My name is Shirley.  I have been married to Paul for 23 years.  Our marriage was
romantic at the start, but for last 10 or 12 years there has been no romance or
excitement.  Every night Paul comes home from work; Eats supper: Plops in front
of TV with a beer; Soon to be fast asleep.  No more kisses;  No more hugs; No
more playful caresses; No mor cuddling; Nomor talking.  Romance is dead!

One lonely night with Paulpassed out on the sofa, I decided to retire for the
night.  On my way to our bedroom, I kept questioning myself.  Is it me?  Am I
undesirable?  I have put on weight, but think I carry it in an alluring manner. 
Not like Paul's pot belly sagging over his belt, or butt crack which disgustingly
reveals itself when he bends over.

Upon reaching our bedroom, I stopped in front of a full length mirror. 
Admiringly, I inventoried my assets.  My gorgeous shoulder length red hair. 
Those mystifying green eyes which have long lost their lustre.  My lushes lips
burning for those affectionate and passionate kisses that have been bsent.  As I
critique my physical attributes, I begin slowly unbuttoning my blouse. 
Seductively sliding the blouse off my shoulders, my bountiful mature breast are
resting in the safety of a bra waiting to be a feast to satisfy any gentleman's
hunger, but who said my husband was a gentleman!  Gracefully I bend over and
revove my slacks.  Displaying hips ample enough to accommodate a gentleman's
romantic interlude.

Dismissing my daydreaming, I continue preparing for bed.  Quickly unfastening my
bra and removing my panties.  Totally naked, I admired myself in the mirror and
am in awe of my body's splender.  I praised myself for having a body which Rubens
would lust after.  I brought my hands up to my breast, and cupped them as
presenting them to a chivalrous knight.  Thoughts of offering my breast to
another man seemed to excite me.  Returning sensations long ago forgotten.  My
fingers pinched my nipples which were already erect.  Standing at attention.
Begging to be offered as a sacrifice to a crusading knight.

Tingling excitment in my breast involuntarily cause my hands to massage their way
down my sides and caress my belly.  Turning as mush as possible and still view
myself in the mirror, I moved my hands to fondle my supple buttock.  What
gentleman could refuse these pillows of delight.  My hands continued their
sensuous journey arount to my front and the fruits of my womanhood.  I was proud
to disply my regal vulva adorned with royal red hair.  Gently stroking inside of
my thoghs. Gradually moving closer and closer to satisfying those forgotten
yearnings.  As I was about to embark upon a fantasy pleasure cruise with my
imaginary knight, Paul began to move down stairs.  I hurriedly donned a flannel
nightgown; Jumped into bed; Laying on my side; I feigned sleep.

After a few minutes, Paul entered our bed chamber.  Noisily undressing and
discarding his clothes wherever, Paul plopped into bed like a hippo in a mud
puddle.  Shortly there came the all too familiar beckoning.  Paul rolled over and
nuzzled up to my back.  Around came his arm and crudely mauled my breast. 
Annoyed at his lack of romance; His lack of foreplay; His lack of concern form my
needs, wants and desires, I rolled over and allowed him to mount me like a bull
taking a cow. Soon my musery was over and Paul fell fast asleep.  For all the
participation I brought to this malaise, a blow up doll would have sufficed!

Why must I endure this slavery?  Am I attractive to gentlemen elsewhere?  Where
is my knight in shining armor?

Any of you other ladies feel the same way?  Send me your suggestions for further
chapters.  redheadshirley@hotmail.com