Cathy was a rarity among the women I'd gone to bed with -- she was single. For a married man, all things considered, a married woman as a lover presents fewer problems. You find one who wants to stay married, so that makes her motivated to be equally discreet. She's likely to be selective in both the quantity and quality of men she's been to bed with. And she understands that you can't see her on a regular basis.
Cathy wasn't looking for a steady boyfriend. She'd been married for fifteen childless years, widowed for five. She kept busy with her job, her house, her aloof cat and her inquisitive Airedale, and her eclectic interests in New Age spirituality. "I enjoy men," she'd told me during an online chat. "I enjoy occasional sex. I'm not looking for a roommate." Then she echoed my own philosophy. "Besides, married men are safer, for all sorts of reasons."
The first time we met face to face was for breakfast at a restaurant near her work. Cathy was tall, a mere two inches shorter than me, with a body typical of a woman in her early forties -- moderate sized breasts, womanly hips, and sporting a few extra pounds. She had pale blue eyes and thin lips that were quick to smile. Her thin blonde hair barely reached her broad shoulders. We hit it off.
A few weeks later she invited me to her house. A few seconds after the front door closed behind me, Cathy was pressed against me and we were locked in a long, wet kiss. We moved to a nearby couch, soon shifting from being half-reclined to her lying on her back and me on top. Active mouths, busy hands, full body contact -- my erection announced its presence to her, and Cathy's body temperature and hot breaths announced that she was equally turned on.
"Let's go upstairs," she suggested. I followed her to her bedroom, standing at the foot of her bed -- a waterbed, as it turned out -- impatiently undressing each other. It was past time for the obligatory conversation. Her fist gripped my shaft, encouraging it even stiffer. My hands were on her boobs. They were nice handfuls, tipped with big, hard brown nipples. She pulled me toward the bed.
We got horizontal, my furry chest against her smooth breasts, my erection denting her soft lower belly, our hands caressing and mouths nuzzling. Cathy murmured between kisses, "I always use condoms." Uh oh. "To be safe." Her thumb was smearing my precum around my cockhead. "Is that okay? I have some." It didn't seem like the right time to debate it.
It was the usual getting-to-know-you first time. Mouths and tongues, hands and fingers exploring the newness, breathy gasps of pleasures both received and given. My tongue brought her to a vocal, shuddering orgasm that smeared my face with her musky juices, and her mouth made slow love to my erection as it seeped my readiness.
