Dating an olderman
I managed to flirt with her enough to get a phone number, and we dated for about a year before we got married.
In almost every way our marriage had been terrific.
Linda was now out of college and working in Chicago; Veronica was a junior at Kenyon.
They were terrific kids, and Helen had been a wonderful mother to them.
It was a far cry from the 3-4 times a week that we had begun our marriage with, and I wasn't slow to complain about it.
Over the years we'd struggled with this issue more than any other.
As I was about to drive the last 50 yards to my house, I glanced up and saw to my surprise a man coming out of my front door.
Imagine how it feels to go three months at a time without getting to touch your wife's breasts. I was happy to go down on her, and I did from time to time, despite her lack of enthusiasm for it.
What made it even harder to take was that when we did have sex, it was often a frustrating 'quickie'.
I longed to take my time, to kiss and caress Helen, to lavish attention on her beautiful breasts, to touch and kiss her all over. She'd cross her arms over her breasts protectively, and say, "not tonight, honey—can't we just do it?
It was only a couple of blocks out of my way, and I knew no one at the precinct would care how long I took on my errand.
Driving slowly up my street, I pulled over opposite Mrs. She worked at it eight months of the year, and it was always spectacular.