I slept till noon the morning after Barry, and I had made love during the fourth quarter. Slipping into my fluffy white robe, I went to the kitchen.

"Morning, Margaret," Barry said, not lifting his eyes from the sports section.

"Good morning, Barry," I replied.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat across the table from him. I let my robe fall open at the top, exposing my luscious breasts to him, hoping he would notice and decide on a follow-up fuck session in the kitchen.

I figured he only wanted to satisfy one craving that day—his inexhaustible craving for football. I flipped him off, but he didn't notice. I suspected I could have crawled under the table and taken his fat cock in my mouth, and he wouldn't have noticed.

It was the Sunday before the start of the regular season, and my wonderful husband was beginning to act like the pigskin zombie he turned into every fall since our wedding day.

"Fuck you!" I thought to myself. I stood up and tied my robe closed tightly. He wouldn't see these twin orbs of pleasure until after the Pro Bowl in February.

I walked out on the deck and sat by the pool to finish my coffee. Alone and stewing about the prospects of another long, boring season.

The night before, Barry had, to put it mildly, fucked me senseless, but I figured he had decided to give me one good fuck before he zombied out on me for the next four months.

I finished my coffee and, without regard to who might be watching, dropped my robe and dove into the pool's deep end. A couple of laps would wash the residue of his sex from my body and perhaps cleanse my mind of any idea that my son of a bitch husband would satisfy me again before Valentine's Day.

To make sure of my assumption regarding his interests, I walked back into the house dripping wet, dragging my robe on the floor behind me.

Barry had moved to the den and was engrossed in the special pull-out Pro Preview section of the Sunday paper.

As I walked across the room completely naked and dripping wet, he said. "You going shopping today, Margaret?" He never lifted his eyes from the paper or noticed I was before him naked as a jaybird. He never saw that he could throw me down on the carpet and slam his fat cock into any hole he chose.

"I believe I will," I replied after walking away and heading for my bedroom.

Barry's addiction to football made me jealous. His obsession with the game made me angry, and his lack of attention made me want to find someone who hated football and would pay me the attention I demanded.

As I dressed, I got more jealous, angry, and craving attention. I decided that for the next four months, I was going to be a cock hunting MILF, and the thought of that excited me.

Twenty minutes later, I came bounding down the stairs and, in passing, said. "Later, baby."

Barry didn't look up from his preview section; he just replied. "Have a good time, Margaret."

If he only knew what kind of good time I was planning, he'd have thrown that paper aside and thrown me to the floor to give me his fat cock and keep me home like a good little trophy wife.

The afternoon sun warmed my face as I drove in my flashy Benz. While sitting at a red light, I remembered Mark, that handsome young gentleman who'd rescued me yesterday afternoon. I fumbled through my purse, trying to find his number. The blare of a car's horn reminded me to pay more attention to the traffic light, and I gunned the Benz, speeding further down the avenue.

Finally unzipping the tiny, almost hidden pouch on the side of my purse, I pulled the slip of paper on which Mark had written his note to me.

I gave the dash-mounted cellular a voice command. "Dial 507-484-6701."

"Please hold while the person you are trying to reach is located,” the generic woman's voice replied.

"Hi, this is Mark. Sorry, I can't take your call right now, but if you leave your number and a short message after the tone, I'll get back to you as soon as possible,” Mark's voicemail message played. Even his recorded voice sounded sexy.

In the second or two before the beep, I contemplated if I should leave a message or try again later. If I left my number, he could call me anytime or at an inopportune time. Before I could reach the dash and disconnect, I heard the "Beep."

I never bothered to set up my number so it wouldn't appear on the caller ID of people I call, so rather than have him wonder who was calling, I said, "Hi Mark, this is Peggy. Give me a call when you get the message. It's 209-562-8891. Talk to you soon; bye," was the message I left for my knight in shining armor.

A moment after I disconnected, I realized Mark knew me as Margaret, but I hoped he would still make the connection and call me back this afternoon. After all, I needed to thank him for taking care of me after those double shots of scotch took effect yesterday afternoon.

It was such a beautiful afternoon that I decided to take a walk at Hillside Park. There were a lot of others who had the same idea, and I was forced to park in the overflow lot quite a distance from the central part of Hillside.

After putting the top up and locking the Benz, I headed toward the walking path. Had I known I would be taking a walk, I would have worn shoes more appropriate for walking on gravel pathways. The heels of my open-toe sandals dug into the stones, and small rocks kept getting under my toes. After about fifty yards, I just slipped them off and went barefooted. I was wearing a brightly colored sundress with thin straps that ran up over the shoulders. The dress was very comfortable and didn't accentuate my breasts too much. Every so often, there are park benches along the walking path, and I decided to sit a while on the first one I came to that wasn't already in use.

Couples and families continuously strolled by the bench. Several men checked me out as they passed, trying to be as discrete as possible so their significant other wouldn't notice them paying attention to another woman.

The bright sunlight streamed through the openings of the trees surrounding my bench, warming my body against the light breeze. I was really enjoying just sitting there alone with my thoughts. Of course, those thoughts eventually turned to sex or, better yet, the possible lack of sex that I was anticipating throughout the football season.

Suddenly, I felt something furry brush against my leg, startling me until I looked down and saw the cutest little puppy wagging his tail and winding his little furry body around my legs.

"Buster, stop that." A man's voice said from behind.

I turned to see whose voice I'd heard.

"So sorry, miss. I'm still trying to train my dog not to run up to strangers,” the man said.

I smiled at him and said. "But he's such a cute little dog and certainly friendly."

"A little too friendly,” he replied.

I reached down and scratched Buster's head between two perky ears, and he instantly started licking my hand.

Now, I've heard that some men use cute little dogs to break the ice with strange women, but somehow, I didn't think this guy or Buster had that in mind. Nevertheless, the ice was broken, and I seized the opportunity to make a new friend.

"Well, it looks as though Buster isn't going to listen to you as long as I keep scratching his head, so maybe you'd like to have a seat," I suggested.

"Thanks, Miss. I've been walking him for quite some time now, and honestly, I'm ready for a break,” he replied.

As he sat beside me, I offered him one delicate hand and said. "I'm Peggy, and this is Buster." Continuing to scratch the pup's head.

"Nice to meet you, Peggy; I'm Sam,” he said, lightly shaking my hand.

Sam was probably a few years older than me, with salt and pepper hair, dark eyes, and a wonderful, inviting smile. He appeared to be maybe fifteen pounds overweight but didn't appear fat. Sam wore a light blue pullover sweater and old, comfortable, faded blue jeans.

"Is Sam short for Samuel?" I asked. "Yes, and I assume Peggy is your nickname?" He replied.

"You're right, Sam. My given name is Margaret,” I admitted.

He smiled. "Margaret is a beautiful name. It fits such a beautiful lady,” Sam added scoring points with me.

Buster jumped up on the bench between Sam and me and lay down with his snout resting on tiny paws.

"Well, Buster is certainly comfortable being with you, Margaret," Sam commented.

"He certainly is," I replied.

Even though we'd just met, Sam made me feel comfortable, too. His warm smile invited me to get to know him better.

"So Sam, how come you're not home watching football today," I asked.

He grinned and replied. "I'm not much into sports, Margaret."

At the very least, he had just scored a field goal with me. He couldn't have answered that question better.

"What brings you to Hillside today?" Sam asked.

"Sports, to be more precise, football," I said.

Sam got a confused expression on his face and then asked. "Is there a game here today?”

I laughed and tried to clear up his confusion. "No, but that's the only thing happening at my house today."

"Oh, the men at home are all watching games?" Sam asked.

"Just one man," I replied.

I had to figure Sam put two and two together and knew I was talking about my husband because he glanced down at my hand where my wedding band and engagement ring clearly showed.

"You married, Sam?" I asked.

"Divorced,” he replied, then added. "Almost two years now."

"How long have you been married, Margaret?" Sam asked.

I replied. "Fourteen years."

"Happily?" Sam inquired.

I glanced over at him and, after thinking for a moment, said. "Seven out of twelve months, yes."

His somewhat confused expression told me to explain.

"The other five months are football season," I added sheepishly.

Buster lifted his head and looked at me. His big puppy dog eyes almost begged me to scratch his head again. I lifted my hand and slowly ran my nails through his soft fur while waiting for Sam to say something.

Instead, Sam placed his hand over mine and then asked. "Margaret, what does a football widow do for fun during the season?" His eyes searched mine as he increased the pressure on my hand.

Without losing eye contact, I explained. "Until now, I shopped a lot and got very bored."

"And this season?" Sam inquired.

"I'll still shop a lot, but the bored part ain't happening," I answered.

Sam removed his hand from mine and lifted it to the back of the bench behind me. He turned to face me more directly and then asked. "Have you ever cheated on your husband?”

"Never."

"Does he know?" Sam asked.

"Does he know I'm thinking of having an affair?" I asked.

"Yes," Sam said.

"Honestly, I don't think he even remotely thinks it could happen," I answered. "He thinks I have too much to lose."

"Do you?" Sam asked.

"I probably do, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna endure another long season as a celibate,” I quickly answered.

"I've been celibate for over three years,” Sam admitted.

"Why?" I asked.

Sam explained. "For the last year of our marriage, my ex and I didn't have sex. She was involved with another man, and I knew about it. Until our divorce was final, the thought of having sex with her turned my stomach."

"And since?" I asked.

"I'm forty-one years old; getting back into the dating scene doesn't come easy to an over forty graying, out-of-shape man," Sam explained.

"I think that little touch of gray is sexy, Sam, and you're not that outta shape," I said, smiling at him.

Sam smiled widely at me. "Thank you, Margaret. I think you're very sexy, too,” he said.

Buster settled his snout back down to the bench, and I slipped my hand from his head to his master's thigh.

"Someone recently called me a MILF,” I said.

He smiled back at me and moved his hand from the bench to my back. "You're not old enough to be a MILF, Margaret,” Sam whispered.

Sam began moving his hand ever so slightly, fingertips gently caressing my back just above the top of my sundress. My body reacted to his gentle touch, and goosebumps rose on my arms, along with two more pronounced bumps on the front of my dress.

"Hmm, that feels wonderful," I whispered.

His smile warmed me but did little to reduce the effects of his sensual touch.

Sam leaned very close to me, his lips nearly touching my ear. He whispered. "Would you like a massage, Margaret?"

I turned my head, causing his lips to touch my cheek. My nipples instantly reacted and got even harder. With a broad smile, I asked. "Here, Sam?"

"My place," Sam answered.

I wanted to kiss him but resisted the urge, knowing someone who knew me might be in the area. I had been somewhat worried the entire time we were seated on the bench that someone I knew would see us.

His eyes searched mine, soulful eyes that nearly melted me.

I whispered, "I'd like that."

Sam smiled again, his hand exploring more of my naked back.

"My car is nearby,” he suggested.

"I'll take mine, Sam. That way, you won't have to bring me back,” I said.

"Okay, Margaret," Sam said, then quickly added. "Shall we?"

I couldn't wait to feel his soft hands all over my body, touching every inch of flesh softly, massaging the muscles into submission.

"Yes, let's!" I nearly exclaimed.

Sam stood up and offered me his hand. I bent down, grabbed my sandals by the heel straps, and let him help me from the bench. Buster jumped down and instantly became the tail-wagging blur of fur he had been when we first met.

Sam Buster and I slowly walked back to the parking lot, hand in hand like a loving couple. I hoped it wouldn't be too long before his hand found the warm, wet spot between my thighs.

"My car is over there," Sam said, pointing in the opposite direction from where the Benz was parked.

I smiled and slipped my hand from his. "I'm way over there," I said, pointing toward the overflow lot where the Benz was alone.

"That silver coupe is yours?" Sam asked.

"Yes, that's my SLK 55 AMG," I said proudly.

"Geez, Margaret, that's a sweet ride. I'm driving a company car."

"Wait for me by the exit, okay, Sam," I said as we parted ways and headed to our cars.

"Sure will," Sam said, then talked to his dog. "Come on, Buster, it's time for a ride in the car."

Buster's tail went wild as he and his master walked away from me.

I watched them both for a few seconds. They both seemed to have a special bounce in their walks.

As I turned and started toward the Benz, I thought to myself, "This cock hunting thing might not be too hard. In less than twenty-four hours, I've already found two willing men who both could care less about who scored the winning touchdown or made the game-saving tackle. I guess not all men turn into football zombies as I had thought.”

I slipped into my heeled sandals and slid into the driver's seat. By the time I got the Benz fired up and turned around, Sam and Buster were already double parked by the exit from Hillside Park. Sam was in the driver's seat, and Buster was hanging halfway out the rear passenger window, watching every movement around him.

I tooted at my horn as I approached, and Sam pulled out ahead of me. As we picked up speed, Buster stuck his snout out into the wind. His puppy ears flapped in the breeze, and his tongue extended like a sail. What a cute little dog he is, and who would have thought he'd be the one to help me find what I wanted most?

Sam's place wasn't too far from the park, and in no time, we were pulling into the driveway of a lovely two-story colonial with a brick front and a two-car garage attached. As I slowed, both garage doors opened. Sam pulled into the one on the right, and I guided the Benz into the left bay.

"Good thinking, Sam. We don't want the neighbors seeing a strange car in the driveway, especially one as flashy as my Benz,” I thought as I slipped the transmission into park and turned the key. Both doors closed behind us, and Sam jumped from his sedan and hurried around the front toward me. Buster was running around at his feet as Sam opened my door and offered me his hand. I rewarded his gentlemanly act by giving him a healthy look at my creamy white thighs as I turned and stepped out of my Benz.

I could tell he got the look I wanted as he blushed a little, then realized I'd offered him the view for being such a gentleman.

Sam held my hand and led me around the front of his car. I nearly stumbled over Buster, a blur of fur at our feet.

Pushing the door open, Sam Buster and I stepped into his kitchen. He said, "She wasn't interested in the house, and since I put so much time and effort into fixing the place up, I decided to keep it."

And fix it up, he had. The kitchen was immaculate; nothing was out of place, and everything was sparkling clean.

"I'm impressed, Sam. My kitchen isn't nearly as orderly as yours," I commented.

Sam giggled and replied. "Doesn't get used much, Margaret."

He walked over to the pantry cabinet and opened the door. Reaching in, he retrieved a brand-new rawhide chew and called Buster.

"Snackie, Buster!" he nearly shouted.

Buster came running and started jumping wildly around Sam.

Sam bent down and offered Buster his treat, and in an instant, he was off to his special hiding place, where he took all his treats.

"That will keep him busy for a few hours, Margaret," Sam said with a devilish grin.

I smiled, knowing I wouldn't have to worry about the little pup trying to lick something he shouldn't.