It seemed natural that we eventually began sharing the state of our current sex lives. Our spouses had lost interest in sex. In my case, my wife never broached the subject of sex and only reluctantly was willing to "do me," as she put it. I usually masturbated but on occasion, when needing a human touch, I would ask her for some relief. She would touch me and fondle me while I masturbated and every now and then let me come in her mouth. Then she would to go the bathroom, spit out my semen, and rinse her mouth out. In Joan's case, she too mostly masturbated. When she needed the human touch, she would ask husband for sex. He would comply most of the time. It was missionary position and when he came, he stopped whether or not she had an orgasm. Like my wife, he would go and clean up after sex.
Of course, our moral and religious values entered into our discussions. We both shared the same ideas about right and wrong, moral and immoral. We were at the same place in our faith and served in our respective churches. Though frustrated sexually, neither of us had ever contemplated an affair. Both of us had thought about divorce at one time or another but we had family obligations and didn't want to hurt those close to us. That, along with our moral and religious objections, seemed to make our relationship a long-distance one. It seemed were destined to live, no matter how much we bantered and hinted, with unfulfilled needs. But our need for fulfillment began to over-ride the moral and faith issues we shared. The longer we talked the less important moral and faith issues became to us.
We shared our sexual frustrations and continued to rely mostly on masturbation to meet our sexual needs. Our emails became increasingly graphic about how, in a perfect relationship, we would like to share sex with our partner. On one occasion I told her that for two people who aren't getting any we sure talk big about it. That led to some bantering that if we ever had sex together we would certainly fulfill each other's sexual needs. We had added naughtiness to our orneriness.
Before long, we were bantering back and forth about sex in nearly every email describing our sexual fantasies. It turned out we shared many of the same sexual preferences. The two of us became each other's fantasy. We had some serious discussions about sex and found that agreed that there is so much more to it than the physical. Sex is physical, we agreed, making love involves the mind and emotions. We talked frankly about our mental and emotional needs and how sex played a part in meeting them. We stopped using the word sex and replaced it with making love. Our emails became more personal, the bantering more emotional. Because of our teasing, we came up with what we called "t" words: tease, tempt, tantalize, titillate, torment, and torture. We accused each other of deliberately "t-ing" each other, which we were of course. We also began using "s" words describing what our reactions would be if we were making love with each other: shiver, squirm, squeak, squeal, screech, shriek, scream, and shout. We were turning each other on so much with our words that often we would have to stop in the middle of reading or writing an email to masturbate. We admitted that we were meeting the needs of each other's minds and emotions. But our physical needs continued to be unmet.
Honesty became important to us. Whatever we thought, whatever we felt, we were to express to each other. We agree there would be no holding back anything. The relationship we were building was to be totally open and free from judging.
We continued sharing our frustrations and what we would do to relieve them in each other if we ever had the opportunity. It got pretty graphic. We covered every possible nuance of making love. To us, making love was not a sprint, though an occasional quickie had appeal. We agreed it was a marathon. Making love was not jumping all over each other. And it wasn't just intercourse. Foreplay was important. We talked about kissing, how we liked it, how we would share it. We shared the need we had to simply to hold and to be held. We described how we would caress each other's faces, massage necks, backs and shoulders, whisper words of endearment. We wrote of stroking fingers over each other's bodies and running lips and tongues from head to toe. We shared with abandon what we would do with each other if we would we would ever meet and let our passions take over. We shared our "hot spots," what we've always wanted to do with-for-to another, what we've never tried but would like to. A deep attraction developed between us. It came to the point that we were depending on each other to feel needed and wanted and desired.
Things changed in one email in February. On Monday, she wrote that she was going a nursing seminar at a college in my part of the state the next weekend. She mentioned the name of the college. I wrote back that if she took the obvious route from her part of the state to the college, she'd pass within a mile or so of my house. We began giving each other clues about the towns we lived in and eventually identified the towns where we lived. That of course, led to more bantering and innuendo and complaining that it was unfair that two people who seemed so compatible and had such similar needs couldn't get together.
We began hinting about the possibility of meeting. Then we began to talk about the possibility of meeting for lunch on her way to the seminar. I suggested a restaurant in a town close to the college and about 20 minutes from where I live. So we made a "date." She did warn me that she just might embarrass me with a huge passionate kiss in the parking lot. I warned her if she did that I might just have to drag her into the van and have my way with her. But in our more realistic moments, we said we knew in our heads it was wrong, but our hearts were saying yes.
Several days before we were to meet, the weather forecast for Friday was not good. Snow flurries and possible freezing rain were predicted. We went back and forth about whether or not to cancel, but decided on keeping our date weather permitting.
I had previously found out that she owned a small apartment complex. One of the units was vacant and she was in the process of renovating it. It was located in a city a little over an hour from her and about 35 minutes from me. I'm not sure exactly how it started, but we began hinting about meeting at her property. I'm not sure exactly which of us finally came out and suggested it, but we quickly agreed.
Our plan was that she would leave early in the morning with the excuse of dropping some things off at the property and meeting with a plumber before going to the seminar. We shared cell phone numbers. She was to call me when she arrived, let it ring three times, and hang up. I would call right back and allow three rings so she would know that I was leaving and that I'd be there in a half hour or so.
We got really excited on Thursday because the forecast had changed and there would be no weather problems. Of course, we didn't change our plans back to simply meeting for lunch. Without question it was the apartment.
I decided I should tell her about myself so that she wouldn't expect much. I'm really an average, you might even say non-descript, person. I'm about 5' 8" tall, older, wear glasses, and have grey hair. I'm not heavy. I work out three times a week at the local Y, but still have that slight paunch we males tend to develop. She wrote that she was about the same height, had curly light auburn hair, and had lost 70 pounds in the last year. One time when we were discussing making love, we had agreed that it really didn't matter what a person looked like, or what they had, it was what they did with what they had that mattered. But, because of our honesty, we agreed that if either one of us was not comfortable with the other, we'd simply find a place to eat, go on our way, and see where our email relationship might go after that.
On that Friday, February 24, I anxiously awaited her phone call. When it came, I returned the call and put my tool box in the trunk of my car. I had suggested bringing my tool box so that if her tenants noticed my arrival, I would appear to be someone who was involved in the renovation. Then I was on my way.
On my drive, I started having second thoughts. I asked myself, 'What are we doing?' I'd never done anything like this before. Neither had she. We were married. We had spouses, children, friends. But we didn't care. We had needs that we knew in our hearts would be met in the other.
All my reservations went away when I arrived and saw her step out on the porch. Two thoughts immediately went through my mind: 'So you are Catherine,' and, 'You are gorgeous.'
She smiled as I got my tool box and said that at last we were meeting.
I followed her inside and set my tool box down. When I stood up, she put her arms around my shoulders, tilted her head, and put her lips on mine. No, it wasn't "a" kiss. It was "THE" kiss. The kiss we had often talked about. It was a full-body kiss. It was a hungry kiss. It was a kiss beyond any kiss I had ever experienced before. I put my arms around her waist and drew her tightly against me.
I can't tell you how long we kissed. It seemed like forever. I had neither kissed nor been kissed like that before. Our bodies moved against each other. Our lips pressed together. Our lips parted. Our tongues played back and forth. We sucked on each other's tongues. I darted my tongue in and out of her mouth. My tongue was making love with her. We would break the kiss for a moment for a breath then continue. The kiss became the most arousing kiss I had ever imagined. Our lips moved to cheeks and chins and ears and necks. We sucked on each other's earlobes. Our lips met again, several quick kisses, then our tongues were playing again, exploring the depths of our mouths. Our hands began massaging each other's back. We grabbed buttocks and pressed our pelvises together. Our breathing quickened, became heavy, panting. I felt my penis harden. She felt it. She pressed against it. She rotated her hips.
She broke the kiss, took a deep breath, looked into my eyes, and suggested we move to the bedroom. Taking my hand, she led me up the stairs.
There was nothing in the bedroom but an air bed she had inflated before I got there and a space heater she started because the furnace was turned off.
