When I first started down the road of enjoying other men's wives, I assumed I was being used, willingly of course, for their fulfillment, be it sexual or, as I would discover, political. Reflecting back upon the past two decades I realize it was I who was using them. Many of the women I encountered over the years were seeking something, some unfulfilled desires, a fantasy, or something more calculated like political access or favors they assumed I could provide in exchange for their openness. What was I getting? Why was I so willing to sleep with married women, particularly after I married? A few moments of satisfaction? Fulfillment of a fantasy?
The addiction was something more than the sex. Having sex with single women or prostitutes would also have provided satisfaction and the realization of particular fantasies. But I didn't seek them out. Why married women?
I never bothered asking these questions until now. For twenty years I slept-walked my way through a series of adulterous affairs. In fact, sleepwalking seems to be apropos; it was active, but not emotionally connected, not really conscious of what I was doing. Yes, there were many women who sought out escape from meaningless marriages, but few wanted complications. In most cases, there was no tomorrow. It was about fulfilling something in the present. With some women I did have on going affairs, but the affairs were just that, affairs. They ended, we moved on; no emotional complications (at least as long as their husbands didn't find out, which wasn't always the case).
While some women sought out a sympathetic ear, and body, which I easily provided, none of them sought love. That's what turned me on. There were no games being played. Just two people using each other.
* * *
Anybody with any sense of the U.S. political system knows that DC is a city of whores. What was a delight to discover is that the whores were not just in the capitol building or the White House, but in the many foreign consulates as well. Once one had an entry into the social circuit of endless dinner parties catering to the stream of visiting dignitaries from around the world, one had limitless access to an international smorgasbord of sexual delights.
One needed more than just access though; one needed status. In Washington, so I discovered, one just didn't sleep with someone because they were attractive or available; each encounter was a calculated undertaking.
In DC, I was a nobody, or so I assumed; just one of many analysts writing a stream of reports and policy position papers that were circulated and rarely read. The organization I worked for focused on international issues, publishing regular reports on political and human rights developments in different countries. Thus, while I was a nobody, the organization I worked for was an important player defining the reputation of different countries to U.S. foreign policy makers.
When I first started to meet married women from the expatriate community, I was utterly ignorant of the social capital that I carried. My night with a female staff member of the embassy of an Asian country, I assumed, was initiated by our mutual sexual desires. It was only afterwards that I learned otherwise.
It was not unusual for various staff members of our organization to receive invitations to embassy dinner parties. At one such party, I was standing at the buffet table deciding which of the many exotic looking appetizers I should sample when an extremely attractive Asian woman approached me and suggested I try a particular dish.
"Do I dare ask what it is?"
"What, don't trust me?" she replied.
That left me with little option but to sample it. It was a meat-filled dumpling, spicy and the meat was quite tender, shredded beef, I assumed.
"Very nice."
"Have you ever tried dog meat?" She asked, smiling innocently.
I just laughed, knowing she was playing with me.
"Not yet. At least, I assume."
"No, probably not. Just wanted to test you. It's actually rat meet. There are a lot of those in this city."
I nearly chocked on the dumpling laughing at her political commentary.
"Yeah, and probably quite a few of them should be hog-tied and roasted. Though I doubt they would taste this good. Would require a lot of spicing."
Now she was laughing.
"No comment. Don't want to start a diplomatic row between our countries. As for the dumpling it's beef, marinated for about a week.
I expected her to speak with a thick accent, but her pronunciation was perfect, she didn't even get her "r"s and "l"s confused.
"Did I pass the test?"
"Oh, still more testing to take place!"
"More? It's going to be a long night."
"Let's hope so." She said, giving me a very sly smile then walking off.
Did she just suggest what I think she suggested? I turned to watch her walk away, and oh what a delight the view offered. She was tall and very slender, wearing a long black, tight fighting dress with an equally tight long-sleeved blouse, buttoned to her neck. She had very long, straight, shiny black hair, reaching down to her hips. Her ass looked perfect; so round, so tight.
"Wow! Who has that?" One of my colleagues came up to me, drawing me out of my voyeuristic stupor.
"I wish I knew. She didn't even give me an opportunity to introduce myself."
"Guess that gives me the right to move in," he declared, flashing a big shit-eating grin.
"Good luck," I offered as he slipped away, chasing her down. Within a few minutes I noticed him chatting with another group of people. Obviously she shut him down quickly.
I selected a few samples from the buffet and mingled with the crowd, eventually finding myself stuck chatting with an Asian man working on his Ph.D. in international finance while apparently his wife was working for the embassy. Bored out of my wits, but feeling somewhat trapped at that point I kept glancing around for my nameless lady friend; she appeared and disappeared working the crowd.
* * *
After about fifteen minutes, she stealthily slipped up next to the man who was rambling on and on about capital flows and something or other, in heavily accented English, and linked arms with him. He then introduced Xian, his wife.
I smiled at finally making her acquaintance; shaking hands I introduced myself. As I started to mention the organization I worked for, she interrupted me, filling in the details, thus indicating she knew exactly who I was. At the time the question of how didn't linger long as I admired her soft smile and luscious curves.
She laughingly apologized for her husband boring me with the details of his dissertation research.
"No, no, not at all. I learned a lot. It is amazing how intertwined international relations are and the depth of global penetration."
She caught herself from laughing out loud at my words, obviously picking up on the innuendo. Her husband seemed clueless and started once again talking about capital flows. Xian then started talking to him in their language, apologizing to me for being so rude.
He then mentioned he had to leave, and bowed on his exit.
Once he departed, Xian stepped to my side, linking arms with me and escorted me over to the bar area. She insisted I try some native alcohol from her country, but having tried it before, I knew better. The effect was like doing double shots of tequila. I settled on another glass of red wine.
We wandered into one of the inner sitting rooms of the apartment the party was being hosted in and settled onto a couch. We began discussing my organization and its work and she offered some opinions about recent developments in her country. At the time I thought nothing of it, just usual professional dinner party conversation.
What I did keep reflecting on however was how she kept touching my arm, placing her hand lightly on my thigh, and pressing her knee against mine as we sat engrossed in our conversation. Most of the touching seemed innocent enough, but after our first meeting and the "test" over the buffet table and the sexual innuendo I slipped into our earlier conversation, I wondered how innocent any of it was.
Once when she turned to face me more directly to make a point, she brushed her breasts against my arm. I held my arm very still as she leaned slightly further in. She held her position, either not aware or all too conscious of what she was doing. I was certainly conscious and could feel a little twitching taking place in my crotch as my cock reacted to the soft feel of her breasts on my arm.
Oh so slightly I slid my arm down; in effect, rubbing the nipple of her right breast. I held my arm still for a moment then slid it back up, just a smidgen. She continued talking, seemingly unaware. I tried the move again; as I slid my arm up I noticed just a slight pause in her speech, as she seemed to take a deeper breath.
Xian placed her left hand on my thigh again and held it a few inches above my knee. Having a mind of its own, my cock twitched, awakening from its slumber. I'm not sure if she felt it or not, she certainly didn't let on anything unusual was happening.
I leaned further back into the sofa to see if she would follow. My arm was no longer pressed against her breast, but I left it in the same position, inviting her to also lean back and resume the teasing. She did.
I smiled as she continued without pause the conversation, or what was turning out to be more of a monologue. I then commenced again sliding my arm down slightly, holding it for a moment, then back up, teasing her nipple. Under her tight blouse and soft bra I did notice Xian's nipples hardening.
Xian's own fingers softly clawed into my thigh once or twice, and then she ran her hand further up my leg, ever so slightly.
