apology. "I know! I'll make it up to you. This pussy, this mouth, this ass, they're all yours. My body is yours any way you want me for the night."

"Your ass?" Alex asked, sounding surprised. "Have you ever taken it there?"

With what little sense I had remaining from the alcohol still in my system, I managed to buffer my answer as I coyly replied "Hmmm... Maybe." Dropping to my knees in front of him, I helped get his pants off then said, "I feel like sucking cock tonight," and I pushed him back to sit on the bed.

Crawling to the side of the bed between his knees, I pulled his hips toward me for easy access to his balls. I teased the head of his member with my tongue, then took the shaft into my mouth to start getting him hard again, bobbing my head and looking up at him to occasionally make eye contact. When his shaft was stiff, I held it in my right hand as I turned my head, pressing my lips to his balls, taking turns sucking on them as I stroked his cock beside my cheek.

I looked up at his eyes, and I felt him stiffen in response, now getting as hard as possible. But he was still resisting, holding back from his release. I knew if I climbed onto him to ride it, he would relax and I could make him cum inside me. But tonight, I wanted to taste him. Releasing his ball from my lips, I dropped my head down lower, licking the spot below and between his balls until I felt the balls jerk just a little showing that I found his most sensitive spot. Then I planted my lips there to suck as I jerked his cock with my hand at my forehead.

Alex grabbed the back of my head with both hands holding me in place sucking under his balls, and he began to moan in pleasure. Hearing his sounds excited me and I did the same, moaning, with my own excitement building. I slipped my free hand down between my legs, playing with my clit trying to time my own orgasm with his.

I moaned with encouraging, affirmative sounds like "Uh huh, uh huh...", stroking the shaft faster and sucking that sensitive spot harder. Then I took the stiff shaft back into my mouth all the way as I pressed down onto it, with the head pushing against the back of my throat, letting him feel it as it entered. I didn't back off. He felt the tightness of my throat as he slipped past the resistance and I pressed my nose against him, holding that position for a few seconds without gagging.

Backing off, I went back to sucking his balls and when he started bucking his hips, I sensed that he was getting close. I took the head back into my mouth and rapidly bobbed on it until his cock started twitching and he grasped my head trying to stop me.

His release this evening was long overdue, both from the ride home and his resistance to cumming in my mouth, even here in the bedroom. He was still fighting it, holding back and trying to push my head away, but I wasn't going to be denied. I forced my forearms under his butt, and pulled him harder than he was pushing on my forehead.

Taking a deep breath through my nose, I held it and pressed forward, again taking the head into my throat. Then I felt the thick vein along the bottom of his cock throb against my tongue as he lost control, and his resistance faded. He shot the first two massive blasts down my throat before I backed off and allowed the rest to fill my hungry mouth.

Feeling him cum and tasting it, my legs began shaking with my own orgasm. For the first time since I don't know when, I felt the brief gush of wetness between my thighs as my most intense orgasm hit me! It felt like my whole body was shaking and I greedily glugged down his seed as he emptied himself in my mouth.

When his throbbing stopped, I looked up at him, making eye contact. Then I tilted my head back a little and opened my lips so he could see the last of the thick fluid sliding across my tongue into my open mouth and pooling inside. I kept the head at my mouth over my tongue, waiting for the last drops to ooze out. I didn't touch or tickle it with my tongue, knowing how sensitive some men can be right after they cum. I just waited, looking into his questioning eyes. Then I closed my lips carefully over the head to catch that last drop. Looking back at his eyes, I smiled at him as I swallowed. I quickly kissed the purple head, then coyly asked "Is there anything else my body can do for you?"

"You must be kidding," he said, sounding pleased and exhausted. "You took everything out of me tonight!"

##

The next morning, I tried to convince him to cancel the trip as we talked about the reunion. Over breakfast, I said "I'd really rather not go back home. If we go to that dinner and dance, I don't know who we might run into. How would you feel if it's an old boyfriend who recognizes me?"

"I wasn't a virgin when we got together," Alex replied. "And I know you weren't either. So, I doubt any guy there would bother me. But are you embarrassed to be seen with me among your old friends? Did you date the football team quarterback, and marrying a banker now seems like a step down?"

"NO! You're my perfect husband!" I insisted, now that he was turning this around. "I didn't date the jocks in high school. But there were one or two others over the years who might be there, and I worry what you might think if anyone mentions them, or if we run into someone who might have too much to drink and is indiscreet. I just don't want to hurt you in any way."

"I know you were with other guys before we met," Alex said. "So, stop worrying. I'm a big boy, and I can handle it. But if you still insist on not going to the reunion dinner, then at least call Lynn, and see if you two can get together outside of the reunion."

##

I contacted Lynn and we agreed to meet at a coffee shop near the hotel before she and Bob would go to the party. I asked her to get Bob to agree to NOT tell Alex about my past and help distract Alex if he happens to see anyone who knew me.

Lynn said Bob agreed to help me, so we formed a plan to manage things. It seemed I had their support to help keep my secret.

Catching Up With Old Friends

After checking into the hotel, Alex and I went to the coffee shop nearby, where Lynn and Bob were already waiting for us. The four of us talked together for a while, and as planned, Bob asked Alex to join him, going next door to the bar for a drink to give me and Lynn some private time to talk.

##

"Thanks for doing this for me, Lynn," I started after the guys left. "You knew what things were like at school when we were young, and I don't need to see anyone at the reunion. But Alex insisted we come here this weekend."

"I understand," Lynn said. "Your parents haven't changed. My mom said there was an ambulance at their house last month and your mother has been in the hospital a few times. Do you stay in contact with them very often?"

"No," I admitted. "You know what they were like. I tried calling around to find some intervention for them, until mom told me to get lost and stop bothering them. That was the time Alex met them. They couldn't care less about me, so I can't care about them. They'll just drag me down, too. It's only a matter of time before one or both of them overdose. But you and I had some good times together. At least until you started dating Bob. Did you ever tell Bob what happened when we went to Spring Break?"

"No way!" Lynn insisted. "If he ever knew what I did that week when he had to work, he'd never have married me! And if he finds out now, ... I don't know what he'd do. He might want a divorce. And I didn't even have sex with any guy there! You're the only one who did them."

"It wasn't one man!" I pointed out with a chuckle, "Each of the three nights we went to the nightclub, we took two different ones back to the motel. And your blowjobs and hand jobs are still considered sex."

"But I haven't been with any other man since that one week in Florida," Lynn said defensively. "Bob's been my only lover!"

"Do you remember that first fraternity party we went to when we started college?" I asked, remembering my excitement during the audio book. "I was recently reminded of it. You and Bob left the party early that evening."

"I remember," Lynn said, looking a little embarrassed. "I looked for you upstairs and watched for a few minutes before Bob found me standing at the bedroom door and dragged me out of the house."

"He always was a little uptight," I pointed out. "At the time, I was just having some fun!"

"After he saw you in there with those guys," Lynn went on "he decided we wouldn't attend any more of those parties. So, I had to live vicariously through you and the stories you told me when you came back to our dorm room. I kept a diary as an assignment in one of my creative writing classes and wrote most of your stories down."

"Don't you dare let anyone see that diary," I warned her, now worried about what she wrote in those notes. "Alex doesn't know anything about my life from my wilder days!"

"Haven't you told him some of the things you did?" Lynn asked. "With you two being married for over twenty years, by now I'd have thought you would give him at least some of that 'pillow talk' to excite him."

"No, I didn't tell him for the same reason you didn't tell Bob about Florida!"

"That's different," Lynn said defensively. "Bob and I were already going steady when I did that. But surely Alex doesn't think you were a virgin when you met."

"He knows I dated other guys before him. And he knows I'm sterile and can't get pregnant to give him any more children," I replied. "He just doesn't know it was due to those STDs and abortions! He doesn't want to talk about anything he and his first wife did together, so he never asks about my past. We just don't talk about it. So, promise me that no one will ever see that diary!"

When Lynn looked down at her hands and began nervously fidgeting, I know my face must have visibly fallen.

"What did you do?" I asked insistently, sounding scared. The look on her face screamed at me that she must have shared that diary with someone. "Don't tell me Bob read it and is now telling Alex about my exploits!"

"NO!" she shook her head and almost shouted defensively when she looked back up at me. "Bob promised he'd not tell Alex about you going to the parties. And I'd never share my diary with my husband with the details you told me! He might learn too much about other things I did which I don't want him to know!"

"Then who did you show the diary?" I pleaded.

"I wrote a few erotic short stories and posted them online," Lynn began meekly explaining, "and a publisher picked them up, asking if I had more for a complete book."

My mouth must have fallen open for a few seconds as I stared in astonishment, before saying "You're Brenda Best!" Then I added, "That's why it sounded so familiar! You wrote about our first college party!"

"Brenda J. Best is my new penname," she sheepishly admitted. "When my publisher read the diary, he said there's enough material in there for at least a five-book series."

"Those are my exploits you're talking about! You and Bob didn't go to any other parties after that first one."

"I changed the names," she said defensively. "But I'm committed to writing the stories as they're described in the diary."

"You can't do this to me!" I pleaded. "If you write more details about what I did in college, it's only a matter of time before the clues point to me. Alex is sure to find out eventually."

"I can't stop it," Lynn said sounding distraught. "They paid me an advance to write the five books, and with the way they're advertising the series, I had to turn over a copy of the diary to the publisher as part of the deal. If I don't write them, they'll use a ghost writer to meet the publishing deadlines. Book Two is ready and will be released next month!"

"What does it describe?" I asked, realizing I couldn't do anything about it.

"I'm sorry," Lynn began. "But I had to build the main character, Melissa with her childhood and a reason for what she did."

Lynn went on as I questioned her about the next book and other details in her diary, and I could envision my dark past coming out into the public daylight.

##

It was about an hour when our husbands returned from the bar with Bob shaking his head and he had a worried expression. He looked at Lynn, saying "I think we need to leave to get ready for the reunion."

Alex didn't say anything, just standing behind Bob, looking different in some way I couldn't quite put my finger on, and I knew something was wrong.

Lynn complained, saying "I think we have plenty of time."

Seeing the sudden flick of Bob's eyes toward my husband, I realized he was trying to tell me something, so I played along.

"Maybe it's time Alex and I head back to the hotel to unpack for the night," I said "and let you two get ready."

When Lynn and I stood, she and Alex turned to walk toward the cash register to pay our tab. Alex seemed to be walking along like a zombie, no longer interacting, so I slowed to hold back a few paces until they were out of earshot.

"What happened in the bar?" I whispered to Bob, so quietly Alex couldn't hear. "You promised not to tell him anything."

"I didn't tell him anything!" Bob replied. "We were having a good time, and he was just sharing some old stories of his high school days. But he went to the men's room, and when he came back, he wasn't the same. Something must have happened in the five minutes when I wasn't watching him, but I don't know what it was. He just stopped talking and didn't say anything after that."

"You were supposed to be watching him!" I said accusingly.

"I picked that bar because there was almost no one there this time of day," Bob exclaimed. "It was the men's room! Men don't go to the men's room together. We don't watch each other taking a piss. So, it's not my fault!"

Aftermath -- The Ride Home

It was a very silent night when Alex and I returned to our hotel room. He didn't say a word, just remaining closed with his own thoughts of whatever he heard or saw at the bar.

I cautiously asked him if something was bothering him, but he avoided answering. Even the next morning, he sat silently through breakfast just picking at his food, and not even talking after we cleared our room and left for the drive home.

During the drive, Alex finally opened up, when he began saying "When I went to the men's room, I saw a small picture taped to the wall, and it caught my attention."

"What was it?" I asked, dreading what was to come. I had practiced my response in case he ran into anyone who outed me for my past.

"It was a page-size picture of a girl and four guys, with a heading 'Back for a limited time', and it had a handwritten note along the bottom, saying, 'For a good time call' and the phone number looked familiar," Alex replied.

I must have turned pale as I felt the blood drain from my face. I hadn't considered what to say about pictures! I knew Rick had a digital camera back when I was in high school. And I'm sure there were others at some of the college parties. But I didn't know how often anyone took pics of me in those compromising positions.

I tried to lighten the mood by asking, "Was it from the song 'Jenny', 867-5309?" hoping to defuse the tension.

He paused a few seconds without laughing, before saying in a deadpan voice "I thought it looked like your parent's phone number, from that time we visited them before we married." Then he added "And the girl in the picture looked like a younger, naked version of you."

"I did get drunk once," I quickly reacted, having planned ahead how I might minimize the damage. "What did the guys look like and what was I doing? Is the picture still there?" I asked meekly.

He opened his mouth to say something, then paused in thought for a few seconds. "Why don't you tell me what you think they looked like and what you were doing?" Alex asked, "... before I show you the picture."

There were just too many different times, and I knew I wouldn't get it right. With no good answer to deflect, I admitted meekly "I don't know how they were dressed or what I was doing in it!"

Alex didn't respond. He just sat quietly continuing to focus on the drive home, waiting.

"Nothing has changed since I met you," I asserted defensively, not trying to be too defiant. I knew he'd be conflicted, and I didn't want to push him the wrong way. "I'm the same person you met at the bank. The same one you asked for a date, and the same one you asked to marry you! I haven't been with any other man since you've known me!"

"But ... " Alex began, in a stern, sullen tone, and he paused. Taking a deep breath, he let out a sigh as he thought about his real question, "really! How many guys did you sleep with before we met?"

"... Honestly?" I tentatively asked, and thinking about it, I again tried to lighten his mood. "I've only SLEPT with two other guys before you," emphasizing that word 'slept', and chuckling a little.

Alex looked down a little, shaking his head. He seemed to grimace with his lips kept tight together before saying "O-kay ..." drawing it out. "Dare I ask how many guys you've had sex with?" and he added, quickly saying the words "and that includes blow jobs, anal, tit-fucked, and even given hand jobs!"

It was hard to decipher his expression when he asked the question we avoided for the past 20 years. It wasn't anger or disgust, but his face carried a hint of curiosity, a yearning to know the answer to that previously unasked question. But I wasn't certain of how much of the truth he could withstand, just intuitively knowing that too much, too fast would destroy him.

"Would it excite you if I told you some of the things I did before we met?" I asked.

When he showed me the picture he took from the bar's men's room, I could hardly believe it. I didn't recognize the four guys in it! They were all wearing black masks, and I know I never did a group of masked men. And the girl wasn't me! I pointed out that she didn't have the same birthmark on her butt which Alex knows I have. The phone number was close to my parents' number, but with some of the numbers transposed. When he looked up my parent's number on my cellphone, he sheepishly said "I thought it looked familiar."

After I chided him for the mistake with the phone numbers, he then remembered what I had just said.

"So, what was that you said about getting drunk once?" he asked with serious suspicion, and I knew there was no escape.

##

Later that night, we were in bed cuddling ... after a fantastic love-making session of make-up sex. He went down on me and gave me an Earth-shattering orgasm, as if apologizing for the mistake with the photo. And he roughly fucked me to his own and my second orgasm of the evening, before he brought it up yet again. Then with the way his hands were roaming my body even after he was spent, I could tell he was getting a little excited thinking about it.

"I'd like to hear some of the stories from your past," Alex whispered quietly.

"I'd rather not," I responded, just as quietly.

"Come on," he almost pleaded. "It can't be bad. You turned out to be a beautiful, loving wife. And you're so caring, watching out for our daughters and giving back to the community with your volunteer work. I won't tell anyone else, but I'd like to know what made the woman I've loved. Something must have gone right in your life to make you this way. ... Tell me about a few of the bad-girl things you did before we met."

I took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, realizing he wasn't going to let this go. But I couldn't face him and admit to any of it. I didn't want to tell him any of those times, drinking, taking dares, the touching, being touched ... everywhere and by anyone! That was my life, and my past. I may have enjoyed most of it at the moment, but I wasn't proud of any of it now! And if I told him too much, I knew that at some point his opinion of me would change.

"I can't tell erotic stories," I said dismissively as an excuse. "I'm not a storyteller, and you wouldn't like the way I tell them."

"I won't judge you," he said, as if reading my mind. Then he softly said "I still love you, even after I thought that was you in the photo. Whatever you really did can't be any worse than what I imagined." He added a little sheepishly "It might even turn me on, knowing you did some of those things."

"No!" I insisted. "I'm not going to try telling you erotic stories, even if it turns you on!" Then thinking a little more. I added "But here's what I will do; I'll give you an erotic book to read by one of my favorite authors. And I even have the audio book if you want to listen to it. You can think I'm the girl in the story. But remember; it's fiction and it's only a story!"

I know he'll eventually figure it out, and learn more of my past, particularly if he reads more of B. J. Best's books. Hopefully by then I'll have eased him into it. Then I may try relating some of my own stories as "pillow talk," if it really excites him.

Epilogue -- One Year Later

I dug out some old clothes I had from a box I hadn't touched since moving into this house. And although they were a little tight, I still managed to fit into the two pieces I needed.

I was standing in the kitchen, barefoot, near the sink preparing dinner when he came home from the bank. Alex stepped up to stand behind me, reaching to grasp my bare shoulders and leaning around to lightly kiss my cheek. "This is a new look on you," he said, admiring my black leather miniskirt and black leather halter with the front clasp. Then he asked, "How was your day?"

I stopped washing the vegetables and turned to face him, not bothering to react to his comment about my clothes. "Lexi called and said she's bringing a boyfriend home this weekend to meet us. She asked me to go easy on him, because she thinks he's 'the one'. But I'll be the judge of that."

"You're always a little tough on them," Alex pointed out, with a slight chuckle.

"Your girls deserve the best," I assured him, "and I intend to see that no one messes with them!"

"OUR girls," he corrected, with emphasis, then added "What would we have done without you?"

"Lynn also called, and we chatted for a while," I replied, now moving on with my plan. "She said her fourth book is ready and should be out in another month."

"Do I get a preview?" he asked, and as I expected, I heard the excited anticipation building in his voice.

"You know I'm not good at stories, so this will need to be show & tell."

I reached for the dish towel on the counter to dry my hands, uncovering the five dildos of various sizes I had thoughtfully chosen from memory. Turning toward him, I said, "Book Four starts in the fraternity house kitchen, just like we are here, with Melissa wearing a miniskirt and halter ... like mine."

Reaching to my loving husband's pants, I drew down the zipper and fished his lengthening cock out to begin stroking it as I looked up into his gleaming eyes. It only took a few seconds to stiffen before I let go of him. Unclasping the front of my halter, I allowed the material to swing away, with my ample boobs swaying as they drooped. I hiked my skirt up a little to expose my bare, shaved sex, as I backed up to the corner of the L-shaped counters. Planting my hands on the counters, I hopped my bare ass up to sit there, spread my legs open, and placed a foot on each counter giving him clear access to me.

Holding my palms out, I curled my fingers, beckoning him toward me. "You'll just have to imagine the other frat boys walking in on us and forming a line behind you."

He stepped forward, now holding his shaft aimed at me, and I reached down to guide him in.

"Once you're done," I added "you have to step back and watch it drip out of me while the next ones step up to take their turns," and I held up the first dildo. "... When Lynn's next book comes out, you can judge whether she got the details right."

"I love you, slut!" he said with a big grin as he started thrusting into me.

"But I'm YOUR slut!" I said coyly, as I grasped the shoulders of the love of my life; this man who loves me, even knowing my past!

The End

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Author's Postscript: My "Book Club" series is a set of interconnected stories of Loving Wives in a suburban town, with their normal, dysfunctional marriages. The other stories are:

"The Fucking Bitch!", A pre-quell to the Book Club, Stacy starts a different kind of 'Club' for wives seeking revenge against their cheating husbands.

"His Vixen" Allison wants to feel desired.

"Going Down Together", The Book Club gossip tells Lori her husband is cheating, and she sets out for her revenge.

"Cheated Wives Club", Julie becomes a regular at 'The Club', and Sandra's husband joins the clientele.

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