Rebeccas Choice

You'd think that the person you'd know best would be yourself. That's what I thought anyway.

My life seemed set. I'm young, 24, slim, attractive, have a fun job, happily married to a great guy, and saving our money to buy our first house. No complaints.

I always have enjoyed sex and my husband is great in bed. I've never looked elsewhere – in fact never even thought about looking elsewhere. There have been a few occasions where guys have made moves on me – but I always put a quick end to it.

Then I got a glance of him.

He was walking down the aisle in my office with his own entourage following. He was being guided by the executive assistant to the president of my company. That is where he was headed.

He was so hot. I've seen many good looking guys, but I've never had such an instantaneous sexual response to a man. He was slim, but fit, dark hair – his suit looked very expensive, and – oh I don't know what. All I know was that he turned me on.

He walked by and I'm sure he noticed my legs. I was wearing a short, but not too short white skirt.

Now I want to make it clear – I did not give it even a second's thought – the idea of going to bed with him. It was 45 minutes later that such a thought hit me like ton of bricks.

Yes, it was 45 minutes later that a group of us were summoned in by the president. We would be working on this new account. Several times he gave me the once over with his eyes. Though I didn't acknowledge it, I was internally responding sexually. I was imagining what he would be like. Still – I knew in my heart I would never do it. But it was fun imagining it. It was actually the first time in my 15 months of marriage that I had even had a fantasy about another man. I felt naughty and this turned me on even more.

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Decision time. He's made a move. I now know he's the VP of a big company. He's the son of a very wealthy family. He's a total hottie. And he makes me wet.

He wants to pick me up right after work to go to his place. Without actually saying it, he's telling me he wants me in his bed.

I told him I'm married and responds asking me when I'm off. Do I tell him?

I know there is a good chance I will hate myself and be overcome with guilt if I cheat on my husband. I know that the odds are I'd just be a flavour of the week for this guy. So I decide to tell him I can't.

"I'm flattered, really I am, but I just can't".

He looks at me with those eyes.

"Then let me pick you up after work. If you can't I'll take you home – or wherever you want to go. And if you change your mind...... . Now when did you say you get off of work?"

I felt weak in the knees. I told him 5. He left with a "see you then".

I was a wreck. It struck me that being unfaithful actually came in degrees. First, there was the very thought of it – that I actually thought about another man sexually. And now, I had agreed to meet this man after work. True – I hadn't agreed to bed him. But I had agreed to be with him, instead of hopping on the public transportation and going straight home.

I realized I needed to improve my resolve.

I called my husband at his office. We said the usual things. Before he hung up I blurted out that I'd be late this evening. I told him we were working on a big new project.

I had surprised myself. But while talking to him, I realized that I was still very much considering being unfaithful. I realized that deep down, I hadn't made a final decision, and in case – just in case of the possibility, I wanted to let him know I'd be late.

I now had everything covered. I was left with nothing more than two perfectly defined options and nothing new could develop.

Either I remain faithful to my loving good husband or I cheat on him with a young hot stud who I've said less than 50 words too.

Then I got to thinking – what if this guy, for whatever reasons, wants something longer term? I'd be having an affair with hot stunning rich guy. What if it developed into something more? What if I reached a point where I had to choose and loved both men?

I realized the odds were that I'd be a flavour of the week. I realized that the possibility of one day being married to this new guy was completely remote. And then I realized that either way, I come out ahead.

You see, if I'm just the flavour of the week, then the relationship will have been meaningless. If I'm just the flavour of the week, what I get is sex with a guy I'm drooling over, without any baggage.

On the other hand, if, however remote, there is the possibility that I'd find him an even better guy than my husband (who I do love dearly in spite of what you think), I could only find this out by going with him now.

Either way, I'd be better off by following my sex urges over my heart.

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My blouse was unbuttoned and he cupped my breasts as we french kissed. My sexual desire felt like a current running through me – up and down my legs, in my stomach, focused on my breasts, in and around my lips and tongue, and of course, with his finger pressing against my clitoris, throughout my pubic area.

He told me to take off my wedding ring. After all, I was going to be completely unfaithful.

Being unfaithful has two components. First, I wanted – no – needed – to be satisfied by this man. Second, in return, I wanted to satisfy him. These are separate desires. Honestly I don't know which was worse to do to my husband. But I wanted both.

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I wrapped my left hand around the bulge in his pants. I caressed it. I was soon to discover that his package was a little longer and a little thicker than my husband's. My husband is very good in bed. But I found out that size also matters.

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He called me a taxi. I raced to get dressed and I tried my best to get that "I've just had the greatest fuck of my life" look off my face. God he was hot. I felt like such a whore. I didn't mind this.