(Based on an actual situation)
I had known Diana for over four years, since my husband came to the university here. We've always been friendly in a casual way, never close. We see each other about once every other month, mostly faculty social events involving our husbands. Mine is a bigshot professor, hers is the dean of the college and though they've become pretty good friends over the years, we've never socialized as a foursome. I was at Diana's home when it happened, or I should say "we" were at her home, my husband and myself. He had been awarded a large project and was leaving on the first of many trips to come, and the dean was throwing a party in honor of his group. Diana was a former English professor in the college, but had left teaching to focus on her own writing, which she now did full time.
Since my husband achieved this notoriety, everything, it seemed, was about him; the publicity, the parties, the phone calls, etc. It wasn't that I was jealous, after all, I had my restaurant (and all the hype, friends, and enemies that goes along with that enterprise), my cookbooks, my television shows in Europe. I had more than anyone could want. But Europe… where last month I met a man who changed my outlook on the human body and reinvigorated a long-lost desire and thirst for unorthodox but tasty sexual practices. I loved my husband, but in all honesty, he hadn't paid a lot of attention to me or to us for six or seven months, his writing, his projects taking up his focus. I think I was bored at his simple taking everything for granted, such as our love and respect. I know it will return, just now I was feeling a bit sidelined. That's probably why I had that affair in Germany. But that affair I'm afraid won't end. I have plans to meet Red next month on a business trip to Florida. I know I shouldn't go through with it, but the experience with him was like a drug, I cannot forget it or ignore the pull to continue our explorations.
Nevertheless, the guests were all downstairs and out on the deck of Diana and her husband's fabulous home. Most were grouped around my husband, his graduate students in conversation led by the dean with his "take-all" attitude. Glasses of wine in hand, about 30 people were having an exceedingly wonderful time.
I wasn't. I was alone in the dining room, picking at a bowl of cherries and working on my third vodka. There's no doubt about it, I was somewhat drunk. He hadn't even tried to find me in more than an hour. I had chit-chatted with everyone I knew for most of the time, but I was bored and actually wanted to get to the restaurant, it was close to 8 o'clock on a Saturday night and I should be there, I thought. I kind of wanted to find Diana since I thought she would co-miserate with me though she played the perfect hostess. I had just seen her last week at a ridiculous department formal lunch with some fancy people and we sat near each other. When the conversation got too thick, she rolled her eyes at me, kicked me under the table and we pretended to follow. It was the first hint that Diana and I could be closer, if someone made the effort. I had hoped she would invite me to lunch alone soon; I was too shy to make the overture first.
My vodka was reasonably fresh, this third tumbler. I had started with two glasses of white wine and some tasty appetizers being passed around, but other than that, no real food. My head was swimming perhaps more than I admit. But I really had to pee. I think that's how it all started. I had to pee. I knew their house as we've been to dinner there twice with other people and once her husband proudly showed off the property and their art collection. I went to the downstairs guest bathroom and it was occupied. I didn't want to wait, and no one was around so I decided on going upstairs to the master bathroom I remember seeing. It was fabulous; huge and airy, a marble tub I recall and a day-bed/lounge in front of the tub to lay on and relax after a bath and read in privacy, lots of mirrors and wonderful fixtures in steel and glass, very modern and opulent. I remember that day-bed, light cotton or something like that. I had always wondered what it was used for… reading? Sex? I went up the stairs very quickly, trying hard not to spill my drink, opened the door and went in, locking it behind me.
I stood in front of the sink and stared at myself in the mirror for a long time. Here I was, I reflected, mid-forties, still beautiful, dirty blond hair, good figure, tight legs and arms, small but firm breasts. I took a sip of my vodka, put it down, and rubbed my hand over my breast, covered by my cashmere sweater. I'm really attractive, I believed, no wonder Red wanted me so badly, who wouldn't? What's the matter with my husband?
Truth be told, I was pretty horny. I pinched my nipple gently through the sweater. I thought of Red again, the things he did to me, to my ass especially. Because of him, I was now able to stretch my precious back hole wide enough for a fist, his fist. I actually didn't know if that was true, I hadn't tried it yet, but since Germany, I had been putting things in there almost daily to open it wider. I loved my ass now, I loved the tastes it produced.
My urge to pee was getting worse but I kept staring at myself in the mirror, my memories going rapidly. I deftly let my panties slide to the ground under my skirt and then dropped the skirt too. My fingers danced lightly over my pubes and I teased the lips up and down several times. My thoughts had gotten me wet. I wanted to frig myself, to masturbate in the forbidden aloneness of the dean and his wife's private bathroom. Why not, I asked myself, it's locked, no one knows I'm here, no one's apparently missed me yet, and no one's knocked at the door.
I put my middle finger gently in and went deep, moving it high and around. Next went the index finger. Together I began whipping up a cunt froth ever so slowly as I ground my hips into the counter. I was afraid I might make a noise, so I slowed down. I pulled them out and tasted them. Long strands of pussy wetness coated my tongue. My body shivered with the anticipation of a luxurious come if I could rid myself of the fear and relax.
I moved my wet finger around to my brown hole and stuck it in. It went in easily. My recent playing had left my ring loose enough to push into with ease, especially for one finger. I wiggled it for a moment and brought it to out to my nose, inhaling my sacred scent. I loved my shit scent when it was strong. I gently licked the finger, still clean, but flavored slightly. It was sumptuous. I took another drink and now I knew if I didn't pee, I would wet their expensive tiles right there. My bladder was all but screaming. I picked up my drink and walked over to the toilet, which was situated with a matching bidet in the far corner of the long room, behind a low half-wall that separated it from the main part of the bathroom. I was going to sit and pee, drink my vodka, frig myself slowly, and lick my wet tasty fingers off before returning to that dull party. I rounded the wall, eyes half-closed in a dreamy state, walking to the toilet ready to put my drink down.
"Hello Carla."
Diana was sitting on the toilet, looking up at me with a devious, all-knowing expression on her face. Her panties and skirt were tossed on the floor as well.
I was shocked, I was embarrassed, I was intrigued. I didn't know how to respond. My mind raced to find the best thing to say. Her face revealed that she had witnessed everything that had happened since I had ocked the door.
"Please forgive me, Carla. Don't be shocked. I heard the door open, saw you come in and was about to say something but then you started to look at yourself in the mirror. I thought you were going to fix your hair or something and leave and never notice me. I couldn't say anything after you dropped your panties. Please don't be embarrassed, please."
She too had a drink in her hand, golden, probably the bourbon she was fond of. She put it down. Here I was, standing over the dean's wife, both of us bottomless. I put down my drink, afraid that my nerves would cause it to fall and shatter.
I don't know if I was shocked or subconsciously expected it, but as I was stammering for something to say, she gently reached out her hands to me and my head automatically lowered to meet them. She drew me to her and kissed me languidly for a long time. It was as if it was the most natural thing in the world for us to do. I had never had sex with or even kissed another woman. She tasted fresh and feminine and complex. Her breath was warm, the alcohol mingling with the mouth flavors, deep and spicy. This was a far cry from some footsie under the table at a faculty luncheon.
I broke the kiss for a moment. "You saved me from saying something more embarrassing than I feel," I said.
