She was, at worst, one of God's cruel jokes or, at best, a work in progress that he was pulled away from for something more important. She carried 125 pounds on a leggy five foot eight inch frame that measured 38-23-36. Her long brown hair hung down to her waist and just the sight of her walking away from you could make you cum in your pants. Her tits were magnificent! Imagine a football cut in half - two stiff cones tipped with inch long nipples. She had everything that most women would die for - everything except for a face. This body straight from Heaven came equipped with a face straight from Hell; ache scars so bad that it looked like someone had stepped on her face wearing golf shoe spikes. And if that wasn't enough, an automobile accident left her with a scar that started over her left eye, angled downward across the bridge of her nose, crossed under her right eye and finished on her right cheek. So, naturally, the question on everybody's mind, the question they were too polite to ask, but you could see it in their eyes, was why had I married her?

That is a question easy to answer, but given today's attitudes hard to understand. I am from a generation that was brought up to accept responsibility for their actions. I got drunk one night, was carried away by lust for that magnificent body, took her virginity and got her pregnant, and here I am. When she miscarried she expected me to pack up and leave - to end the marriage and get on with my life. But by then I had come to see past the outer shell and see the beautiful person inside. I discovered what a prize I had in Abby; intelligent, warm, caring, witty, and loyal and so I told her, "Sorry, but you are stuck with me.

Until that day she had apparently looked on our marriage as one of convenience, and one I would get out of as soon as I could, and even though that is what she thought she still did everything in her power to be the best wife a man could have. She was a better than average cook, a good housekeeper, and our sex life, while not great, was adequate. She treated sex as part of her wifely duties, but there was no passion, no fire. That all changed on the day I told her that she was stuck with me till "death do us part." She became a sexual forest fire - raging out of control and determined to burn me to ground. For six months she tried to fuck me to death; at night when I got home from work, when we went to bed, and when I got up in the morning. And then one night, after months of trying to hold my own with her, and badly losing, I made what I thought was a joke.

"If you keep this up I'm going to have to get someone in here to help me."

Abby was licking my dick, trying to get me up again, and without looking up from her work, and in a calm voice she said, "Do you have anyone in particular in mind?"

I had not expected that response and for some strange reason my dick twitched when she said it.

"Oho, I see we have pushed a button here. You want someone else to do me?"

My cock sprang to attention. She stopped what she was doing and looked up at me, "You do! You want someone else to fuck me. I'll be damned. My loving hubby is a closet pervert."

I rolled over and put my freshly erect cock to work. Later, as we cuddled, she asked how long I'd been thinking about her with another man. I told her that I never had, that my reaction had come as a total surprise to me.

"But what about you? You were pretty casual in asking me who did I have in mind."

She pulled me tighter, "Baby, don't take this wrong, but I've thought about what it would be like with another man ever since my first time with you. You have to remember that you are my only experience. All the girls I went to school with, and most of the women I work with, sampled what was out there before settling down and getting married. Hell, if we both hadn't gotten drunk that night I might still be a virgin. Don't forget, the guys were not beating a path to my door. I heard all the girl talk and it did make me curious about things."

"What sort of things?" I asked.

"Everything! The differences between guys, cock size, who were the better lovers, you know, the ones like rabbits that came quickly, and the ones who took their time."

"What else? I inquired.

"Stuff like the difference between white guys, black guys, Latinos and Asians; what threesomes were like, what girl-girl sex was like, you know, all the stuff that sexually active teenagers talk about."

We were both silent for a while and then I asked her what she was most curious about. She thought for a moment before saying, "Just what another guy might be like."

"Curious enough to find out?" I asked.

Abby chuckled, "Get serious lover. You got past the face, but no one else ever has."

"What if the face wasn't a problem? If we could find a way to work around that, would you still want to satisfy your curiosity?"

Abby stared at me for a moment before replying in an almost inaudible voice, "Yes!"

Several days later at work I was sitting at my desk staring at the wall when my friend Bill walked over to me.

"What's up Bud? You look like someone stole your favorite toy."

I smiled at him; "I'm trying to figure out how to be a pimp."

He laughed and said, "That needs an explanation."

So I spun him a tale, "I've got a very old and dear friend who has asked me to help her get even with her husband. She found out he is sleeping with his secretary and she wants me to find someone discrete to help her get even."