"That new kid, whatshisname, do you know him?" I reached for Mark's jeans, knowing he was hard already."Yeah, uh ... Chris something." Mark watched my...fingers work expertly at his belt and pants. I'd done this a thousand times probably. "Chris Wheelock." Wheelock." I giggled, opening those jeans like a Christmas present and pulling them down Mark's muscular thighs."Why?" Mark smiled as I pulled his boxers down too, so that his big thick cock sprang out like a Jack-in-the-box, slapping his. My inner thighs had started to sag a little. The lose skin at the top of my arms. My sagging breasts. I knew intuitively that I was doing this to myself, but I wanted it. I wanted to feed off self-loathing. In my mind, it made my husband a better man. Plus, this way I can control fixing it all. I can somehow make this about me, instead of the reality, which was it had nothing to do with me. By making it somehow my fault that my husband didn’t want me, I could avoid the truth. The truth I. More

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