Can a couple's fantasies of extramarital sex lead to the real thing?
Melinda was waiting for me when I exited security after my flight home. It was unusual for her to meet me after a trip. I traveled regularly on business and normally took an Uber home, but tonight she had messaged me even before I boarded my connecting flight from Chicago that she would meet me and she wanted to hear all the details of my week.
I had smiled as I reread the last part of the message. That meant she wanted to hear about my lover in Cleveland, Shannon, and when she said 'details' she wanted a full description of my sex with Shannon. Notwithstanding her choice of words, Melinda had no interest whatsoever in the time I had spent calling on would be customers for the software company I worked for. She wanted to hear, in graphic detail who I had been fucking and how while I was gone.
Before boarding the plane I responded, "See you in 90 minutes. I want to hear about your week too. The details." I knew she had planned to spend at least a portion of her week, if not all of it, in bed with her lover Lars.
Of course I hadn't spent any time having sex with Shannon and she hadn't spent any time fucking Lars. Lars and Shannon were friends of ours, but the idea of my having an affair with Shannon or Melinda having an affair with Lars was just a game we liked to play; telling each other stories of our adulterous sex with our fictional lovers.
Melinda and I had been married for 10 years now and we were in a monogamous relationship avoiding the lying, secrecy, clandestine trysts, seedy motel rooms, and all the other socially frowned upon activities inherent in extramarital sex. But we loved to pretend otherwise when we were in bed telling each other lewd stories of our fictional adultery. But neither of us had stepped beyond the limits of our marriage vows, at least as far as either of us knew.
For the last couple of years our fictional adultery had focused on Lars and Shannon. Shannon was a former college roommate of Melinda's, twice divorced and living in Cleveland. Neither of us had seen her since our five-year college reunion several years ago. But she was very attractive, tall and lean with a thick head of raven hair and long sexy legs, and, given her history of marriages wrecked by her illicit relationships, it was easy to build a story of an adulterous relationship maintained by Shannon and me on my occasional business trips to Cleveland. My god she was great in bed, or so I claimed. It was all a product of my imagination.
The only problem with Shannon as a fictional lover was that I didn't go to Cleveland frequently enough to generate a fresh and believable stream of stories. That wasn't a problem for Melinda and her fictional lover, Lars.
Lars was a tall handsome Swede who managed the gym where Melinda and I both regularly worked out—broad shouldered, well over six feet, and with thick blonde hair and a matching beard. A prototype Viking god from a Neal Gaiman book. Melinda would tell me the nastiest stories of how he did her in the steam room, or in the locker room, or sometimes even on the exercise floor after hours at the gym. According to Melinda Lars had a magnificent dick that filled her to the brim and drove her to one screaming orgasm after another. And his tongue. According to Melinda, his tongue was a tool he used in tandem with his bushy beard to create orgasms that were works of art.
And then there was Astrid. Astrid was Lars wife, another tall attractive Swede—sparkling blue eyes and long, thick, blonde hair. We had seen her a time or two around the gym but she wasn't there that often. According to Lars her full-time job as a sex therapist kept her quite busy. She traveled almost as much as me, giving lectures across the country about how couples could expand their sex lives. When we did see her she was usually conservatively dressed in a grey or blue pencil skirt that broke at her knees, conservative pumps, and a jacket that matched the fabric of the skirt and was worn over a white blouse. Very conservative work clothes for a PhD psychologist. I did notice however that even the conservative cut of Astrid's clothes didn't conceal attractively broad hips and what certainly appeared to be an ample bosom. What I could see of her legs were attractive.
For some reason we never incorporated Astrid into our fantasies. Mostly because we just didn't know that much about her and incorporating a third person into our fantasies would have added complexity not needed to get us off like our lies about Lars and Shannon did. Melinda said we didn't need to know Astrid so long as our fantasies about Lars and her old roommate Shannon kept things hot for us in bed and I agreed.
As I came through the security doors I saw Melinda waiting for me. Melinda at age 32 still has her college cheerleader figure, about five foot six, with trim legs that lead to muscled hips jutting out in the back enough to almost give her a shelf below where her trim waist pinches above her hips—a lovely bubble butt. Her hips, although well-muscled, are still broad enough to provide a great handhold when fucking her from behind. Her breasts are large and soft, not sagging yet but far from the rock-hard tits some women create with silicone. Each one is a perfect handful. Her hair is long and dark, tied tonight in a ponytail that hung almost to the middle of her back.
Being mid-summer the Midwest weather that evening was warm and sticky—not unpleasant as it probably had been earlier in the day, but certainly not weather that required much in the way of clothing. It was obvious in the limited clothing many of the women walking through airport were wearing.
Melinda was wearing a medium blue, pleated, skirt that hung loosely from her broad hips and stopped well above her knees. Her top was a matching color. It was sleeveless, cut with wide openings for her arms and a modestly plunging neckline that exposed just a hint of cleavage. It stopped an inch or two above the waist of her skirt to expose just a bit of her firm belly. When she threw her arms around me for a welcome home kiss it was obvious that she wore no bra beneath the blouse.
The kiss went on for a long time, even by society's somewhat loosened standards for acceptable public displays of affection in airport arrival and departure areas. We stood, our arms wrapped around each other, our tongues dueling obscenely and our hands drifting down to caress the other's ass. Melinda squirmed in my arms enough to drag her breasts across my chest. I could feel her swollen nipples through the fabric of her blouse and the golf shirt I was wearing. I pulled her ass against me and I'm sure she could feel the lump of my rapidly growing erection pressing into her lower belly.
When we came up for air I said, "Wow. I take it you're glad to see me. We better go someplace before we get arrested."
"It's an airport you silly," she said. "Nobody gets arrested for a welcome home kiss in an airport."
"Yeah, but if we keep that up it's going to be a welcome home fuck. I don't think that's permitted."
"How narrow minded," she responded, dragging her hand across the fast-swelling lump in my Dockers.
I danced away from her and said, "Let's go home. I sense you've lot to tell me about. How was Lars this week?"
As we walked through the airport my left arm was dragging my roller bag while my right circled her waist pulling her hip tight against mine. Her left arm was doing the same but dropping down occasionally to fondle my ass. She whispered in my ear, "Sam I have lots to tell you about. Lars was very creative this week. I don't think Astrid has been taking good care of him." She paused for a moment using her tongue to briefly lick the inside of my ear. "But right now I just want to fuck you until your ears ring. I'm so horny."
I laughed and said, "I noticed. It's nice to be home."
"What about Shannon?" she asked.
"She was good," I responded.
"Is that all you are going to tell me? She was good?"
"Okay, she was very good. Good enough so that I needed the three days after she ran off to see her latest boyfriend for my dick to recover enough to deal with you tonight."
She laughed. "We'll see about that after you hear about what Lars and I did this week. I know how that excites you."
Arriving in the short-term parking structure she pointed at our pick-up parked by itself in the farthest, darkest, corner of the lot. As we walked towards it I let my hand drift down until I could reach under the hem of her dress and lift it. I slid my hand up the back of her warm soft leg until I was cupping her ass. "Hmm, meeting me at the airport, no bra, no panties—you must have a lot to tell me."
"Yes, but we can do that later. Just get in the truck and take me home."
