Feeling Desired Again

I'm confused, overwhelmed and a little frustrated, and I don't know what to do. I better start at the beginning.

Yesterday morning started out like most other days. I woke up, prepared breakfast for my family and gave my husband the routine kiss as he left for work. That has pretty much been my life for the past several years. It hasn't been a bad life; in fact on paper, it has been a very good life. I married young, just past twenty, and had my two children about a year later, twin boys. Though I sometimes felt that I was missing something by simply raising my kids and taking care of the home, I didn't have plans or desire to drastically change the situation.

Content, maybe that's a better word for how I felt. Satisfied seems too strong, and any other word would make it sound worse than it was. I was content. I had a husband who probably loved me, kids who I know loved me, and ample friends. The only real problem was that I was unfulfilled, and I'm sure every thirty something mom feels that way, at least from time to time. Life was just routine, especially in the summer time. I was basically a short order cook and taxi service for the twins. I would steal away time each day for a run or maybe an aerobics class or workout at the fitness center if I was really lucky, but that was about it.

Even when I started having suspicions about my husband's faithfulness I didn't rock the boat. He was a good father to our sons, and I wouldn't take that away from them. Plus, I believed he could still love me and just have a fling on the side. He certainly wouldn't be the first man to do that. I was fairly certain that it was over. I won't go into details, but the other woman had moved away and gotten married herself.

It just seemed easier to pretend that it hadn't happened than to confront him about it. In hindsight, I may have just stored that information away, as justification for any behavior that might want to act on in the future.

My friends were busy with their lives; the ones with kids had the same issues I did, and the ones who didn't were focused on careers or dating sites trying to find a husband. My husband worked most days, and he was on the golf course with friends when he wasn't at the office. I didn't resent this; it was just the routine into which we had fallen. We did still have sex, although it was probably only once or twice a month or so and seemed to be more out of habit than desire, but that was alright, or so I thought.

So, after breakfast yesterday I was cleaning the kitchen when one of the twins yelled from the other room, "Mom, it's time to go meet the Dynamo!"

"What?" I yelled back.

At this point the kitchen door flew open and the kids burst in, "Remember, we can go meet the Dynamo and get autographs today."

I had a vague recollection about this.

Seeing the puzzled look on my face, the ten year olds continued, "Remember, when we were at the soccer game last month they announced that the last week of summer vacation we can go to their practice on Friday."

"Oh God," I thought to myself, "Is that today? How on earth do they remember that?"

I attend the pro sports games with my family; they love the games, and I'm the only girl so many of our family outings are to sports events. And, we attend them all, the Astros, Texans, Rockets, and Dynamo; if Houston has a team, we're there.

I pulled myself together, "Of course, let me look online and get the details," I answered.

A quick visit to the Houston Dynamo website confirmed the details; we could arrive at noon, the kids could meet the players, get autographs, and play games. I really had been looking forward to catching up on stuff around the house, but this wouldn't be awful.

I told the kids the plan and went to get ready. At least I had a couple of hours so I was able to take a fairly long, relaxing bath. I actually had enough time to fully get ready for a change. I could paint my toenails, properly style my hair and choose a coordinated outfit. I was thinking that I wished I didn't have anything to do until noon every day. Normally, especially when the kids are in school, I'm throwing on jeans, a t-shirt and a baseball cap and rushing to get somewhere.

This was nice. I put on a khaki skirt and a white tank top shirt, which I covered with a light denim jacket. I know; it's pretty much the official uniform of the soccer mom; still, it felt nice to actually be coordinated. I paused for a second as I slipped my feet into my casual sandals to admire my toenails and wondered if anyone even notices women's toenails these days. I decided it didn't matter; I liked them even if no one else noticed.

I then got the boys into my minivan, another symbol of the mundane, and set off for the Houston Sports Park, home of the Houston Dynamo of Major League Soccer. We arrived to a fairly crowded event just after noon.

I stood around with the other moms and made small talk while the kids jumped around in the inflatable bounce houses and waited for the players to finish their practice. A short time later it was announced that we could come into the facility.

There were about twenty tables set up, each with a player, so we had to proceed from table to table, standing in line at each one, in order to get autographs. This went smoothly until about the fourth table.

As we approached the table, the player looked at one of my sons and asked for his name as he signed a poster to him. He did the same for my other son, then looked at me, and said, "And what is your name?"

"Oh, don't worry about me," I replied, "I'm just the mom." I laughed at my self-deprecating humor.

"Oh, I don't think so," he answered, his voice a little softer than before, "Something tells me that you're not 'just' anything."

For the first time, I noticed him as an individual, not just one of the soccer players. I normally didn't pay attention during the games, so I had no idea who he was, but he sounded European and looked Southern European, Spanish maybe? Or Italian? I thought.

"Well, thank you," I replied.

Why did I say that? Was what he said even meant as a compliment?

"Not at all," he spoke again, "Your visit has made this day much brighter."

I felt my face reddening, so I just smiled and turned to follow the boys to the next table. I lingered a bit to hear him speak to the next fan or two, and I was pleased for some reason that he didn't speak that way to them.

Why was I feeling this way? I don't need to be competitive. This is stupid. These were all thoughts that went through my mind.

We finished the autograph line and ended up in large room where they were drawing for several prizes. They called several names, and then, there he was, my player from table four. He was on stage, reaching in to pull out a name. He called out two names. One name was unknown to me, but the second was one of my sons, so we started toward the stage.

Arriving at the stage, a young lady working for the team, explained that the player was only supposed to call out one name, but that two entries had stuck together.

Before I could respond, the player hopped off of the stage next to us and spoke, "I feel terrible, tell you what," he turned to my sons, "You boys go out to the practice field with our hostess here; you can shoot goals on the real field, and I'll take your mother to the team area and find you something special."

The boys were jumping up and down; they were so excited, and the hostess began to lead them to the field, though it didn't look like she was thrilled with this development.

The player took my hand in his and led me down a hall.

Looking back, I think I knew something was up at this point, but I didn't mind. My hand felt comfortable in his. He wasn't forceful or anything; it just felt, I don't know the exact word I'm looking for, safe, maybe? Yes, safe.

He entered a code on a locked door, opened it and led me into, apparently, the players' locker room, currently empty.

As the door closed behind, he turned to me, "I wanted to talk to you alone," he said, "I would like to see you again."

I was speechless. I don't know what I had been expecting, but this wasn't it. I was flooded with thoughts. Why me? What do you mean? I'm flattered. Oh my God, I'm turned on.

Instead of vocalizing anything coherent, I responded with, "What? How? I can't,"

He leaned down and his lips touched mine; it wasn't a full kiss, yet, his lips just softly touched mine, and I began to feel his arms wrapping around me.

I wasn't thinking rationally; I'm not sure that I was thinking at all, but my mouth opened a bit, as our kiss officially became a kiss. It wasn't forceful, but it was determined, and as I felt his hands on my back I felt desired, and, yes, I was thinking both that it was wrong and that I didn't want it to stop.

I put my hands up, planning to push him gently away, but when they made contact with those abs, I think, any semblance of resistance was over. My hands explored those abs as carefully as possible before I began pulling his jersey up over his head.

With the jersey gone, I allowed my hands to roam slowly over his skin and muscles, focusing hard to savor this feeling.

Meanwhile he had moved his attention to my neck and his soft kisses were causing a shivering sensation that I didn't realize I was capable of feeling.

I had been desired before, of course, but not like this. There was a huge difference in being groped and felt by 19 and 20 year old guys who didn't even know what they were trying to do, which had been the extent of my experience before marriage, and this, which was a real man desiring a woman and knowing exactly what to do.

I felt him lift me onto a table and place me on my back, while still arousing me by kissing my neck, and then I realized that his hand was over my panties, stroking rhythmically and causing a great deal of wetness. I held my arms as tightly as possible around him and caught myself moaning a bit as his hands raised me an inch or so off the table and then eased my panties down. I was placed back on the table, and he was on top of me, kissing again as I felt him enter me.

I was so lost in the passion, probably lust is a better word, that I have no recollection of his pants coming off, but obviously they did at some point, as he was now moving in and out of me at a slow, steady pace.

I felt myself getting close to an orgasm and for some reason thought it would be embarrassing so I pushed up a little to stop him and flipped him over so I could get on top.

Straddling his naked body was not the answer to controlling my orgasm. My new perch allowed me to see his incredible body even more than I had, and my God, it was impressive. I moved slow and took him deep and kissed him passionately.

Unfortunately, we both increased our pace and exploded, bringing the greatest act of lovemaking that I had ever experienced to a rapid conclusion.

Though I was kissing him and my hands were on his naked body, I began feeling that I was a horrible person.

I still wonder how that one act can create both a physical high and a mental low.

We got dressed, and he gave me the jersey that he had been wearing and said that we would give that to my son as his prize. He then gave me his number and said to call anytime and that we could meet. He explained that he had a suite at a hotel that he lives in during the season.

Unsure of what to say, or even what my thoughts were, I just nodded.

I walked down the hallway, collected my kids and drove home.

I cooked dinner, ate with the family, didn't say much, but nobody seemed to notice and went to the family room to watch television with the kids.

I was exhausted and wanted to go collapse in my bed, but I was afraid if I went back to my bedroom too early then my husband could start wanting sex and emotionally I wasn't up for that. So, I remained watching super hero movies until I knew that my husband was asleep.

I then quietly entered our room and our bed and went to sleep.

So, those are my events of yesterday, and now I have no idea what to do.

I could write it off as a onetime thing and never say a word to anyone, and hope everything returns to normal in my mind.

I could confess to my husband; I might feel better, but I don't think it would do any good long term.

I could call. I could see him again. That would be amazing in the short term, but then what?

I'm torn. I want that feeling of being desired again, but I know that damage, even more than I have already created, could occur.

I guess I'll figure it out.