"You look familiar.  Do I know you from some place?" 

I just looked at her and shrugged as she put the beer down in front of me.  She gave me a quizzical look and then turned and went back down the bar to take care of the other customers.  It was not surprising that she didn't recognize me; a full beard, Lasik surgery, twenty-five pound weight loss and different style clothes.  The last time she had seen me I had a buzz cut, wore thick rimmed glasses, was over weight and dressed as a rising young businessman was supposed to.  My voice would have given me away which is why I only shrugged when she brought me my beer and spoke to me.  She had not changed a bit.  Tall, athletic, hair still down to the middle of her back, a nice tight ass and a walk that would make a strong man cry.  She looked just as she had the last time I had seen her.

She had come in the front door and had almost tripped over the suitcases stacked in the hallway.  I was coming down the front stairs with two boxes in my arms and she looked up at me and said, "What's all this?"

 "This" I said, putting as much sarcasm as I could muster into the word, "Is all my worldly goods." 

She stared at me and said, "And why are all of your worldly goods in the hall by the front door?"

 I set the boxes I was carrying down on the floor and said, "They are there because the truck that is going to haul them away isn't here yet."

 I headed back up the stairs for another load and she said to my back, "Damn it!  Stop avoiding the question.  What the fuck is going on?" 

I turned to face her, "It is really quite simple.  I'm leaving your sorry unfaithful ass," and I turned and went up the stairs.

 She was right behind me and burst into the room saying, "And just what in the hell does that mean?" 

I laughed and said, "It means that I have no interest in living with a slut.  I do not choose to live with some one who is spending her free time fucking every man she can get her hands on."

 "That's bullshit!" she said and I turned and pointed my finger at her.

 "Don't give me any of that innocent outrage.  I've spent the last two weeks following you while you thought I was at work.  I can give you the names of everyone you saw and the times you saw them and the places where you met them."

 She started crying then and went on the offensive; "Well what did you expect me to do.  I'm young and healthy and you haven't touched me in almost three months.  Your precious fucking career means more to you than I do.  You work twelve, fourteen hours a day and then come home and tell me you are too tired and I'm supposed to say, "Yes dear, I understand.  Just go on up to bed, get your rest, don't mind me, I'll just sit here on the couch and finger fuck myself."  Well fuck that shit.  You shouldn't have gotten me started on having regular sex if you were going to stop providing it.  If you had taken care of business, like you were supposed to, I wouldn't have had to leave the house, now would I?"

 I ignored her and continued to pack the box in front of me.

 "Don't ignore me, damn you!  Say something, talk to me, we can work this out.  Baby, I love you.  Those other guys meant nothing to me.  They were just dicks to satisfy my need for sex.  You're the one I love, you know that."

 I turned around and faced her, "I'll tell you what I know.  I know that you did the one thing that I can never forgive you for.  You have known me since the fifth grade and you know there is one person in the world that I hate with every fiber of my being.  I have hated him since the third grade and you know it.  You know how I found out about your extra curricular activities?  I found out because George Wilson is out there bragging about how he has been fucking my wife.  No, I thought, not George.  Even if she were having an affair it wouldn't be with George, never with George.  But you did, you fucked my worst enemy and you can't fucking deny it, because I heard him describe your shaved cunt and your rose tattoo and the only way he could have known about that is because he was there.  Now do me a favor and get out of my sight until I'm gone." 

That was a year and a half ago.  I left, served her with divorce papers, and got on with my life.

Except I really didn't get on with my life.  Oh, my career prospered; I met and bedded a succession of lovely ladies and even got emotionally attached to a couple, but I was never able to go the extra step needed to make marriage a possibility.  There was something missing in my life, an emptiness that I just couldn't seem to fill.  One day, while getting ready to move to a new apartment, I was going through boxes of stuff, determined to throw away half of the junk I'd accumulated and never used.  I found a shoe box full of old photos and I began to go through them.  They were all of me and June; me pushing June on the swing at the park when we were in the sixth grade, me and June at the Junior Prom, the two of us at the lake.  I stared at that one and remembered that I'd taken it on the day she had given me her virginity and I had given her mine.  There were photos of the Senior Prom, high school graduation, several from our days at college, a couple taken at our wedding reception, and a few from our honeymoon.  Me and June, June and me and suddenly there was a tear in my eye as I remembered how much I loved her - not had loved her, but loved her.  I knew what was missing in my life, what I had known all along, but wouldn't admit to myself - June.

It took me a long time to get up the nerve to go looking for her.  I found out that she had never remarried, and that she'd kept the house that I'd given her in the divorce settlement.  She had no steady boyfriend, but she did take an occasional lover.  She had done well as a topless dancer at one of the local night spots, but had given it up to tend bar at one of the local lounges and so that is where I finally got the courage to go.  I sat at the end of the bar and watched as she flirted with the customers and thought about how stupid I had been.  She had been right about my ignoring her in my desire to climb the corporate ladder and I, of all people, knew of her strong sexual urges and desires, so what did I expect her to do?  If it hadn't been for George Wilson we could have worked it out.  How could I have let my hatred of Wilson overcome my love for June?  Stupid, stupid, stupid, I thought.  My thoughts were interrupted by a beer being placed in front of me.  I looked up from the cocktail napkin I had been systematically shredding and saw June looking at me. 

"You have been watching me all night.  We do know each other, don't we?"  I nodded my head yes and she said, "From where?"  I just waved her away.  "I'll figure it out before the night is over anyway.  Why don't you just tell me and get it over with?" 

I hesitated for a couple of seconds and then I said, "Because if I tell you, you might walk away." 

The blood drained from her face and she said in a hoarse voice, "Bobby?  Is that you?" and tears came to her eyes and she turned and ran to the other end of the bar and went into a door.  A few minutes later a man came out and started waiting on the customers.  When he got to me and asked me if I wanted another I told him no, "I'm through here."

 I drained the bottle and turned to go and found June standing behind me clutching her purse.  In a weak voice she said, "I was trying to get up the nerve to ask you if I could sit with you."

 I offered her my arm and we walked out of the bar, "Where to?" I asked and she said, "Take me home."  When we pulled into the driveway I turned toward her to say something, but she put a finger to my lips and said, "No, don't say anything, at least not yet.  Just come in with me."  Once inside the door she turned to me, "Not a word, please, not a word," and we both undressed each other and made love on the floor.  It was wild, passionate, almost violent, but it was the most fulfilling sex I'd had since I'd left her.  When it was over she drug me up to the bedroom and we did it again, this time slower, less violent, but just as passionate and then we fell asleep in each others arms.

In the morning we talked and I told her about the void in my life that had been caused by my leaving her and that I knew that I had never stopped loving her even though I hadn't admitted it to myself until recently.  She told me that she had always loved me and hadn't stopped even though I had gone.

 "Do you think there is a chance we could put things back together?" I asked and she said "No."

 I sat there staring stupidly at her.  We had just told each other that we loved each other and she said no when I asked if we could get back together.  I was confused and I said so.

 "My life has changed since you left Bobby, and even though I've never stopped loving you and probably never will, I like the life I now have and you just couldn't fit in."  

I started to speak, but she cut me off, "Just listen Bobby, just listen and don't speak, not even to ask a question," and then she told me about her life since I'd been gone.  She had taken my leaving hard and for a couple of months she had punished herself by fucking everyone of my friends and enemies, especially George Wilson, every chance she got hoping that the word would get back to me and hurt me.  One morning she had awakened to find herself in a room with five guys who had spent the night taking turns on her and she had realized that her life was out of control.  She had stopped seeing men and had gotten herself a job as a cocktail waitress in one of the cities better lounges.  She made good tips and was doing all right when one night the owner asked her if she had ever thought of dancing topless.  He told her that he could use her at one of his other places and that she could make anywhere from four to eight hundred a night if she worked at it.  She tried it and found that she was good at it.  She danced four nights a week and was averaging six hundred a night and there was also the sexual excitement of turning on a roomful of men.  Soon she was dating and having sex again and then one night her boss asked her if she would like to make a quick fifteen hundred dollars.  When she asked what for her boss said that some one real important to him (she found out later that it was his banker) had seen her dance and had been smitten by her. 

"This is between you and me and I don't want him to find out that I'm paying you to do it, but I'd like you to show him a good time."

 She had taken the money, seduced the banker and had had a great time doing it.  It was the start of her career as a high priced call girl.  Her boss set her up with customers and soon she was making upwards of ten thousand a week.  Because of the way vice cops watched the topless dancing places she had quit dancing.  She worked as a barmaid because she had to show an income, but her real money came from her activities as a call girl.  I told her that it didn't matter to me and that I was doing very well.  She wouldn't have to work anymore.  June looked at me and said, "It's not that simple Bobby.  I'm not doing it for the money, although I take it, I'm doing it because I love it.  I'm getting all the sex I want from a variety of different men and I love it.  I love it so much that I'm not willing to give it up.  I love you Bobby and I'll never stop loving you, but it's too late for us now."

I got up and dressed and headed for the door.  Half way down the steps I stopped.  I had walked away from her once before and I couldn't do it again.  I walked back into the bedroom and I found her lying on the bed weeping.  I started taking my clothes back off and she looked up at me and asked me what I was doing.  I took her in my arms and kissed her and then I said, "I have a career, no reason why you can't have one too."

It wasn't that simple of course.  June couldn't, or wouldn't, believe that I could accept her lifestyle and still love her and live with her.  Why should she.  After all, hadn't I walked out on her because I found that she had been sleeping with other guys?  I talked long and hard trying to convince her that I loved her enough to take her anyway I could get her.  It was only natural that she would try to test me and she did it almost immediately. 

"I don't believe that you can handle it Bobby, but it will be easy enough to find out.  I have a date tonight.  Will you still be here when I come home? And if you are, will you be willing to follow another man into my pussy while I'm still full of him?" 

I watched her dress for her "date," high heels, nylons and garter belt and I watched as she slipped her diaphragm in place.  When she was done she stepped into a black cocktail dress and then did a slow turn in front of me and asked, "How do I look?" 

"Absolutely beautiful, good enough to eat." 

She gave me a funny look and then said, "Hold that thought lover" and then she turned and left.  It was six in the morning when she got home and I was awake and waiting for her.  I'd tried to fall asleep, but I couldn't.  When she walked into the bedroom and saw me waiting for her she did a slow strip.  When she was down to her heels and hose she said, "Are you sure you want this?  Are you sure you love me enough?" 

When I said that I did she said, "Okay lover, truth time.  If you can't do it I'll understand," and she sat down on the edge of the bed and spread her legs and displayed her cum soaked pussy.  "Come over here baby, show me that you love me.  Eat me lover.  Prove to me that you can live with what I've become" and I did.

Today June and I live what can only be called a very unconventional marriage.  Every day I go to my office and pursue my career as a successful stockbroker and three or four nights a week June goes out to pursue her career as a high priced call girl.  I wait at home for her and every time she comes home I prove to her again how much I love her by taking sloppy seconds.  Occasionally she takes on a date where she has several men to satisfy and when she comes home on some of those nights I can barely feel the sides of her pussy, but I consider it a small price to pay for having her back in my life.