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Usually Peggy’s stories kept me amused and entertained. We’d grown up together, married the same year, and were both now nearing that chronological barrier of forty. We had not, however, divorced the same year. I was still in a comfortable marriage with my childhood sweetheart, Ken. That is probably the reason that I usually found Peggy’s stories so fascinating and seductive to the extent I did sometimes wonder whether I was missing out. Then I would look, really look, across the table at her and sense that for all her ribaldry in describing her life there was an edge of loneliness to her.

Peggy would admit as much on the odd occasion that she became introspective. It didn’t happen often but sometimes I would catch her staring at me with what I can only describe as a look of envy. I found that hard to reconcile with the charismatic, beautiful woman who had retained her figure and her youthful looks. To add insult to injury she enjoyed a high-powered career as CEO of a major corporation with expensive apartments in three of the world’s top financial capitals, while I was rapidly heading into a somewhat dowdy middle age working in the field of health care.

My job, like my marriage had sustained me for almost twenty years. Both of them were my first and only. I can’t really say that Ken was my first sexual experience. I wasn’t a virgin when I married, nor was Ken, but we were less than fully informed of sex’s myriad permutations, unlike Peggy who had sampled the sexual alphabet from Anal to Sapphic. She always maintained there were a few letters that she had avoided or was still to explore. “You have to leave something for later, otherwise what is there to look forward to?” she said.

I admit that sometimes her stories made me long for the greener grass of her fabulously exotic life, so I would go home to fantasize myself into her bed with one of her men whom she’d described in such intimate detail that even my unimaginative mind could conjure him up without much prompting. I would bring myself off imagining life was like one of those pulp erotic romances that I had secreted on my eBook reader. When I was finished, I lay back grateful that I was completely satisfied and that fantasy was so much less messy and required less energy than real life.

Satisfaction is in the groin of the beholder and as time went on, I doubted I was ‘completely’ satisfied. Ken was a considerate lover and we still maintained an active and healthy sex life although it was not of the rabbit variety like it was when we were younger. Still, I had no complaints.

Once those niggling doubts get a foothold, it’s difficult to dislodge them. I began to wonder if I was missing out. Peggy’s tales seemed to suggest I was. Stories from other women with whom I worked suggested otherwise, suggesting that I was lucky to have a man as loving as Ken as a husband. However, the doubts persisted.

If my mind wandered that afternoon, it was with good reason although it had nothing to do with the thoughts above. My distraction had a very concrete base. It was what was happening out on the street in front of the café. I had a perfect view while Peggy had her back turned. I watched as a motorcycle pulled up, one of those gigantic things they call hogs, I think. The pillion passenger alighted, his leather jacket flapping open to reveal the sort of body I could only dream about enclosing me in its arms. When he removed his helmet, I almost gasped. He was gorgeous with a stubbly moustache and one of those goatee type beards, while he wore his hair short cropped on top and even shorter around the sides.

My pussy spasmed and I squeaked like a randy mouse.

Bobby’s Girl


eBook Cover Price: 2.99

Length: 38 pdf Pages / 5770  words

Het, Erotica, Multiple Partners

Heat rating: 4