What I was doing was wrong and I knew it. It wasn't fair to Dave, he would hurt so badly if he knew. And I couldn't even make up a decent excuse in my head.
Why did I agree on meeting this guy?
It started out innocently, on a stupid website. I was really bored, and initially I just looked for someone who'd talk to me, to kill time, someone who, despite what this site was clearly for, wouldn't ask anything sexual of me. I was loyal and faithful to Dave then.
I don't know what happened, maybe I was hurt from all the conversation closed in my face, bored even more when the only conversation I could hold was oh-my-god-so-boring. And angry maybe, when Dave wouldn't text me back.
So the next guy that asked me to take my dress off got his wish. And then I turned off the webcam, scared, ashamed. But I got back there. it was thrilling. The shame subsided, the guilt did too, and after a few runaways and a few very embarrassed I-can't-do-this, I met him.
He was kind, didn't push me, but could really make a girl blush with compliments, once I tossed my dress away.
I let him see me, all of me. I blushed at few of his requests, not being so confident with my body as it seemed. But he made it worth it. When I accepted to bend over for him and let him see my ass-cheeks spread and my folds wet from the thrilling experience, he showered me of compliments, appreciation, thanked me even. I blushed even more, but felt good about myself as I hadn't in a long time. We moved on from looking to touching.
I touched myself under his instructions, and despite the guilt I felt later, in that moment I thought, wished, those hands were his, not mine, not Dave's.
And as I came stifling a moan, still shy to moan over a microphone, splattering my fluids over my hand, seeing him cum on his hand too, on the other side of the screen, I was amazed at how intense that was. He never pushed but he surely was good at talking me into things.
I let him watch as I explored a part of that had never been touched. My asshole. And what a discovery that was. Inexperienced as I was in the all out-of-the-ordinary-sex department, a finger in there was so new and surprising to me I didn't even hear my conscience telling me to stop. It was too thrilling. And most of all, it was forbidden.
I wasn't supposed to do it, I could have been busted, Dave could leave me for it. But I couldn't bring myself to stop.
Every now and then, when I was alone, or really bored, at first. I'd chat him up, asking him to ease me out of my boredom. Then I became addicted. He was good with words, over chat, he made me wet my underwear several times, and I couldn't stop chatting with him even when I was out with friends, or had Dave on the phone.
There were a few guilt trips, days in which I didn't answer to his texts or emails, days where I went back to be loyal and faithful. But I always came back. He was too much to pass on.
We exchanged pictures, at the most inappropriate times I would get a photo of him stroking himself over a photo of mine, and desire, pride of having a man desiring my body so, excitement at the forbidden affair I was having, all this filled me, and spurred me on to continue.
One time I was shocked to realize we didn't even know each other's names. I learned he was Brandon, I told him my name was Sally. Last names weren't necessary, but from then on, we did know a bit more of each other not-sexually-wise.
It went on for months, during which I felt guilty not just towards Dave, but towards Brandon's wife, who I knew nothing about. Yes, he had a wife, he was older than me by a long shot, actually, he could have almost been my father. And that was even hotter. I was starting to think I had a thing for older men, that knew better for me, that had load to teach me on sex, and that could easily have this kind of affair without getting involved.
And I had doubts, once in a while, thought about ending it for Dave's sake, or ending it with Dave because clearly I didn't love him enough if I was doing this. But I never resolved, it just kept happening. At times, I felt powerless, at others, especially during the webcam plays with Brandon, I felt so powerful, oh so powerful, that any man would fall at my feet if I wanted. It was my private pride, my escape, the thing that made think I had accomplished something, if even small and meaningless and dirty, when everything else shattered to pieces.
And then we fought, Dave and I, over something stupid, over a missed opportunity to see each other because of a friend's birthday. He got way too angry at me, and I couldn't take his shit.
He profusely apologized the next day, but it had shaken me up already. I liked being free, I realized, and he was setting up so many strings I just had the temptation to wriggle free and do something stupid. Like what I had agreed to do now.
It was in the middle of that day-long fight that I checked the messages from Brandon and he had this wild idea, this opportunity.
His wife was away for work, and his son was at summer camp. I could easily come down to his city, to his house. We'd have the weekend for ourselves.
Again, I don't know why I said yes. I was angry at Dave maybe, ached for a little freedom, a little more excitement, and Brandon said the right words, pushed the right button, first of all he let me imagine what he could do to me in real life if he had me cum all the time for him without even touching me. I couldn't stop myself.
I made up my plan. I got into my boss's e-mail account, sent myself an e-mail talking of a conference I supposedly had to attend that weekend. Then canceled it and signed off. That night I made peace with Dave, my rage smitten by the incoming thrill. And as my phone rang when I was driving, I asked him to check the e-mails.
He read to me my own e-mail. I feigned sadness for the lost weekend, but he convened work was work, and suspected nothing.
I left for California the next week.
So here I was now, in the cab, in front of his house. I couldn't get my feet to step out of that car.
"Miss? Are you going to get off?"
