by Vivian Ward
If I’m going to be completely honest, it scares the hell out of me that my 40th birthday is right around the corner. I’m halfway to middle age.
Fucking middle aged!
I don’t want to be middle aged. I don’t want to get older, but it’s inevitable. So yeah, if I’ve still got it, I want to know it. Who wants to get old, shrivel up and die?
Certainly not me. I’m terrified of aging, and that’s probably why my husband rolls his eyes every time I come home from Sephora or Ulta. I’ve got enough lotions and creams to keep my skin young and smooth to last a lifetime, but I’m always on the hunt for the latest and greatest miracles.
From the kitchen, it’s hard to ignore all of the kids arguing in the living room. The boys, Alex and Dakota, are fighting their sisters, Angie and Karen, for the TV. From what I can tell, the boys want to play a racing game, and the girls want to watch the latest episode of Supernatural.
“Babe?” I call out to my husband, tired of hearing the kids fighting.
“I’m on it,” he replies.
That’s the great thing about him, about us. I never have to tell him things. He just always knows. Maybe he can tell by the tone of my voice, or maybe it’s because he’s my best friend and I’m madly in love with him, and he can just read me that well.
Even though I might flirt, and sometimes say inappropriate things to the guys at work, I’d never cheat on him. He’s truly my soul mate. There is nothing or no one that would ever make me want to leave him. Like I always say, “The grass is never greener on the other side. It’s just covered in a different kind of fertilizer.” We all have our own shit, our own past, our own problems and I don’t want anyone else’s. I’ve got exactly what I want right here at home.
Wiping my hands on a dish towel, I lean against the wall as I watch him give Alex a piggyback ride over to the couch and flip on something all the kids will love: Jumanji.
With a sigh, I realize that the dish towel I just used to clean my hands is covered in a yellow, sticky substance and now I have to rewash my hands.
It’s one of the perks of being a mom, I suppose. You never know quite what you’re getting your hands into until they’re already dirty.
I can’t wait for Sunday and Monday, my days off so I can give this house a good cleaning from top to bottom. I spend more time scrubbing baseboards on my days off than I do relaxing.
“Hey woman,” Jeremy says as I walk over to his station to take inventory of his supplies. “You smell good today.”
Of course, I smell good. Every day before work, I shower and put on one of my many bottles of body spray. It’s usually a toss between Japanese cherry blossom, Paris, or one of the latest scents that just hit the market.
Before I started working here, I never actually wore body sprays or anything. I had a few bottles of designer perfume that I’d wear on occasion when my husband and I would go on a particular date, but that’s about the only time I wore something.
“You like that, huh?” a grin spreads across my face as I lean a little closer for him to get a better whiff of what I’m wearing.
Buying into my bullshit, he leans in closer to me and smells my body spray.
“Mmm, I like that,” he says. “Will you bring me some more markers when you get a minute? These are all dried out, and we’ve got a big order coming up, so I’ll need them.”
Writing on my supply sheet, I take note of his station number and circle markers.
“Anything else?” I ask.
“I could ask for more, but that might get me in trouble if you know what I mean,” his eyebrows dance as his eyes scan my body.
“Jeremy!” I wad up a piece of paper and throw it at him. “You’re married, and so am I!”
A stupid giggle escapes my mouth before I can stop it and I realize that I’m blushing. He always does that to me.
I don’t know why he has such an effect on me, but he does. His sense of humor is what attracts me to him most, I think.
“Go get my markers hot stuff, and make it quick or I’ll have to come looking for you back in the supply room where we’ll be all alone.”
As he towers over me, I can’t help but stare at him with my cheesy smile.
Jeremy makes me laugh, and he’s very friendly, maybe too friendly. If we were both younger and single, I could see me dating someone like him but not now even though there’s a certain chemistry between us.
Still walking around with my supply sheet, I get to Larry’s station and ask him if he needs anything before I make my rounds.
These are my favorite days: when I’m the supply runner for our line. It gives me a day off the machines where I can just run and get everyone stuff that they need. It’s a nice change.
“I could use some more boxes, 6x24’s.”
“You got it,” I scribble down his machine number.
“Hey, what’s up with Jeremy? You’re not cheating on me with him, are you, Cathy?” he teases.
Larry, Jeremy and I have an inside joke that they’re both my work boyfriends and I cheat on them with the other one.
My husband doesn’t know about any of this. He’d lose his damn mind as jealous as he is. He’s always giving me trouble asking about the guys at work. I could never tell him the scoop about our work jokes.
The truth is, Jeremy and I are both married, and Larry’s girlfriend works in a different department.
I’ve never been one to judge people based on looks, but her resting bitch face is as cold as they come. The first time I met her, I could almost feel the hatred radiating out of her pores.
I wasn’t wrong, though. She treats Larry like shit, and he’s a good man. He stays with her because they have a kid together, but I keep telling him that’s no reason to stay. I could never imagine treating a partner or spouse the way she does.
“Are you kidding? I’d never cheat on you, Larry. Not in a million years,” I wink at him. “So, just the boxes? No labels today?”
“You gonna let me put one on your butt?”
I can feel my cheeks heating up as our crew leader walks right behind him as he says that last part and gives Larry some serious side eye.
“But what? I didn’t catch what you said,” I say, acting like he didn’t mean “butt.”
Our company has recently been cracking down on anything that remotely sounds like sexual harassment. There was a girl who worked on our crew, and she cried workplace sexual harassment before she got two guys fired and quit, so if management even thinks you’re saying something sexual, they’ll walk you out the door.
He waits for our crew leader to get past us and turns his head, smiling at me.
“Admit it already; you like me. Don’t you?” he folds his arms across his chest, waiting defiantly for an answer.
Rolling my eyes, I try to wipe that stupid high school grin off my face. Like Jeremy, Larry also has a great personality and a good sense of humor. The two of them met when they both started working here, long before I did, and are good friends.
“Whatever you say, boyfriend.”
Unable to wipe the smile from my face, I make my way around the department taking note of all the supplies needed at everyone’s workstations before returning to either of my boyfriends.
Chapter 2
And it wasn’t just what was on my husband’s computer. He said things to me, teased me about certain things, made me feel embarrassed.
But it didn’t change the fact that I came home from work every day with soaked panties.
Wetness that wasn’t meant for him.
Thirteen years. My husband and I have been married for 13, long, glorious, trying years.
From the outside, our marriage has always looked perfect, but it’s weathered some fierce storms.
To everyone else, they’ve always seen a strong, confident, happily married couple—and for the most part, that’s what we’ve always been.
He’s always doted over me, showered me with attention, and put me on a pedestal. There’s not a day that goe
s by where my husband doesn’t tell me how much he loves me, kisses me like his life depends on it and tells me how special I am to him.
Every. Single. Day.
I love this man more than I like to breathe air. If I had to choose between living or loving him, I’d use my dying breath to whisper how much I love him.
There’s a certain quality about him that is very comforting. I know he always has my back and we’ve always been partners in crime together. Not that we’ve done many bad things, but there are some shady things in our past.
Illegal things, but we had to make money. We’ve got a family to feed, kids, a roof over our head, vehicles, and other responsibilities. That’s what the grown up life is all about, isn’t it? I know it’s what the mom life is all about.
But now we’re on the straight and narrow. We have been for a long time, that’s why I started working at the factory. But somewhere along the way, something changed.
I changed.
I lost myself a long time ago. It was shortly after I had our first daughter. Even all those years ago, I learned that my father had stored me on his cell phone as “Angie’s Mom.”
I was no longer “Cathy” in his phone book, just “Angie’s Mom.” If that doesn’t strip your identity, I don’t know what the fuck does.
The problem is there are a billion “mom”s in the world. A billion other women who answer to the same name. How do you distinguish yourself from them? What makes you different? How are you unique?
This wasn’t even the worst part.
I came to the realization of a few things. I didn’t know who I was anymore. What were my hobbies? What did I do for fun? Who were my friends?
If I didn’t figure out the answers to these questions, I was going to continue being a shell of a person until after my kids were grown and moved out. It was terrifying.
Can you imagine not knowing yourself anymore? Having to relearn who you are?
My whole life had gone from fun and promiscuous, going on lots of dates, and being invited to clubs, after-parties, house parties, and having friends that I could call no matter what time of day to hang out with me to being “mom” or “babe.”
But now? I was “mom,” like the billions of other women, and had no hobbies. I was no longer invited to any kind of parties, not even one-year-old birthday parties because all of my friend’s kids were starting to get too old.
Not that I’d want to go anyway. I’ve seen enough 1-year-olds cry their way through a happy birthday song or have blue cake smashed up their noses. All of those parties were about as much fun as one of my C-sections.
I became a married, almost middle-aged woman who works, cleans the house, does grocery shopping and falls asleep at the time I used to go out at.
The latest adventure that my husband and I had been on was buying our new mini van.
Who the hell calls that an adventure????
But, I guess everyone gets stuck in a rut.
I know that I was until I started working at the factory.
That’s when I began to regain my identity. I was finally Cathy again. And Cathy got lots of attention.
Standing in front of the sink washing the pans from dinner, my husband creeps up behind me and puts his arms around my waist.
“How’d your day go, babe?” he nestles his chin in against my neck.
“Same old, same old,” I sigh.
“Yeah? You too tired to give me some of that?”
He presses his hips against my ass, pushing his cock into me.
“Brett! Can you at least let me wash the dishes?” I laugh and playfully fling some bubbles at him. “Geez, you horn dog!”
“Go ahead, tell me it doesn’t make you wet to think about me eating your pussy.”
Gasping, I look around to make sure none of the kids are within earshot of hearing any of this. The coast is clear.
“Oh, I’m wet all right.”
“Mmmm,” he moans. “Why? Were you thinking about all the guys at your work again?”
Smiling at the thought of Jeremy and Larry, my boyfriends, I turn and grin at him.
“Whatever,” I play it off. “You know better than that.”
He stares at me from the corner of his eye. Very suspect.
“Cathy, you like him, don’t you?” he asks, his tone accusatory.
His lifts one eyebrow, waiting in anticipation to hear my answer.
My mind goes blank. What am I supposed to say?
Is it really that obvious? He knows.
He totally knows. He’s a freakin’ mind reader.
“What? No! No, no, no.” I swallow as I try to collect my thoughts. “Brett, why would you keep asking me that?”
This isn’t the first time, or even the fifth time. He asks me this all the time!
And like a babbling fool, I can’t hide the grin that spreads across my face. It gives me away every single time.
He shakes his head as he leans against the kitchen counter. His long legs allow him to almost sit on the marble countertop.
“It’s the way you talk about them,” he sighs. “Especially when the names Jeremy and Larry come up. And Randy, too.”
Yes, Randy. He’s another one but he works in a different department so we don’t get to see each other often, and I’m not as close to him as I am with Jeremy and Larry.
As I’ve continued working with them, our friendships have grown closer as we’ve shared stories about our kids—who go to the same school—our spouses, our families, and little details about our lives. Of course, I’ve always talked more with Jeremy since he and I typically work side by side.
Over time, he began to flirt with me and compliment different outfits that I would wear to work. That’s when I started to put on an extra spritz of body spray or would do my makeup a little nicer because I knew we’d be working next to each other.
I’ve caught him checking out my ass several times while he followed me back from break, but I don’t say a word. Instead, I just strut along right in front of him.
I like the attention that he pays me, along with the rest of the guys, too.
And it’s not that my husband doesn’t pay me attention because he does, but it’s different. The attention I get from the guys at work is very flirty, very fun and stupidly addictive.
“Oh my God, babe. You’re so fucking wet,” my husband says with his face buried between my legs as his eyes make contact with mine and he shoves his finger inside of me.
I fucking love it when he looks up at me while he tastes me.
After I had finished washing the dishes, I got in the shower to avoid anymore questioning from Brett about the guys at work which happens to be what I thought about the whole time I was naked and alone.
I figured I was going to go out of my mind if I didn’t get fucked soon. The moment I got out of the shower, I walked into our bedroom where my husband was watching the news and dropped my towel.
It didn’t take much after that for things to heat up and that’s when he started going down on me.
“Mmmm, I know,” I grab his hair as I raise my hips to help his finger go deeper inside me while his tongue flicks my clit. “Yeah, right there.Keep doing that.”
As he’s lapping my juices, I can’t help but think about how some of the guys at work might like a taste of me. I know for a fact that Jeremy loves to go down because he’s told me that he’s an avid pussy eater.
“You like that, baby?” my husband asks, inserting a second finger.
His tongue begins to pick up the pace, and I’m so close to cumming all over his goatee. He’s mercifully good at everything he does.
“Oh, fuck,” I moan.
Now his face—Jeremy’s—is prominent in my mind and I can’t stop thinking about him.
This is terrible. I shouldn’t be thinking about another man as my husband has his way with me, but I can’t fucking help it. For a moment, I wish it were Jeremy’s face that was buried against my baldness; I wish he were the one licking my sweet pussy.
And then, he does it. My husband does whatever the fuck it is that he’s skillfully mastered and pushes me over the edge. I can’t help but buck my hips as his fingers continue to fuck me, his face presses tightly against my wetness while his tongue lashes against my most sensitive areas, sending me into a frenzy.
That’s when I come back to reality. I’m so fucking glad Jeremy’s not between my legs. All I want is my husband. All I need is my husband. He’s so fucking good.
Riding out my orgasm on his face, my hips don’t stop thrashing until I’m done. My husband looks up at me, smiling at his handiwork. He loves getting me off.
“Fuck! You’re so good at that. Come here,” I let my knees drop to the sides, parting a path for him. “I want your cock right here. Feel what you do to me.”
“Oh, I know what I did to you,” he says, wiping away the glistening wetness that’s covering his face.
He climbs on top of me and grabs the base of his cock with his hand, lining it up with my entrance before he pushes his way inside of me.
God! I love how this man’s dick is perfectly made for my pussy. It fits like a glove and I love feeling him inside of me.
Once he’s buried himself deep inside of me, he leans down and bites my lower lip. Returning his bite with a kiss, I can taste myself on his lips and his face reeks of pussy, but I love it. Kissing him deeply, our tongues forcefully explore each other’s mouths as he begins to move inside me.
Wrapping my legs behind his back, my hips are at the perfect angle so he can penetrate me as deep as he wants. He grabs my wrists and holds them above my head, against the pillows, as he watches my breasts bounce with each thrust he delivers.
I love watching him fuck me, feeling him move inside me, and looking into his eyes as my hips rebound against each of his deep movements.
It doesn’t take long until his cock is pumping in and out of me at a wicked speed before his face tenses and I feel him swelling inside of me, my large breasts gaining momentum as he fucks me harder. I smile knowing that he’s about to cum in me and start to match his rhythm as he delivers a thick cream pie.