I was the perfect suburban wife for years, smiling my way through the dull routine of married life. But behind closed doors, I was suffocating. My husband bored me to tears, and I hated every moment I had to pretend I still wanted him. The only thing that kept me sane in those last four or five years was my affairs. I used to slip out of the house and into the arms of younger and more handsome men who made me feel alive again.
The day my youngest left for college, I didn’t shed a single tear. Instead, I filed for divorce that week, packed my husband’s things, and sent him on his way. I was finally free—and I was going to make up for lost time.
That first night alone, I poured myself a glass of wine, looked in the mirror, and saw the woman I had been suppressing for years.
I’ve always been attractive, I’ve been told it many times. I just lost my confidence. I’m 5’4, have a curvy hourglass figure, narrow waist, and very busty (I used to be an exotic dancer in my twenties). I’ve always looked after myself and gone to the gym three times a week, and my legs are nicely toned and my glutes sculpted. I have long, voluminous brown hair and I’m always tanned, like I just stepped off a sun-kissed getaway.
I started regaining that lost confidence two years before I filed for divorce. That was thanks to an affair with my friend’s husband’s best friend. My friend knew how unhappy I was and she told me how much this guy fancied me and so I thought sod it, why not?!?! I slept with him the first time at their house after a few drinks together, and I was hooked on him after that. After that, we’d met at his mostly or checked in to hotel rooms. I’d invite him to my home when I knew the coast was clear.
I should have felt guilty, but I never did. He was an escape, my reminder that I was still desirable, that I still had it.
It wasn’t long after my divorce that I ended things with him. I wanted the freedom to roam and hook up with other guys without worrying about some needy and protective guy… not that he was like that, but I didn’t want to take that chance.
Enter Trey. Twenty-six, cocky, and built like a god. I’d watched him grow up. He played on my husband’s football team for nine years. He was always a nice boy, polite, sweet, and handsome.
I ran into him at a bar one night, a few months after the divorce was finalized.
One drink turned into three, and by the time his hand slid onto my thigh, I knew exactly where the night was going. I didn’t hesitate—I grabbed his hand, led him outside, and into an Uber. He was eager, desperate even, like he’d been waiting for this moment for years. And when we got back to my house, he made me feel things I hadn’t felt in a decade. He fucked me on the same sofa his mom and dad sat on on the odd occasion they shared a glass of wine with my husband and me. I told him exactly that and that turned him on even more.
He worshiped my body and told me he’d fantasized about fucking me for years. He stayed the night, and spent the majority of the time in me, I was dripping wet and completely, and utterly satisfied. I let him nut in me three times.
He has one of the biggest cocks I’ve ever seen. I love wrapping my lips around it and having him pound me.
He’s older than my two daughters but I don’t care. This is exactly what I wanted when I told my husband to leave for good. I’ve been fucking with him for the last 15 months, and its the best and happiest year of my life.
Trey isn’t the only one. Once I embraced my new life, I couldn’t stop. I’ve slept with my new personal trainer and a handsome real estate agent who’s sold a couple of houses in our neighbourhood.
I don’t have to sneak around anymore. He calls me the neighbourhood cougar, the one all the young studs want. And trust me, I plan on keeping them entertained for a very, very long time.