I hadn't felt so urgently horny since I had first fucked my husband John, twenty years ago in the backseat of his car by the beach, when he was my boyfriend in college.
And now in the back of another car, in another time, another John had three fingers deep in my wet, wet pussy, moving in and out like a hard, hard cock, while his thumb flickered across my clitoris insistently. With this other hand, he squeezed one breast sensuously through my silk blouse and bra and sucked my tongue into his mouth. I moaned into his mouth. I was about to come hard. I tilted my hips off the seat to let him plunge deeper into my pussy and reached for the hard-on straining the cloth of his pants.
The Uber driver turned up the electronic dance music on the radio.
"What the fuck?" I thought. "What am I doing here?"
The questions drifted by the edge of my mind. They might have been troubling, but felt more amusing. I knew exactly why this had happened. And I wanted it so bad.
"What comes next?" That question surfaced somewhere amidst the hallucinatory fireworks blasting off from various parts of my body and exploding in my skull. But frankly, I didn't give a damn at that moment.
Truth be told, I'd been fantasizing about this ever since I met John five years ago— not my husband, obviously, but this John, the one in the back of the car finger-fucking me now. I was trying to recruit him to join the board of the nonprofit I had just been hired to run. The organization is an important one in the city, but it had been stuck in a rundown rut for a long time. We needed to execute a turnaround, quickly. And John was said to be an expert in nonprofit turnarounds.
We met at on the patio of a café outside his office. It was a warm afternoon, so I took off my blazer. Like most men, John seemed to be enthralled by my tits. Truth be told, I take advantage of them. I think that day I was wearing a silk blouse, probably with the top buttons open to show a bit of cleavage. I'm a 34D but I work out so they haven't sagged much at all with age. My girls fill out a blouse quite nicely, if I do say so myself.
"My eyes are up here," I was tempted to joke. But he was paying good attention to what I was saying, too, and looked me in the eyes at the right times, while responding with the right questions to get the information he needed. He was a quick study. He knew exactly where to probe for the weaknesses and strengths in the organization. He seemed intrigued.
I thought I could hook him and reel him in, especially as the conversation warmed up and we both started gossiping about the people we knew in the nonprofit and philanthropic world. And he leaned over to tell me about one donor sotto voce and touched my forearm. So he could do warm and friendly, too, as well as cold and analytical. Just what I needed as a partner on the board.
I sprang the question. He said he'd have to think about. His standard answer, he said, was that he would sleep on it and get back to me. But, he added, with a wink, he already knew that after sleeping on it the answer would be "yes," in this case.
Was he coming on to me already? I couldn't tell.
He immediately listed the documents he wanted to see before making a decision—budgets for the last several years, fundraising projections with specific targets, biographies of other current board members and potential recruits, the appraisal of the historic building we owned downtown.
I told him I would send them as soon as I got back to the office, and that I looked forward to working with him on the board. We stood and I couldn't tell if we should shake hands or hug in the casual California fashion. He sensed the awkwardness, I think, or maybe he was trying to gauge my interest, and reached out for a friendly hug.
"Me, too," he said, as he pulled me unexpectedly close, so that my breasts pressed against his chest. We were almost exactly the same height, which rarely happens with men. I'm 6', 4". He held me close for a little longer than is usually comfortable and I felt something hard press against my pelvis.
He must have felt that, too, because he withdrew suddenly but held on to my hands, saying.
"I'm looking forward to this challenge with you, Andi," he said. "We'll have fun with this."
I felt his eyes following me as I walked away and he sat back down and picked up a newspaper.
My pussy felt wet and tingling. And as I drove back to the office, I put my hand down my pants and fingered myself leisurely, not enough to come, but edging close and then backing down. I kept thinking about John and that hardness against my pelvis.
Ever since, I had been pretty sure he wanted me, but never totally sure. He never made a definitive move, though he had plenty of opportunities. And I wasn't going to be the first to make a move. As a board member, he was effectively my boss. I hadn't slept my way into anything. And I wasn't going to mess that up by acting like sex was all of a sudden the most important thing missing in my life, though truth be told, a lot of days it sure felt like that.
John and I, the other John, that is, had been married for close to 20 years. We had two boys in high school. We played doubles with friends. I love everything about our lives, which had turned out pretty much just as we planned. Well, almost. We both had good careers. We had two beautiful, smart boys. We still had sex from time to time, and sometimes it was even as good as it had ever been, but less and less. I knew I was getting bored. My eyes were roving more and more. I looked at other men and took their clothes off in my mind and sometimes fantasized about fucking them then and there. These thoughts sometimes came to me in the middle of meetings and I had to force myself to pay attention.
That had happened during that first meeting with John, when he leaned back to tell a story about the board of the nonprofit he had directed for several years, and I found myself looking at the bulge in his crotch and wondering what he had down there. And it happened to one degree or another every time we were together after that.
When John would come into my office for a meeting and I would stand to give him a hug, and he would put his arm around my waist and pull me close for a moment, and I would lose myself for a second in a swoon that felt like an eternity, wondering if he would lay me back own on my desk, lift my skirt, and take me. Or when he helped shepherd me around a room of donors and political bigwigs, introducing me to people he knew, while I introduced him to people I knew. And he stayed close by my side with a soft touch. Sometimes leaning in, so my breasts grazed his upper arms, sending a thrill up and down my body. We were a perfect couple, I thought, or could have been, in another life.
A few times, on the drive back to my office from a meeting, or dropping him off at the airport after our board meetings, I was sure he was going to make a move. He leaned in to give me a kiss goodbye. It was just a kiss on the cheek, though it grazed the edge of my mouth, and left me hungry for more.
I knew he was in the middle of getting a divorce. He had told me soon after joining the board. It was painful emotionally, but legally amicable, he said. He had two kids, too, daughters, soon on their own way to college.
There was a moment there, when he first told me, that it might have been possible for us to get together. But it didn't happen. And a few months later, he brought his new girlfriend to an event. She looked perfect for him. Whip smart and good looking. But too short, I thought. I was crushed.
The warm flirting continued around the edges of our professional relationship. It added a certain frisson to our encounters, which were always filled with intense, get-down-to-business discussions, intellectual flights of probing discussion and debate, and the tantalizing electricity of what might have been. Or might, yet?
John left the board after one term saying his work was done. We were turned around, he said, and back on a solid path. I could tell he was bored. And it hurt.
We still saw each other for a drink from time to time when I visited the town he lived in or he came to the city. We gossiped and he offered me good, valuable, free advice. It was fun talking with him. And there was still something hanging between us, though I sensed he'd never make a move now, even though he was no longer my boss. It was clear he was in love and didn't want to fuck that up.
It didn't stop him from teasing me, though, putting a soft touch on my arm, or leg, or lingering with a hug, pressing a little tightly, crushing my breasts against his chest, brushing his lips across the edge of my mouth as if he were aiming for an air kiss. It drove me crazy.
And then one day I walked in on my husband fucking our friend Kim doggy style in our own bed. I had come home early, from a trip to John's town, actually. John wasn't available, though, for our usual drink and catch-up conversation, which is why I had caught an earlier flight home.
I saw their cars in the driveway. It was lunchtime. What was he doing home? I wondered. When I opened the door, I heard her. And him. She was moaning. "Yeah, fuck me, John." He was grunting wordlessly like he always does.
I really didn't need to see what was going on. But the bedroom door was wide open. The midday sun streamed through the oak trees outside the big window in our bedroom. The bedroom was bathed in a white light. It was beautiful, really. And there was my husband, grasping the hips of my friend Kim. His large body loomed over her tiny frame, his groin desperately slapping faster and faster against her ass. "Ugh, Ugh, Ugh."
I could tell he was about to come. I knew the signs. I felt strangely numb, like I wasn't really there. There was a little ball of red anger somewhere deep in my belly. But it wasn't welling up. It wasn't even moving. It was just sitting there. Maybe it had been sitting there for a long time. And I was vaguely fascinated in an utterly abstract way by the sights and sounds, as if I had stumbled on a porn channel in a hotel room.
When John reached over to cup Kim's tiny tits and raise her torso up to a kneeling position while thrusting deeply into her, I knew he was going to come. I backed away. I let myself out out quietly, and drove away.
I came back in the early evening, after my flight was expected to arrive. The boys were at tennis practice. John welcomed me at the door with a hug and kiss. "Welcome home," he said, gesturing to the table, where a bottle of red wine was open, and a bowl of pasta sat steaming.
I took off my coat and sat down at the table trying to remain calm.
"What the fuck, John?" I said, losing my control for a moment, and then struggling to reel myself back in.
I didn't want to break down. On one level, I was angry. And heartbroken. On another, I was glad something was finally happening to demolish the dam that was holding back my life.
"I saw you today. I came home early. I saw you were with Kim." I tried to hold back the rage, but tears welled up, and I choked.
"It's not what you think," he said, sitting down at the table across from. "She just stopped by for lunch."
"I saw you, John, and her, in our bed."
He was stunned into silence.
