I recently had sex with someone other than my husband, Frank, for the first time. What bothers me is that it was by far the most exciting sex of my life. It also bothers me that the experience has transformed my life in some dramatic ways.
I am a forty-year-old mother of two sons. I have been married for nineteen years to a wonderful, caring and loving man. When we first married we had lots of energy and only a little money. Sex was our recreation. So we screwed like rabbits in every position we could invent and in every circumstance we could tolerate. Under the pressure of building careers and raising two children, our sex life dwindled. From the six or eight times a week we enjoyed for the first two years, we dropped to six or eight times a month—in a good month. Our variety of positions petered out to the missionary position and an occasional 'love on my lap' exercise steeped in exhaustion and dulled by boredom and familiarity.
After the first ten years we talked a couple of times about swapping with some other couple, but we had been so happy with each other at first that we never took it farther than talk. Then we were so busy and so tired the discussion never surfaced again. A couple of times lately I've fantasized about other men or about swapping, but I haven't even mentioned swapping to Frank.
Before we had children, Frank liked to take nude photos of me. We have a very large collection of me in poses ranging from fully-clothed to bare-butt naked, very artistic to downright pornographic. We have hidden that box in a closet for years.
I have been able to keep my figure. I may not be quite as firm as I once was, but I am still a size seven and just over five feet, with dark red hair cut in a stylish bob.
Recently, James, my eighteen-year-old, invited a friend, Peter, to spend the night and that's the visit that has changed my life so dramatically. Peter lives with his aunt and uncle who are his legal guardians. He is a little older than James, and is from Haiti. As you might expect he is ebony-black in color and I admit having a black man in our home seemed a little strange at first.
The boys came in from school on Friday and I was surprised at the feelings that filled my mind at the sight of Peter. He is a beautiful, male-model kind of boy more appealing than Adonis. He towers almost a foot over me and is obviously a body builder with broad shoulders and rock-like pectorals. His smile is wide and highlighted by beautiful white teeth. And he has a wonderful sense of humor. He also radiates self-confidence. When he shook my hand he made a point of undressing me with his eyes and giving me his approval. In addition to flushing furiously, I found myself wondering what he would be like in bed. I even felt my nipples rising when we joked around with my boys.
The plan was for Frank to take our boys to the baseball playoffs for the weekend. Friday night, Peter's uncle, Jacques, called to say an emergency had come up and he had to help with it on Saturday. He could not pick Peter up until Sunday morning, as he would be out of touch until then.
Peter had no other relatives in this country. "Could Peter stay at our home until he was picked up?" We couldn't put him out on the street.
Frank asked if I was okay with this arrangement and we both agreed that Peter was little older than our oldest son and that he 'couldn't be a problem.'
After Frank and the boys left for the weekend, Peter and I did our various chores during the day and found time for playing in the pool that afternoon.
The sight of him in swim trunks had me drooling and it was all I could do to avoid touching him. He complimented me often and told me how sexy I looked in my only swimsuit, a conservative bikini.
After we swam, I dressed to start dinner and surprised myself by putting a drip of my favorite perfume in the valley between my swelling breasts.]
We had dinner and a lot of friendly chitchat, including some delicious double entendres, that evening. And I was almost embarrassed at how hot I felt when he smiled at me or touched my arm or shoulder. After dinner he helped me clean up. We watched some TV and chatted and I was even more impressed by his confidence and maturity. And his sexiness. He is a bright, outgoing young man with a remarkable presence for someone so young. We were both sitting on the couch in front of the TV and I almost flinched when my fully clothed thigh accidentally touched his.
About eleven o'clock, Peter said goodnight and went up to bed. I watched the news and then went upstairs to straighten up the guest bathroom.
The bathroom has adjoining doors to my younger son's room and to the guestroom. I slipped in quietly to straighten up without disturbing Peter. While checking the towels, I heard what sounded like panting coming from the guestroom. And his rich baritone voice saying, "Squeeze those pretty titties, Bebe."
The door was slightly ajar and I peeked in. Peter was lying on top of the bottom sheet and totally naked, his face turned away from the door. He was looking at something on the bed beside him, and stroking the largest, hardest, blackest cock I had ever seen. I was fascinated by the foreskin, which slid down, when he moved his hand to the base of his cock, to reveal a beautiful purple-black knob.
I knew I shouldn't, but I just kept staring at Peter playing with his huge black cock. He turned something and moaned, "Oh, yes, my darling. Kiss Peter's big black prick." He propped a picture on his thighs and pressed his towering cock against it. "And caress your darling with your titties, my love." He touched his cock to another picture. With a sudden shock, I realized that he had found my collection of photos and that he was masturbating to the pictures of my youthful body.
The thought of this young black man being so excited by my naked body set me on fire! I had never seriously harbored thoughts of infidelity, but I was now actively imagining how his huge black rod would feel as it slid in and out of my cunt. I let my fingers wander over my rising nipples. And my hot little box was literally drooling. I was so faint with lust and frustration. I leaned against the wall and my foot moved the wastebasket.
Peter called out, "Who's there?"
From inside the bathroom I called, "It's me," and I entered the bedroom. "I just wanted to be sure you had enough towels and anything else you might need." He just managed to pull the covers across his erect cock leaving his beautiful shoulders and chest bare. However, the box still lay on the bed. "Where did you find this?" I said, feigning anger and flashing a very real blush.
"I came across it while I was looking for a pillow," he said in a cute, ashamed and embarrassed tone.
"I'm really embarrassed," I said. "Frank took them years ago. They were not meant for public consumption."
"That's a shame," he replied. "You certainly have an exciting body."
I don't know what was coming over me, but I was feeling almost brazen. "Those pictures were taken almost twenty years ago," I said, "things aren't quite the same."
Peter eyed me lasciviously and said, "I'll bet you still look great."
