When I first met Susan in the flesh I suppose my over-riding emotion was relief. She was just how I had imagined her; long sandy hair, pretty eyes, showing her age a bit - after all, she was in her 40s - but very attractive. She had only flown into London that morning, but was not looking too jet-lagged. I ordered two black coffees from the waitress in the coffee shop and then turned my attentions back on my American penpal. Her body was just how I had hoped it would be, a little on the large side but with the most fantastic chest. She was wearing some sort of floral dress with a very low cut, which showed off about six inches of cleavage.
We were talking about the weather, and how her flight had been, but all I could think about was putting my head between that lovely pair. Susan had got in touch with me a few months earlier after reading one of my stories on literotica.com. It was nothing particularly memorable - something about an orgy in a castle - but it had obviously sparked her imagination, because she wanted to exchange a few emails with me on jamesehart@….. Her life, it transpired, was very different to mine. I'm still in my 20s and enjoying the high life in London, travelling around the world and partying whenever I feel like it. Susan, on the other hand, lives with her husband and three kids (aged from 9 to 16, as if that matters) somewhere in the mid-West. Her life seemed to revolve around picking up the children from school, arranging their swimming lessons and supervising their homework, while her husband sits around the house drinking cans of beer and watching baseball on the television. She wasn't exactly unhappy, it seemed, just thoroughly bored. Like lots of other women her age, I guess, she no longer slept with her husband, Jerry, and her only sex life was in her imagination. She had the house, the car, the family, but something was missing. The letters we exchanged started off just friendly, but became more and more explicit about our fantasies. When I suggested that she should come over to England and meet me, she seemed quite reluctant at first. "I've been with Jerry for 20 years," she wrote. "There's no way in the world that I'd cheat on him. Let's just keep it in our imaginations."
I wrote back and told her not to worry. She should just come over for a few days and hang out, spend time chatting, maybe go to a few bars and visit the theatre; "You deserve to treat yourself, what with all the work you have to do around the house," I told her. "Anyway, I have a girlfriend so it's not as if could misbehave anyway."
In the end it seemed I had persuaded Susan, because next thing I knew there was an email from her in my computer, saying she would be arriving at Heathrow in two weeks' time.
She was coming over with a female friend, also married, from her local parents teacher association. It was the only way to stop Jerry from being suspicious, she explained.
That first day in London, while her friend Lisa was resting in her hotel room, Susan and I explored the city; we took a boat up the river, we went on the London Eye, and we visited a few museums. I was very careful to play the gentleman; barely touching her, except on the arm now and again to make a point. I wondered what passers-by would make of us. I look very young for my age, with spiky blond hair and a slim body - sometimes I can pass for 18 or 20. Maybe they thought that Susan was my mother or aunt, I wondered.
That evening, when Lisa had woken up, the three of us went out for dinner in the West End, and I made sure that we had all drunk lots of wine with our three-course meal. During the main course I put my hand on Susan's knee - she was wearing jeans - and was pleased when she made no attempt to shake it off. By the time we had reached the dessert, which was a blackberry and apple crumble, I had slid my hand down her thighs, and was slowly sliding it up and down. Susan pretended that nothing was happening, and carried on the conversation, which was about American politics and the upcoming election. By the time the coffee arrived, I had the palm of my right hand firmly between her legs and was rubbing hard against her. She was pressing herself against my fingers with what seemed almost like desperation. In the candlelight, she looked very foxy; she could have been 10 years younger than her real age...which was 43, or so she said.
But before we got up to leave, when Lisa went to the ladies, Susan turned to me and said: "I can't believe you did that! You know I'm a married woman. How dare you?"
I knew she had to say this to make herself feel less bad about a near-stranger rubbing her pussy through her jeans, so all I said was: "You seemed to be enjoying it."
I had made sure that she had the number for my mobile phone, and I knew she would be calling me later that night. Lo and behold, a few hours later, after we had settled the bill and left the restaurant - and the ladies had gone back to their seperate hotel rooms - I was waiting in a bar around the corner, when the phone rang.
"I want you to come around now," said Susan.
I thought about arguing, and calling her a hypocrite, but all I could think about was finally getting my mouth on those huge breasts. Next thing I knew, I was ringing the bell of her hotel room.
I was half-expecting her to open the door wearing nothing but her underwear, which would have been a bit of a cliche, but she was still fully clothed in the flowery top and jeans. She had a small whisky in one hand.
