“Don’t tell me the husband followed you to your house. Did he?”
“No. We took them in that night, and Paul went next door to calm Gil. I stayed home to get our kids to bed and get the couch ready for her and the boy. We only have rooms for us, no spare.”
“What then?”
“Gil would have none of it. The next day her stuff was on the driveway – the same with the little boy’s toys. It was awful. We eventually gave her money to rent a van to drive to her parents in New Jersey, where she and Gil had met. The whole thing was a mess. But it caused issues between Paul and I.”
“How so?”
“Paul stayed quiet as I ranted about how cold Gil had been toward the child. Paul may have said nothing, but I could tell from the snide look on his face that he didn’t care. To be honest, Marisol, I could have cared less about the silly bitch. She made her bed and deserved what she got. But the child, the boy. Marisol, he is so cute and innocent. It broke my heart to see him crying… calling Gil, daddy, from outside the door. How can anyone do that to a child?”
I was crying by then, and so was Marisol.
“Garry has not seen his child for years, Paula. Do you remember how I told you the surrogate mother just ran off reneging on the deal? I’ve caught Garry holding on to the ultrasound picture and crying as he stared at it. This is awful. Plain awful.”
I had heard the story second hand from Marisol years ago, but it was still vivid in my mind. Not being able to have children herself, Marisol had convinced Garry that he should have a child with a woman they knew. They would pay her expenses during the pregnancy, and she would give them the child. Only the woman had changed her mind and disappeared with the newborn. It had been hard on both of my neighbors.
In that instant, I realized how lucky I was to have children. And how fortunate Paul was that I had not run off with them. Many women who had unhappy marriages divorced, knowing child custody would be awarded to the mother. In Florida, as in most states, the mother almost always got the kids, and the husband had to pay child support. But I could never do that to Paul. We may have had our issues, but neither he nor the children deserved to be separated from each other because he and I had problems.
“The whole thing has given me a lot to think about, Marisol. But there are two things I don’t want for sure.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t want to break up my family. And I am not going to live a boring humdrum subsistence life because Paul is content with it.”
“What does that translate to in real life?” Marisol asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re making me do all the work. I came here for advice, girlfriend.”
“It’s your life Paula. You only get one, and it has better be on your terms. I made my choices.”
She was right.
“I’m going back to work. We need the money. When I worked briefly at a real estate agency, I discovered that it was easy and that I liked it.”
“I have a feeling there is more,” Marisol smiled.
“There is,” I replied. “Paul is not the man I married and fell in love with.”
She stared back at me, then smiled and nodded with an expression that said ‘I told you so.’
“All men change after almost ten years, Paula,” she replied. “You don’t have to go far. Look at your dad.”
“My dad is still full of zest in life. He is still a man women want. Women like you. Paul is but a shell of the man I married.”
“It’s that bad?”
“Let me tell you how?” I said and began. “When I first met Paul, he was a virginity taker.”
“A what!” she exclaimed. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. That was his specialty with the preppy sorority girls in college,” I continued. “I did some checking on him back then and found out Paul probably popped nineteen cherries- maybe more.”
“Go, Paul!” Marisol giggled and clapped. “Was that like a fetish or something for him?”
“No. Apparently, he had sex with a sorority girl, and she told the other girls how gentle Paul had been during her first time. So others went to him for the experience. Finding it true, they confirmed the first review. From then on, he became legendary in preppy circles. They went to him. Paul didn’t even have to go looking.”
“Wow! I never heard of that,” Marisol laughed. “Is that how you got interested in him?”
“No, I met him by chance at a frat party.”
“Ok, I’m stunned. Continue.”
“And of course, they kept going back to him,” I continued. “So Paul was a very busy boy in college. That was his idea of far out and exciting. But being conventional and preppy himself, Paul was pretty vanilla in his sex habits when we met.”
Marisol sat back and waited for more.
“But?” she said as I took a sip of my drink. “What next?”
“Since then, Paul has ebbed off. We only have sex in the bedroom and have to be quiet for the kids not to hear. I get the last part, but we can get a sitter and do it elsewhere. Put some excitement in our life.”
“I could have helped out if you guys lived closer.”
“There are times I wish we did,” I sighed. “Maybe Garry, you and my parents would have been a good influence on Paul. He is just so closed off and… hear this. I asked if he would like to go to a nudist beach, and he recoiled. He was like ‘I don’t want anyone seeing your body naked.’ He would not even entertain the notion. Not even considering all the naked women that HE could see or those that would see him.”
“What’s the problem? Does he have a small dick?”
“No. Not really. Paul is just over six inches when hard. He makes me cum just fine when he sets his mind to it. I don’t think all men at nudie beaches are above average, are they?”
“No, but the scene does attract people who like to show off, and usually that means people who have something they are proud of. Still, some men think they have to be gigantic to show their cock in public. Kind of like women with small titties,” Marisol touched her boobs. “We are too obsessed with size.”
“Size can have its time and place,” I replied. “Other than Garry, I had a couple of guys that were big. I liked being filled up and pounded. But there is more than that in a man.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t go for a bigger one, Paula. What was the attraction to Paul then?”
“I get off no matter the dick size, so that was not important to me. I liked Paul before we fucked. He is handsome, a good man and….”
“So husband material for conventionals,” Marisol smirked as she interrupted. “Not the kind for setting fires down below, was he?”
“Paul made me cum,” I replied defensively.
“Made? Not makes. That speaks volumes, Paula.”
“You’re right. But then how many men are like your Garry? Not many in my experience.”
“I’m not talking just size Paula, and you know it. I know men who are good and are the same size as your man or even smaller. It’s what they do with it. Hell, what am I doing explaining it? You know this already.”
“Yeah, I do,” I said, admitting it. “All too well.”
I had been with enough men to find out both how few were large and how few actually knew how to be good lovers. Size and quality together were often rarer than the two attributes alone.
“OK. So Paul needs a boost. You can work with him, can’t you?”
“I’ve tried. It’s just not working anymore.”
“Where there is a will, there is a way, Paula.”
“Marisol. There is something else I have to tell you.”
Marisol crossed her arms and stared at me sternly.
“Paula… Did you cheat on him?”
As open-minded as Marisol and her husband were about their sex life, they detested cheating. Nothing was a secret between them. There is a misconception that swingers or people in open marriages embrace cheating. In my experience, it was never further from the truth. If anything, considering they allowed their spouse to have lovers, there was no reason to cheat in their view. And honesty was needed if they could pursue their lifestyle. My parents have become converts to the concept and no longer cheated or lied to each other about their lovers.
“Not exactly. Not cheating as most would think.”
“What the hell does that mean? Either you did, or you didn’t.”
“OK,” I sighed. “I told you how men hit on me at parties, cookouts, and such, right?”
“And?” she was still not letting me off the hook.
“Well, it’s a good ego boost to know I still have it. Although, to be honest, I never lost it, and men have been hitting on me since I was young. I even had some do it when I was pregnant.”
“Pervs,” she smirked. “I’ve heard that some men are into that.”
“Not Paul,” I retorted. “During my pregnancies, he was doing me as if I was a delicate flower. While I wanted a good fuck.”
“I’ve heard of that. What’s it called?”
“Madona Syndrome.”
She giggled at the name.
“The men I talked to wanted to bang a pregnant woman, Paula.”
“Probably not their wife,” I replied, making her laugh.
“So you had bad sex during your pregnancy,” Marisol rolled her eyes. “Poor you.”
“No, I had good sex. Just not with Paul.”
“With whom?”
“There was a friend I had in college who was available. Sex only. It’s all I needed.”
“You weren’t married then. Were you?” Marisol said, remembering correctly.
“No, but I don’t think Paul would see it that way had he found out. Or if he did now. He is not the type that would. So keep that to yourself.”
Marisol crossed herself and kissed her fingers.
“I’m taking it to the grave.”