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I arrived inside our apartment to find my husband asleep in bed, my dinner in the warming drawer, and two wineglasses on the counter. One empty, one full. I sat down heavily with my dinner, and as I drank the wine, I stared at his empty glass, musing on what I was doing with my life. It wasn't like I'd blown him off for dinner, and yet...it sort of was. Was this spousal abuse of some kind? I didn't know and was too drowsy to think too much about it.I forgot, clearly, that you aren't supposed to mix Ambien and alcohol. The rules are clear on that. But I was headed straight to bed, so it didn't matter, right? I distinctly remember rolling my commuting jeans and underwear off as one unit, like a dirty rubber band, and slipping into a pair of cotton panties and a camisole top. Then I crawled in next to my snoring bear of a husband and slept the sleep of the damned.I woke up the next morning feeling great...birds shining, sun chirping. My cotton panties were neatly folded by the side of. His hands went to her waist, and their kisses became deeper and wetter. He put his hands on her ass and pulled her closer. Helen moved her leg between his and rubbed her pussy mound high on his thigh. She could feel the pulsing hardness of his erection. Her hands moved over his back and squeezed his biceps. Freddie was slim but soft. He certainly didn't have the broad shoulders and well defined muscles of her son, Donnie. Oh god, why am I comparing him to Donnie, Helen wondered? She had an armful of aroused, young male right here, no need to bring in thoughts of someone she shouldn't have. Freddie kissed her cheek and then began to nibble his way down her neck. He reached up and fondled her breast. Helen had worn a light silk blouse over a navy hued, lacy full cup bra this morning. That let her tits move like dark, full shadows under her top. It was something that her male clients appreciated. Now Freddie was sliding the slick material of her blouse over her thirty-eight D cups..
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