Confessions

Prologue:

Any bad thought that you might have about me, Zach Baxter, if you read this story is not as judgmental or damning as the same thought I have had about myself. While there are lots of "excuses" for my intolerable behavior, the truth is that had I had the intestinal fortitude and morality that I should have had I could have done things differently and in a manner that would respect my wonderful wife rather than cheat on her.

Go ahead and tell me what a shit I am -- because it's true.

***********

My wife Melanie is a wonderful woman. She's smart, personable, empathetic, charitable, and beautiful. Even after five years of marriage at the start of this tale I can't believe that someone as wonderful as she is agreed to marry me.

I don't have many of the qualities that make Melanie so great. I am good-looking and fit, but am naturally shallow and self-centered. Probably the only reason that someone as wonderful as Melanie ever agreed to marry me is because I had an intervention with myself when I turned twenty one, took stock of my life, and became determined to not be shallow and self-centered any longer. I started on my road to self-improvement by working as a volunteer at a shelter for abused women and children. I began to develop feelings of empathy and became concerned for others. That volunteer work got me in contact with Melanie and I quickly fell for her. Seeing her level of selflessness intensified my desire to become a better person.

There was only one problem with Melanie -- and that problem led me to the self-loathing that I now experience. Melanie's best friend as far back as she can remember is Rebecca Twist and her maid of honor at our wedding. I'm not sure that by words alone I can fully convey what Rebecca is like; you would need to interact with her for a week before you completely understood, but I'll give it a try.

Some men believe that the hotter the woman the more screwed-up she is. I am not in that camp because in my experience only about 40% of really hot women are totally screwed-up, but if you are one of those who believe in the hot-screwy axiom at the time that this story starts you could use Rebecca as Exhibit A to prove your point.

Rebecca has the face and body of a goddess with perfect bone structure, hair as lustrous as any in a shampoo commercial, breasts that any sculpture or artist would love to be able to duplicate on canvas or in bronze, ruby lips that look like they are made for kissing, and legs better than you have ever seen in a pantyhose advertisement. She also has a friendly and approachable demeanor. Yet she is as bizarre as peanut butter on pizza.

Despite some underlying intelligence she is as ditzy as a character in a sitcom, has no self-confidence, can't handle money, needs others to make decisions for her, and can break down at the hint of a perceived slight. It seems that without Melanie to tell her what to do that she'd be rudderless.

Rebecca does have an incongruous talent, however, given her ditziness. She is a master elementary school teacher. One evaluation service that gives beginning and then end of school year tests to third and fourth graders in more than 1500 schools nationwide found her students learned more than any other third or fourth grade class tested three years in a row and she won national awards for her classroom successes. Melanie and I observed one of her third grade classes one day at a school open house and were amazed by how she absolutely had the kids on the edges of their seats engaged the entire time. She was like the Pied Piper of Hamelin in the ancient fairy tale.

Since I consider teaching -- especially of elementary school students -- one of the hardest things in the world to do I find it absurd that the bubbleheaded woman who comes over to our house almost every weekend can be a fricking genius at something as challenging as teaching kids.

Don't get me wrong -- I like Rebecca; it's just that I consider a very flawed person.

**************

My self-image started on the road to despair on a beautiful weather weekend in May. Melanie had a rare weekend conference at a resort 500 miles away during that weekend. She started working on me on Monday of that week about helping Rebecca out that weekend.

At first it was "Zach, you wouldn't mind helping Rebecca out with a few minor problems at her apartment this weekend while I'm gone, would you?" Melanie asked with one of her iridescent smiles while she foxily stroked my left cheek with her right hand.

"Can she get maintenance from her apartment complex to do it?" I inquired.

"You know that all the maintenance men hit on her and it makes her uncomfortable. Plus some of the things she needs done are personal and she can't, and wouldn't anyway, ask them to help with those."

"How long would it take?"

"Zach, she's such a dear friend and she thinks you're the greatest guy; I'm sure it wouldn't be more than an hour or two but regardless of the time commitment it's the right thing to do," she responded, making her stroke of my cheek and neck even more sensual.

So really, if I'm trying to become a better person what do I say?

"OK, Melanie, I'll help her. Could you pin her down to a specific time and how long it will take, though?"

"You're a dear," Melanie replied with another of her thousand watt smiles, and a tender kiss on the lips.

That night Melanie rode me cowgirl with a constant grin on her face -- except when she was screaming in ecstasy -- while I mauled her tits until we both were overcome with debilitating orgasms. When she snuggled up to me with her head on my chest I was in heaven.

Then Wednesday the ante was upped. "Zach, honey; I'm worried about Rebecca. She's been down in the dumps lately."

"What's the present problem?"

"Well, it's just an intensification of a persistent problem. She's really bummed that she can't find someone to have the same type of loving relationship with that you and I have, and her last few dates have been between dull and disastrous. She says she hasn't had a good time -- except when she hangs out with us -- for several months."

"Sorry to hear that," I replied and then unsuccessfully tried to change the subject.

"I have a temporary solution -- just to get her spirits up. Why don't you take her dancing at 'Something's Hot' this weekend while I'm gone? You like that club, and she loves to dance but never gets the chance -- and you like dancing with her too."

Well, I liked dancing with Rebecca but only when Melanie is around because then Rebecca doesn't come on strong, and because I can always retreat to Melanie for help if Rebecca gets too hot -- like some of the dance moves she performs with her athletic yet voluptuous body.

"But I only like dancing with her when you're around," I fake smiled, trying to nestle up to Melanie.

Melanie lightly pushed me away and said "Come on Zach, give her a break and help me out; I'm really sad for my best friend and I really want her to have a good time. Please, do it for me!"

We discussed it a while longer and I finally demurred with "I'll think about it."

"You're a dear," Melanie said. She gave me a hot kiss and then started fishing in my pants. I can never refuse Melanie and that night we had a flesh dessert before a food dessert as I fucked her right on the dining room table -- without even breaking anything (although that was by luck more than because we were being careful).

By Thursday "I'll think about it" in Melanie's mind had become "I'd love to do it," when after dinner Melanie signed off her cellphone and said "Rebecca is so excited. I hope that you don't mind that I made reservations at that local country French restaurant that you like for six thirty to be followed up by a trip to 'Something's Hot,'" Melanie said with a big grin.

"What -- I didn't agree..." I started to say before I was interrupted with a kiss on the lips.

"Zach, darling, you promised," Melanie replied turning my "I'll think about it" to a promise. "Please, Rebecca really needs this. You have to for me, and not to disappoint her."

So suddenly I had been conned from helping her out with a maintenance issue for an hour or so to taking her out to dinner and dancing all night.

You might call it being pussy-whipped; but I call it "loving my wife," so despite my misgivings I agreed. The Thursday night fuck, with Melanie's hands tied to our headboard while she was in the concubine position, was in the top 10% of our sex sessions, and that's saying something. Since Melanie was so appreciative of my "agreement" I decided to just grin and bear it.

Things were really hectic Friday night when we went to a party and then Melanie had to pack for her trip so we ended up not having sex that night, and when I woke up Saturday morning looking forward to our standard (that makes it sound routine when it is anything but -- it is the height of exciting) Saturday morning doggy fuck while I maul Melanie's tits to instead being awakened by a kiss by a fully dressed Melanie smiling at me, saying "I'll call you before you take Rebecca out; have a great time," and then her sprinting away avoiding my outstretched arms trying to suck her back to bed.

I slowly got up and was about to beat my meat in the shower to relieve my blue balls when the phone rang. I answered it. It was Rebecca. "Hi Zach, thank you so much for taking me out tonight; I forgot what time our reservations are for. Is it six o'clock?"

"No, the reservation is for 6:30. So that we have plenty of time I'll pick you up at six, though; OK?"

We talked for about ten minutes more -- well mostly she talked and I listened with a few "Uh-huhs" thrown in responding to some of her silly statements. I was flustered enough when I got off the phone that I wasn't in the mood to beat my meat anymore, so I went and worked out at the local gym instead, and showered there.

I tried not to think about my "date" for the rest of the day -- I looked at it kind of like going to the dentist -- the more you agonize about it in advance, the more it hurts. I think that I was successful in minimizing my angst until I rang Rebecca's doorbell.

***********

I knew that I was in trouble when Rebecca answered the door. I had seen her looking good many times before -- including in sundresses and bikinis (in those instances I had to have wrap-around sunglasses on) -- but that night she was impossibly good-looking. She looked like (with different coloring and bigger boobs) Michelle Pfeiffer in Midsummer's Night Dream. My first thought was "I'm going to have to fight guys off tonight -- shit I hope I don't get the tar beat out of me."

Rebecca had a three-quarter's length tight-fitting backless black dress on with a slit up the left side almost to her undies (if she had any on), her hair curled and shoulder length and cascading around her neck, light makeup that accented her emerald green eyes, an emerald (real or fake I didn't know) choker on that somehow seemed to intensify the greenness of her eyes even more, and four inch heels making her six feet tall, just three inches short of me in my one inch heels.

I had to revise my assessment; she wasn't "impossibly beautiful," she was "terrifyingly beautiful!"

I think that I unconsciously said "WOW" when I saw her; I know I was thinking that. I must have actually said it, however, because she smiled and said "You like?"

I saw no reason to lie -- especially since I'm sure my reaction already said it -- so I verbally replied "Yes, you look great Rebecca."

The dinner was good -- I like the simple yet delicious food at the country French restaurant and Rebecca sure liked her meal too judging by the way that she polished it off. The conversation was light and she wasn't as scatter-brained as normal. The only disconcerting thing was that everyone, male and female but with entirely different looks in their eyes, was staring at our table -- and I knew it wasn't because I was sitting there.

When we got to the club it was too loud for really meaningful conversation, but we were there to dance anyway. Rebecca had a little more to drink that I'd seen her before (I don't drink alcohol, something that turned up almost essential later on that night) and was even more uninhibited on the dance floor than normal -- and that's saying something.

I don't think that there was a hetero male in the entire club that didn't have a hard on watching Rebecca dance -- unfortunately I was no exception. It wasn't conscious thought -- it was just a pure animalistic response. A few guys in particular, who didn't seem to have dates, were impolitely leering.

After about ninety minutes of vigorous dancing Rebecca went to the ladies' room while I watched her drink and when she got back I went to the men's room. When I returned from the men's room two of the leering guys were at our table -- one sitting in my chair.

I was not a happy camper when I saw one of the guys put his hand on Rebecca's butt. I forcefully removed it and told them both "Get the hell out."

Either the guys were drunk or belligerent or both because the one standing didn't say anything but just punched me in the mouth -- fortunately I was completely sober, on guard, and quick because it didn't land too hard. Of course a real fight immediately ensued.

As anyone who has been in a donnybrook knows you don't really remember everything that happened because you're just trying to survive. "Something's Hot" has big tough bouncers. They were on us fairly quickly. Their MO is not to take sides, determine who started the fight, or any other details -- and I can't blame the club for having that attitude. The response of the four bouncers who approached us was to toss me and the two assholes out, with Michelle Pfeiffer -- I mean Rebecca Twist -- following us.

One problem I do have with their approach was that they threw us out the same door. I was attacked again as soon as the door closed. I was either really good -- or lucky -- or both that night because even though they were my size and age and it was two on one in the end they were the ones on the ground, one unconscious, the other wishing he was, while I kicked them both in the nuts.

Rebecca pulled me off and helped me to my car. I felt like shit and was hoping -- no such luck it turned out -- that the blood running into my eyes, and the blood on my shirt, wasn't mine.

Rebecca drove us to her apartment -- which was closer than my house -- and helped me into the elevator -- I was grateful that we didn't have to walk up the four floors to her apartment.

When I saw myself in her bathroom mirror I wondered if I had really "won" the fight -- because the damage to my face sure looked like I got the worst of it.

Rebecca became more focused than I had ever seen her before -- except in the classroom teaching third graders -- as she cleaned my wounds and bandaged two significant cuts on my face, the one on my forehead the source of the blood clouding my vision. I was kind of like a zombie as she took off my shirt and pants and inspected the nascent bruises on my chest, side, and thighs. All the while she was talking softly to me saying things like "Zach, you're my hero; I never had anyone standup for me like you did tonight. You're the greatest guy I know."

It was after she had bandaged up my face and gave me three Acetaminophen capsules that things went off the rails. "You need to shower to wash all of the blood off you and to make you feel better," she said as she pulled off my socks (my shoes had been removed right inside the front door). She also must have pulled down my boxers and started up the shower because I don't remember doing either -- at the time all I was thinking of was how I ached all over more than at any other time in my life.

Like an automaton I got into the shower -- shortly followed by naked Rebecca also getting in. She gently washed all the blood off me. The problem was that once my eyes were clear I could see her naked body including her tear-drop D cup boobs with perfect turgidity and nipples in front of me. I had no control over the reaction of my cock. It quickly became a piece of titanium.

When Rebecca gently squeezed my balls and kissed me on my lips without hurting my bruised face my concentration changed from the pain I was feeling to the "Aphroditeness" (is that a real word?) of Michelle Pfeiffer in Midsummer's Night Dream.

Despite the bruising on my body shortly after the kiss I was holding Rebecca up by her consummate firm and bulbous ass, her legs were wrapped around my waist, and my cock was so far up her pussy that I could almost tickle her tonsils.

I don't really remember the details of our shower fuck -- all I do remember is a physical release that not only was the most intense of my life, but more powerful than I thought possible. Squeals of pleasure from Rebecca and animal grunts from me filled the air.

When my cock finally slithered out of her pussy, and she released the lock her thighs had around my waist, her feet fell back to the shower stall floor.

It's lucky that we were in an apartment building instead of my house because my hot water tank would have been completely depleted by the time that we finally turned the shower off.

When we dried off I had never seen Rebecca look so happy. She literally glowed. Even without her light makeup on she looked like a goddess. As my eyes -- with a mind of their own -- perused her body they saw nothing but perfection. My eyes must have been wide and dancing because she whispered "You seem to like what you see" before planting another kiss on my lips.

When we were dried off she led me to her bed, and we snuggled under the sheets. She gently massaged my aching arms and shoulders while she pressed her exquisite mammaries into my chest. I soon fell into an exhausted sleep.

*************

What happened up to that point was completely inappropriate, but at least could be understood because of the circumstances -- particularly me getting the shit beat out of me, my zombie condition, and her tenderly caring for me. What happened next is inexcusable.

I woke up in the middle of the night -- I think that the bedside alarm clock said something like 3:30 a. m. It took me a while to figure out where I was. When I did I felt a pang of guilt, and shrugged the covers off of me -- and unconsciously Rebecca too -- with the intention of getting up and leaving. Unfortunately that plan became moot when the light from an adjacent halogen streetlight came through a window in her bedroom illuminating Rebecca's supreme body. Again my cock controlled me as it instantly inflated.

Shortly after my cock simulated a flagpole I started eating and fingering Rebecca's pussy. Even though I had fucked it only a few hours before there was nothing unpleasant about it. On the contrary it was nectarous in both taste and smell. Rebecca soon woke up with a smile -- as far as I could tell in the less than clear light -- on her face. Soon after that she was moaning and within minutes had an orgasm so zealous that I had to hold tightly to her hips and thighs to keep her from jettisoning her, me, or both of us off the bed.

Before she came completely down from her debilitating orgasm I had shinned up her body and my cock was slowly burying itself in her snug pussy. When I bottomed out she groaned loudly. While I stroked in-and-out as I simultaneously sucked one nipple and then the other, she started rapid-fire orgasms. I don't know how many she had -- maybe it was one continuous one -- while I bonked and sucked her, but when I started ejaculating in her the sweet pussy that she controlled clamped on my cock like a vice, causing us to both temporarily lose awareness.

When I regained clarity I had rolled over on one side, as had she, with my cock still buried in her pussy and seemingly unwilling to deflate. We went to sleep in that position. I woke up sometime later because I was slightly chilled since the covers were off of us. I pulled them back over us, latched onto a tit, and fell back to sleep.