My husband, Fred, and I recently moved into town. It was the move that sealed our fate because it finally meant we were starting anew and leaving everything that has happened behind us. Fred and I had a rotten past, especially before Taylor was born, but we were determined to make things work. There was not a hint of doubt that Fred and I loved each other, a love that soared to greater heights when Taylor entered the scene. But you know how life goes: you can’t have too much of a good thing. If things are presently going your way, brace yourself. That good cycle can’t last, and soon, life’s apt to throw a few large lemons along your way.
When we moved into our new house, I felt more convinced and positive than ever that things are going to work out just right. It’s about time too because I can only take so much of Fred’s womanizing ways. Like I said, my husband and I love each other, but that doesn’t mean we’re faithful to each other—in Fred’s case anyway. I am perfectly aware my husband is having some golden time between the sheets with several women, and I think he knows that I know, but I let the issue slide. Friends have called me names for allowing the situation to progress to the lengths it is currently in, but what can I do? I’m 100 percent confident Fred won’t pack his bags and leave me and his son for another woman. He could have done that in the old days, when we didn’t have Taylor. But Taylor’s here now, and God knows how much Fred loves our son. I know Fred would pick Taylor over me in a heartbeat, and I honestly don’t mind. If the tables were turned, I would’ve done the same thing. Besides, I know Fred would never leave Taylor. My husband may have a wild streak with other women, but he’s an excellent father. Save for Fred’s womanizing tendencies, I couldn’t ask for more.
Every time I look at my husband, I somehow understand why women have a hard time keeping their claws off him. Fred is the stuff of every housewife’s dream. He’s more than six feet tall, dark haired, green eyed, broad shouldered, and muscular. Fred is tall, dark, and handsome personified. He’s quite scruffy too, which adds to his already huge appeal. I’m grateful Fred’s my husband because if he wasn’t and he made his infamous advances at me, why, I’d gladly give in too.
Fred’s huge in all aspects, and yes, this description includes the thing dangling between his legs too. My husband is gifted with an exceptionally large cock. Sometimes, I wonder how he manages to get it all inside me when things get hot and heavy. But it does, really. The feel of Fred’s cock thrusting in and out of my moist vagina is one of the best in the world. I could come at the mere thought of it, and I admit I have done this a couple of times too. Maybe the fact that I am easy to please has something to do with that feat, but yeah, you could say my husband and I have a very healthy sex life.
See, I’m not too bad-looking myself. I’m tall too, though not as tall as Fred is. Where my husband is huge, I am slender. Where my husband is scruffy, I am neat and primped. My looks are the exact opposite to Fred’s. I am blond, brown eyed, and virtually hair-free. According to my friends, this clash in the looks department is what makes Fred and I look so good together. Some even say Fred and I could give Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie a run for their money, but I wouldn’t go that far. My husband and I may be a gorgeous couple, but we prefer to live a simple, fuss-free life.
It was because of this desire to make things run as smoothly as possible that Ashley entered our lives.
If you’ve experience moving into a new state or city or house, you can probably identify with the stress that comes with moving. I surely felt that in the first few days my family and I moved into the house. It’s a crazy experience, having to figure out where to settle things down and where to put this and that. Throw in the fact that Fred and I needed to get to work in a week, and you’ve got a crazy household in the picture. Taylor, being only eighteen months old, obviously can’t go to school yet. Fred and I discussed this issue together and, after a short discussion, agreed to hire a babysitter from Monday to Friday to keep Taylor company.
We didn’t know anybody in the neighborhood yet, so we had to ask help from someone. We went for Marissa, a friend, and it was she who referred Ashley to us. Marissa assured us Ashley was a “fine catch” and that she (Ashley) was an expert when it came to babysitting. We agreed right then and there for Marissa to send Ashley over to the house. The sooner we can find a babysitter, the better.
It turned out Ashley, for a nineteen-year-old, was a total bombshell. The second I opened the front door and saw her face, I immediately knew there was going to be trouble. The girl was gorgeous. She was glowing and radiant all over, kind of like how you imagined the face of an angel would be. Ashley was blond like me, but whereas my eyes were brown, hers was this light shade of blue that reminded you of clear blue skies. She had a heart-shaped face and small slightly pouty lips that were naturally pink. Ashley was small but not frail looking. I let my eyes travel down her body, and I saw more trouble ahead. The babysitter’s body was hot. She had a perfect hourglass figure, which was likely due to her tiny waist. Her hips and ass weren’t too wide and big, respectively. Her breasts were on the small side although they were erect and as round as oranges. I had to admit the outline of her breasts were one of the best I’ve seen.
I’m too old to be having body issues, but I admit I am envious of Ashley for her youth. It’s not so much her looks but the vitality and youthfulness that emerged from her every pore. She looked so young. If Taylor had been a few years older, I am sure the tyke would have fallen in love with his babysitter right there and then.
As to whether Fred found Ashley sizzling hot, I don’t really know. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to read between the lines, though, because even I found myself quite attracted to Ashley, and I’m a girl, for Pete’s sake. Fred went on his way as if nothing struck him strange in particular. He and Ashley were polite and made small talk when chance permitted, yet I sensed a kind of growing sexual tension between the two. I ignored my guts and told myself I am getting paranoid. Ashley is a teenager, and my husband is in his late thirties already. No way would he pick on someone who could pass of as his younger sister.
Oh, I was badly mistaken. Things took a turn for the worse when I accidentally stumbled upon Fred and Ashley one sunny afternoon.
I had been feeling unwell that day. My head had been throbbing lazily, and when my boss noticed how lousy I felt, he told me to pack my things up and spend the rest of the afternoon at home. I was grateful and told him so. I got my things and drove back home, struggling with the monster headache that was beginning to claw itself out from the black hole it has been buried in.
Turning into the driveway, I didn’t see Fred’s car anywhere, which was how it should be. I knew Ashley was around because she was scheduled to babysit Taylor today. I shut the engine off and went toward the back door, which was closer to the kitchen, and thought of asking Ashley to prepare some lemonade for us while I nursed my headache.