This is a continuation of Take Courage, where James is deciding whether to tell his wife about his dalliance on the train with the delightful Leila. I try and write in a way that is as much about understanding the characters as it is about the exceptional sexual escapades they enjoy. Feedback welcomed, thanks for reading. RB
*****
As I walked up the path to my driveway, Leila's words kept ringing in my ears.
"Please have courage, James."
Truth is, I was not a courageous man. I was blessed with a certain amount of charm, an intelligence and sense of humour that allowed me to talk myself into and out of situations long before courage or valour came into the equation. I was also very aware that I had perhaps overstated my wife's level of "okayness" when it comes to all things sex. We have a good sex life, we do it when we can, when life with the children allow. Two kids under 10 will challenge any relationship - and they will take their toll on your energy levels. Many is the night that I have fallen asleep with my hand on my wife's breast, or a finger tucked snugly against the closed lips of her vagina. It wasn't that she wasn't interested in sex, it was that we were usually both exhausted.
I did feel guilty, but I also held on to the hope that there was a side to Carina that would not be totally averse to such behaviour. This hope sprung from the fact that we had both admitted to having our own little dalliances, and when we found the courage to discuss them with one another, we found it spiced things up in a way we couldn't have envisaged.
Carina's story is that she went away to Ibiza with her girlfriends one week, and had let the sun, sangrias (and I suspect a little cocaine) get her thoroughly buzzed. They danced until the sun came up, and she told me that some time around 4am, she got up close and personal with a dark, muscular young man who paid her a lot of attention. She allowed herself to be kissed, she felt his hands on her sides, and delighted in them sliding quickly over her breasts. The hedonism, the holiday spirit, and a burning desire meant that when he led her to a secluded corner, she didn't resist. Nor did she stop him when his fingers found their way into her knickers and into her dripping cunt. (My word, not hers, she's never been much for using such language)
When she told me that story, two years after the fact, I was not as affected as I thought I might be. It was exceptionally exciting, to tell the truth. Also, it eased the guilt I felt for my own experiences outside the marital realm.
Twice I had sampled the flesh of another, but only once had I broken the true covenant, and that was a couple of hours ago, on a train home to London from Winchester.
The first of my dalliances was a drunken fumble I can barely recall, the second happened when I was as sober as a judge, and consequently it is burned with brilliant clarity in my memory. Emily was a wife of a good friend of mine. She was voluptuous, voluble and we got on exceptionally well. More than once at group occasions we had locked eyes, and without a doubt we flirted. One night at a party they were hosting, she was doing dishes as the guests slowly disappeared. Brent, her husband, was doing the honours bidding people farewell as she got started on the clean up. Carina and I were staying over the night, and our kids were with her mum in Kent.
"Where do you keep your tea towels?" I asked.
She looked over her shoulder at me and smiled.
"You don't need to James, I just want to make a start so tomorrow morning won't be quite so hideous."
"Exactly." I said. "So where might I find a tea towel."
"You'll have to rummage" she said, hands in the soapy water, then blowing her fringe out of her eyes.
Rummage I did.
I stood behind her and reached around her waist, lifting her top, tracing my hands on the skin along her sides. "Nothing appears to be here, Emily." I said.
There was a hitch in her voice when she replied. "No, we don't tend to keep our tea towels there."
I grew in confidence and ran my hands up over her bra-covered breasts, which felt massive and heavy.
"Nor there." She said quietly.
I pulled one of the cups aside and felt my way around her left breast, teasing her nipple.
"Here?" I asked.
"Nope, but do keep looking." She breathed.
I carefully covered up her breast, letting the top fall back into place, and Emily dropped her head, breathing heavily. I then lifted her skirt slowly, gathering it as I went, finally exposing her delightfully round arse, which was free of any underwear.
"Emily, how could you?" I asked in mock horror.
She appeared to want the game to reach its conclusion rather quickly because she leaned forward on her elbows, dropped her head to rest on her arm, and spread her legs, presenting me with her bottom and her open, swollen cunt. I wasted no time - with my left hand I lifted her buttocks so they were taut, and with my right, I pushed my fingers into her, firmly scissoring in and out. I alternated between this and taking swipes up to her clitoris, and within 60 seconds Emily exploded in orgasm. I dropped her skirt and washed my hands moments before Brent walked in, declaring that they were free of guests and that a goodnight whiskey was in order.
I remember I gulped the fiery liquid down, quelling the first pangs of guilt.
So here I was, on the doorstep, feeling any thoughts of courage ebbing away. It was 6:30 at night, I braced myself for the onslaught of children, the sensorial overload of noise and young energetic bodies, demands on my time, demands on my fragile psyche, but when I opened the door and crossed the threshold, I was met with blissful silence. I called out their names, I called for Carina, but there was no response.
I looked around the house and in the kitchen a note in my wife's neat hand was clipped to a hamburger magnet on the fridge.
Hiya, Mum has the kids - she's taking them for a special day out tomorrow, and I'm at a music festival with Karen, she got me last minute tickets. Won't be too late, but might have a sore head!
Love, C
XOX
I was hugely relieved to have some time to myself, to consider what I should do. In my time honoured style, however, I found any number of things to distract me from thinking about the big stuff in life, choosing instead to find urgency in cleaning the house. In an hour, the bathrooms were gleaming, the kitchen smelled of bleach, and the carpets were spotless. I had just put the hoover away when my wife walked in with Karen in tow.
"Hello, my long lost husband - where have you been all weekend? I've missed our special sleep ins" slurred my wife. I looked into her eyes and saw that she was clearly a sheet or two to the wind. Which made me feel better, somehow. She's a lovely drunk - happy, clumsy and affectionate. I looked up and saw Karen was watching her with amusement, but her eyes were also red and she looked like she'd enjoyed a drink or two. "Karen's going to have a drink here while her cab comes." Carina said.
"Have you two ladies been up to mischief?" I asked. They dissolved into giggles
