Perhaps you have known the undeniable thrill of plucking the forbidden fruit.
I work for a firm that does computer repair, and makes house calls. You may have heard our advertisements. We even work on Sundays, although we charge a bit more.
I got a call today, which is a Sunday, to solve a computer crisis for a lady named Caroline who lives near the beach. I had planned to do some shopping this afternoon, but it could wait. The boss said the lady seemed distraught, and our firm advertises that we respond quickly to emergencies, so I shelved my plans and drove down to the suburb where she lives.
Caroline met me at the door. She looked a bit tense and seemed nervous. When I introduced myself and said, "Pleased to me you," she replied by saying "Pleased to me you, too, also," and then averted her eyes. She was a nice looking gal, tall, almost my height, with a face that was pretty in a plain sort of way. She had light chestnut hair, and was a bit stocky, but curvaceous. She was wearing a modest white blouse and slacks, although it was plain to see that there was an ample bosom straining against the confinement of that modest blouse.
She showed me to the little home office where her computer was. She said she was unable to get online with her dialup ISP. It took only a few minutes of tinkering to discover that there was a problem with her firewall. I disabled it, went online briefly to look at the company homepage, and discovered that there was a minor conflict with the latest update from Microsoft. In fifteen minutes, everything was back in working order.
Caroline had been watching me look with a sort of anxious melancholy on her face. When I told her it was fixed, she seemed disappointed, but dutifully wrote out a check to the company. Then she asked me if I wanted a drink.
I told her that I didn't drink that early in the day, and besides, I was on the clock. I was wearing my wedding ring, in case she had any ideas about romance. Then a pained look came over her face. I thought she was about to cry, but instead, she began to speak.
"It's been so long since I've had a man visit my apartment. I'm really sorry -- I guess this is really out of line -- but it has been so long, won't you please make love to me?"
I was dumbfounded. I patiently explained to her that she was a very pretty woman, but that it was altogether out of the question, because I was married, and I would never want to jeopardize my marriage.
"Look, I promise," she said, "you'll never hear from me again. It will be a completely chance, one-time encounter. I don't know where you live, I'll never try to contact you." Her big eyes were fixed on mine with a look of desperate entreaty.
I had never expected to run into a situation like this. "Caroline," I replied, "I don't know you. What if you have AIDS, or Mono, or some other thing that I might pass on to my wife. It's too dangerous. I've really got to go."
Caroline reached out and put her hand on my forearm. She was looking again like she was ready to cry. "Please. I understand. I don't want to hurt your marriage. It's just that I can't stand to be alone right now. What if..." she hesitated. "What if I, you know, make myself cum, and you just stay and keep me company while I do it." She seemed to choke on the words. "I'm so embarrassed... it's just that, I don't know how to say it, I need it. I need it really bad."
I hesitated for a second. I was moved by her appeal, and, I admit it, a bit turned on by the uncontrollable sexual force that had so clearly possessed Caroline. "Well," I said doubtfully, "I guess it wouldn't hurt for me to stay for a few minutes. But I can't have any contact with you, you know, no exchange of bodily fluids."
Biting her lip, she replied, "OK. Thank you. Just sit with me and talk to me while I do it." She sat down on the couch, looked at me, and then blushed deeply. "Well, I guess I'm going to take off these clothes." I nodded mutely and sat in a chair nearby.