Authors Note: This is a Lesbian romance story. There is adultery in the story, so if you're the type that's sensitive to such things. You might want to move along.
This story is a slow burn type of romance. There is a steamy sex scene, but it doesn't come quickly. I hope the tale pays off for the reader when it does happen.
I love getting feedback from readers, whether it's in the form of comments or through email. So feel free to let me know what you think. Also, if you finish the story, please give it the rating you think it deserves.
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I remember the day Jax Taylor walked into my life with intimate detail. It was Friday, May the 3rd of 2019, and Darren and I had plans to attend an early Cinco de Mayo celebration with friends that night. It was a bright and sunny morning, warm even for that time of year, and the sky was a deep blue faintly whitewashed with a high smattering of wispy white clouds.
I had gotten my husband Darren off to the office early that morning. As an architect, he would often travel to meet with potential customers and view likely build sites to get a better feel for the buildings he would design to go there. The travel wouldn't end once a deal was signed, and construction had begun. There were always minor emergencies and client handholding type deals that often required short notice trips with a two or three-day turnaround.
Altogether, it wasn't uncommon for Darren to be on the road for at least two weeks out of the month. I had things to occupy my time, though, so I didn't mind. We'd never had the type of relationship where we clung to one another. For us, it seemed to be more about comfort and reliability. We knew what to expect of each other without taking things for granted. Instead of intense passion and romance, our marriage seemed to be centered around meeting each other's needs with as little fuss as possible.
And up until that point, I was okay with that. I gave Darren space to do his job and enjoy the occasional round of golf when he was home. In turn, he didn't question my charitable work or when I decided to bring a stray home.
That was his term for them anyway. It had started with my older sister Carolyn who'd been going through a rather nasty divorce. She needed a place to stay during her separation and while she got back on her feet. The house Darren and I purchased together after marrying had a large in-law suite that rested over a semi-detached four-car garage. Only a long breezeway connected it to the main house. It had been sitting empty for close to a year when I asked Carolyn, with Darren's blessing, to stay there until she had her ship righted.
It was almost two years later when she moved out into a condominium of her own. I hadn't wanted her to leave but understood the need she felt to move on with her life. Having Carolyn living there had been beneficial to us both. We had drifted apart in recent years, and the reunion allowed us the chance to reconnect.
The suite above the garage didn't stay vacant for long. Stray number two came along later that summer in the form of an eighteen-year-old cousin who would be attending Georgia Tech in Atlanta. With our house being just a twenty-minute drive on the interstate from Grace's campus, my aunt was very grateful to have her living with us instead of in downtown Atlanta.
Grace was with us for four years, and it was during that time that I first noticed she never had boys over to visit. A steady flow of young college co-eds of varying ages, races, and shapes made their way up and down the steps to the suite above the garage, but no boys.
It wasn't until early in Grace's junior year that she admitted the obvious to me one night as we enjoyed a glass of wine out by the pool. I never out and out asked her if she was gay, but as our conversation progressed and the wine flowed, Grace opened up. She told me that she'd known since her early teen years that she was attracted to other girls. Grace said by the time she was sixteen; she was reasonably sure she was exclusively lesbian and that her college life had only confirmed that.
We became very close over her last two years with us. She came to look at me as more of the big sister she had never had than an older cousin. As a result, when she wasn't doing schoolwork or entertaining a date, we were often together with her filling my ears with ribald tales of her lesbian exploits.
To that point, sex had never been a driving force in my life. I was raised in a very conservative household and attended Catholic school throughout my education. I was seventeen before my mom finally confronted me at the breakfast table one morning and asked about the fact I hadn't approached them about the possibility of dating.
The truth was, I had little to no interest in the subject. There had been plenty of interest from the boys I'd grown up around, and all of my high school girlfriends were actively dating. To the boys who wanted my company and as far as my friends knew, it was my strict parents that were keeping me from partaking in the high school ritual.
It wasn't that I secreted a desire to become a spinster with a house full of cats. I assumed at some point that passion would ignite in me, and I didn't see sense in trying to force things until it did.
My mother forced my hand, finally getting me to agree to a series of dates in my senior year of high school. I never dated the same boy more than twice because I'd been told that by the third date, certain things were expected of a girl. The type of things I wanted to avoid until I met someone I felt drawn to. It wasn't that I was a prude or asexual; I wasn't. But none of the boys I dated excited me the way I heard my friends mention in their exploits. There were certain things I was comfortable doing despite not feeling the level of attraction I wanted. I gave more than a few handjobs and one ill-fated blow job but never went any further. The blow job was the last I ever gave because the over-aggressive jerk I honored with it decided to come in my mouth without warning. That was after he'd repeatedly tried to ram his dick down my throat in some misguided attempt at male dominance.
In college, I took part in a series of short to mid-length relationships, the longest-lasting maybe six-months. It was during one of those in my sophomore year that I had sex for the first time. After the initial pain and discomfort had passed, it was a pleasant experience but not the earth-shattering and world-changing event that I'd always heard about from friends. There were others after him, with me never allowing any particular one relationship to develop to the point it became too involved. The guy I was with either drifted away of his own accord, or I ended things myself.
The fact I was dating kept my parents off my back. Of course, they wanted me to eventually marry and settle down with the hope I would provide them with a grandchild or two. But they were content to wait, as long as things seemed to be progressing for me at a healthy pace. The front I was putting on seemed to reassure them that all was well, but I was beginning to have doubts that the man I was looking for was out there.
After graduating from college, I went to work at a mid-sized law firm as a paralegal. My father had gotten me the interview, I believe, in the hopes that I would find a lawyer to marry. Though the interest seemed to be there from several lawyers, both of the married and single variety, I turned down their advances. The interested parties were handsome enough, but I'd always found the old adage of not shitting where one eats to be sage advice. Why should I have to end up changing jobs after a relationship with someone I worked with ended?
It wasn't until I was twenty-four and a girlfriend dragged me to a singles mixer for young professionals that I met Darren. He was six years older than me and already a burgeoning success in his field. All of that combined with the fact he was tall and good looking made him a target of sufficient interest from most of the females present.
When we were introduced, I found him to be warm and intelligent. He was a good conversationalist who seemed as genuinely interested in listening to what I had to say as he did in his half of the conversation. In the end, we exchanged numbers, and I put him out of my mind. There were at least half a dozen women there that I thought more beautiful than myself, including a couple of doctors and a lawyer. I assumed that in the end, if he held an interest in anyone there, it would be one of them.
So, a week later, when I received a call from him asking me out, I was as surprised as anyone. We began to date after that, and I found for the first time in my life, I wasn't on edge and in a hurry to move on to someone else. Darren was fun, and we shared some similar interests. More importantly, he wasn't clingy or demanding. He liked to have the space to do his own thing at times and respected my desire to have my own.
We'd been together almost a year when Darren proposed to me. It wasn't a total surprise to me that it happened. I had seen things headed that way, and although I was somewhat ambivalent about the thought of it, I could also see the positives involved in giving up the single life. I had developed a strong affection for Darren though I was unsure in my own mind whether it actually rose to the level of love. Still, he was the perfect boyfriend for me. Kind, caring, smart, good looking, and not at all demanding. And like me, sex was not a driving force in Darren's life. We made love, perhaps once a week, give or take a day or so. Sex with Darren was nice. He was gentle and took great care in foreplay to make sure that I became aroused enough to enjoy the act. Something that a large portion of the men I'd dated had failed to do.
So even though I didn't see him as the great love of my life, there were far too many checks in the advantages column to turn down his offer. I was afraid I might go my entire life and not find someone as well suited to marry as Darren.
Despite how comfortable and settled, I'd become in my life. I have to admit; it was my interest in Grace's stories and lifestyle that were perhaps the first hints that there was indeed something missing in my life. I'd been married for nearly five years at the time and had given up on thoughts of there being any more to what life had to offer. Grace's experiences and the passion she spoke of began to stoke a fire in me that I had thought long gone out. For the first time in a long time, I began to wonder if there wasn't something bigger out there for me.
