I've never had an affair.
That was the only thing I could think about: I've never had an affair.
I'm 33. I've been with the same man since he was just a boy of 17. He sat behind me in chemistry and one day twirled his pencil in my hair. That was all it took, I told him years later. One playful moment and I was hooked. We went to the same college after high school and then he took his MBA at the same university I got my law degree. We were married two years after graduation, and he is the only man I've ever kissed. He's the only man who's ever seen me naked. He's the only man who's ever made me cum. I love him dearly, and every day the thought of him makes me smile.
Don't get me wrong; I'm human. I have my fantasies when I am alone. I like to look, and sometimes I like to day dream, but even if I start thinking about the young intern over in corporate law, or the bike messengers that sometimes wait around at reception, I end up thinking about my husband, and it's the thought of him and what we do together that is in my mind when I bring myself to orgasm. So even in my thoughts, I've remained faithful.
I've never had an affair.
This is all the more surprising that I'm having this thought, impaled on 9 inches of cock that I'd never seen before today.
* * * * *
I'm deathly afraid of flying. When I was a little girl my parents and I flew from Boston to Orlando. For days leading up to the trip all I could think of was the magic of Disney. It didn't even occur to me that I'd be taking a plane until my father asked, "Are you excited about flying in a Jumbo Jet?"
It meant nothing to me. I had no comprehension. I was 8 and I'd never even considered airplanes. When we drove to the airport I remember seeing these big fat machines lying around the grounds like beached whales. They just looked wrong.
We sat over the wing, and I found that every crank and tick of the engine, the hydraulic hum of the flaps, even the hiss of the air circulators terrified me. I cried the whole way. At first I howled. I raged and screamed and caused the most horrid fuss. Eventually I just broke down into sobs and moans and fell asleep.
My mother was traumatized.
We drove home from Florida.
I've never been in a plane since.
* * * * *
So when I got the job at Williams, Franklin and Moore, they asked me if I had any objections to some travelling with work. Depends on where to and how often, I said.
Once every other month, just to Washington, they told me.
Can I take the train, I asked?
I don't see why not, was the reply.
So once every other month I ride the rails from Boston to Washington DC, total travel time 7 hours. I plug in my laptop, I forward my desk to my cell phone, and I have an office day on the train. I find it remarkably productive, and stress free.
I like the train. There's something civilized about it: the seats are generous, and there's a lot of leg room, which at 5'10" is something I am in desperate need. It rolls along at a quiet, steady clip, weather is never a factor, and there is actually a view if you're so inclined, with the country gently sliding by in a rather complimentary fashion. And as I said, I can bury my head in work, taking a break for what I understand to be a much better meal than you'd get on a plane.
Today was a bit different. My breakfast meeting ran late, and I missed the usual train. I called home and told my husband I wouldn't be home until late, and not to worry I would take a cab home from the station. I took an afternoon train, and ended up sitting in a private passenger compartment. Two long comfortable bench seats facing one another, with a tinted glass obscuring the view in from the passenger walkway. It all seemed very European, and for a moment I wondered what it must be like to ride a train like this through the Alps or the Pyrenees. Unfortunately there was no where to plug in a lap top, so as the train pulled away from the station, I found myself looking out the window and seeing things I hadn't noticed on previous trips. It was as if I'd never been here before.
We couldn't have been more than 10 minutes from the station when the porter knocked on my compartment door and poked in his head. "Excuse me ma'am, but we seem to have over booked the train. Would you have any objection to sharing your compartment with one of our servicemen?"
For some reason when he said "servicemen" I pictured a train mechanic, but I could see standing just behind him the tan beret of an Army Ranger. "Of course," I said, somehow feeling that I was fulfilling a patriotic duty.
"Thanks very much, ma'am." The porter stepped aside with a bit of a flourish and held the sliding door for the man in uniform.
He stepped into the compartment and nodded at me. "Thank you for your generosity. I was starting to think the only way I was going to get a seat on this train was to ride the roof." He flashed a big bright smile at me and removed his beret.
I smiled back. "Well, there's plenty of room. It's foolish not share."
He took the seat across from me. "I appreciate it."
He was beautiful. His face looked like it had been chiselled from the proverbial granite. His shoulders were at a 90 degree angle to his muscular neck, and his barrel chest quickly tapered down to a slim waist. As he sat I could see the definition in his thighs through his dress pants. His uniform was crisp and clean, and I imagined that he'd ironed it himself that very morning. Probably after waking up at 4, running about a thousand miles and lifting a few tanks for a workout. He sat with no slouch at all. He had a short blonde crew cut, and light blue almost grey eyes. He was tanned, which seemed odd considering it was January.
"Are you just back from oversees?"
"Afghanistan."
I didn't know if it was impolite to ask what it was like over there, so I asked the next logical question. "Are you on your way home?"
He smiled again. "Yes, to my parents' house in Rockport." He undid the top button of his dress jacket. "I haven't been home in four years."
"Oh wow. You must be very excited."
"I am. I haven't seen anything but pictures. I can't wait to see my family and all my friends."
"They must be excited to see you too."
"Oh no doubt. No doubt." He looked out the window. "It's good to be home."
I looked out as well, uncrossing and crossing my legs as I shifted in my seat. I remembered I'd worn a short skirt and thigh high stockings. Looking down I realized that was on display. I looked up at the Ranger. He was still looking out the window. I leaned a little and pulled my skirt up my thigh to cover the top of my stockings. "What brought you home via Washington?"
He looked back at me from the window and blushed. "Oh, I had to attend a ceremony."
I looked at his left breast. It looked like he had every ribbon there ever was. "For one of those?"
He didn't look down. "No," he smiled some more, "I, uh, I was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor."
