Alpine Girls

Alpine Girls

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As the second wife of a very well to do businessman, I admit that probably some of my life is completely stereotypical.

I just turned twenty-seven this year, and my husband, Daniel, is forty-five. I’m blonde, petite, and I suppose a bit “preppy,” having been a former college cheerleader and fine arts major. Daniel and I met on a website for sugar dating. We started off with just a little ‘arrangement’ while I was finishing up my MFA, and it quickly became more. Before I knew it, we were engaged — and we got married in Hawaii about four years ago.

At the time, everyone of course had an opinion. People called me a whore, bimbo, a gold-digger, but cliché of clichés: we were madly in love, and mine is not at all a marriage of convenience, no matter what it might look like on the outside. However, in spite of how happy Daniel makes me, I will say that initially I felt out of my depth and almost uncomfortable, as I processed that transition from girlfriend or mistress to full-time wife. It probably boils down to my age at the time and my lower self-confidence — two things that have since happily changed.

My husband has two kids with his first wife, so between the kids and the business trips, I was (and still am) often left to my own devices. This honestly doesn’t bother me so much now, but back then I felt like a third wheel, not to mention, I was bored.

I wanted to set up my own studio space, but that would mean not being able to travel with Daniel — and as he is a somewhat dominant man, he prefers it when I am readily available when it comes to picking up and going with him. So, for the sake of our marriage, and with the enduring promise that he’d help me open my own gallery, I smiled and accompanied him to the next hotel in the next city, or stayed in our suite while he dealt with his teenagers (who of course hated me). Things seemed to lull on like this for a while — until around this time last year, when Daniel was invited to some meetings in Colorado with fellow financial bigwigs (you might think of them as the “Wolves of Pot Street”.)

While Daniel had a full itinerary for most of the weekend, I had the opposite schedule: nothing, nothing, and nothing, tra-la-la. And having lived in warm areas for most of my life, those snowy slopes are lost on me. I tried out the bunny hill in order to blend in with some of the other ‘work wives’ — and for the most part, managed not to embarrass myself. After a couple of hours though, I ended up bowing out and heading for the spa.

I decided to start off by warming up in the sauna. As I peeled off layer after layer of wintery clothing in the ladies locker room, it already felt so good to feel my bare skin again. I stood fully nude in front of the full-length mirror securing my hair up in a ponytail. Behind me, I noticed another woman arriving, so I hurriedly wrapped up in the soft terry towel and stepped instead the luscious steam.

Happily, I had the huge sauna all to myself. I unwrapped part of my towel so my bottom was covered and left my breasts uncovered. The transition from what passes as “room temperature” to the wondrous sauna heat was already giving me goose bumps and making my nipples stand at attention. I cupped my breasts, closed my eyes, and leaned back.

After a few moments, the sauna door opened, and the same woman who’d entered the locker room when I was getting undressed arrived. She had dark hair with a pretty side fringe, light eyes, and, as she dropped towel, a full set of pendulous breasts (either she had some incredible genetics — or a great plastic surgeon) and a full bush. She smiled at me; I smiled back and looked down demurely.

I settled in again and was deep in the middle of visualizing all my anxieties sweating out through my pores when there was a whisper in my ear: “Excuse me — I don’t mean to disturb you, but do you happen to know anything about the masseurs here?”

Startled, my nipples pinged again as I met the gaze of the blue-eyed brunette. “Oh! Uh, you know, I’m not sure, but someone told me today to try out Ericka or Jean.”

She smiled. “Thank you, that helps. I’m Sylvia, by the way.”

I giggled. “No problem. Allison.”

“Allison,” she repeated and looked me over. “This might be crazy but I think I’ve seen you before. Were you in Arizona like two months ago?”

I nodded. “Yes, actually. My husband travels a great deal, so I go with him.”

Sylvia grinned. “I knew it. I never forget a face.” Her gaze went to my breasts and then back up, “Or a body.”

I laughed nervously. I was already flushed from the heat of the sauna but could feel the blood rushing to my face.

Sylvia sat next to me. “Oh dear, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

I shook my head. “No, not at all.” I smiled at her. “After being chewed out on the phone by my husband’s ex wife the other day I think I just forgot that women can be kind to each other.”

Sylvia reached over and smoothed away a stray piece of hair that kept falling in my eyes. “I understand. If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”

“Twenty-five, but it’s my birthday in February.”

“And how long have you been married?”

“We just made two years.”

Sylvia smiled. “And your husband — he’s is that adorable silver ‘grizzly bear’ I’ve seen escorting you through lobby?”

I laughed. “That’s him. He isn’t as grouchy as he looks sometimes.”

Sylvia laughed. “Well, that’s a good thing. Jet lag can do weird things to     a person.”

Suddenly feeling safe around her, I added: “sometimes I wish I could get him to relax more, but oddly enough now that we’re married he never slows down.”

Sylvia touched my arm. “I know what you mean. My own Richard — if I want to see him, I schedule it.”

“Really?” I must’ve looked so shocked.

Sylvia laughed and shrugged. “Oh, no, it’s ok. We find each other again eventually. But, in the meantime, I find ways to divert myself — ”

And that’s when she leaned in and kissed me — and for a second, I found myself feverishly kissing back. I could feel the blood rushing to my clit already — and yet, I pulled away. “Wait — .”

“Hmm?” Sylvia looked into my eyes as she smoothed my hair back again.

“Are you — are you sure — ?”

“Sure? Honey, did you see what I saw in the mirror? You’re gorgeous.” Sylvia giggled.

I smiled, “I mean, should we be doing this in here?”

“Why not?” Sylvia kissed me again — and this time there was no going back.

Her pillowy lips worked their way from my mouth down my neck, and then went straight to my breasts. As she sucked on my nipples, her nearest hand unwrapped my towel and went straight for my pussy.

“Oh god,” I moaned. I squirmed and opened my legs wider as I felt her fingers stroking my wet clit.

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