Diane Cheats Again

Sitting in my preferred window seat, I could feel the anxiety rise in me as the plane was preparing for takeoff. I wasn't anxious about flying -- I travel for work frequently. I was anxious about seeing my beloved boyfriend Max. An actor, he had been out of town rehearsing a show -- they had just opened. I couldn't wait to see him and see him do his thing on stage.

But I was nervous. I hadn't seen in him in five weeks, and in that time I had done something incredibly stupid. I cheated on him. With a French co-worker. Multiple times. Such a cliché.

I had never cheated in my life. I've been with Max for almost five years -- he is a kind, loving partner -- I have never been with a man as decent as him. And yet, I'm cheating on him. Our relationship isn't perfect -- obviously -- our schedules and careers often keep us in different cities. But it's no excuse to cheat. We are monogamous...supposedly.

I looked back at the airport through the window. What have I done? I remembered the first time I met Max -- his youthful enthusiastic smile and handsome looks. I remembered the first time we made love -- his short, fit body against my slim, pale, tall self. Those first couple of years our sex was always intense. It had slowed down the last year or so, but no couple can keep it that hot for so long. Especially considering we're both almost 50. But that's no excuse for infidelity. Again...What have I done?

What I've done is fuck my co-worker Jean-Claude. And I can't seem to stop. The first time was surreal -- a Friday lunch, a few drinks, a daring public kiss, and then a glorious afternoon in my bed. In the same bed I share with Max.

It was all so exciting and sensual and forbidden, but immediately afterwards I was overcome with dread. I swore it would never happen again. It was a bizarre moment of weakness that I wouldn't allow to re-occur.

Of course it did happen again. I did my best to avoid Jean-Claude at work, but leaving work a few days later I found myself alone with him in an elevator. All it took was a loving gaze from him -- his hand on my hand. Before I knew it I was in a motel room, naked and on my knees with Jean-Claude's beautiful cock in my mouth.

As it was happening I couldn't believe I was doing this again. But I was and clearly I couldn't stop myself. Blowjobs are usually not my thing -- often something I did to please a partner, but rarely out of true desire. But with Jean-Claude, I just wanted to devour his penis.

I sucked him with joy and abandon. And when it was clear he was going to cum, I pulled him even deeper into my mouth. I swallowed him, rose to my feet and kissed him passionately -- the remnants of his semen dancing in our mouths.

Jean-Claude recovered remarkably quickly. Within minutes, he had me on my back, my legs wrapped around him, his large erect cock inside of me. That evening, we fucked in every corner of that hotel room. On the bed. Around the bed. On the floor. Against the window. In the shower. Bent over the bathroom sink. We finally collapsed after Jean Claude unloaded into me from behind, as I was bent over a desk.

In the cab home that night, filled with dread, I texted Max -- How are rehearsals? I miss you. I love you. A guilt text. I again vowed that it would never happen again. But I knew it would. The erotic charge was overwhelming. Two days later, I found myself bent over my kitchen island -- Jean Claude's penis deep inside of me as I groaned happily. Through my kitchen window, I could see the Manhattan skyline as Jean-Claude's rhythmic fucking pushed me over the edge.

I watched the same skyline become smaller and smaller as the plane took off. A couple of hours later, Max greeted me at the airport with a bouquet of flowers. He held my hand as he took me back to his apartment. He made love to me like a very hungry man. I came. It had been quite some time that I had an orgasm with Max. It was wonderful.

My entire stay was wonderful. We spent our days exploring the city and in the evenings I'd see him perform. He was great, and the city of Minneapolis was lovely. I was having a great time. I had compartmentalized what I had done -- out of sight and out of mind. I could pretend that it had never happened. That just a week ago, another man's cock wasn't inside of me.

But another man was inside of me, and in moments the guilt would overwhelm me. At night, I would watch Max sleep -- his belly gently rising with each breath and his kind, sweet face. I didn't know what to do. Telling him the truth would obviously hurt him -- maybe destroy him.

I flew back to New York, my secret still intact. And I knew there was no point in resisting. The next afternoon, Jean-Claude was in my bed, deep inside of me with my legs wrapped around him. His magnificent cock massaged my g spot, giving me a glorious orgasm.

We laid in bed recovering -- I admired his handsome face and fit body. His softening cock, which was still impressively large. I looked at him, wanting more clarity about us. What were we doing? How did he feel about me? Are there others? Was it love? Was it sex? Friends with Benefits? What was it?

We were upfront with each other. We'd known each other for almost 6 years -- we were best friends at work, and we adored each other personally and physically. But he would never leave his wife or his family. I felt the same. I would never leave Max. Jean-Claude and I were friends... and lovers. We could provide each other friendship and support and great sex. We would be each other's secret lover.

Jean-Claude kissed me slowly and softly -- I kissed him back. We luxuriated in each other's mouths as we both became aroused again. Our newfound understanding allowed us to breath with each other more -- we explored each other's bodies slowly and intentionally. His cock slid into me easily as I pushed against him slowly and rhythmically. He came, collapsed on top of me, and continued to kiss me.

He worked his way down my neck, my chest, my belly, and then licked me to another lovely orgasm. I smiled with joy -- knowing that there were many many more orgasms in my future.