It's a very difficult subject to confront isn't it? It's not easy to talk about sexual failure especially sitting in the back of a car our clothes in disarray. It's hard to debate a woman not becoming lubricated or a man losing his erection for both can imply a lack of fancying of the other person. In our cases, though, it was nothing to do with fancying the other, it was all about, guilt, fear and trepidation.
"I'm sure it'll be ok," he said encouragingly as we both struggled back into our clothing.
"I know Jack but maybe someone's telling us something, maybe it's fate warning us advising us saying don't do it?"
"Cat if you really believe that and feel it's best not to then we won't. But," he went on quietly his soft fingertips gliding across my still inflamed breasts sending shivers of strong desire through me. "I don't really think you do." He took my chin in his fingers and turning my face so it was looking at him asked. "Do you?"
"No." I whispered looking away for I didn't want him for some reason to see the lust and desire that was probably showing in my eyes. "But, er, um, oh I don't know," I sighed burying my face in my hands.
And there was a lot more of ers and ums over the next few days when we walked the dogs. The weather wasn't very nice so we stopped the coffee and took to going to that car park instead. Again putting the dogs in one car we'd get in the other and we'd kiss and cuddle. Well more than kiss and cuddle for now under the front seat had the regular visit of my bra and often my panties as well. For now we were becoming more and more comfortable in doing everything except having full penetrative sex. For now Jack made me cum every day and sometimes two or three times. For now I was regularly taking his erection from his jeans and for now I was also masturbating him. Full sex was becoming inevitable. But it was an inevitability that we both resisted. In a way we were like teenage virgins knowing that we would have sex, but realising the enormity of it so we found ways to put it off.
But it wasn't with Jack that I had sex next. Well not physically. It may have been emotionally that I received him into my body but the physical intruder wasn't Jack but my husband Richard. It was so ironic I thought as he fucked me that very night that earlier in the day I'd come so near to being fucked by another man. As Richard thrust in and out of me I recall thinking.
"God I'm so wet for him, a man I'm starting to dislike, yet for one I'm falling in love with I was as dry as a bone."
Most nights before going to bed I sit in front of my dressing table to brush my hair and finish removing my make-up. Sometimes I wear a dressing gown, often, particularly when Richard and I were getting on well, I would be naked but that night I was just wearing my panties. I remember they were light blue. I also remember they weren't the ones that had earlier been under the seat of my car. Richard was in bed reading and watching the news.
Suddenly he got out and without a word came up behind me, kissed the back of my head, put his arms around me, grabbed my breasts and pressed his evident erection against my back.
"What are you doing?" I asked sounding surprised and shocked maybe because my mind with regards to sex was now focused totally on one man and that wasn't Richard.
"Trying to have sex with the most ravishing woman I know" he replied rather smarmingly.
"Well maybe she doesn't feel like it?" I responded.
"Well maybe this'll help her feel a little more like it," he went on stroking and pinching my nipples with one hand in just the way he knew I liked it as he slid the other down between my legs.
The combination of his erection pressing into me, his hands on my breasts and pussy and the thoughts of what Jack and I had so nearly done and, indeed, what we had done earlier today, got to me. I didn't want them to and I tried to stop them but I couldn't, I just couldn't. I just couldn't stop myself responding to my husband although as I did it was Jack's hands that were on my body, his lips on mine and his cock in my hand.
In my mind, in my wishful imaginations it was Jack that pulled me up and pushed me towards the bed. It was him that kissed and caressed me and it was his hardness that I stroked and rubbed.
And as Richard turned me over saying. "I want you this wa," it was Jack's erection that momentarily pressed right against the entrance to my anus. I panicked for a moment thinking that Richard was going to force his way in there but he didn't. He knew that I wouldn't want that and that I have a slight distaste for anal penetration, well at least by a penis, so he slid past that place and was quickly inside me.
"My my, madam is wet, you must have wanted it, or me very badly," he said as he pushed his way right up me until I could feel his pubes against my bottom and his balls against my thighs.
Then to my consternation, amazement and remorse he fucked me to an enormous and incredibly satisfying double orgasm.
I felt terrible the next day. It was as though I'd been unfaithful to Jack. Even though neither of us had discussed sex with our partners I sort of felt that we wouldn't be having it with them. I felt that I should have been able to resist my husband and keep myself "pure and clean" for my lover, if that makes any sense. In effect my rather convoluted logic was saying.
"Don't give your husband his conjugal rights while you're considering being unfaithful to him by committing adultery with your lover."
Also in some ways I, rather desperately at times, wanted to ask Jack whether he still had sex with Fiona but, fearing the answer and him asking the ,do you and him' question, I thought that some things are best left unsaid
"Cat would you consider" Jack asked a week or so after the abortive session in my car. "A hotel one afternoon?"
It's odd but until he mentioned it, it hadn't occurred to me that a couple could take a hotel room for a few hours. Silly I know but totally true. And when Jack explained that you could settle your bill with the express check out from your TV so no one saw you leave and you avoided the embarrassment of seeing a check- out clerk it sounded perfect and was of course the obvious answer to our dilemma. The logical solution to our problem. The appropriate way to achieve our objective of having sex in nice surroundings and not our own homes.
We set the date a couple of days later and I announced to my daughter, Richard was in the States and my son was at football training that I'd be at a meeting in town and wouldn't be home when she got back from school. I told Richard on the phone that the meeting might go on and could involve drinks and maybe even dinner for the agency was introducing me to a new client. I'd just started back to work for I found doing nothing both boring and mind numbing so I'd gone back to my earliest trade copywriting for an ad agency.
It was on a freelance basis so that meant I could pretty much work when I wanted and apart from the occasional meeting I could work from home, This was much more convenient for looking after the children, tending to the house, walking the dog and, of course, for having an affair. And that was what I considered I'd been doing for some time even though it hadn't yet been fully consummated. In my mind that was not relevant or pertinent. I'd been both emotionally and physically unfaithful by letting Jack be so intimate with me and by me wanting so much to be with him. I was rejecting my husband more and more even though that night after my near shag in the car the orgasms he, or was it the thought of Jack, gave me did raise even more concerns and conflicts in my mind about just how crazy and complicated my life was becoming.
It became even more complicated after the next Wednesday, the day we'd agreed to go to the hotel. The day we'd agreed to have lunch together. The day we'd both made excuses to our partners so we could spend most of the day together. Yes the day we spent some seven hours in bed making the most delicious and comprehensive love together. The day that Jack and I became lovers and the day we both were unfaithful for the first, and second and third times as well actually, to our respective spouses.
I was acutely conscious as I travelled up to London by train that I was wearing stockings and suspenders. The short, tightness of the black, crepe dress reminded me of that with almost every step I'd taken walking from the cab to the train at St Albans station and with every movement I made as I sat on the bench seat for the forty minute ride to Kings Cross. I wasn't used to wearing stockings and suspenders. Although I'd hitched them up as high as I could I was aware that if the skirt rode up a little then a bit of my stocking tops would show and if I moved suddenly causing the skirt to ride up further then all of them would be exposed. I like to sit with one leg crossed over the other but that was impossible so it was quite an uncomfortable journey sitting with my knees pressed together. Even like that the hem of the skirt was dangerously some four or five inches above my knees and, due to the thin, clingy material, there were suggestive lumps on each thigh where the small buckles of the suspenders made indentations. The sacrifices and risks one takes for an affair I smiled as we pulled in to the statio
I'd decided not to use the Piccadilly line, but instead to get a cab to Park Lane where I was meeting Jack. Walking along the platforms and going up the long escalator I don't think I was kidding myself when I thought I could feel men's eyes on me most of the time. I suppose I was a little overdressed to most late morning tube travellers. The black dress was tight, it was fairly short and it was sleeveless. Although it was June I was wearing what men may have conjectured were tights or stockings. I was wearing strappy shoes with high heels and carrying one of those small handbags with a pair of long chains to go over my shoulder. My hair had been expensively made to look as though I'd been pulled through a hedge backwards and I was wearing full make up. I felt good and hoped I looked good and deep down wondered if others thought.
