Hello sweeties.
I’ve been reading stories on here for a month or so, and I’ve been debating about putting out some of my own. Lord knows I have plenty. For now, I have one I can’t keep to myself:
First, some background on me: I’m a fifty-four-year-old widow. I married a wealthy man (more than twice my age) the week before my twentieth birthday. For those of you who failed math, that was in 1986. My father and soon to be husband were business partners before the latter made a handful of good (lucky) investments and retired early. He decided to reward himself with a hot young thing, and so I spent almost twenty-five years as his trophy wife, doing nothing but keeping in shape, socializing with other housewives, and satisfying his needs – when they weren’t being satisfied by whoever he was carrying on with at the time. I didn’t mind. The prenup daddy insisted on was ironclad, so hubby and I eventually came to an agreement, but that’s another story.