The adventures of Angela.
Chapter 1
My name is Angela Sizinski. I live on the outskirts of Chicago with two of my three children, the youngest being grammar school age. I was born in raised on the northwest side of Chicago. I went to Catholic Grade and High schools. I was daddy’s little girl. I was a tomb boy, until I started to develop that is. I was always the adventurer and always the girl everyone wanted to be around. I never went to college, back then you didn’t need to and I found work in almost every office capacity I ever wanted.
I am full blooded Polish, although I do believe there is some German in us, as I have long dark hair and a bigger nose than most other Polish girls I know. I stand about 5’10 tall, broad shoulders, big frame, with big 44 D tits. I have hips that could produce an army of kids and a nice big bubble ass. I am well educated, even though I only went through high school and I was raised on the streets of Chicago like every other child of the 70’s was. I take no one’s shit, can fend for myself and do not need a helping hand, except for when it comes to my kids. I had boyfriends in grade school and high school, but none of them measured up to my expectations, or my father’s until I met “What’s his name” (that’s my loving way of talking about my 1st ex-husband) my first true love.
In my early twenties, I married what’s his name; who grew up in a neighborhood just a few miles away. He was my first deep sexual experiences and I thought I was in love. We had one child immediately and then a second a few years later. He worked as a mechanic, at the local gas station and made decent money. When the kids were born, I quit my job to be the stay-at-home mom and tended to them in our little two-bedroom apartment. I always had dreams, hopes and inspirations bigger than what life had given me, but I took every day as a blessing from the lord and figured this is what life has dealt me.
My marriage to what’s his name was great at first. I was a married woman, had a couple of kids, lived in a nice neighborhood, which had good schools and parks nearby to play at. But internally, I was longing for more. The more time we spent together, the more I began to realize, I wasn’t happy with him. He drank a lot, he smoked pot a lot, he wanted to be out with his friends, carousing, partying and being the 20 something “adult” male he wanted to be; while I stayed home and played mommy. It got tiring and repetitive and caused more arguments than anything else we ever fought about.
Over time, my love for him faded. My anger for him being out and about constantly exasperated our problems and I think the seven-year itch got us both. Not too long after, what’s his name and I filed for divorce. My parents were a big help, in raising the kids and getting them from school, as I had to return to the working world to support us.
I was single and I was dating, but never found “love” again. That was until my mid-thirties. I fell in love with the bad boy. The guy, no one should have taken seriously. I was warned… Oh boy was I warned, not to go further with this man. But I had to be with him. He was everything I wanted in a guy. He was strong, tough, flashy, had a nice car, had a good family, had money. But… As I later learned after we got married and had a child (my third) he couldn’t hold a job. I later discovered, he was supplementing our income, by being a drug dealer and had more run-ins with the law than anyone else I knew.
I was trapped. I had three kids, a few older, and a toddler. He would come home drunk and high, beat me than fuck me. Some might call it spousal abuse, but sometimes I need that love and attention, so I went right along with it. Don’t get me wrong, he was never overly violent. And I’m not justifying his actions, but I needed his love his attention, his love, his dick and for him to be the provider and father to my children. So, I tolerated it more than I should have.
But I was getting tired of him coming home at 3 or 4 A.M. smelling like pot and perfume. Finding condoms in his jean’s pockets, Tired of finding wads of cash hidden in strange places throughout our house. Tired of constant arguments and bickering, screaming matches and late-night calls from his buyers. I’d had enough. I finally broke free the day after the cops came and raided our house. I couldn’t put myself or my children at risk anymore. I packed up, grabbed the kids and headed out on my own.
Afterwards, he would stalk me and drive me crazy with threats and stupid actions he would initiate. I had to get orders of protection against him, had to move twice and had to rely on my family and friends for more than I could have ever comprehended. But that’s when life took a change for the better.
After a few years of ridiculousness, endless court battles and fighting with “Fuckhead” (my loving name for him,) I finally settled in a quiet upscale area of the far reaches of Chicago. I found a beautiful three-bedroom apartment, just blocks from the grade school and a decent high-paying job for me, that wasn’t too far away from my new home. My older boys were both in high school by then and my youngest was in 4th grade and at that moment life began to change. Peace came my way; and a few years later, I met a great man named Mike and it was the start of the unexpected discovery of my Bi-Sexuality.
I’d walk my youngest to school every day, except in winter, when we’d drive. Most mornings there was this sexy hot cop by the main entrance of the school, helping with traffic flow and ensuring each child got inside safely. As spring came and the weeks went by, I’d try to make more conversation with him. It started with the head nods or a smile. But progressed to the good mornings and “what a beautiful day” chats. I never knew his name and I was too shy (as bold as I am sometimes) to walk up, ask him and chat more. And to be honest, I don’t even think he knew I was alive. Who was I kidding, I was a 40+ year old woman, who’s overweight, 3 kids, looking worn out from years of anger, frustrations, being a single mom, laced with problems and drama that most women shouldn’t have to deal with.
It wasn’t until the local church put on their early summer carnival, that I finally got to meet Mike (the cop) properly. He was working the parking lot entrance, when my youngest and I pulled in to park.
“Hi.” I belted out. “Is there room for us in here.”
“Sure, park over there.” He replied as he pointed towards an open spot.
When I got out and was walking back to the gate, my son said, “Hi Officer Mike.”
Mike replied, “Hey ***.”
My son knew his name and he knew my son’s, but I didn’t know him. I walked over and introduced myself. “Hi, I am Angela.” I said.
He extended his right hand, “Hello Angela. I am Mike.”
We stood and talked briefly, but my son was dying to be on the rides, so he pulled me away from talking more with Mike. The whole time we walked around the carnival, I was thinking about Mike. He was so nice. So handsome and so friendly. I didn’t know much about him, but I guessed he was in his 40’s. He was average size, a bit of a beer belly, with the cutest blue eyes I had seen in a while. He had short blonde military style buzzed hair and most importantly I didn’t see a wedding ring.
As my son and I left that night I stopped to talk to Mike some more. Through our conversation I discovered he had been on the force for about 20 years, he was divorced, AKA HE WAS SINGLE (I got excited) and that he was a single parent like me with his only son being in High School. It was great talking to him and my son just adored him. I was hoping to see him again, but as the last few days of school was in session, I didn’t see Mike in the morning. But I got lucky. I ran into him a few weeks later at the pharmacy.
Mike and I talked in the parking lot for about an hour. He was so sweet and so open to listening to my drama and bullshit. He offered some advice and gave me his card with his cell number on it, telling me to call him if I ever need something.
And guess what… I needed something… HIM!
I slowly mustered the courage to text him on occasion to see how his summer was going, to ask him a stupid “law” question and just make small talk. But that’s when my world changed for the better.
After a few weeks of back-and-forth texts, I mustered up the courage and asked Mike out for coffee on my day off (Tuesday) and he graciously accepted. We met late afternoon for coffee at the usual “overpriced” coffee house and had a great long talk. I was smitten by him and I wanted to be in his life, but I didn’t want to get him involved in drama and bullshit that follows me.
As our friendship developed more, Mike and I had numerous long text conversations and I learned a lot more about him. We talked about everything and anything and he was very kind and quick to return my texts. I learned that he was 45 and lived in house not too far away from the district he worked in. I found out he was divorced, had been single for a while, having only that high school aged child from that marriage. He was into sports and played on several softball leagues in the summer. He lived alone (expect for times with his son) and enjoyed watching TV and movies. Most importantly — and surprised by his honesty — I learned he was Bi-Sexual, still in the closet from co-workers and business acquaintances, but out to friends and family. Moreover, I found out that most of his relationships were “usually dating women who were Bi-Curious or Bi-Sexual.” Never really anyone who was just straight; including his ex-wife.
At first, I was kind of taken-a-back by this. Most of the guys I grew up with and men I dated were never into men, or being gay. So, I thought, this is strange. And I didn’t know if I would date someone who liked men, as I did, or liked sucking dick. But then logic and reasoning set in and I realized it’s a different age than when I was growing up, so he could date anyone he liked. Heck, I had gay friends and even knew a lesbian, so each their own! Right?
But I wasn’t Bi-sexual or even Bi-Curious. I had never dated a woman and I surely had never dated a man, who fucked men. So, I was leery on where to go from here. I have always dated the wrong men. Hell, I married two of the wrong men, so you could see my concern dating someone who was looking for a Bi-Sexual woman, when in fact I had never even kissed a girl. But knowing my luck and my past bad decision, I would end up with the wrong guy again.
But then I justified him to myself as him being “the right guy”. Someone who was open and honest. Was on the good side of the law. Had a good job, made good money. Was raising his child, unlike my second Ex who never sees his son. So maybe this time, albeit the strangeness of Bi-Sexuality, maybe this is the right guy. I decided I was going for it. I threw myself on a diet and started trying to find the best look for me, since I hadn’t been interested or wanting to date someone for a long time.
Our first kiss was in front of my house after Mike and I went to dinner at a local Italian restaurant he liked. This as the fourth time we were together and alone. The first couple meets was just for coffee and then one night after work, he came by my place and we sat and chatted a while on my stoop. But when he asked me out for dinner, I knew this may go further.
His kiss was incredible. It was soft and warm, but manly enough to make my heart melt. He was strong and sensitive to my needs and was holding and caressing me the way a man should. He didn’t push any issue with me, didn’t expect sex or a blow job. He was just kissing me goodnight as a gentleman should do after a first true date.
When I got upstairs and all the kids went to bed and were long asleep; I laid in bed in my overly tight jeans and shirt, just thinking about him. It had been so long since I had a man kiss me like that. A real man who was “a good guy.” A man, who was interested in me and wasn’t a piece of shit. As I got undressed and crawled back into bed, I thought of him more. The dirty perverted side of me started fantasizing about how big his dick was. How long he could go? Does he like being on top, or be ridden like a horse? I couldn’t help myself. It has been years since anyone has touched me sexually and I was turned on and very interested after that goodnight kiss.
Of course, I started rubbing my tits and caressing my nipples. I felt my pussy start to get wet and I wanted someone to be sticking their cock inside me. I slid my panties down and started rubbing my clit. Softly at first, but the picking up the pace. I had to be quiet (something I’m not good at while being fucked) as my children were all asleep. I rubbed up and down my slit feeling how wet I was, how wonderful it was to be turned on again. I sild a finger inside myself and started slowly pumping back and forth.
My head was thrust back, my mouth was open, my eyes closed and my body tingling from the exhilaration of not only being turned on by someone I had feelings for, but with the sensations of getting myself off. I laid there fingering myself, thinking of him. Of that kiss. His touch. Of how hot and sexy he was. But then the thoughts got heavier and more erotic. I started thinking to myself the fantasy of pulling his hard cock out of his pants and using my hand to stroke him as we kissed deeply. How I would have adjusted my position in the passenger seat, leaned over and slid that hard cock into my mouth. How I would love to feel that boner sliding in and out of my mouth as my saliva was making it slipperier and slipperier, as I bobbed up and down. How I would feel his hand resting on the back of my head or the center of my back.
How I would hear his soft moans and groans as his hands started trying to pull off my shirt, or slide into my bra to play with my tits. How I would want to be sucking his cock hard and deep bringing him closer to orgasm, while he was dying to put his cock in my pussy. And how wet my pussy would be, while he was reaching for it.
I continued fantasizing about sucking his cock feeling his fingers rubbing my clit, instead of my fingers doing it now. How I would want him to start rubbing my asshole and want to fuck me in the ass too. *** Yes, I love anal sex, so I want his cock in there too. ***
As I was sliding two fingers deep inside me, I was fantasizing of how hot and erotic it would be for him to pull me into the back seat of his car. Make me jack him off, or continue sucking him off, all while he was trying to get my pants down. I’d play coy and shy, but in my head, I would be screaming fuck me!
I envisioned him sliding down my jeans and panties finding my waxed throbbing pussy awaiting his hard cock, as I continued ramming two of my fingers in and out of myself. Envisioning Mike sliding up on top of me and sliding his cock deep inside of me. Feeling his long, hard cock start pumping me as he’s trying to lift my shirt over my head trying to get my bar off to suck on my tits. How my asshole would be begging for cock, just as much as my pussy would be.
Hear his loud breathing and feel his warmth and deep thrusts as he brings me closer and closer to cumming. Pump me hard and deep and forcefully until he cums inside me, making me explode in passion, knowing he got off fucking me. How I wanted to wrap my legs around him while he was pumping me, knowing this pussy… my pussy… was all he would need.
I brought myself to orgasm multiple times fantasizing of that moment. My fingers were drenched in my juices as I went back and forth from fingering my pussy to fingering my ass. I was so fucking wet, so horny and so ready for cock. I wanted to call him. I wanted to tell him to come back here and fuck me. But I had to play this better than the relationships I had before. There was no doubt, I was ready for him and ready for more. I was breathing heavy, sweating and trembling from my releases.
As I laid in the dark, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time. PASSION! DESIRE! Wants and needs. But his words kept emanating in my head, “I usually only date Bi-Curious or Bi-Sexual women.” And I wasn’t Bi-Sexual. And I didn’t know if that was something I could even do. I’ll be the first to admit when a woman is pretty or sexy, but to fuck her… That’s a whole other story.
I justified myself to just accept where things are going for now and hope that maybe, he wasn’t too worried about my experiences, or lack thereof. I need a good guy in my life and I wanted it to be him. I feel asleep that night having orgasmed numerous times, relieved and happy that we had our first true romantic night together and I was looking for more. And maybe, just maybe, experience something I never had before.
To be continued…