A Booish Affair

I parked my car and walked towards Karen's house with a bottle of wine and a wrapped chess pie. It is already dark out, and through her open curtains I see a small crowd milling around her book-lined living room: other professors, her colleagues and friends, all bookish, all PhDs. My heels click on her cement walk and I tug the top of my tube dress up a bit, unhappily aware that nobody at this party is going to be looking at my tits.

But once I get inside, hug my hellos, and find a gin and tonic in my hand, I begin to mingle, drinking faster than usual to calm my nerves. I am a writer—this is how I know Karen, who also writes—and though I have published some poetry and fiction, the real action is under my pen name, where I publish erotica. I even supplement my income by doing paid web cam shows for strange men who get off on watching me obey their commands. Karen, of course, knows none of this, as she is my boss at the literary magazine where I am an associate editor. I suspect that if she knew about my kinky side jobs, she'd dismiss me from my post, so I keep my hair pulled back in a tight bun, wear my glasses, and behave, generally, like a librarian.

And then I see him. Across the room, in the corner of the kitchen nursing a bottle of beer, is Karen's colleague Ralph, a poet and professor of American literature. Years ago, when I was completing my degree in English literature as an adult student, I would sit in Ralph's class, half listening, staring at the bulge in his crotch. He was witty and quirky, fifteen years older than me, and happily married. I survey the room for his wife—a woman I had met a couple of times at outings, another professor with glasses and curly hair like mine—and find her to be missing. I make my way over to where he is waging a taciturn battle of wits with some man I've never met.

He sees me approach. He gives me that smoldering look of lust that I've seen him direct my way so many times, before letting his eyes quickly take stock of the curves hugged by my little black tube dress. His eyes return to mine and I give him a smile and hug him hello, careful to press my breasts against him, hoping he feels my erect nipples through the thin black cotton dress. We make conversation for a bit, how's your family, how's your writing going, before I tell him I'm heading out back for a cigarette and invite him to join me for company.

We step out onto Karen's back balcony. We're the only two out there, and the loud hum of festive voices insides sounds muffled as I slide closed the glass door. I'm careful not to let my stiletto heels get stuck in the cracks between the wood planks as I light up my cigarette and exhale the smoke up towards the starry night sky.

Ralph stands close to me, talking about some musician. I half listen, finishing my cigarette and plotting.

"Did you see that huge philodendron in the living room?" I ask Ralph.

"Philo-what?" he replies.

"That huge plant by the front window?" I remind him.

"Oh, that thing. Yeah, I saw it. I'm not really into plants, though my wife is a botanist," Ralph says.

"I love plants. They're quiet," I tell him. "See Karen's amazing potting shed over there?"

"That building with the roof and the siding?" he asks.

I nod.

"That's a potting shed?" Ralph says. "It looks like it could be one of those miniature homes!"

"It's like a regular potting shed on the inside. She just wanted it to match her house, I guess," I tell him. "Come on, come take a look with me."

We descend the deck stairs and cross her damp lawn, my heels sinking into the moist ground. I open the potting shed and hold the door open for Ralph. He enters and stands in the shaft of light coming in through the one window.

"Where's the light switch?" he asks.

"There is no light. Just let your eyes adjust," I tell him, placing my hand on his shoulder. I let my hand slide down his arm and then I slip it around his waist and pull him near me. I hear can hear his ragged breath close to me in the dimness.

"You didn't bring me out here to show me a potting shed, did you?" he breathes.

I pull him nearer and place my parted lips against his. He kisses me for a moment, sticks his tongue into my mouth. I lick and suck it, place my hand on his crotch and squeeze his erection.

"Hey!" he says, jerks suddenly away. "I'm happily married!" he remonstrates me, and turns toward the door to leave.

I grab his arm. "Don't be so shy, Ralph!"

He sighs and turns back to me, a spade gleaming in a shaft of moonlight beside him. "What do you want from me?" he demands.

"I want to show you how I touch myself," I tell him.

Before he can respond, I hop backwards onto the potting table, into the light from the window, and hike up my skirt, spreading my legs and easing aside my thong. I see his eyes drop as I reach between my legs and start to caress my clit. I dip my fingers into my wetness and massage my engorged labia for him, beginning to writhe when I notice his erection tenting out tautly from his khakis.

"Goddamn you," he groans, and grabs me by the upper thighs. "What choice do I have?" he asks me, as he watches me unbuttoning his trousers. His boner springs free, and I start to work it with one hand and return to fingering myself with the other.

"Fuck that," he says, and pins both my wrists behind my back with one hand while guiding his throbbing cock into my dripping pussy. He nails me hard against the potting table, tools clattering off their hooks onto the ground, knocking the table against the wall of the potting shed. Outside, the smooth sound of a sliding glass door opening in the distance. Then a voice.

"Lia? Ralph?" Karen calls across the yard.

I stifle a giggle and Ralph smiles at me as he pumps his meaty girth in and out, prodding roughly at my depths. I twist my head to peer out the window, and see Karen coming down the deck stairs, apparently to look for us.

I feel an orgasm building inside me as the possibility of getting caught becomes likely. I reach down and rub my aching clit, lose myself in his iron-hard cock's building momentum, and feel the great warm wave overtaking me and I spasm, clenching hard against his fevered cock. I moan, and he clamps his hand over my mouth, drills me harder.

"I'm cumming!" he breathes, and his dick slides out of me and presses against my stomach, cum exploding across my skin and running down my stomach, pooling in my belly button.

The door flies open. "Ralph? Li—"

Karen's voice dies in her throat as she takes in the scene, Ralph with a quivering erection, my exposed genitals and Ralph's cum streaked all over the front of me. She looks shocked, but I notice her eyes lingering on my breasts, my exposed thighs, the gaping hole where Ralph's manhood had just plowed me. I don't make a move to cover up. Karen doesn't look away, but she also doesn't speak.

"Karen!" Ralph says, mortified, stuffing his penis back into his pants. "Jesus Christ, you can't tell my wife about this!" Ralph babbles about this being a one-time thing, adjusting his clothing, as I remain motionless, legs still spread eagle, and Karen stares at me.

"Karen?" Ralph says uncertainly.

Her attention jerks back to Ralph. "It's none of my business," she says shortly, and turns to go. Without a glance in my direction, Ralph follows her out, still demanding her secrecy.

I reach over and grab a gardening glove to towel the semen off me. I can't stop thinking about Karen staring at me, how lustfully and unapologetically she had looked at what she shouldn't have been looking at. I imagine my hands closing around her small, perky breasts, imagine what her clit would taste like on my tongue, how wet I could make her before I slipped my fingers inside her.

It's maddening, this potential tryst with Karen, Karen who I have never looked at sexually before tonight. I start hatching a plan. I'll stay late, drink a bit too much, and have to stay over. Surely the rest will happen on its own from there.

I slip my dress back down around me, reposition my thong, and head back inside for another gin and tonic.