Happy New Year?

I can't believe I'm sitting here at the keyboard right now. I'd much rather be in bed sleeping off a terrible hangover from our New Year's Eve party last night. The problem is . . . I can't sleep, even though it's barely 6 a.m. and I didn't go to sleep until nearly 4:00.

But there's one thing I need more than sleep. I need to be able to make some sense out of what happened last night. Oh, I certainly know WHAT happened. It's the WHY I'm not sure about. Putting things in writing has always helped me organize my thoughts. So, I'm poised at the keyboard right now, while the house is still quiet and dark, to see if by committing last night's events to writing (or to be more precise, digitizing them), I might see things a bit more clearly.

I should probably start by introducing myself. My name is Dan Roberts. I'm 32 years old, with a good wife, a good career and most of the other trappings of success. Just so you have the whole picture, I should tell you that I'm 6-0 tall, with a trim, athletic build, dark brown hair and brown eyes.

Before getting into what happened on New Year's Eve, you need a little background. My wife Cathy and I met a few years after we graduated college. She was working in the marketing department of a mid-sized company and I was the account executive for the advertising firm that managed their account. As it turned out, our jobs threw us together quite a lot, and over the course of a year or so, I fell in love with her.

It wasn't her looks that attracted me. Don't get me wrong, she was very attractive—still is, in fact) with dark brown hair that usually was done up in a professional-looking bun, and the biggest, most expressive eyes I'd ever seen. What really caught my eye was the energy and intelligence, both of which seemed much larger than could be contained in a 5-3, 110 pound package.

I was definitely the one who did the pursuing in the relationship. Cathy was so set on building a successful career that she didn't think she had much time for a personal life. But after several months of persistence, she finally agreed to go out with me.

As it turned out, we hit it off very well, and I didn't have to convince her to go out a second time. She'd enjoyed our first date as much as I had. We had the same wry sense of humor, were politically compatible (liberals in a very red state), and came from similar backgrounds. We'd both grown up in working class families in small Oklahoma towns. We even attended the same large state university, but never crossed paths, or at least neither of us could remember if we had.

That first date, we intended to have dinner and see a movie. The dinner part went well. We went to this intimate restaurant in the downtown entertainment district. I don't even remember what we ate that night. But I do remember the conversation. It was lively, intelligent and funny, and before we knew it, we were the only people left in the restaurant. Neither of us cared that we missed the movie.

I gave Cathy a peck on the cheek after that first date. It was easy to tell from her body language when I walked her to the door of her stylish condominium on the north side of the city, that anything more was not in the cards. That was fine with me. This was a woman for the long term.

We'd been seeing each other for a month or so before we (finally) had sex. Truthfully, I wasn't used to waiting so long for a woman to give the go-ahead. But Cathy was worth waiting for. It turned out that we were in sync in the bedroom, too. We'd been moving slowly but surely toward the "main event" for a couple of weeks. We'd proceeded from a goodnight kiss, to some serious making out very smoothly. We'd even brought each other to orgasm several times with hands and mouths . . . usually her hand and my mouth . . . but who's keeping track?

On "the" night, we returned to the little restaurant where we'd talked the evening away on our first date. I caressed her bare arm delicately as we waited for our meal, and we pressed our thighs together beneath the table cloth. By the time we got to dessert, I had lifted the hem of her full black skirt and was gently teasing the tender flesh well up on the inside of her thigh . . . so high up, in fact, that as my fingers inched upward a little farther, the back of my hand was gliding delicately over the outside of her lace panties. I was delighted to discover that they were already quite damp.

Cathy returned the favor by caressing and squeezing the bulge that was steadily growing in my trousers. She'd apply firm pressure for a bit, then release me and run the tips of her fingers up and down my length, so lightly that it made me want to lift my hips off the chair, press my hard cock into her hand and force her to increase her attentions.

Of course, I didn't do that. But by the time we made our way to the door of the restaurant, Cathy's hard nipples were clearly visible through her white silk blouse, despite the fact she was also wearing a bra. As for me, I had to walk very close behind her to try and shield my obvious erection from the view of our fellow diners.

The ride back to her condo seemed to take forever. As soon as I'd tipped the valet who retrieved my car, we were gliding through the busy downtown streets. By the time I'd merged with the freeway traffic, Cathy had unzipped my trousers, loosened my now-aching cock, and was moving her soft palm up and down the length of my shaft.

Dinner had actually turned into one long foreplay session, and I was already aroused to the point that precum was beginning to ooze from my now exquisitely sensitive cock. Every now and then, Cathy would stop stroking for a moment and use her thumb to spread the sticky liquid around the swollen purple head. When she lubricated the sensitive underside of the head in that manner, my hips lifted involuntarily from my leather bucket seat.

"You'd better slow down a little," I warned her, "or we're going to have a mess in the car. And besides, I don't want to wait to get hard again. I plan to fuck you as soon as we get to your place."

By now we had exited the expressway and were less than ten minutes from Cathy's condo. The inside of the car was illuminated only by the soft amber glow from the instrument panel and the occasional passing streetlamp. But when I glanced over from the corner of my eye, I could tell that Cathy was a little taken aback by my directness. Ever since we'd started dating, I'd been the perfect gentleman, allowing her to set the pace with regard to sex . . . even when I felt as if the pace was a bit slow.

But things were going to be different tonight, and I think she sensed it. "That's just what I want you to do," she whispered. "Can you drive any faster?"

By the sound of her ragged breathing, I could tell she wasn't kidding. I'd never seen her so aroused. By this time, she was stroking my cock with her left hand and pinching her nipples with her right. She was slumped down in the seat, her knees spread wide, her skirt hiked up so far that I could now see that the lace panties I felt back in the restaurant were white, matching her bra. She was rolling first one nipple, then the other, between her thumb and finger. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be somewhere far away.

But she was quickly alert again when I stretched my right arm as far as possible . . . just far enough to enable me to press the wet lace of her delicate undies between the swollen lips of her pussy. I traced her length with my middle finger, pressing the fabric inside each time. I paid special attention to her hard little clit, which I could clearly feel on each upward movement.

Finally we were in her driveway, then on the porch. By the time she got her key in the door, I had already dropped to my knees, reached beneath her full skirt and jerked her panties down to her ankles. I steadied her as she simultaneously stepped out of them and opened the door. In our haste, we didn't realize we'd left the panties on the porch to bear silent testament to our lust.

Cathy was anything but silent. "Get over here," she panted, motioning to a spot next to her on the carpeted floor of her living room. When I turned instinctively to check to see if the door was locked, her voice was sterner. "Now!" she hissed.

I quickly lay down beside her there on the floor, and she proceeded to undress me, fumbling with a couple of buttons before finally jerking my shirt up over my head. Of course, I was returning the favor, quickly disposing of her blouse and skirt, leaving her in nothing but the lacy white bra that I'd been fantasizing about all evening. Actually, I'd been fantasizing about what was under it. But that's beside the point.

Already shirtless, I stood up to step out of my trousers. But as soon as I had loosened the belt, Cathy raised up on her knees, thrust her hands inside my waistband and jerked my slacks and boxer briefs down in one swift motion. It was so swift, in fact, that I hadn't even had time to kick off my loafers and the trousers and underwear were tangled together with my shoes. But only temporarily.

In another moment they were off and I was left with nothing on except my socks. I just hate the image of a man having sex while wearing socks. It reminds me of an old porno movie that a high school friend once pilfered from his father's sock drawer. It was my first taste of hardcore porn and I liked it a lot . . . except for the socks. There was nothing sexy about a man wearing socks while fucking.

But I knew better than to take time to peel them off this time. Cathy's patience had run out. So had mine. We both needed to fuck. And we needed to do it immediately!

She lay back on the carpet and I quickly dropped to my knees between her legs. I moved my legs farther apart to open hers further to ease my entry. Cathy was looking up at me with those big brown eyes, only this time I saw a fire that I'd never seen before. I leaned toward her and pressed my lips to hers, fiercely parting her lips with my tongue. In the same motion, I pushed her bra upward until it was almost around her neck, giving me access to her firm breasts, which were rising and falling rapidly with each panting breath.

I reached down and guided the swollen head of my cock to her entrance and traced it up and down just inside her swollen lips. And then it hit me. "Oh shit," I swore. "I don't think I have a condom with me. Shit, shit, shit!"

"Don't worry," she replied. "I've been on the pill to regulate my periods since I was sixteen. I want to feel you inside me," she whispered softly. There was an urgency in her voice, and she raised her hips up to meet me. So, I positioned myself at her opening, then thrust forward, driving my shaft home in one deep stroke.

"Yessssss," I heard her say, just as my balls slapped against her ass on that initial thrust. Then, as I began to move my cock in and out, she began to moan, "That's it. That's it. That's it," in rhythm with each forceful stroke.

Despite the fact that Cathy was a fairly petite girl with a very tight passage, her abundant juices, which had been flowing since before we left the restaurant, allowed me to glide easily in and out at an ever-increasing rate.

Her tight tunnel was on fire, producing a heat I'd never experienced before. Her pussy gripped me like a velvet vice, as if to try and squeeze my orgasm from me. And I knew it wasn't far away, as I felt my balls tighten and that familiar tingling sensation started to creep slowly upward in my throbbing shaft.

"I can't hold out much longer," I panted, as slowed my thrusting in an attempt to keep from cumming too quickly.

"Don't stop," she hissed between clenched teeth. "Don't you dare stop!" And with that she locked her legs around my hips and pulled me back inside until my pubic bone ground against her swollen clit.

I increased my pace again, this time driving into her like a piston, time after time until II felt the ripples of her inner muscles begin to squeeze my shaft. I knew Cathy was as close as I was, maybe closer. So, I lifted myself a little higher with my hands to gain additional leverage and began to thrust my cock in and out of her molten tunnel as fast as I possibly could. And with each deep stroke, she lifted her hips from the floor to meet my urgent thrusts.

"Oh my god!" she screamed. "Yes . . . god . . . yesssssss!" as her orgasm overtook her.

The moment I felt the rhythmic pulsing of her inner walls, I exploded with her. "Oh fuck," I panted. "Oh fuck . . . oh, fuck," as I filled her with the hot semen that had been building since she stroked my cock beneath the tablecloth at dinner. As I came, I pulled almost all the way out, then thrust deeply again, over and over in rhythm with the pulsing of my cock.

Then it was over. I was panting from the effort as I rolled to the side to avoid crushing Cathy under my weight. I lay there on my side and draped an arm across her breasts and marveled at how fast she was breathing. Her body was damp with sweat, as was mine. It was the most physically taxing fuck I could remember.

I reached over and gently turned her face toward mine until we were just inches apart and I could feel the warmth of her breath, which was finally beginning to slow. I smiled and whispered, "That was certainly worth waiting for."

"Yes," she responded, her beautiful brown eyes half closed as she basked in the afterglow of her orgasm. "Yes it was." And then she reached down and began to rub my flaccid cock gently. "But I don't plan to wait very long for the next time."

I could tell by the stirring I felt at her touch that she would not have to.

* * * *

We made love two more times that night and enjoyed a sensual shower together in the morning before I headed home. I remember thinking on the way back to my place that this was the woman I wanted to marry. And so we did, approximately six months later.

Over the seven years since, Cathy and I slowly built our life together, along with our individual careers. There are no children yet, and we haven't made the decision whether we even want any. Right now it just seems that our lives are so full it would be impossible to take on anything else.

There's just one more bit of background you need before I try to relate what happened last night. You need to know about Scott and Trish. That would be Scott and Trish Hester, who came into our lives about a year ago when Scott joined our advertising firm. He was good, too. Our bottom line got a lot healthier when he and several of his major clients came our way.

I enjoyed working with Scott, as well as appreciating his contribution to the success of the firm. We also hit it off very well personally. He was in his early thirties, like me. We had the same sense of humor, liked the same music and just generally enjoyed each other's company. It wasn't long before Cathy and I and Scott and Trish were getting together socially. On weekends, we'd wind up either at their house or ours. Sometimes we'd go out to dinner on a weeknight when we would meet at a restaurant downtown.

It was really impossible to not like Scott. He was a tall, good looking guy with an easy laugh and a way of making whoever he happened to be talking to believe that there was no one else he'd rather be with at that moment. That was one of the qualities that made his accounts so loyal to him.

Scott was a couple of inches taller than me—probably 6-2 or 6-3. He was heavier, too, but seemed to be in very good shape. But the thing most people noticed first about him, at least if you can believe the comments made by the various women in our office, was his piercing blue eyes. They were an unusually bright blue, with an intensity that was almost palpable when he looked at you. They stood out even more because they were framed by full, dark eyebrows that matched his black hair.

As much as Scott and I had in common, Cathy and Trish were opposites in nearly every way you could imagine. Cathy was intense, a perfectionist in all she did, and committed to her career. Trish, on the other hand, was living a life more common to the 1950's—one where she stayed at home did volunteer work and played the role of the good corporate wife. When we got to know them better, we found out that she and Scott were not able to have children.

Trish and Cathy were not at all alike physically, either. While Cathy was on the short side with dark hair and a slim build, Trish had blue eyes, strawberry blonde hair, and was at least 5-8. Her figure was much more voluptuous, as well. She was not at all overweight, but she had generous curves in all the right places. While Cathy would impress with her intelligence, Trish had become accustomed to getting by on her looks. Cathy and Trish weren't nearly as close as Scott and I. They just didn't have that much in common. But the girls tried their best to be congenial because they knew how much our friendship meant to Scott and me.

Then last summer, the four of us shared an experience that brought us even closer . . . some might say too close . . . we took a vacation together. The four of us flew down to Florida and spent a week relaxing on the beautiful white sand beaches near Panama City. Whoever said you don't really get to know people until you travel with them was certainly right. Sharing a condo, even though it was a two-bedroom property, gave us a more intimate view of Scott and Trish.

It was impossible not to know each other much better physically, living in close proximity for six nights as we did. And, of course, there was the time we spent at the beach. We practically lived in our swim suits the entire the week. Cathy had gotten three new bathing suits in preparation for the trip—a one-piece and two relatively conservative bikinis. She had maintained her figure with a daily workout regimen. But Cathy just was not into showing herself off.

Trish, on the other hand, wore nothing but bikinis, none of them conservative. It took all my self control to keep from ogling her each day at the beach as she put that voluptuous body on display.

My favorite was a bright yellow number that became nearly transparent when it got wet. I couldn't believe how it clung to Trish' curves, accentuating her prominent nipples and hinting at the darker color of her areolas. It was not a string bikini, but the little piece of fabric in the back was barely more, and it spent most of the time nestled between the cheeks of her marvelous ass. It was cut high on the sides, revealing all but about two inches of her leg. A combination of a tiny crotch and the suit's transparency when wet, made it a virtual certainty that Trish had shaved herself completely. I found that thought seriously arousing—I suppose because it contrasted so sharply with what I had become accustomed to. Cathy kept herself neatly trimmed, but there was still an abundance of curly dark brown hair.

I spent a significant amount of my time at the beach that week lying on my stomach, doing my best to conceal my erections, which seemed to keep making appearances at the most inopportune times. I specifically recall one such incident. I had made a quick trip back to the car to retrieve some suntan lotion we'd forgotten. When I returned, Cathy and Scott were cooling off in the surf, and Trish was lying on her stomach there on the beach.

Since she was facing out toward the Gulf, I was able to walk up behind her without being noticed. It gave me the opportunity to spend a little extra time surveying my friend's beautiful and sexy wife. As usual, the back of her suit was tucked away between the cheeks of her firm, round bottom. I studied her voluptuous figure carefully and noted that she had been able to eliminate virtually all of her tan lines during our time on the beach.

Her body glistened with perspiration and oil, which emphasized every one of her delicious curves. Her feet were about two feet apart, allowing me a glimpse of one of her nether lips that was not quite concealed by her tiny suit. Nothing I saw there did anything to dissuade me from my conclusion that she was totally bare.