I don't spend a lot of time navel gazing but, over the years, I have occasionally thought about my past and there are many things that I just can't explain, even to myself. One of them is why, after seven years of happy marriage, and they were very happy, I decided that I needed something more. The closest that I can get to an answer is that I was fast approaching thirty and it seemed like time was flying by and that soon I'd be an old woman. Or maybe it was because being married with two children came with so many responsibilities that I secretly longed for those long gone, carefree, selfish days when the only person that I had to worry about was myself. Or, maybe, it was just that it had been so long since I'd had a new cock, I really don't know.
I also don't know why, lying in bed, I chose to tell Mike about my intentions because, after all, with him working nights, I had ample opportunity to fuck anyone I wanted with very little danger of him ever finding out but I suppose that, essentially, that would have felt like cheating and I didn't want to do that and, besides, sneaking around and trying to keep secrets is such hard work.
I'm not going to claim that I was confused because I certainly wasn't, I knew exactly what I wanted, I wanted to keep the wonderful home life that I had and also have a little fun on the side. Ok, I admit it, I wanted to have my cake and eat it.
I could see the surprise and confusion in Mike's eyes when I first told him what I wanted, no intended, to do and I distinctly remember how sad he sounded when he told me that he didn't want me to do it but he conceded that it was my body and that, if I wanted to fuck other guys, he had no real way of stopping me and I chose to take his words as a whole hearted endorsement of my intentions.
I half expected and was quite prepared for him to act angry and forbid me from doing any such thing and I knew that an angry reaction wouldn't have changed my mind and, instead, would have made me even more determined to go ahead and would probably even have added a little frisson to the experience but I didn't get anger or pleading, what I got was sadness and confusion.
If there's one thing that Mike is, it's a realist ( Yes, I know there's lots of wannabe macho guys out there that would have other insulting descriptions and I wonder why any of them are still reading this ) but Mike is a realist and a loving husband and he asked "So, you want us to fuck other people?"
I was horrified and I replied "Oh, no, I hate the idea of you fucking other women, I love you too much" ( Ok, even at the time I could hear my own hypocrisy and why are you still reading? )
Like I said, Mike's a realist and he knew that I was going to do it so he wanted to lay down some ground rules. He insisted that I couldn't fuck anyone we knew or who lived near to us, they had to be one night stands so that there was no chance of emotional complications and I had to be perfectly honest with him and, of course, I was so excited that I instantly agreed to all those conditions.
Once we'd established that it was going to happen, I went on to say that I'd already decided on the first man that I was going to fuck and I watched as his look of sadness seemed to turn to one of fear. I never wanted to hurt him but I knew that I had and I hated that look on his face as tears formed in my eyes and I swore to him that he was the only man that I'd ever love and that I didn't want to leave him or have any sort of emotional relationship with anyone else, I just wanted to try a few new cocks before I was too old. I also swore that, no matter what I might get up to the night before, I'd always come home to him.
Yes, I know, I can see the little boys pointing their fingers and chanting 'cheater's handbook, cheater's handbook' as if that's a real thing but real life is a little more complicated than their simplistic ideas.
I know that some of the amateur psychologists out there will say that our love life was down the toilet but that just wasn't true. It's true that we didn't make love as often as we used to because, with Mike working nights, we only got to sleep together three nights a week but that only meant that we were more passionate when we did and it's true that our love making had slipped into routines but they were good routines formed by our intimate knowledge of each other's body and each other's likes and dislikes.
It was usually me that instigated sex; typically, we'd be lying in bed and I'd murmur "Suck my tits" and Mike would eagerly take my nearest nipple between his lips, licking, sucking, biting and stretching it whilst teasing, tugging and pinching my other nipple and running the fingers of his free hand though my pubic hair, gently stroking my pubic mound without ever going too near to my lips.
He'd torment me until I was squirming and trying to manoeuvre his fingers to where I really wanted them and I'd get so worked up that I'd have to place my hands on top of his head, pushing him down my body whilst gasping "Get down where you belong" and he'd happily dive down between my thighs, sweeping the wet, slightly rough texture of his tongue along the length of my slit before flicking its tip across my throbbing clitoris.
His tongue would delve deep between my lips curling and scooping up my juices and he'd greedily slurp them down. He'd suck and stretch my clitoris to its limit before letting it slip from his lips and twang back into place and he'd butt the bridge of his nose against my clit, shaking his head from side to side until my back arched and I jerked and shuddered beneath him as I cried out in ecstasy and fireworks exploded in my brain and, while I was still shuddering, he'd dive back up my body and thrust his rigid prick deep inside me, fucking me hard and fast until my cunt became too sensitive and I had to push him away from me.
We'd lie, kissing, stroking and cuddling each other until I was ready to go again then I'd either straddle him and ride him like a cowgirl or I'd take up the doggy position whilst he gripped my hips and hammered into me. We might fuck for minutes or hours but it always ended with us both totally exhausted and satisfied. And, of course, when we went out at the weekend, we'd often end the evening in a back alley with me bent at the waist with my skirt thrown up over my back and my knickers around my knees whilst Mike enthusiastically fucked me. I claimed that I only did it because he wanted it so much but, if I'm honest, I actually enjoyed the danger of it just as much as he did. So, no, I don't think that there was anything wrong with our love life but I will admit that, in my opinion, there's nothing more intriguing than imagining what's in a good looking guy's pants and nothing more exciting than actually finding out.
Anyway, enough waffling and back to my story; I was shaking with nervous excitement and my stomach was performing somersaults when I walked into work on monday morning wearing a conservative blouse and skirt but with a matching set of bra, knickers and suspenders underneath but my excitement turned to bitter disappointment when no builders turned up that day.
When I got home, Mike was waiting up for me to find out how I'd got on but he didn't need to ask because he could see the disappointment on my face and simply said "Never mind, better luck next time" but, despite his words, I could see the little twitching smile on his lips.
It was the same story every day and I was about to give up when, as I told my husband, Rob turned up on friday and crept up behind me.
Rob did sneak up on me and he did wrap his arms around me but, because I hadn't resisted when he'd squeezed my belly, he immediately dropped his hands lower and cupped my pubic mound through my skirt and pants. I twisted around in his arms and kissed him and, when he gently placed his hands on my shoulders, I knew exactly what he wanted and obediently sunk to my knees, taking out his rigid prick and kissing its tip.
