Sissy Reflections

I love her taste.  Do I love it more when it is mixed with her lover's cum?  Maybe.

Cheerleader and Sissy Reach Accord (And Satisfaction)

[NOTE - Anyone who is just beginning to read my blog, might want to read the following early entries in my blog about my sissy journey before reading this latest entry: A Little More Background - Am I Sure I Should Do This? - I'm Afraid - These - Where It All Started - Then, These - Miss Flo - Caught For The First Time - About My Last Post - Bikini Panties!!! - A Virgin Bride (And Groom) - Exhausted Sissy Needs Stress Relief! - Sissy Marries Cheerleader - Sissy Makes Life With Cheerleader - Cheerleader Discovers Sissy - Cheerleader Accepts Sissy - Cheerleader And Sissy Grow - Cheerleader Asserts Control - Cheerleader Teases Sissy - Cheerleader And Sissy Settle In To New Home - Cheerleader Cucks Sissy - Cheerleader and Sissy Are Mentored - Sissy Offers Context For Cheerleader - Sissy Sees Her Future - Sissy Adapts To Chastity - Sissy And Cheerleader Spend A Weekend Apart - Our Weekend Apart Aftermath - Cheerleader Has A Heart-To-Heart With Sissy - Sissy And Cheerleader's Last Weekend With Andrea - Part One - Sissy And Cheerleader's Last Weekend With Andrea - Part Two - Cheerleader Thanks Sissy - Cheerleader Does A Sleepover - How My Cheerleader Vets Men - Cheerleader Flirts - With Purpose - Cheerleader Is A Happy Girl - Cheerleader Learns – Juggling Isn’t Easy - Cheerleader Gets An Itch - My Cheerleader's Summer of Contentment - My Cheerleader And Her Quarterback.  These are the previous posts that tell the story about my sissy journey.]

According to Black's Law Dictionary, an 'accord and satisfaction' is an agreement to substitute for an existing debt some alternative form of discharging that debt, coupled with the actual discharge of the debt by the substituted performance.  The new agreement is called the accord, and the discharge is called the satisfaction.  “ ‘Accord and satisfaction’ means an agreement between the parties that something shall be given to, or done for, the person who has the right of action, in satisfaction of the cause of action. There must be not only agreement (‘accord’) but also consideration (‘satisfaction’). Such an arrangement is really one of substituted performance.” 1 E.W. Chance, Principles of Mercantile Law 101 (P.W. French ed., 13th ed. 1950). 

I wrote the last installment journaling my personal sissy journey in April of 2014.  In that installment I told of my cheerleader's reuniting with her first husband, who I refer to as her quarterback, or Tom.  When I shared the details of her 'joining' with him again, I received many comments, observations, cautions and congratulations.  In response to the comments of caution, I assured everyone that things were just fine between my cheerleader and me.  However, please note that the comments and my responses were written in the present, whereas the installment entitled "My Cheerleader and Her Quarterback," was a recounting of an event that occurred in the Fall of 2013.  I point out that, through the various postings on my blog, I have not shared much detail of my cheerleader's and my day-to-day lives in the present tense, as if readers have not already noticed.  I have been concentrating on telling my story in chronological fashion, leading up to whatever present exists at the time I get there, which I hope will be soon.  Honestly, I never thought it would take me this long to tell the entire story.  It just seemed that as my life moved on, with all of the events that were taking place, there was more of the past to tell.  The point I'm trying to make is in regard to this next installment.  In April, in response to comments following "My Cheerleader and HerQuarterback," I assured those advising caution that everything was fine.  And that is true.  Now.  However, there was a setback.  And that is what I'm about to write about.  It is also why I've provided the above definition of an 'accord and satisfaction.'  You'll understand by the end of this installment.

It was not a week after my cheerleader and her quarterback got together that he called her again, trying to arrange another meeting.  My cheerleader and I had not completely worked out by then how we intended to accommodate another man into her love life; especially one who we each agreed was not to know that her husband was a sissy.  For certain, my cheerleader had told me that she wanted to see her quarterback again.  We just had not discussed under what conditions and how often it would occur.

We were out to dinner one evening when she, somewhat nonchalantly, told me that her quarterback had called her that day.  I'm not sure how I would describe my reaction to her news.  I think I had begun to grow more accustomed to my cheerleader springing something new upon me, much more so than earlier in our marriage.  I suspected immediately that her bringing it up meant that there was going to be more than simply telling me he called her.  "Oh?" I responded.  Then, as if to sound normal, I asked, "How is he?"  My cheerleader gave me one of her knowing smiles that revealed that she realized my discomfort.  "He's fine.  Actually, he said he was more than fine.  He can't stop thinking about me.  He wants to see me again.  He says he 'has' to see me again."  She paused to gauge my reaction.  I already knew she wanted to see him again.  However, I responded, "And?"  She reached across the table, took my hand in hers and looked intently into my eyes.  "I want to."  What more could I say?  "When?  Where?"  She smiled and said, "Tomorrow.  Same hotel.  Same as last time.  Dinner.  Spend the night.  And the day.  Then back to you.  Do you mind?" 

I did mind, actually.  I was, at that moment, very worried where my cheerleader was going with her newfound re-connection to the man to whom she'd given her cherry in high school.  Very, very worried.  I just didn't know how to express my concerns to her.  By this point in our marriage, I was completely cucked and was immersed in my sissy submission to her as the dominant force in our relationship.  I was also, up to this point, completely happy with everything.  I loved her having men to please her.  I loved my role in participating in her trysts with her men.  But with her quarterback it was different.  Very different.  And for the obvious reasons.  But there was something else - I was not a part of it.  It was an emotional and sexual relationship my cheerleader was having with a man in which I was not a participant.  I know.  I knew about it.  But I was not a part of it like I was with Jason and Dave, and had been with Randall.  We both had agreed that her quarterback could not know about me.  We could not risk him being in on my secret.  And I understood that was important.  So, rather then me being involved as my cheerleader's sissy, cuckold husband, I was simply her husband whom she was cheating on with her first husband.  It was difficult for me to explain my difficulty with the dynamic to my cheerleader.

And so, without attempting to express my concerns, I buried them, and assured my cheerleader that it was okay with me.  She smiled and thanked me and we finished our dinner, rather quietly, neither of us quite sure how to talk to the other after this latest decision had been made.  On the ride home she asked me if I could take the next day off from work.  I asked her why and she said, "I don't know.  I just thought it might be nice to spend tomorrow with you.  You know?  Before I go to him?"  I was actually kind of touched that she was trying to give me that.  I told her I didn't see why not, and so I emailed my supervisor to let her know I would not be in the next day.

The next morning my cheerleader woke up and prepared us a very nice breakfast.  She was being very affectionate to me, in a sweet and soft girly loving kind of way.  We rarely related as she did with her men anymore.  She accepted me as her sissy husband.  As for me, I was happy with my role.  Most of the time.  After breakfast she told me wanted to go shopping for a few things and asked me to go with her.  I asked what she needed to get and that was when she revealed what was on her mind.  "I thought we could buy me something to wear tonight?"  She wanted me to help her buy clothes to wear on her date with her quarterback.  "Oh.  Okay," I said.  She pulled me to her and hugged me, and then kissed me softly on my mouth and whispered, "I want you to be involved baby.  This is a way you can do it."  So, putting it bluntly, I was going to help her get ready to be fucked by her first husband.  That was how I was seeing it then anyway.  But it wasn't how I responded to my cheerleader.  To her, I simply acquiesced.

We dressed and then drove to a local mall that had some very nice clothing stores, including a lingerie store where my cheerleader liked to shop for special occasions, which seemed to be occurring more and more often.  I suppose this may sound a bit odd coming from a sissy, but even as a sissy, when I went into a lingerie store with my cheerleader, I felt awkward.  From the outside, I look all man.  Although I am always wearing panties, at a minimum, I don't dress like a sissy in public.  So, the store clerks don't know I'm a sissy who has very strong opinions about sexy lingerie.  And that was how I felt that day as my cheerleader and I browsed the racks of sexy undergarments for something that caught her eye for her date with her quarterback.  She whispered to me, asking me what I thought of various things she picked up to examine, as we moved around.  A young female sales clerk approached us to offer assistance, but my cheerleader told her "we" were fine and that "we'd" let her know if "we" needed help.  The emphasis each time was on the word, "we," sending the message that I was helping my cheerleader choose her lingerie.

When the young girl walked away my cheerleader glanced at me, as if seeing how I was reacting.  “She was nice.  But we don’t need help.  Do we?”  I agreed.  “No.  We’re fine.  Thanks.”  My cheerleader picked up several different bra, panty and garter sets as we browsed the racks, each time asking me what I thought.  The truth was, everything she selected was pretty and sexy.  And, acknowledging the general sexy nature of lingerie anyway, she was selecting some very sexy sets as options for her date with her quarterback.  Finally, she decided upon a bra, panty and garter set that was made of black lace with a pink applique accent.  We continued shopping for something for her to wear to bed.  As she began selecting different babydolls and holding them up for examination, I noticed each one she looked at was very sheer, so that nothing beneath the lingerie would be left to the imagination.  She found a cute pink babydoll with spaghetti straps and a ruffled hemline.  The last thing my cheerleader picked out was a pair of black patterned stockings.  We checked out with the cute girl who had offered to help us and she complimented my cheerleader on her selections and looked right at me as if to say, ‘Aren’t you the lucky one!’

After buying lingerie, we went to Saks Fifth Avenue to look for a dress.  I know!  My cheerleader was shopping high end for her quarterback.  But, then she usually shops at nicer stores.  We spent quite a bit of time looking for, and then her trying on various dresses, all very short and very revealing.  Once the shopping trip began, I had understood that she was searching for sexy.  What could I say, at that point?  My cheerleader looks beautiful in anything she wears, but like many women, she wears black very well.  The dress she bought was a tight sheath dress made of black lace over a nylon lining.  The neckline was very low cut and revealing.  The hemline ended mid-thigh and would only just barely cover the tops of her stockings.

When we arrived home my cheerleader asked me to change into one of my maid’s dresses and to meet her in our bathroom.  She wanted me to help her get ready for her date with her quarterback.  I admit that I was having mixed feelings, even then.  I have explained how I felt uncomfortable that she was going to be with him while I was not around.  On the other hand, I was also uncomfortable that she was going to be with him at all, because of who he was.  And yet, it was apparent to me that my cheerleader was doing what she was doing as a way to include me, in some small way.  I wasn’t going to fluff him or be around them as I was with her other men.  But I could help her get ready for her date.  And that is what happened that day. 

By the time I joined her in our bathroom, she was in the bathtub.  When I walked in wearing my maid’s dress, she smiled at me and beckoned me to the side of the tub.  It was then that she asked me to wash her.  I kneeled beside the tub, picked up a natural sponge she used to bathe with and began washing her.  As I did, my cheerleader laid back in the tub relaxing, enjoying being pampered by her sissy husband.  After I washed her body she asked me to wash her hair, which I did.  The last thing she asked me to do was to shave her pussy for her.  She had let it grow back because Jason preferred a full bush, although she had kept it well groomed and trimmed.  But she wanted to surprise her quarterback with a smooth pussy.  And so, I slowly and carefully shaved my cheerleader’s pussy.  A person can say anything about how they feel.  I could tell you that I was uncomfortable about being so involved in preparing my cheerleader for her quarterback.  And I was.  But, if I didn’t tell you something else, you would not know the whole truth.  While I was tending to my cheerleader in the tub, especially when I was shaving her pussy, my penis was straining to the point of pain against the confines of its chastity cage.

After her pussy was smoothly shaved my cheerleader asked, “Do you think he’ll like it?”  I answered her, “What’s not to like?”  She smiled and said, “I suppose that is true.  I think he’ll like it.”  She stood and I dried her off.  She then began drying her hair and working on her makeup.  I stood by and watched, responding to requests from her to hand her various things, almost like a handmaiden might do.  Looking back on it, it was actually a very different thing for us.  I had helped her dress for men before, but on this occasion she seemed to be more deliberately including me.

When her makeup and hair were flawless, she asked me to help her dress.  I removed the tags from her lingerie.  She came into our bedroom, naked, looking incredible.  I handed my cheerleader her bra but she shook her head and said, “Help me?”  She wanted me to dress her.  I was literally going to do everything to present my cheerleader to her quarterback short of being physically with them to offer my consent and, as I sometimes did with her other men, fluff him for her.  I stood behind her and draped her bra in front of her breasts, settling the lacy fabric in place and then helped her slip her arms through the straps.  I pulled the clasps together and fastened them behind her.  Next I helped her step into her garter belt, moved it up her legs and helped her position it in place to hold her stockings.  She sat down on the chair in front of her makeup table and extended one of her legs, signaling for me to put her new stockings on for her.  I kneeled before her and carefully slid the first stocking on her foot and up her thigh, and then repeated for the next one.  The entire time I was doing so I was aware that my cheerleader was watching me closely.  She seemed excited that I was helping her dress for her date.  She stood to permit me, still kneeling, to attach each stocking to the four garter clips dangling down her smooth thighs.  It was then that she said, “Thank you sissy.  This is so exciting being dressed by you.”  She softly placed her hand on the back of my head and gently pulled me toward her.  “Feel how wet I am?  Taste me?”  I did not need much coaxing.  I love the taste of my cheerleader and always enjoy providing her oral pleasure.  She was very wet.  Very, very wet.  Obviously, the combination of me helping her dress for her date, and her anticipation of being with her quarterback, was arousing her.  With only the slightest pressure from her hand on the back of my head, I slowly licked and sucked her pussy until she orgasmed on my face.  While I pleasured her she moaned and groaned, but also told me about how much she wanted her quarterback’s cock and that soon his cock would be where my sissy tongue was.  If I had not been locked in chastity, I would have cum inside of my panties right then.

After I finished pleasuring my cheerleader, I held her panties open so she could step into the leg openings, and then settled them over her garter belt.  Looking at my cheerleader standing before me I could only imagine the reaction of her quarterback when he saw how hot and sexy she looked in her new lingerie.  I’m not sure any creature, man or woman, would not want her as she looked then.  I walked to our bed to get her new dress, but she stopped me, saying, “The babydoll sweetie.  I want to try on the babydoll.”  I removed the tags from her new pink babydoll and helped her slip her arms in and watched the sheer nylon float over her body, the black lace of her bra, garter and panty set showing through in a sexy, revealing way.  She told me to retrieve her pink, four-inch heels from her closet and I kneeled and helped her step into them.  She looked, well, deadly.  I wanted her so badly in that moment.  But I understood she was not dressed for me.  She was utterly committed to giving herself to her quarterback.  I know my cheerleader well and I could see how excited she was.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to see her as she would be presenting herself to her quarterback later in the evening, but now I knew precisely what he would see.  Then my cheerleader said, “Pack a pair of jeans, t-shirt and my dress sissy.  I’ll gather my toiletries.”  I was actually very confused.  Pack her dress?  She wasn’t wearing her dress?  Seeing my confusion, my cheerleader smiled and said, “I think I want dessert before dinner sweetie.  I’m going to surprise Tom.  Do you think he’ll like it?”  I was shocked.  At least momentarily anyway.  “You’re going to meet him dressed like that?" I exclaimed.  She laughed.  “No silly!  I’m going to wear my new khaki coat over this.”  My cheerleader had recently purchased a new khaki trench coat style raincoat, about mid-thigh length.  She was going to meet her quarterback in his hotel room wearing the trench coat covering her sexy lingerie.  She was going to walk through the hotel lobby wearing only her lingerie, albeit hidden from public view.  Fuck!  I could not believe she was going to do that.  I said, “Are you sure that is a good idea?  What if you have car trouble on the way?” I asked, trying to offer her a reason not to do it.  “I doubt that will happen.  Didn’t we just have my car tuned up?”  I was truly concerned about what she was planning.  “I just don’t think it is a good idea.  Anything could happen.  There could be a wreck.  What if you have to get out of your car for some reason?"  My cheerleader's mind was made up though.  She was going to surprise her quarterback dressed in her sexy new lingerie.  "What if I drive you there?" I offered, consumed with a sudden worry about her driving alone as she was dressed.  She studied me for a moment and then said, "You know.  That's a good idea.  You can deliver me to Tom.  I like that idea.  I can catch a cab home tomorrow.  Okay then, let's get me packed.  It's almost time to go."

So, suddenly, I was taking my cheerleader to her evening tryst with her first husband.  I was going to drive her into D.C. while she was dressed in the sexy lingerie I'd helped her select and then dressed her in for her quarterback.  I was going to drop her off at his hotel and then watch her go in to give him the surprise of his life.  He would probably be fucking her before I even got out of the city and back home to sit and begin my lonely wait for the next day.  The drive into D.C. was erotically charged as my cheerleader made small talk with me, as if what we were doing wasn't a very significant event in our lives.  I recall trying my best to follow the conversation, but the truth was, all I could think of was her quarterback and what he was about to do with my cheerleader.  I even wondered whether they would even go out to dinner, although it turned out that they did.  When I pulled in front of the hotel a tall black bellhop immediately opened the door for my cheerleader to help her out.  She leaned over and kissed me sensuously on my mouth, slipping her tongue inside.  "I love you sweetie.  Always.  Thank you.  I'll see you tomorrow."  She then swung her legs out as the bellhop helped her holding her hand.  As she did the coat she wore opened slightly, enough to reveal nothing but her stocking clad legs, and I watched the black man stare unashamedly at my cheerleader.  "My bag is in the backseat," she told him.  "My husband will tip you.  Won't you sweetie?" she said to me.  The tension created by this exchange was palpable.  The bellhop opened the rear passenger door and grabbed my cheerleader's suitcase while I fumbled for cash to give him a tip.  In a deep voice he said, "Thank you sir."  To my cheerleader he said, "Ma'am?  Checking in?"  "No.  I'm meeting someone.  I just need to find out his room number."  I don't know how to describe how I felt in that moment.  It was almost as if my cheerleader were about to have sex with two men, one of them black, hearing her basically tell this stranger that her husband was delivering her to another man.  And what was more difficult for me was the intentionality of it all where she was concerned.  But just as quickly as it happened, she was gone, disappearing into the hotel lobby with the bellhop carrying her suitcase.  I drove off, alone and completely torn up inside over the jolt of semi-public embarrassment I'd just experienced.  The question you may be asking is,'What did the lie detector read?'  Yes.  The truth was, my penis was trying desperately to escape its confinement.  Of course, that wasn't going to happen. 

The rest of that night was pure torment for me.  I wanted to give my cheerleader what she wanted.  I really did.  But this was tough.  Much tougher than anything we'd done before.  The first time with her quarterback had not gotten it out of her system.  To the contrary, it seemed to have reignited the flame and she was burning with desire for him.  And even if it was purely physical this time around, I was struggling with things.  I picked up a pizza on the way home.  When I arrived, I went upstairs to our bedroom and changed into a nightgown, preparing for a long night of wondering what they were doing, in a specific sense, because I knew, generally, what they were doing.  I never heard from my cheerleader that night.  I fell asleep very late, but only because I was so tired I could not fight sleep any longer.

I forced myself to go to work the next day.  I wasn't in the mood for it, but having taken off the previous day to help my cheerleader prepare for her date, I simply couldn't justify doing so again.  It was around four in the afternoon when I next heard from my cheerleader.  She sent me a text message.  "Will be home by six.  Can you be there?"  I wrote back, "I think so.  Why?"  "I want you waiting for me.  I have something for you."  Oh!  Right.  The completion of the event.  "I'll be there," I assured her.  "Good.  Love you."  She knew what to say to me.  "I love you too," I replied.  I wrapped things up at work and headed home to get ready for my cheerleader.

Close to six she sent me another text message.  "Almost there.  Meet me in bed."  I replied, "Okay."  Within minutes of climbing into our bed I heard our front door open and my cheerleader said, "Bye.  It was great.  Thanks for the ride."  There was a rather long pause, then, "Drive safely," and the door slammed.  Her heels clicked loudly as she seemed to run up the stairs to find me waiting in our bed for her.  As she came in beaming she said, "Hi baby!  Oh boy!  Look at you!  So pretty!"  I was still processing what I'd just heard downstairs and coming to terms with the reality that her quarterback had brought her home, and I was sure she'd kissed him goodbye.  "Hi.  How did you get home?" I asked, seeking confirmation.  "Tom," she answered in a word.  "Oh!  Did he know I was here?"  "I have no idea.  We didn't discuss you.  Enough about him.  I want you!  Now!"  She kicked off her heels, pulled her t-shirt off revealing her new bra, then shrugged out of her jeans.  In the swift movement only women who have had a lifetime of practice are able to do, she unclasped and removed her bra and equally quickly shimmied out of her panties.  She crawled onto the bed and immediately came to me, wrapping her arms around me and kissing me with a deep, wet kiss.  "How was it?" I asked, although her hyped demeanor told me it had been wonderful for her.  "Let me show you," she said as she crawled over me and settled her smoothly shaved pussy onto my waiting mouth.  I could already see her quarterback's jizz drooling from her, and she was glistening wet from the slick coating of his cum.  As if instinctive, thoughts of whose cum I was about to clean from her pussy disappeared from my mind and I went to work cleaning my cheerleader's pussy.  Soon she was grinding upon my face, coating me with her quarterback's seed, encouraging me to lick deeper, suck harder, saying, "Yes sissy!  Yes!  Oh God yes!"  Just as she had the week before, she had somehow managed to bring home a full load of her quarterback's sperm for me to suck from her pussy.  When she finally seemed satisfied, she got off of me and lay down beside me.  She kissed me on the mouth, tasting her quarterback's sperm on my lips.  "Mmmm.  Doesn't he taste amazing?"  I felt weird answering, "Yes," but it was true.  I did like his taste.  His cum was very strong and left an aftertaste that did not quickly disappear.  Within minutes my cheerleader was fast asleep beside me.  I was, on the other hand, wide awake, still responding to the intense presentation my cheerleader had just given to me and, now that it was over, letting my thoughts return to the reality that my cheerleader's quarterback had just brought her, full of his cum, home to me.

I eventually fell asleep in my cheerleader's arms.  She was out cold from exhaustion.  At some point I woke up and realized that she was gone.  I noticed the clock read after midnight and then I smelled bacon cooking downstairs.  I went downstairs to find my cheerleader standing by the stove cooking a late night breakfast.  She had eggs and bread on the counter as she tended the frying bacon.  She was wearing only her new pink babydoll we'd bought for her date with her quarterback.  She turned when she heard me walk in, also wearing my nightgown.  "Hi.  Hungry?"  I was. 

I walked up behind her and draped my arms over her shoulders, hugging her closely to me, my breast forms pressing firmly against her back.  I asked whether her quarterback liked her negligee.  She laughed.  "I would have to say he liked it.  Yes.  It was interesting.  Want to hear about it?”  I did.  I knew I did.  It had been all I had been thinking of the past 24+ hours.  I feared the details, but craved them nonetheless.  “Yes,” I admitted.  “I do.”  “Mmmm.  I thought you might,” she sighed.  “Okay.  But first, let’s eat.  I’m famished!”  I helped her finish preparing our breakfast and we ate quietly together at the bar in our kitchen.  I realized I was starving for food as well.  There is nothing like a late night breakfast.

We stacked the dirty dishes in the sink and left them there.  My cheerleader took my hand and led me to our back yard screened in porch.  “Let’s go outside.  It’s a beautiful night.  I’ll tell you everything.”  I followed her outside to hear the details of her date with her quarterback.  We settled together on a sofa, my cheerleader snuggling to me as we enjoyed the cool late night breeze that blew through our porch.  It was November, but the weather was a comfortable 75 degrees.  My cheerleader leaned in to me and kissed me softly on my mouth and told me she loved me.  She asked if I was sure I wanted to hear the details.  I couldn’t resist them, and told her so.    “Okay then, I’ll tell you.”  (As with the last post about my cheerleader and her first visit with her quarterback, “Cheerleader And Her Quarterback,” I’m going to use italics to relate her telling me about her time with her quarterback on this visit.  It’s just a simpler way for me to relate the story. 

You asked how he liked my babydoll?  Well, when I got to his room, I set my bag on the floor in the hallway and knocked.  When I heard the latch turning I shrugged my coat off and let it fall to my feet on the hallway floor.  The look in his eyes was priceless as he saw me standing there dressed as I was.  He was stunned.  I said to him, “Are you going to invite me in?  Or must I stand out here dressed like this?”  Grinning ear-to-ear, he said, “I don't remember asking the concierge to send a prostitute to my room.  But sure, come in.”  I stepped inside, leaving my coat and bag on the hallway floor.  Tom bent down to retrieve them for me.  

He closed the door and turned to me.  “So, you think I look like a prostitute?" I asked him.  "And if I was, what would you have me do for you?”  He smiled.  “Well for starters, you could get on your knees and suck my cock.”  I laughed.  “I think I can handle that.  Or at least enjoy trying.”  I sank to my knees right there at the door and began unbuckling his pants to free his cock.  He was not as hard as he was going to get, but he was already large and thick, ready for me.  I took my time, fondling him, stroking his shaft and massaging his balls.  The power coursing through his cock is unbelievable baby.  I’ve never felt another quite like it.  “Are you gonna suck it whore?” he interrupted my admiration.  “Or just look at it?  I didn’t pay you to look at it whore.  I paid you to suck it!  Now get busy!”  I had no idea how being called a whore could be such a turn-on.  But it was!  As he commanded me, I took his cock into my mouth and began licking around the top of his shaft.  He sighed and groaned as I began softly sucking him.  “Oh yes,” he moaned.  “That feels good whore.  You know you are a damn good cocksucker.  Don't you?  Always were.”  That made me smile on the inside.  He put his hands on the back of my head and pressed me further onto him.  “Take it whore,” he urged me.  “Take it!”  Within minutes he was thrusting into my mouth, his hands maintaining a constant pressure upon me.  He fucked my mouth hard.  Harder than I've ever had it done before.  The combination of his size and the power of his thrusts caused me to gag.  But I found I was enjoying it.  He told me to finger myself while I sucked him.  I slid a hand inside of my panties.  My pussy was soooo wet!  My fingers sliding in and out of my smooth, slippery slit felt sooo good.  I began moaning as I brought myself to an incredible orgasm while Tom fucked my mouth.  It wasn't long before he began cumming in my mouth.  His cum was hot and thick.  I swallowed the first load, but he was pumping it out hard.  I grabbed his shaft and pulled him out and caught a huge load on my face.  Tom kind of sneared at me, " That's it whore!  Swallow my jizz!  You fucking slut!"  And that only made me hotter baby.  I felt so slutty and dirty.  I opened my mouth and jacked him off as he kept cumming.  In my mouth.  On my face.  When he finally stopped I rubbed his spent, thick, cock all over my face.  He seemed mesmerized watching me revel in my sluttiness.  "Who are you?  I always knew you loved sex.  But you are so much nastier now than you were when we were married."  I just smiled, holding his soft, wet cock against my face, and said, " I don't know.  I just love your cock.  I've missed it."

"Get on the bed whore!" He told me.  "On your back!"  I lay back on the bed as he told me to do.  He moved between my thighs and stood at the edge of the bed, rubbing me inside of my thighs.  I was looking into his eyes, smiling, waiting for what was going to happen next.  He reached up and grabbed my panties at the waist and pulled them down.  As his eyes caught sight of my pussy, I knew getting you to shave it smooth was a good idea.  Tom's eyes nearly bulged out of his head.  I was still glistening wet from masturbating while I sucked his cock.  "Fuck me!" He whistled.  "Fuck!  When did you do that?"  I giggled and told him, "Today."  "For me?" He asked.  "Uh huh.  Like?"  He slipped his fingers inside me, feeling how wet I was.  Massaging me, nearly driving me crazy, he used his elbows to spread my legs wide.  I felt so slutty baby, watching Tom fondle my pussy, my legs spread wide, my feet in their high heel's up in the air above my body, knowing soon he would be filling me with his cock that was getting hard again right before my eyes.  My shaved pussy really turned him on.  I began begging for his cock baby.  I wanted it soooo badly.  But he seemed intent upon tormenting me.  "Are you going to be my dirty little whore tonight?" he hissed.  Every time he called me a whore, or a slut, I wanted to be dirty for him even more.  "I'm your whore!" I told him. "Fuck me!  Fuck me with your big fucking cock!" I begged him.  He had the most evil, possessive look in his eyes baby.  "Don't worry slut!" he seethed.  "You're mine tonight!  I' m gonna fuck you like I've never fucked you before!"

He continued rubbing my slit, driving me crazy.  He made me beg for his cock.  I was nearly mad when he finally moved in on me.  He grabbed each of my ankles and lifted my legs up above my head, spreading me wide to the point I thought I might split in two.  His cock was rock hard again.  He positioned his fat cockhead right at my opening, and left it right there, just inside of me.  I wanted him so badly.  He was teasing me baby.  He would dip inside me just enough to cover his thick head within my engorged lips.  The entire time our eyes were locked on each others', our mutual hunger pouring out.  I was begging him, over and over, to fuck me.  It seemed the more I begged the more earnest he was to torment me.  Finally - finally! - he began to slip further within me, slowly, a little at a time, until he had finally given me what I wanted.  I don't think I'd ever felt so stretched - so full - so completely impaled by a man.  He, seemingly, was responding to me being his whore as much as I was.

He paused as he seemed to savor how it felt to be wrapped inside of my wetness, maintaining pressure on my legs as he continued to spread me wider.  "Please," I whimpered.  "Please fuck your whore?" I begged.  With a leer filled hunger he asked me, "Does your husband know what a slut you are?  Or is this just for me?"  And I told him baby.  I had to tell him.  " No.  He doesn't get this.  Only you.  Only you," I told him.  I had to have his cock baby.  So I told him.  "Please Tom!  I need to be fucked.  Hard!  Please?" I begged him again.  "Tell me again slut.  Whose whore are you?" he asked.  I told him baby.  I was going crazy feeling him spread me wide.  "Yours!  I'm your whore Tom!  Only yours!"  And then, finally, he began to fuck me.  And, oh my God, did he ever fuck me!  He pulled out until he was just barely inside of me and then drove - hard - back inside again.  I was reduced to uncontrollable sounds as he owned my pussy.  I had honestly never felt the way I felt when he fucked me last night baby.  And he did fuck me like he'd never fucked me before.  I knew he had stamina, especially after having his cocked sucked, but he seemed to last forever.  The room was filled with our grunting and my crying out for him.  After I don't know how long, I felt his cock tense up within me and knew he was about to cum.  The first load was so hot!  I could feel it pouring deep within me.  He pushed deeper than I thought possible, ejaculating so much cum inside of me.  It felt incredible to receive so much of his sperm.  And for a fleeting second I remembered how it felt when he got me pregnant the first time.  I remember knowing in the moment that we were going to have a baby he had filled me with so much sperm.  And we did.  But then, just as quickly, he was fucking me again.  Even after he came in me his cock was still thick and firm enough to to keep fucking me, and I thought I would lose my mind   Between Tom calling me his whore and taking total control of my body, I felt like I’ve never felt before during sex.

After a few minutes he slowly slipped out of me.  I could feel the wetness of his cock as he pulled out.  He let go of my legs and they fell to the bed.  I couldn’t have held them up if I’d wanted to.  Suddenly I felt the soreness from being spread so wide for so long while Tom fucked me.  Tom stood at the side of the bed looking down at me and I knew I must have looked like a whore to him.  I could see that he knew he still held power over me – power I hadn’t completely realized that he had.  He reached for my hands and pulled me up to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, between his thighs.  His softened, thick, wet cock was hung heavily between his legs, sperm dripping off the end.  He didn’t have to tell me what he wanted.  I wanted it too.  I took him in my hand and lifted him to my mouth and slowly began licking him clean.  Our combined juices tasted so good.  I thought for a brief second that it would have been nice if you were there, helping me, but I knew that couldn’t be.  I rubbed his cock all over my face, showing him how much I loved it.  I took him in my mouth and sucked the last of his cum out of him.  Then he pushed me back on the bed and lay on top of me, his hard body enveloping me.  “I always knew you were a bit of a slut.  I just had no idea until now how much of one you were,” he whispered.  “I’m a slut where you’re concerned,” was the only reply I could think of.  “Well, I’ll just have to keep that in mind for the future,” he said. 

We lay together on the bed for a while and then, despite how late it was, Tom decided he was starving.  So we got up and dressed for dinner.  He loved the dress we bought too!  He took me to a really nice Italian restaurant near DuPont Circle called “iRicchi.”  He must have researched the place.  It was filled with “beautiful people.”  I fit right in with my sexy dress.  During the entire time Tom was very possessive of me, reminding me throughout that I was his whore, hinting that he could do with me whatever he wanted.  I might have felt uncomfortable except that it hit me what one of the best things about us living in D.C. is – no one knows us.  It’s like I was totally anonymous and could be a way in public I never could be back home.  And Tom seemed to understand it too, so he took full advantage.  When we were standing at the bar waiting for our table, other people standing all around us, he slid a hand up my thigh and pushed right up under my dress, rubbing my inner thigh right in front of everyone.  And I let him!  It was an incredibly erotic rush to be touched like that in public.  I leaned to him and kissed him right there, letting him know how much he was getting to me.  When we broke he whispered one word into my ear that nearly sent me over the edge.  “Slut!”

By the time we got seated it was pretty late.  Dinner was delicious.  Before long, we were one of the few remaining occupied tables.  But this isn’t the kind of restaurant that hurries you.  Our waiter could see we were really into each other and gave us space.  We ordered coffee and dessert and as we ate it, Tom said to me, “When we get in the cab, you're going to suck my cock.  All of the way back to the hotel.  Do you understand?”  I hesitated at first.  I didn’t think I could do that.  But he gave me this look, like 'You will do it!,' and so I nodded and said, "Okay.”  I don’t know if I can even describe to you how I suddenly felt.  I had just told Tom I would suck his cock in a cab.  Could I really do it?  I felt certain that he intended to make sure I did.  We finished dessert without speaking.  Our eyes shared what we were each now thinking about.  Me sucking his cock in the cab.

Tom paid the bill and we left.  He hailed a cab in front of the restaurant and told the driver where to take us.  It wasn’t that far to the hotel.  Tom held the door for me and I slipped inside, sitting in the middle of the rear seat.  Tom sat directly behind the driver.  I realized then that Tom had thought it through.  There was no way the driver would be able to see Tom’s lap, although I suspected he’d realize what was happening when my head disappeared down there.  Either way, I felt a little better knowing he wouldn’t be able to actually see me sucking Tom’s cock.  I leaned in close to Tom as the cab pulled from the curb.  He whispered, “Unzip me.  Take it out.”  My hands were shaking as I unzipped Tom’s pants and reached in to remove his cock.  He was soft, but getting harder.  It took some doing to fish him out through the opening because he is just so big, even when he is soft.  I fondled him for a minute after pulling him free.  I could feel him getting harder.  “Suck it,” he mouthed.  “Go on!”  And so, telling myself the cab driver would never be able to see me, and I’d never see him again anyway, I leaned down and began giving Tom a blowjob in the back seat of a cab.  I couldn’t believe I was doing it baby.  But once I started, I became lost in the act.  I sucked him very gently as we rumbled down the D.C. streets.  Tom placed his hand on the back of my head and softly stroked me as I sucked him.  I knew we didn’t have far to go to reach the hotel, so I figured it was going to be a quickie.  I nearly panicked when I felt him begin to throb in my mouth.  I knew what was coming just a moment before it happened.  Tom began cumming in my mouth.  I had to swallow it all or risk having cum on my face when we exited the cab.  I began sucking him harder and harder, doing what I had to do to swallow all of his cum.  And he came a lot too.  But somehow, I managed.  I could almost feel his amusement as he seemed to realize my desperation to avoid having his sperm get on my face.  I finished him off and then he released the pressure on the back of my head and let me sit up.  The timing was perfect as we were pulling in front of Tom’s hotel at that moment.  I tried to resist eye contact with the cab driver, but it was as if I could not resist the need to see if he’d been watching.  And the look in his eye told me he had seen me.  That he had witnessed something special in the back of his cab.  Tom handed him several bills, tipping him well for letting us use his cab for sex.

As we walked past the doorman Tom whispered, “Slut,” in my ear.  “I can’t believe I just did that!” I told him.  “But I loved it!”  He laughed.  “Of course you did.  You’re my whore.”  He seemed intent on continuing with the game, and I was enjoying it too.  I felt dirty and free in a way I never have.  It was so liberating to be reduced to someone’s whore baby.  I knew it was fantasy - that it was just for our time together.  But it felt so amazing!  When we got to his room we went right to bed.  I had to suck him again to get him hard, but soon his cock was inside of me, filling me, fucking me, and for a long time.  We finally fell asleep.  Both of us were exhausted. 

I didn’t wake up until nearly noon.  When I did, Tom had ordered room service and had breakfast waiting for me.  If I had been his whore the night before, suddenly I became his princess.  He treated me so sweetly.  He fed me breakfast and then we cuddled for a long time, fondling each other as we lay naked in bed.  He made me feel so special after our hot night before.  Finally, cuddling up behind me, he slipped his cock inside of me and we fucked the nicest, slowest, gentle fuck I ever remember.  When he finally came inside of me he filled me with so much of his cum.  We fell asleep again, his softened cock still inside of me.  It felt so good to have him in me as I fell asleep.  When we woke up it was time for me to leave, but I made him fuck me one more time.  I wanted to bring you a full load.  So I sucked him again to make him hard and he fucked me once more for a long time and finally came inside of me again.  I got dressed and he brought me home to you.  He thinks we have a nice house baby.   

And so, that was my cheerleader’s tale of her second time with her quarterback.  I was feeling pretty fractured by the time she was finished telling me about her night with him.  I had long since understood how much my cheerleader was enjoying her freedom to fuck other men.  I was, nonetheless, hit hard by her vivid description of her second night with her quarterback.  She was, quite obviously, completely under his spell again, at least when she was in his company.  Of course, the worst (or best?) part for me was how hard my clitty had been within its chastity cage as she told me about her date.  I had to ask her the question that was tormenting me now.  This had been two times in less than a month that my cheerleader had spent the night away from home with a man – and not just any man – her first husband.  I asked her, “So, is that it?” meaning, had she gotten her fill of him.  My cheerleader looked at me before responding, as if she was deciding how to deliver the news to me.  “Baby,” she began.  “He told me he wants to keep seeing me.  When he comes to D.C. for business.  Which he says is going to be a lot more often.  Now,” she smiled at her innuendo.  When she paused, I asked, “But how about you?  Do you want to keep seeing him?”  Her eyes told me her answer before she spoke.  “I do,” she said.  “Yes.  I do.”  Then, “Do you mind?”  I didn’t know how to express what I was feeling.  I told her that I wanted her to be happy, but that it felt weird when I was alone in our house and knew where she was and with whom.  As if trying to understand, she asked, “Would you prefer I bring him here?  Would you like to stay somewhere else when I see him?”  I shook my head.  No, that wasn’t it I told her.  I explained that it just felt different knowing that her quarterback believed she was cheating on me, and also that I was not involved with them in the way I was with her other men.  I felt that way even though I knew it was impossible for it to be different.  We could not tell her quarterback that I was a sissy who condoned my cheerleader being with men.  That was too much of a risk.  Finally she asked me to tell her what I wanted, and when I couldn’t put my feelings into words, she suggested we drop the subject for then and each of us think it over and talk about it later.  So, that is what we did.

We went back to bed together late that night and cuddled as we fell asleep in each other’s arms.  I could feel my cheerleader’s love as she held and caressed me.  No matter what had happened between her and her quarterback, she loved me.  I knew that much.

I’m going to fast-forward to a few weeks later.  My cheerleader and I never returned to the subject of the future course of things between her and her quarterback.  It was like we each knew we had this issue to discuss, but she was giving me space to figure out how I felt on my own.  Meanwhile, Jason and Dave continued to visit our home on their regular schedule.  As I’ve explained earlier in my sissy journal, my cheerleader and I moved from our hometown to D.C. several years ago.  However, most of our family continues to reside in our hometown.  That means that we end up travelling there for holidays, and the upcoming Christmas holiday was no exception.  My cheerleader went home earlier than me so she could help her recently widowed father prepare for Christmas.  I was supposed to join her on Christmas Eve.  Instead, I decided to surprise her and go home a day early.  I arranged to be off from work and left in the evening the day before Christmas Eve. 

When I arrived at her father’s home around 10 p.m., my cheerleader’s car was not in his driveway.  I went inside and found her father watching television.  He was surprised to see me as he had been told I wasn’t arriving until the next day.  When I asked him where my cheerleader was, he told me she had gone out to dinner with a few of her girlfriends, but that she’d just called to tell him she was spending the night with one of them as they were having fun and she didn’t want to drive home alone, after drinking, late at night.  Needless to say, I was very disappointed.  I wasn’t sure what to do, since my original idea had been to surprise her.  Finally, I decided to just leave it be and go to bed.  I’d surprise her the next morning when she returned.  Just before turning in for bed, I texted her, “I hope you’re having fun,” without specifying, wondering if she would reply.  She didn’t.  Not until the next morning.  When I got out of the shower my iPhone buzzed and I saw her text reply.  “It would be more fun if you were here.  When will you be arriving?”  I smiled, knowing she had no idea I was already in town.  I responded, “Soon.  Can’t wait to see you!”  Her quick response read, “Soon?  How soon?  Have you left yet?”  This was fun.  I was careful with my next reply.  “Let’s just say you’ll be surprised.  Can’t wait to see you.”  She answered, “You too!  Drive carefully.”

I went to her father’s kitchen, made a pot of coffee and sat down to read the paper and talk to him.  I hoped my cheerleader would be home soon, especially now that I knew she was awake.  The friend her father said she was spending the night with didn’t live far away.  Well, time dragged on and I began to wonder why she had not come home yet.  Eventually, around 11 in the morning, I heard the front door open and she came in calling my name.  She’d obviously seen my car in his driveway.  I went to greet her and the look of shock and surprise on her face was priceless.  “What are you doing here?” she asked.  I told her I’d come down early to surprise her.  “What time did you wake up?!”  I smiled and said, “I came down last night.”  She had a very funny look on her face.  “You were here last night?” she asked.  I nodded.  “I was disappointed you weren’t here, but your dad told me you were out with friends and were spending the night with Susan.  I figured I’d just wait to surprise you this morning.”  I asked if she’d had a rough night because she actually looked a bit disheveled.  I noticed the first sign then that something was not right.  She hesitated before answering me.  She told me to follow her back to the bedroom where we stayed when visiting her father.  She closed the door behind us and then turned to face me.  I could see then that something was definitely wrong.  “I have to tell you something sweetie,” she began.  “I have to.”  It was in that moment that I felt an almost indescribable feeling of doom.  I know my cheerleader well.  Her face was dark and full of worry.  “What is it?” I asked, encouraging her to say what was on her mind, but wishing deep within my gut that it was not going to be awful news.  “Last night,” she began, and then hesitated.  “I did not stay with Susan last night, " she blurted.  Hesitation again.  Did I know what was coming?  I absolutely did.  But I had to hear her say it.  I waited.  “I was with Tom,” she said looking down, avoiding eye contact.  For the first time since we’d taken the fateful first step of my cheerleader having sex with other men, she looked like she felt guilty.  Like she’d done something wrong.  Like she’d cheated on me.

I was speechless.  I had been so excited about surprising my cheerleader.  To hear that she was with her quarterback the night before and, even that very morning when we were texting, sent me into an emotional downward spiral.  I asked her, “Did you and he…before you came home, ah, you know?  Did you?”  Still avoiding eye contact, she nodded.  “I didn’t expect you here so early.  I know I shouldn’t have baby.  He called me yesterday and wanted to have dinner, so I figured it couldn’t hurt.  Just dinner.  I should have known better.  That I would end up spending the night.  I’m so sorry sweetie,” she seemed to be pleading for me to understand her actions.  I did not know what to say.  I was torn between the news she delivered and the simultaneous realization that I simply could not be upset with her.  I loved her and wanted her to be happy.  We’d never talked about the last time she saw him, and how I felt about her continuing to see her quarterback, so she had no way of knowing where I really was on the subject.  Not that I was blaming myself for what she’d done.  I just wasn’t reacting with a sense of blame toward her either.  “I guess we need to talk,” I said to her.  “Maybe we should go somewhere?”  She agreed, and suggested lunch.  So we told her father we were going to lunch and then left to go talk about the situation between her and her quarterback.  I was nervous as we departed because I realized I was now going to have to be honest about how I felt.  I had been hoping to avoid the discussion.

We went to a restaurant we always enjoyed when we were back home.  After ordering, my cheerleader and I just looked at each other, both of us waiting for the other to begin.  Finally, she went first.  “I don’t want to stop seeing him baby.  I just, well, he makes me feel so good when we make love.  I’ve missed him, or well, what he can do to me, for so long.  I don’t want to give it up.  Do you understand?” she asked, hopeful that I'd get it.  So, I knew where she stood on the subject before I had to confess my true feelings.  I told her I thought I understood how she felt.  I said, “I can tell you need what he does for you.  I can.  But the way we are going about it.  It’s hard for me.  I feel left out.  I never thought you would just be with him without me knowing.”  She interrupted me and said she knew that was wrong.  She apologized profusely and basically begged me to please forgive her.  I smiled at her then and said, “I forgive you.  I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.  I just want us to figure out how to deal with whatever happens between you and him.  He’s not like the others.  I know that.  We both do.  So, what do we do?” I asked, hoping she could provide the solution.  And she did.

My cheerleader first asked me to confirm that I was willing to permit her to continue to see her quarterback.  I knew she wanted it.  And needed it.  So I told her I was.  She explained that she understood it was difficult for me when she went out with him or spent the night with him, but that she also knew it was important for him to have that time with her when he visited D.C.  As it was to her.  She liked being alone with him where she didn’t have to think about how I might react to seeing them together, especially considering their past.  On the other hand, she agreed that what had happened the night before could not happen again.  I had to know when she was going to be with her quarterback.  She told me that from that point forward she would only agree to meet up with him once a month when he was in D.C. on business.  If she was visiting our hometown without me, she would let me know in advance if she intended to see him at all while she was home.  And, whenever he came to D.C., she and I would have a special time together with me helping her “prepare for her date” with him, so that I would feel involved.  There would be no other contact with him unless we each discussed it and agreed.  And finally, she told me that, if I thought it would help me feel like what she had with her quarterback was more a part of what we shared with each other, she would slowly attempt to let him know that I was aware of what they were doing, with the eventual hope that she could stop pretending like she was cheating on me.  I wasn’t so sure about that idea, and told her so.  My cheerleader’s reaction to my concern was that she thought we might each be overworrying how Tom would react to such news.  When I asked her to explain, she told me that she knew he liked being with her, but that she didn’t think he wanted anything more than what they had.  Thus, he might be more tolerant than we might think he would be of learning about the state of our relationship.  I told her I wanted to think about that suggestion, but that I was okay with the rest of her suggested plan of action.  We agreed that if there were to be any change in how we were going to proceed in regard to her time with her quarterback, we would talk, and that each of us would be honest with each other.  Thus, we reached a new 'accord.' 

And the 'satisfaction' part of our understanding, you might be asking?  We agreed that I would always be included in the end – that whenever she spent time with her quarterback, she would come home to me and we would make love.  And that is what we did that afternoon.  We actually checked in to a downtown hotel that afternoon where she released me from chastity and we made love.  When she took off her jeans, and then her panties, I could see that her quarterback had been inside of her since they’d made love that morning.  The crotch of her panties was soaked with cum.  I spent a lot of time providing her oral pleasure and then filled her with my own cum, which I also cleaned out of her.  When we finished making love my cheerleader told me how much she loved me, and assured me that she always would.

We had a really great Christmas holiday that year.  Reaching our new accord (and satisfaction) did wonders for each of our psyches moving forward.  As it turned out, my cheerleader had been feeling as much stress as I had been where her quarterback was concerned.  She wanted to be with him, but even more importantly, she wanted me to be okay about it.  When we were finally able to honestly discuss the situation, each of us felt better.  My cheerleader left me out of chastity the entire holiday and we made love every night through New Year’s Eve.  It was a wonderful time for us.

So, everyone knows now that I have become the kind of sissy husband who, it seems, will pretty much agree to whatever his wife wants.  Saying it like that makes it sound kind of, well pitiful, I think.  But it isn’t really that way at all.  I love my cheerleader.  More than anything.  Remember my entire life story.  I was married once before to a woman who I never had sexual intercourse with.  Who does that?  Who never has sexual intercourse with his wife?  I don’t know anyone else who can say that, although I figure if it can happen once, it has to have happened to others.  But that isn’t important, at least to me.  It only matters for this reason – it places everything else about the sissy me, and how I respond to things, in a proper perspective.  My cheerleader saved me from the torment I felt about that sexual failure of mine.  She means everything to me.  So, when things in our marriage progressed way beyond where I ever imagined they would, I couldn’t just throw on the emergency brake and ask her to back up.  Well, maybe I could have.  And she may have even been willing.  But really, I couldn’t.  I didn’t want to take what my cheerleader needed away from her.  In my mind, I owed her a debt.  That is where the introduction about the 'Accord and Satisfaction' to this post comes from - I owed a debt to my cheerleader.  A self imposed debt perhaps, because she never demanded it of me.  But a debt nonetheless.  And so, when she made it clear to me that she needed to be with her quarterback, I agreed to a new 'accord' and, then I “gave” her the gift of agreeing for her to be with her quarterback.  And that is also where the 'satisfaction' comes into play.  This understanding my cheerleader and I came to resulted in mutual satisfaction, each of us receiving something else from the other.  And I’ll tell you this also - the story is not over.  I’m catching up to the present, but there is more to tell on this subject.  Hate me for leaving you with a cliffhanger if you wish to, but I am doing my best to get current.  It is a difficult story to tell.  And sometimes I simply need a break from telling it.