Doing A Carol 1
Dear Diary.
Where shall I start?
My name is Carol Debbie Banks. I’m 50 years old and happily married to Jerry Banks, a smart, yet average looking man who owns a busy accountancy firm in the heart of the City. We’ve been married for 20 years now and we live very comfortably within the Essex triangle. For those who don’t know where that it, it’s formed from the towns of Buckhurst Hill, Chigwell and Loughton.
Some people who don’t know me may call me a slut, slag, the local bike, whore and a nymphomaniac. But I prefer to be called a hot wife.
As well as running my two profitable and successful designer boutiques called Banks, aimed at the ‘ladies who lunch’ brigade, I have an active social life where I sit on several charity committees, dutifully attend any of my hubby’s work functions and have a great circle of friends who are always there for me.
Regarding my business’, I love fashion and have worked in that exciting and glamorous industry for many years. And now (with thanks for my lovely hubby who has put his money where his mouth is and has invested in me) I have total control of what I sell and how much money I can make for my high maintenance lifestyle and for my after hours curricular activities.
Towering over my friends, I am tall in stature. Well, 5′ 10″ compared to Jerry who is 5′ 8″. He maybe smaller than me, but makes up for it with the devotion and love he bestows upon me. I can’t ask for more than that. Or can I?
To maintain my polished appearance (though to be fair and don’t tell anyone as I’ve had some work done with a few nips, tucks and fillers over the years) I try to go to the gym twice a week, not just to stay in shape as someone in my circle should do, but to meet up with Marco, my fit, hot blooded Italian personal fitness instructor who knows how to get into all of my nooks and crannies with his delving, yet tender fingers.
I’m so lucky to have this young, sexy Latin stud in my stable, as he knows my body inside and out, generously helps me with my stretches and offers a ‘helping hand’ on those dreadful torture chamber like contraptions that puts you into alsorts of contortions which leaves you helpless and with no modesty left to hide.
I’m happy that Marco doesn’t mind my ‘gym glow’, given the fact that he has been found with his head buried between my moist, supple legs after a heavy work out on occasion.
And now that I’ve reached the big Five O and entered the dark side of when the fun is supposed to start, I decided to grab the bull by the horns and try new things. So much so I have recently treated myself by having a drastic make over with all of my glossy brown hair chopped off and styled into a feathered, pixie look. This look is now easy to maintain and also easy to cover up when I’m dressed up in one of my many naughty disguises.
Jerry’s not impressed with my new look as he loved to grab my hair during our throes of passion, but I needed a new transformation which is going to take me into my new era of sexual awakening.
Yes, it’s a complete change from my usual long luscious look, breaking away from those Essex big hair clones, but I do like to stand out and give people something to talk about.
Don’t you?