Thursdays 10/6

Sitting in the far corner of a nice bar, buried in the corner in the hopes of invisibility, I still find myself beset by the fear of discovery and wondering just what the hell I was thinking with this level of publicity.

My paramour sits across from me, her back to the room. The red of her hair takes on a bloody tint in the dim light, and it shrouds her azure eyes in a way both haunting and erotic. Her hand rests on mine, her fingers taking notice of my wedding ring. With her other she holds and sips a Cosmopolitan from a martini glass. My second scotch and soda sits half-drunk in front of me.

"Does it bother you," I ask.

"Does it bother you," she returns.

"Not like you might think. This," I say, rubbing the band, "doesn't seem to have much to do with what we share."

"So you have no qualms and no regrets," she asks, brushing the hair back from her eyes and locking mine.

"None. Except that we seem limited to Thursdays during the class break. But even that makes things... more interesting."

"And if we could break from that?"

"I don't know. I said I wasn't looking for a relationship and I meant it. But," I continue, leaning forward so as not to be overheard, "I'd love to fuck you in a bed, long and slow, with no hurry to finish up. I'd love to run my tongue along your thigh and taste you. I'd love, just once, to fall asleep with you afterwards, wake up, and start again. One night without saying goodbye."

There is a visible reaction on her face and I can hear the sharp intake of breath. Have I intrigued her? Aroused her? Offended her? She gives me no cues to read, just continues to lock my gaze.

"Do you still fuck your wife?"

"Yes."

"When was the last time?"

I take a deep breath. "This morning."

"So that's what was different."

"Maybe. Is that a problem?"

"How would you feel if I told you I'd sucked another man's cock this morning?"

"Perhaps a bit jealous, but I have no right to be. I have no claim on you, nor you on me. Whatever we do, or don't do, I love my wife as I am able. Fucking you is nothing to do with her; it's all about you and me and what we want from each other. If we parted company tonight, I'd have no regrets. I could see going home and being faithful for another 15 years, our tryst a delicious memory to sustain me in rough times."

She holds my gaze and I wonder what she is thinking. Around us there is chaos, but perfect calm reigns within our sphere. I am aware of these things--of the startling power of her stare, of the plump redness of her lips, of my heartbeat as I feel myself on the precipice, of the movement of blood to my cock as I think over what I have said, of wanting her to speak to break the silence. Finally, she speaks:

"I'm going to a conference next week, during the break. You know the one," and she names a gathering of academics in her field in a neighboring state. "To present a paper. Maybe you could join me there. You could try fucking me on a bed, running your tongue up my thigh. We could have... three nights... without saying goodbye."

Without pausing to think, I reply. "I'll do it."

"I said 'maybe.' Convince me I should let you." Then without further ado, she stands and leaves the bar, her unfinished Cosmopolitan the only evidence she had been there.

* * *

"Convince me I should let you," she had said. Later, in my study, I wrote her this message while my wife slept in the adjacent room:

We've both had the same unasked question on our minds all day, throughout the interminable talks, and the requisite chatter at the reception: "When will this end?" From the moment we walked in, you on my arm in your lovely black evening gown, me looking spiffy in a dinner jacket and tie, you've had that look, the one you give me with the sly smile you show me whenever you stop flirting with the guy you're talking too long enough to catch my eye. It's only fair, I suppose: his wife is talking to me and I've done my share of flirting, too, but I forget her when you "accidentally" lean forward over the table to grab an appetizer giving me a nice view of your cleavage and the black bra beneath.

Finally the affair is over and we can steal back to our hotel room. The elevator is mercifully empty as I take you in my arms and we begin kissing. The only sounds are our breathing, some low moans as I trail kisses down your delicious neck, and the bell tolling the floors as we ascend. By the top you have loosened my tie and placed some kisses of your own on my throat.

Giddy, we stumble hand-in-hand, laughing, to the room and somehow my hands are steady enough to open the door. Once inside we begin to kiss again, with intent you might say, and my hands move towards your breasts. I feel your nipples harden as I caress them through the thin fabric of the gown, and I feel your legs start to tremble. Your breath comes in short gasps, and you cry out a bit as I play with them, and I find myself wondering if you have just come.

Whatever the case, you kneel in front of me, lifting your skirt so as not to damage it, and work my fly. You reach in and pull my cock out through the fly hole in my boxers (I don't know why, but that's so hot) and you begin to lick the underside, from the base to the tip, and then engulf me, your tongue swirling and sliding along my length. Your head bobs back and forth and occasionally you look up at me, mischief in your eyes, as I build to a climax.

Sensing it, and wanting more, you stop and stand, and again our tongues are dancing with each other. Putting my earlier research to work, I reach for the zipper on your gown and begin working it slowly down your back, my other hand caressing your spine as it is bared. You arch as I press on it, grinding yourself against me, risking an eruption ahead of schedule. A rustle of fabric and the stately dress is now a pool of fabric on the floor. You reach behind you and unsnap your bra, letting your lovely breasts hang free.

As you unbutton my shirt, I work the sleeves and together we get it off in short order; my undershirt quickly follows, then my shoes, then my pants, then my boxers, until all that remains are my socks. They're not in the way, so who cares about them. You take your hand, as though to lead me to the bed but, deciding to take charge, I gently push you back on to it.

I kneel in front of you and run my hand up your leg, an errant finger stroking your pussy through the fabric of your panties. Again, the sharp intake of breath, a moan, and I reach for the waistband. You arch your back to help me, and I slide them down your legs, finally removing them.

I begin kissing at your ankle and leave a trail of kisses the length of your legs. Gently, I part your thighs and, once I reach them with my mouth, I seek out your center. My tongue begins to manipulate the folds of your sex and you push yourself forward to meet me. I inhale your sour-sweet scent as I seek the perfect place to lick, running my tongue up and down your cunt, pausing now to stick it in your opening and again to play with your clit. I try to kiss your lips with mine, and to explore each fold individually. Finally, I stick a finger inside you and you gasp, which encourages me to redouble my efforts on your clit. You build to a crescendo and come, crying out my name.

When I come up for air, my face drenched in your juices, you are splayed across the bed, breathing heavily, your eyes closed as your body continues to spasm. As I start to go down on you again, you reach out with both hands, grabbing my head and pulling me away. I stand, my cock jutting out from me, so hard it almost hurts. Then you say the words I want to hear.

"Fuck me."

You spread your legs wider now, and I kneel between them. You grab my cock and place it at your opening, a thrust, and I am inside of you. Your warmth envelops me, grasping my cock in all places at once as I push all the way in, watching your eyes widen as you accommodate me. I begin thrusting, slowly at first and then, your excitement rising, I thrust faster, harder. You're watching me watching you. We're both smiling. Your head turns this way and that as you say my name repeatedly, one of the most beautiful sounds I can imagine.

I'm fucking you, trying to reach the places you like to be reached, occasionally coming down for a kiss, wondering how you taste on my lips, but for the most part supporting myself on my arms as our hips collide again and again. I can tell by the increasing pitch that you are close now, and I am, too. I begin to thrust just a little harder and I can hear and feel you come, and see the pupils in your eyes dilate until they are almost all black with a slight halo of blue, just as the tightness in my balls gives way to an explosion inside you. A few more thrusts, and our breathing begins to ease.

I withdraw from you, and lay down beside you, holding one hand, and tracing circles on your shoulder with the other. We kiss in the aftermath, and speak of the day behind and the night to come, our hands wandering, beginning the next round already...

* * *

A few hours later, I am still at my computer, unable to sleep. The thought of a weekend of pure carnality is exhilarating and the thought that she might reject me is devastating. Then the reply comes, much earlier than I expected. A travel itinerary is attached showing her flight time and arrival. Along with this, a single sentence:

"You pick the hotel and I'll bring the dress."