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."