My One Big Affair

Authors note:

This story is about a critical time in my life. I found and fucked then parted from the love of my life.

It's quite a long story. I know that some readers do not like long narratives so I have broken it down into four parts. You can read them all in one go or in bite sized chunks. It's up to you.

Cat x

*

Mum you promised you'd come and watch the hockey match after school on Thursday."

"I know darling but I just can't get out of this meeting."

The feeling as his magnificently hardened cock sunk into me not only took my breath away but also took my mind off everything else.

"There's some cold chicken in the fridge and loads of salad you can have for dinner." I said to my husband from the hallway where I was giving my hair and make-up one last inspection. "By the way don't wait up I might be late, school reunions can go on a bit." I added scooting out of the house.

I knew that I shouldn't let him do it in the car parked in a field in the semi-darkness. But the feel of his hand slithering up my thighs that, unconsciously, almost, I opened for him was so thrilling that nothing outside of him, me and our bodies had any significance.

Affairs are like that.

The guilt and the loss of self-esteem at the excuses one has to make are hard to bear. But the thrills and excitement you get from your lover make up for that and more. Having an affair is like being a drug addict. You know full well that you shouldn't, but somehow you just can't help yourself.

Affairs are rarely completely satisfactory. They can't be really can they? By their very nature it's almost impossible? They're elicit, naughty, often unfair, always complicated and usually extremely difficult for all involved. They're relationships that are outside a marriage or other partnerships. They're liaisons and the coming together by two parties who shouldn't really come together at all! But of course it is just that with a different spelling that is it the very essence and appeal of affairs!

Mine was all of that and more. It was everything most people expect an affair to be; exhilarating, stupendous, amazing, fantastic and mind-blowing. It was disappointing, heart-breaking, horrible, frustrating and thoroughly emotionally draining. I had the most amazing sensations, incredible sex, powerful feelings of love and lust and lots and lots of affection. I had to lie and cheat, duck and dive and be a different person as circumstances changed. I felt tremendous frustration when I couldn't be with him and enormous jealousy when I imagined him in bed with his wife. I hated us getting up from hotel beds and going home when every sinew in my body cried out for us to stay there together all night, if not forever. And as the affair got underway I could hardly bear to be in bed with my husband let alone have him make love to me.

Did I enjoy it? Am I pleased I did it? Would I do it again? Was it worthwhile? Hmmmm tough questions to which I don't really have answers? All I know was that during the almost year to the day that I knew Jack I felt more wanted than I ever had or ever have since. I felt loved and desired and more of a woman than I could have previously imagined. He so fulfilled my every need during the time we were having the affair that I think, in all probability, he was the love of my life as I was of his.

I'd been with Richard, my husband, for around ten years when it happened. For all the time prior to that I would never have dreamed that I would have an affair. I was the devoted, doting wife. I was love-blind. There was no doubt in my mind that Richard and I would spend the rest of our life together with our son and daughter and that we might, as time went on, add to our family. But then something changed. He travelled more and more, going to the New York office of the legal practice of which he was a partner at least once a month and sometimes two or three times. As partners in major corporate lawyers firms always do, Richard worked murderous hours. Quite often during a deal he would be in the office in central London by six thirty and not be home until ten or eleven and occasionally not coming home at all but staying in one of the company apartments. I coped with that. It had always been like that. But when he added on to that the frequent travelling it was too much for me to take. It was then that we started rowing, that I felt he neglected me, that I became almost permanently frustrated and, I guess, we fell out of love.

*

"They seem to get on so well, it's as if they'd known each other for ages isn't it?" The attractive forty something guy in the bright yellow rain top, jeans and green wellies said.

"Yes it is and that's strange for Brad doesn't usually get friendly with other dogs smaller than him," I replied returning his smile.

And that's how it started. That's how the love affair of my life began. Walking our dogs for Christ's sake.

There was a group of us, probably seven or eight that met in the large field that ran alongside the forest that was just a short drive from my house. Sometimes, especially in the better weather we all turned up and walked together but at other times there might just be a couple of us and on occasions just two or even me by myself. We were quite a mixed bunch with ages ranging from me, probably the youngest, in my mid- thirties, to a pair of really lovely older ladies who must have been well into their seventies or eighties. The gender mix was mainly women with a couple of older guys and Jack.

Yes Jack, in the yellow rain top and jeans. Jack who said. "They get on well don't they" as the first words we ever exchanged? Jack with the lovely smile and twinkling eyes. Jack the man I fell for. And Jack the man that fucked me in those very woods where the two dogs had got on so very well!!!

But I get ahead of myself. I let my reminiscences become too vivid. My thoughts about Jack and me writhing naked in beds in hotels, squirming together on the back seat of his or my car or making love so magically in the open air, are starting to direct and control the flow of the story. And that mustn't happen for this account needs to have a mood, pace and style all of its own. This isn't a piece of fuck fest. It isn't a quick jerk off story. I'm not writing this purely for sexual titillation. No this is real, this is part of my life, a major and important part of me. I feel the need to tell the story. The story of Jack and me. The tender, loving, erotic and so sexual tale of our affair. And for me to relate that to you takes time. I will need to paint pictures with words. To describe the situation and to build the suspense up for you just as the impending affair built it up for him and me.

And that in some ways was the most amazing aspect of the affair. That period between the merest tingle of the thought 'does he want me and do I want him' and his magnificently hardened cock sliding almost ceremoniously up me? That and the realisation that as I gave myself to him so all my marriage vows were being ripped into tatters. Everything I thought I'd believed in about the sanctity of marriage, the trust and the loyalty was slipping away just as easily as my knickers slid down my legs to give my lover access to me.

From the time he said about the dogs getting on well we became walking partners. We walked alongside each other. In dog walking etiquette, and believe there is one, we became a walking pair. Our dogs got on well and that's important. I mean you can't walk with someone when your dogs hate each other can you? We tended to fall behind the others. After a while we started getting there a little later so that the others had set off. And then we began walking just the two of us. Just him and me. Just Jack and me.

I started getting up a little earlier, taking longer getting ready and making sure my shoulder-length, ash-blonde hair looked respectable instead of being pulled into an untidy bob as it previously had been. I found myself applying make up and spraying perfume on my face and body especially on my chest and breasts, the nipples of which I noted were often hard as I got ready to me my 'fantasy' lover. 'Shit what's happening I asked myself?. 'I am only going on a fucking dog walk!' I discarded the baggy old jeans and wore, tighter, smarter designer versions. In the cold of winter I'd wear a nicer top coat and in the warmth of spring and summer, tighter more revealing tops or sweaters. And under it I wore my Perla, Janet Regar or AP silk underwear and not my boring cotton M & S jobs. As time went on I imagined Jack and me together. At first I was horrified when I awoke in the middle of the night and was surpreised that he wasn't alongside me for in my dreams he had been about to enter me. I got used to it and started looking at myself in the mirror standing there naked and thinking that Jack was looking at my bare body. I hoped he would like it, would think that for a mother of two in her thirties it was in good condition. I worked hard at tennis and the gym to keep my weight around one thirty six pounds, my waist to under twenty six inches and to prevent any extra weight building up on my hips and thighs. And now more often as I looked at myself in the mirror and perhaps checked my breasts for any lumps I imagined that it was Jack holding them. That he was caressing what I think are my crowming glory although s few alternative lechers at the tennis club insist that accolade goes to my bum.

All of this was unconscious and went on for several months. But then bear in mind it was just a half hour dog walk five days a week. Two and half hours of exposure to each other often in the company of others and always in the open air with our dogs around. Not that conducive to chat up lines, flirting and come on suggestions. But somehow it worked and just six months after he said, they seem to get on so well so he was saying to me. "Cat that was amazing," as he let his now limp penis slip from my still wet and throbbing pussy."

Again I get ahead of myself. But that's so easy to do in my eagerness to tell you about my affair with Jack. But why am I so keen to do that? Why do I want to reveal my innermost thoughts and most intimate feelings? I know why. It's because I want to relive that year. Because I want to revisit those magically sexy times, those enticingly erotic moments, that wonderfully romantic period. Yes I want him back in my new life. The one you and I share. The one that only exists in words not actions and deeds. Yes I need and want Jack to fuck me with my words as I've been doing in all those submissions I've made to Lit. Does that make sense to you? It's absolutely crystal to me.

It was just a coffee. A fairly rotten instant one at that in a tatty café on the edge of the forest. But that was the real start. The beginning that established something between us other than dog walking.

"Black no sugar," were the first words I said to him as more than a dog walking friend.

I don't remember at all what we chatted about as we sat across from each other in the open air. I remember it was springtime and yes the trees were in bud, the daffodils were just ending, the tulips beginning and all the falsely romantic things that are said about springtime were around us. Including the 'young man's" fancy I wonder??

We had coffee again a day or so later and it then became a regular feature of our walk. And it was very much our walk now for we went out of our ways to positively avoid the others. We went later, met at a slightly different place and walked another route. None of that was consciously planned, we didn't discuss it but like so many things between us, it just happened because, I suppose, we both wanted it to happen.

Still nothing was said and certainly nothing was done by either of us to suggest what we were doing was anything other than two adults walking and chatting. Deep down, though, I think I felt something. I feel that I was becoming aware that the more I was with him the more I wanted to be with him. I couldn't in my wildest imaginings think that anything other than a friendship would happen between us. He was seemingly fairly happily married with three children and I had never been one to even consider straying. Richard and I had our ten and twelve year old children and, although we'd had some rocky patches, neither of us would dream of doing anything that could harm them.

So I mused April away looking forward to and enjoying my dog walks that by now were becoming longer and longer. Jack had explained that he mainly worked from home doing something with computers, that I didn't even try to understand, his wife held a fairly high powered job in the Civil Service and their children were at boarding school so his time was very much his own.

"In any case, I prefer working in the evenings and late at night, it gets the juices running and I'm more creative" he'd said, to which I'd quite innocently replied.

"Really," as I smiled at him and, for some reason, raised my eyebrows as I added. "That's when mine flow the most."

We both laughed at the unintentional, but quite strongly provocative double entendre.

"I bet they do the lucky man" he joked before we changed the subject.

The hard, throbbing cock felt so marvellous in my mouth. The large, soft, slightly hairy bag containing his balls felt as exciting in my hands as I rolled the two orbs around before sucking first one, then the other and then both into my mouth. My imagination was racing as my hands squeezed my full breasts, pinched and pulled my nipples and then plunged between my thighs that closed tightly round them.

Lying in the middle of our marital bed naked I was fucking myself. Making love to my own body in the middle of the day. The window was open and I could hear the noise of the mower as Tom our gardener did the lawn. I was masturbating more frequently recently. As Richard and I rowed more often so our lovemaking diminished. I found it difficult and very frustrating to take after having had regular, nearly daily, sex for so long.

My brown painted fingernails with white cuticles contrasted sharply with the creamy, suntanned as it was early in the year, flesh of my breasts as they dug into it leaving little red marks. The pink of my nipples looked fierce and appealingly suckable as I pulled and pinched them alternating between sending surges of sexual feelings and shocks of pain through my body.

I was near. Very near. I was at that stage where the eyes are tightly shut, the mouth is open and the head is starting to roll from side to side. At the phase where arousing the breasts is not enough. At the point where the epicentre of a woman's sex has to be stimulated. I had reached the level that demanded total sexual gratification. Yes I was in that state of female masturbation where my hands had only one place on which to focus, one area to coax that little more I needed to take me over the edge. I was concentrating, zeroing in and focusing my fingers attention on the place they had to be. Right on my cunt.

And as they stroked and slithered around my lips, slid inside and then rubbed around my clitoris I started to cum. To cum hard and long. As my straightened fingers plundered my innards plunging in and out of that tingling tunnel as I fucked myself so Jack's face came into my mind. In my imagination I was being fucked by my dog walking friend.

"Would you like to see it?" Jack asked one morning when we were sitting in the outside café sipping our coffee.

"Yes I would but I don't think I'll understand it."

Jack had been trying to explain to me what he did, but being IT almost illiterate I couldn't grasp the concept of the worldwide web as he termed it. It was equally impossible for me to understand what websites and dotcom companies, neither of which I'd heard of, could possibly be. But this was 1999!

I felt very strange actually being in his house. It was odd seeing photos and other examples of his day to day life. His wife's and children's coats hanging up, pairs of green wellies in a box in the porch, two mugs on the draining board that presumably he and his wife had used for breakfast. We stood in the kitchen as he made coffee, proper stuff in a cafettiere.

There was a tension between us that I'd never experienced before. We were, I realised, totally alone for the first time. Always we'd been in the open with others nearby or around. Here it was just him and me. Just the two of us. Nobody else. I felt nervous, ill at ease and a little edgy. The conversation had dried up. He focused on making the coffee as I looked through the kitchen windows at the fairly large garden that I suddenly imagined him and his wife working on together on a Sunday morning. My throat was dry and my pulse seemed to be racing. I still hadn't given any thought whatsoever to where our relationship was going or, even, if it was going anywhere. The only time there was anything other than a perfectly respectable dog walking partnership was when I was naked masturbating. And then I have to admit that more and more Jack was the feature in my lurid imaginings.

For most of my married life, and really that coincides with the greater part of my adult life, masturbation has played little part. Since meeting Richard when I was just over eighteen and starting to live with him when I was in my early twenties other than when he went away on business trips we must have had sex most days and certainly at least three times every week. Thus, when the supply was turned off, more I have to say by me than him, it's hard to take. And in a thirty something year old, as my memory suggests I was then, it's particularly difficult and I found that after say, five or six days without sex I suffered from enormous pangs of frustration. I was on edge and prickly a lot of the time, would lose my temper easily and found it hard to focus and concentrate on anything for long. The DT crossword, for instance, became an impossibility!

On top of all that I would, without any warning, become enormously aroused. I'd find an irritation starting near my pussy that within seconds had stormed through my body making my full breasts seem so heavy and my nipples become like organ stops. I would almost pant and have what in other circumstances with older women would be called a hot flush. I'd see a fanciable man, a pert bum or a good looking face and I was mentally in bed with them. I could see sexual innuendos and suggestions in the most ridiculous things and I walked around like I imagine a bitch in heat does. Permanently, almost, aroused and hot.

Inevitably that led to me reverting to, what I thought of then as, the teenagers remedy. Doing it myself to myself. Yes making love to my own body in effect fucking myself. I adopted a sort of ritual for it that included, usually, picturing a scene in my head that involved me indulging in one of my fantasies. At the time I recall those as me being in a gang bang, being forced to have sex and lots of bi action. But more and more, although I swear it was totally unintentional, Jack featured somewhere in my masturbation. Often not until I was near or actually cumming but then with increasing frequency, I extremely vividly 'saw' him to the point that on several occasions as the waves of orgasmic release poured over me I found myself saying out loud.

"Yes Jack, fuck me, fuck me make me cum, please make me cum."

I was almost blushing at these thoughts as Jack said.

"Black as usual Cat?"

"Er, um, er, yes, yes thanks Jack," I replied taking the elegantly thin white mug with the logo of three intertwined w s he was handing to me.

"Come on I'll show the wonderful world of the Internet," he said, putting his arm round me loosely, urging me through the kitchen door before him. "Up the stairs to the right," he added gently pushing me, the feel of his hand in the small of my back making me shudder.