Memoir Of A Slut Beginnings

What you are about to read is all true. The names have been changed in order to maintain discretion. This is my story.

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I am nearing my 41st birthday and feel compelled to share some details of my life that some might consider interesting; some of you might just think I'm a slut. Either way, it's a story that needs to be told.

Slightly over four years ago, my husband and soul mate of 20 years gave me the shock of my life. I can recall each little detail as if it just happened moments ago. I was walking from our bedroom's adjoining bathroom, getting ready for bed when he posed a question. He asked me how I would feel if he brought another man home.

I have to admit, that I was completely speechless for a lengthy period of time while my brain tried to analyze that question. I knew he was completely straight, so assumed he meant the man for my "use." I opened my mouth several times and closed it again before finally finding my voice.

Looking back now, I can see where this might have come from, but at the time I was clueless. This was completely out of the blue. I know that we had messed around online with sextalk/cyber a bit, but nothing along these lines had been discussed before. I have been with this one man for practically all my adult life with only one small discretion.

About three years prior to his question, I had made a huge mistake and had sex (once only) with a coworker. He discovered my liaison almost before it happened. He knows me so well, and I happen to be the worst liar in the world.

I recall the evening I came home with the smell of the other man on my skin; not being smart enough to realize my guilt would be so apparent. He had sensed something was wrong and had waited up.

When I immediately hopped in the shower, he knew there was a problem. My excuse of smelling like bar smoke didn't make sense to him since I'd thrown myself in bed many times in the past in the same condition.

While I was in the shower, I sensed my cover was blown. What I didn't know was that he was going through the hamper trying to locate the clothing I had worn for the evening. I had tried to hide them under several layers of things.

Lathering up in the shower, the whole bathroom smelt like the other man to me. I kept thinking, "Oh God, how can he not smell that?" I was so afraid to open the shower curtain and face the music.

When I finally did, he was just standing in the doorway staring at me. I tried to act nonchalant. Act is a very good word for the way I was behaving; I felt as if I was going to throw up with fear at any moment. I just remember a hurt look in his eyes as he watched me and didn't say a word.

I threw my nightgown over my head and leaned across the sink to retrieve my toothbrush. As I brushed, one thought was rolling over and over in my brain... "You are so fucked. You are so fucked." He still didn't say a word.

After I finished with my teeth, I patted my damp hair as dry as possible and brushed past him toward our bed. I could hear him following me, but still he said nothing. At this point, I was dying inside because hurting this man who I still very much loved was not part of the plan. That thought had honestly never occurred to me.

I realize that sounds selfish and stupid. I will not try to explain my reasons for doing what I did since it will only sound like I am defending it, and I have no defense. What I did was wrong. plain and simple. I had made a serious error in judgment and feared now I would lose all I loved.

I recall that we each got into bed exactly as we do every night. He rolled onto his side away from me, and I rolled into him wrapping my arm around his waist. All was quiet and dark and I sighed deeply. Was I really going to get away with this? I knew he had to suspect something but why hadn't he said anything?

The silence was broken by a single sentence... "Are you seeing someone else?" I froze. I didn't answer. After a few moments, he whipped the covers off his half the bed and left our room. I knew he was headed down to the family room where we could talk without disturbing our children sleeping the rooms adjacent to ours.

I lay in the bed for a few moments, knowing I had to follow him and have this discussion I really didn't want to have. My heart felt very heavy. I recall physical pain in my chest, but I forced myself to leave my warm bed and go deal with the mess I had created.

When I reached the family room, he was standing in the middle of it just waiting. He told me to tell him everything. I figured there wasn't much point in trying to cover up anything, but I tried to tell him gently and with as little detail as possible.

He quizzed me on each point looking for holes in my story, but I just told the truth. He wanted to know times, places and explicit sexual details. Seeing the hurt in his eyes was only the beginning of the punishment I was to endure.

When the entire story was out, and he seemed temporarily satisfied that I was not lying, he started to walk towards me. This man had never hit me, but I had crossed a major line and I was afraid of him.

I flinched as he grabbed my arm and lowered me to the floor. I must have had a look of fright and confusion on my face as he ripped open my nightgown and started to touch me.

He entered me quickly and hard. I didn't think about it at the time, but he must have been hard during the telling of my story. I just recall laying on my back on the carpet, nightgown ripped across my body, as he fucked me harder than he had ever before or since. I know there were still tears in my eyes from telling my story but he ignored them.

His hands were holding his weight above me, as his eyes board into mine, and he grunted and pushed on top of me. He was finished and pulled out and away from me as quickly as he had entered me.

His taking me that way had two meanings but as it was happening, I only saw it as a sign of his taking possession of my body. He wanted to "own" me physically. Wipe away the mistake I had made.

What I realized much later was that a part of him was fascinated by what I had done. The details excited him. Mostly he loved catching me. The adrenaline rush was a high he hadn't experienced in this way before. Imagining me in the back seat of this man's car being fucked in different positions; My going down on his cock.

I believe this experience was what directly lead to the question I was posed a few years later.... "How would you feel if I brought another man home?"

Well, we have had a four year wild ride that I would love to share with you.

To Be Continued...