The Ex, Part I – The End by Lothos
Uncover the steamy tale of "The Ex, Part I - The End" by Lothos in this erotic sex story. Dive into a world of passion and desire as the characters navigate their tumultuous past. Read now for a thrilling and sensual experience.
I divorced her because she hopped beds, but it was more fun now that we were split… , Yes, I know it has been four years since my last story. I’m sorry.
That having been said, this piece is the beginning of something… I am not sure what. It’s dark, but not too dark. Any ideas where I should go with it?
The divorce was hard, harder than anything I ever want to go through again. My ex was angry, and spiteful, and, in the end, got everything: the house, the car, and both daughters. I crashed on my friend’s couch for a month before I could afford a place of my own. During that time, I barely left the house except to go to work, and there my performance dropped off. I had an understanding employer, luckily, but I did have more than a few sit downs with her to “try and work through the issues here at work.” I seriously thought about moving home to where my mother still lived, as she suggested a few times. With my dad gone, she was alone in a big house and had a lot of jobs that she needed help with, or just simply could not do. I relegated the idea to the “absolute last resort” pile, just ahead of male prostitution. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom, but she can be overbearing.
Look at me, diving into the story without any background. My name is Randall Barker. I am 35 years old, had been married for twelve years, and have two daughters with my ex-wife, Sandy. She is 32, a bit on the heavy side, and a total slut. I am not being insulting; when we were married, she had a different lover about every month, sometimes two or three at a time. She slept with the husbands of all her female friends, and all her male friends whether married or not. She left a few of them to their own divorces because of her libido.
Our daughters, Alyssa and Angela, were kept away from her behavior. She never brought men home (to the best of my knowledge). It made the three of us closer when she went out partying. Our closeness did nothing for my trapped sexual desires, however, but I muddled through. Once, Sandy caught me jacking off in our bed when she got home. I could tell when she had been playing around; she kept her panties on so the cum wouldn’t leak out on to the bed. She stood there, glorious breasts heaving in anger, calling me a pervert for pleasuring myself. I told her someone had to, since she was getting her jollies elsewhere. She shut up, but that was almost the end of our intimate lives.
I had finally had it when she refused to come home one weekend after I had been hurt at work. I filed papers, and for the next year, we went from one court date to another. I gave everything up to end the destructive cycle we were in. It was three months after our divorce was finalized that things began to… change in our relationship. We argued still, but it usually dissolved into arguments about our daughters. At one point, I was dating a woman ten years my junior, and my ex referred to her as “the little girl you are seeing” and refused to call her by name. Did I mention she could be fiercely jealous? Yeah, she could be.
As it turned out, she had been seeing someone regularly (much more regularly than she was even seeing me when we were married) for about a year before I even filed paperwork. He knew she was married, and either didn’t care, or got some thrill out of it. She wouldn’t move in with him, even though she didn’t have enough to keep the house well on her own. She figured if she moved in with him, they would get married, and that would be the end of the alimony I was paying. The bad part was that he lived about three hours away, and that was a long trip, especially when you have two children. She had apparently promised him that she would be faithful; that and she had lost all her friends once the word had gotten out about the reasons for the divorce.
It came as a bit of a surprise when she called me late on a Friday night. The tone of her voice was… conciliatory.
“Hey Rand, how are you?”
I bristled, waiting for another attack. She hadn’t called me Rand since before I filed, “I’m… fine. How are you, Sandy?”
“I’m bored, and lonely. The girls are at my parent’s.”
“Um, okay. I’m sorry you are bored. What can I do for you?”
At this point, I need to explain a few things. Sandy, although a sex crazed 32 year old, had been a sex crazed 23 year old when we met. As far as I could tell from her stories, she had been sex crazed as long as she had known about sex. She lost her virginity at nine to a boy down the street, a “strapping young boy of eleven” she would brag, and had fucked her way through the end of grade school, through middle school, and high school. She was damn lucky she never got pregnant, since she lived in an abstinence only school district. In the end, she finally learned how girls get pregnant and started on the Pill. In other words, the woman had not gone more than a week without in nearly a quarter century.
“I don’t want you to think this changes anything, but I want you to come over and fuck me silly,” she said. Her tone was matter-of-fact.
I was a bit taken aback by this. Did she really think I would, given everything that had happened? Damn right, I would. To be honest, it was the sex that made me marry her in the first place.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I drove like a man possessed. When I screeched into the driveway of the house we had bought together, anger was the last thing on my mind. My pants were already too tight for me to concentrate, or even remember what we were arguing about. She had never changed the key, or asked me for my copy. She was notoriously forgetful, so she said that as long as I respected her space, I could keep the key for emergencies or for when I watched the girls while she worked.
I let myself in, but the living room was empty. As soon as I closed the door, I heard her call from her bedroom.
“Up here…” she called down the half flight of stairs. I had always loved our split level.
I walked down the hall to the door to what was once our room. She lay on the bed, to foot of which was facing the door. She had thrown on my favorite negligee, and I could tell by the little bit of her ass I could see that she had not bothered to put on anything under it. She was reading a book, one of the trashy romance novels that were little more than porn anyway. I don’t think I had ever seen her reading one of those before, so I figured she must have been pretty hard up.
My ex is a short, slightly plump woman. Many men today scoff at the curves she has in favor of the heroin waif look. Me, I prefer a woman without bones sticking out. It just looks unhealthy to me. She had long, blond curls, although her natural color was a dark red. She only colored the hair on her head, saying that anyone who saw any other hair she could be honest with. She normally kept any other hair shaved, so the freckles were the only clue.
She set the book across her ample breasts and looked at me. “Hey there,” she said, looking from my face to my crotch and back again, “I see that I still turn you on.”