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Trouble Down the Road

Asian

A continuation of my sexual life after High School and into adult life. True story, so don’t make my mistakes.

(c)Hellraser 2015

*****

I met Marge on a weekend assignment from my Army Reserve unit. We were ‘volunteered’ to work at a convalescent home to relieve the staff one weekend a month. Marge was the switchboard operator there.

To describe her, it’s fair to say she was the spitting image of Cher, American Indian in heritage, but extremely fair skinned. Small breasted with a B cup, she was slim all over but drop dead gorgeous. Of course, all the guys in my unit were vying for her attention, but she only smiled and ignored them.

On a $10 bet, I was kinda pushed into making the moves on her and for some reason, she was receptive of them. [shoulda seen the handwriting on the wall, but more about that as I progress] Small talk led to me asking her how a PBX worked. She was only too glad to show me as this allowed her to take a break. I’d no sooner put on the headset when a group of the guys guided her down the hall to the break room. She wasn’t ignoring them now.

After an hour long break, she came back and seemed happy to sit beside me and chat as I answered calls from family members inquiring about the patients there. I finally worked up the nerve and popped the question – would she like to go out that night. After getting her address, I let her take over the switchboard again as I went off to collect my wager.

I was still driving my ’69 SuperBee and picked her up about 7 pm. We went to a nice restaurant, then off to a club to drink a little and dance. She kept asking about my family, where we lived, what my dad did and if my mother worked. She was especially interested in my ride, explaining she had a thing for muscle cars One thing led to another and after several drinks, she suggested we head back to her apartment. The night was looking up.

We’d no sooner closed the apartment door when she was all over me. Clothes flew off all the way into the bedroom. The woman was a sexual dynamo and extremely flexible and multi-orgasmic to boot. We played hide the salami the rest of the weekend after drill.

After dating a few weeks (I worked on the railroad and was frequently out of state), I paid a surprise visit, not bothering to call first. Imagine my surprise when a Mexican answered the door. This Mexican, a Louis Alvarez, informed me I was trespassing on his territory. I shoulda just washed my hands of it and walked away right then. No, instead, I dropkicked him in the nuts and threw him down a flight of stairs.

Marge, all this time, was watching from the door to her apartment. Can you say ‘MAD!!’. I was livid and her only explanation was that Louis was a guy he used to date. Stupid, stupid me. I was already in love, or more likely, in lust with her and told her if I ever caught him over there again, we were through.

A few weeks later, everything calmed down and she was the perfect girlfriend. If there is truly a thing called Murphy’s Law, it was saddled around my neck and I was too blind to see it. We dated, we drank, dance and fucked all the time we were together. As a couple of months passed, I took the plunge and asked her to marry me.

It took her maybe 15 seconds to make up her mind – NO! Asking her why, because she claimed to love me too, she explained she wasn’t ready yet. Another weekend or two passed and she asked me when she got to meet my parents. Surprised, I thought things were looking up. We’d been to her hometown and I’d met her family.

The mother was nice, the younger sister, edible, looking like a walking fuck toy. Kat, the younger sister offered a cleavage shot whenever I looked her way and wasn’t afraid to rub those D cups on my arm as she passed. Marge’s next older sister, was a total dyke and also not afraid to make sure I knew it. The oldest girl was married to a nice, but guy, but he had no backbone or opinions of his own. I think pussy-whipped is an applicable term her. Dad was another story entirely. 100% Indian, and very closed mouthed, barely spoke to me. Several weekends, we’d go to her home and eat Sunday roast beef.

The strangest part, [at this point] was each girl had a part in making dinner. One would take out the roast, thaw it and sear it in a pan. The next sister, would cut up the veggies and Marge would put it in the oven and start the timer.

I kinda thought this was a neat delegation of work, at least at the time, but the routine nor the chore for each ever changed. Dad seldom spoke directly to me. He did ask what my father did and was surprised he was a vice president of an oil company. Marge picked right up on that point. [another danger sign]

Another week or two passed and Marge reminded me of asking her to marry me. I was totally thrilled, but she wanted to meet my folks first. I should point out, that at this time, dad was taking a medical retirement, due to an inoperable brain tumor. Marge spent 90% of our time there, talking to dad. My mother dragged mamak escort me down the hall to tell me she thought Marge was a gold digger. [Something to be said for mother’s intuition. I seldom agreed on anything she said as she made my dating years in high school a terror for whatever victim I brought home.]. One the way back to the city, Marge said I passed the test.

“What test?”

“I had to make sure you weren’t a bum. A lot of guys will lie about their families and make stuff up. I really like your home and your parents.”

More than I could say for her’s.

We waited a month to make the announcement and in the meantime, Marge showed me a side of her I hadn’t seen before. A guy I had played in a garage band with, Brad, was still a good friend of mine. His trouble was he was very shy around girls. Marge had taken on a roommate we’ll call Betty

I brought Brad with me on this given weekend. Marge was the first to suggest we play strip poker. The loser had to do whatever the winner suggested. We limited the time to the best of five games. Amazingly, Marge won, losing only her top and Brad lost bad, naked bad. Betty and I were pretty even with two wins apiece, but that took me down to my boxers and her to panties.

Marge’s ‘suggestion’ was that Brad had to fuck Betty in front of us all. If there were a crack in the floor wide enough, Brad would’ve crawled in it and pulled it closed afterwards. Betty didn’t seem too shocked at the whole deal and after some egging, Brad lay her down and did the deed. One thing led to another and Marge and I went at it. Brad was like a wild man after that. Betty asked Marge if I could do her and they’d just swap partners. Hell, at this point, who cares, so swap we did. The weekend progress and we took the action to our bedroom, each couple laying crossways on the double bed. This was all well and good, but two weeks later, I had a tremendous itching in my crotch, I wrote it off to heat rash until I got in the shower and a ‘scab’ crawled away. FUCK! Crabs!!

I got to a phone and called Marge to tell her the good news. First, she accused me of getting them off some skank on the road. I assured her that other than Betty, my dick hadn’t been in another pussy besides hers. I left her with that little tidbit and finished the work week and my cure. Driving to her house, I noticed the absence of Betty. Marge explained she tossed her out. My dad, after hearing about MY case, told me to make sure all bedding was thoroughly washed.

At the time, I didn’t know good old Louis had been back and HE was the carrier and Marge gave the crabs to Brad and I. I wasn’t to find out about this until much later, after we were married.

The time for the wedding approached and trouble started on her end. It seems her dad felt that since my folks were well off, WE should pay for the entire wedding. I thought my mom was going to head to their town on her own scalping party. She kept trying to convince me NOT to marry Marge. [people do really stupid thing when they’re in love]

The day of the wedding…

My brother was my best man, my dad too sick to do much more than sit in the church pew. All my relatives were there, about 30 of them, waiting, waiting, waiting for Marge and family to show up. Two hours past our time, the minister said we’d have to move on as he had another wedding to perform and told us he was very sorry for our disappointment.

As we were getting in our cars, who decided to pull in? Big rush to get back inside and get it over with. Marge’s dad had nothing to say to me, or my family, but her mother made up for it. We had a small reception at a Holiday Inn, then left on our honeymoon.

Dallas is a big city. There were lots of things to see and do. We hit Six Flags over Texas and spent a day acting like kids. Then, after nice meal, we took in some of the night spots. Unfortunately for me and fortunately for Marge, the Dallas Clothing Mart was being held at the fairgrounds. This is the place buyers from clothing chains come to buy next season’s hot new looks. Marge went totally bugnuts. Buy me this, buy me that…you’d think she had no clothes to wear. Something I considered my ‘real’ job was I was bass player in a band with growing popularity. My dad, brother and I owned a truckstop, but other than pinching in when employees didn’t show up, I couldn’t work for my relatives. However, my share of the profits rolled in every month or otherwise, Marge would have broke me with her purchases. [This was also a big danger sign- she had no cares about spending money, whether we had it or not.] You know the old saying ‘I can’t be overdrawn, I still have checks’. That would apply to Marge.

Honeymoon over, we returned to my home town as that was where my railroad crew was based out of. Finding housing was a little tricky. We hosted a major air force base and housing was at a premium. Where we ended up was a new double wide trailer. No sooner had I moved ofise gelen escort all my furniture and appliances in [Marge owned none], we set up housekeeping

The next sign of trouble began with Marge’s demand that she didn’t get married to do housework or cook. Fuck it, I was better cook than her. I soon learned why the girls had the Sunday dinner chores – none of them could cook a meal alone. Mom never taught them. I begged, then demanded she get off her recently married ass and take our clothes to a laundromat and hang them the fuck up when she was done. Damned good thing my work clothes were jeans and a T-shirt or denim shirt when it was colder.

Add to this, Marge decided she really wasn’t ‘into’ sex anymore. What? We’d been married less than a month! About this time, we got a call from Marge’s sister Kat. It seems she couldn’t get along with the restrictions her parents set for her, so she was leaving home. Could she stay with us?

Over any objection I had, Marge invited her to stay as long as she wanted, provided she got herself here. [little did I know at the time Marge had an ulterior motive for this]

Kat arrived with a couple of bags and we showed her to her bedroom. Even our double wide was nicer than her parent’s home, but they’d lived there for 30 years. As soon as she was settled, Marge read her the riot act. Unless she could afford to pay rent, she was to do all the housework and help with the cooking. [more handwriting on the wall]. Kat had little choice but to dig in to all the chores Marge had let slide while I was away at work. I mentioned Kat was a total fuck toy and after moving in and settling, she began to wear less and less around the house. That never seemed to bother Marge one bit.

After a month of near slave-like conditions, Kat made a demand of her own.

“If I’m going to do all the work YOU should have been doing, I’m more of a wife to Buck than YOU are!”

“So, what’s your point” said Marge.

“If I’m gonna act like the wife, then I get the wife’s benefits too”

“Meaning what” I had to add?

“Meaning as long as I’m doing all the dirty work that lazy bitch pushes off on me, you’re going to fuck my brains out whenever I feel the need.”

Marge stared at her a little bit, then said “fine”.

Kat grabbed me by the hand and off to the bedroom we went.

I told you all about Kat’s big D cup tits, what I failed to mention is she is one of those women with a two inch gap at her crotch, not to mention she was slightly better looking than her married sister. A hard dick has no conscience, so I plowed her wet furrow until she wrapped her legs around my waist while her clutching pussy drained my balls, screaming as her orgasm hit her. Relief! I hadn’t had sex in a few weeks and this really let off a lot of frustrations. I did make sure she was on birth control. How was Marge dealing with this?

Getting up nude with cum running down her legs, she marched back in to the living room where Marge sat.

“And another thing, I’m sleeping in bed with you two. If you don’t like it, cry me a river, build a bridge and get over it!” She did and it was little uncomfortable bonking Kat while Marge snored away on the other side of her.

Marge had what I considered a serious problem with alcohol, especially beer. If she drove to the store, she bought minimal groceries but never failed to tote a case in the door. Shit! I have to work away from home all week, coming in Friday afternoon or night. What does she do while I’m gone? I asked Kat several times but she wouldn’t really say until I came home about 1am one night and no Marge. I locked Kat’s heels and demanded an answer.

“She goes out most nights but she’s generally home by now or at least before midnight. I’m so sorry.”

My answer was to pull Kat into the bedroom and fuck the living shit out of her. What a deal – a wife that doesn’t act like one and a live-in mistress who did. When Marge finally showed, we had it out.

“What exactly do you expect me to do while you’re away doing God knows what or who.” She went on that she had no friends and Kat and her were at wits end with each other. It finally came down to me coming home to no wife so I was relegated to calling the bars to find her and order her home.

After six months or so, Kat met someone and moved away. Marge got surly because she still had no friends in my hometown. People that knew me would have nothing to do with her. The reason was all her. If she learned that I knew someone, especially if it was a female, she’d go out if her way to be hateful to them. Hell, this was my hometown. What had I been? A hermit?? I decided I needed to stay closer to home, so I quit the railroad and worked in our truckstop. I met a guy who applied for a job there and we hit it off. Getting the wives together, they seemed to get along great. All went well until we went to a cook out at his place and after a few beers for us and wine otele gelen escort coolers for the girls, the ‘fun’ began. Out of the blue, Marge suggested we play strip poker. Surprisingly, the other wife thought it was a great idea, while us two bozo’s tried to pull our jaws off the floor. I’ll call my friend Dick and his wife Jane.

Jane and Marge trooped off to their bedroom and came out a short while later with so many layers of clothes, they could barely bend their arms.

“Ok, we see a stacked deck already, so here’s the rules. For every hand you girls lose, you take off three items, while we remove only one. After a short discussion, it was play our way or not at all.

Eventually, the girls were bare-assed while we at least, had our boxers left.

“Now what?” said Marge.

Dick took over and said it was best if we just called it an evening. On the ride home, Marge brought up the subject of wife swapping. It seemed Jane had no objection to sharing and I know Marge didn’t.

“I didn’t get married to sleep around.” [base this on my redneck heritage- we marry for life. Kat was the exception to the rules.]

“You didn’t have a problem sleeping with my sister.”

“You could have spoken up at the beginning or at any time. It suited you to pass that off as another ‘chore’ you didn’t have to bother with.”

Of course, the other shoe fell in our wonderful relationship.

As I mentioned earlier, I had an extremely hard time working with my relatives, primarily, my brother. Because HE was older, managing the truckstop should automatically fall to HIM. Nevermind that I’d managed the damned thing for three years of high school and it was me that brought the availability to purchase it to my dad’s attention.

I had the band and it was making me money, a LOT of money…my share of a night’s take was $500+. I had a nice car, good clothes and money to burn so I really didn’t need the frustration OR the income from the family business. That all went into a private account.

Back to my problems with Marge. Taking her with me on a few occasions showed me she absolutely had no filters on her desire to ‘mingle’ with roadies, promoters or anything with a swinging dick. The answer to that was no more road trips with the band. She bitched and moaned that if I wanted her to stay home while I was on the bandstand or elsewhere, she had to have ‘friends’ around. It seemed one of her hidden friends was this Alvarez fella I had so graciously thrown out of her old apartment. It was my hometown and every kid my age or near, knew me and liked me. It appeared that every time I went on a gig, it was party central at my house as soon as I was out of sight. My friends kept me appraised of the action.

Several things seemed to happen all at once – 1st, Marge demanded that we move to her hometown. Ok, it didn’t matter to me. We had a tour bus to get us to our gigs. We’d been in our new house after moving just a few weeks when Marge laid the BIG bombshell on me…she was pregnant. Naturally, I was overjoyed.

During the interim time of our marriage, my dad died of his brain tumor. Rather than being really sympathetic, Marge seemed more interest in what part of his estate came to me. My mother caught wind of this and sat Marge down and told her as long as she was alive, I’d receive no part of the trust my dad had set up.

Eight and a half months passed very quickly. I was delighted to know we’d soon bring a Buck Jr. or Buckette into the world. Murphy must be laughing his ass off. Marge went into labor and we rushed her to the hospital. For whatever reason, the staff kept me in the waiting room while she delivered. The OBGYN came out and told me I had a new son. I wanted to see him but was told it would be a while before he was cleaned up and in a bassinette for viewing.

Imagine my surprise when I went to the widow of the nursery to see a dark brown-skinned infant with my name on an ID bracelet. Let’s see- I’m German with brown hair, brown eyes and she’s full Indian. Genetics weren’t my high suite, but even a clueless bass player knows things didn’t add up.

We left the hospital and her mom was the only one willing to talk and all she did was apologize, not really saying what for, but she was soooo sorry. A few days later, Marge was released and I let her dad bring her home. Once there, I told him to hang around because he might have visitors at his home that day.

I squared off with Marge and first asked her how [even though I knew HOW], the why. I’d done everything for her possible, made excuses for her shortcomings as a wife and swallowed my gall when she traipsed off to whatever bar or party. Her dad was kind of a pipsqueak and when he objected to me talking to his ‘baby’ like this, he was going to stop me. After picking him up bodily and throwing him out the front door, I told him to wait in his truck – Marge would be out shortly.

Turning to Marge, I demanded again to know WHO fathered that child. By this time, I think she figured I was going to get violent, so she told me it was Louise Alvarez, that she’d been seeing him secretly for months.

I might be a little slow to catch on, but my parents didn’t raise a total idiot. Dad got to take Marge and the new baby home with him. I, on the other hand, called the family lawyer and had him file divorce proceedings.

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