I know many of you will think I'm a real asshole, and sadly, you are probably right. The odd thing is, if you met me, you would never guess what dark secrets lie beneath the surface. If you were to tell any of my friends the stories I'm about to relate to you, none would believe you, most of all my wife.
It's disturbing what I've become and in many ways perhaps sharing these stories is my way of cleansing my soul, my feeble attempt at correcting my behavior, a last reckoning. I've tried many times in the past to clean up my act, but I failed each time, it is like an addiction. I'm reminded of Mark Twain's quip concerning cigar smoking -- "It's easy to quit, I've done it thousands of times!" Each time I quit, within a few weeks I'm hankering for more, for a new adventure, a new conquest.
And what is it that makes me so evil? Well, I've never killed any one, I've never ripped anyone off, I've never raped, and I've certainly never had sex with a minor. In fact, I don't think I've ever done anything illegal, per se -- at least not by U.S. laws. However, I have destroyed a few lives along the way, certainly creating hardships for some and in at least two cases was the catalyst for nasty divorces; oddly, never my own, at least not yet. Perhaps once these stories are circulated that will be my fate too, god knows I deserve it.
My addiction is simple, not particularly abnormal, but the degree, the extent, the secretness, and on a few occasions the immorality of it, certainly are not things one would be proud of at the end of their life in a process of self-reckoning. Yes, yes, you are still waiting, what is it that has drawn me down to such a low degree -- women. Well, it isn't women, I certainly don't blame them, but it is my desire to seduce them, to sleep with them, to constantly seek out new conquests, a sort of proverbial Captain Kirk of the S.S. Enterprise, going where no man has gone before! The catch is, in most cases, they are places other men have gone before, such as their husbands. My addiction is not just any woman, but married women, women involved with other guys. Yes, I certainly have had my share of single women too, including a couple of daughters of the women I was having affairs with, not to mention a few sisters too, as well as some prostitutes, but it is married women that drives me, that gives me sustenance.
Though I always fantasized about Mrs. Robinson, there was never one in my sordid past. It would be easy to blame her for my addiction, but one will have to search else where for culpability. In fact, my sex life was quite normal, whatever that may imply, until later in life. I didn't marry until I was 35 so had plenty of opportunities to enjoy bachelorhood. Nothing particularly unusual, a few one-night stands, a couple of wild parties in college, lots of steady girlfriends. Strangely, I never cheated on any of them, despite a few opportunities. Marriage however, changed all sense of fidelity, though I was corrupted a few years before marriage. My first taste of married pussy (is that too crude?) occurred on my 30th birthday. It was one of those unexpected encounters, happening more by chance, or so it seemed, than the outcome of an intentional seduction. But it planted a seed that grew into a full-grown addiction.
Susan was a colleague at work, a few years younger than myself. At the time I was living in Washington, DC, working for some organization that thought it was the savior of the world. Just having completed graduate studies, it was a great opportunity to do policy-oriented research. Susan was also a junior research fellow while completing her graduate studies at the School of International Studies. She worked for a different division than I, so I didn't know her particularly well. We chatted in passing a few times and that was about it.
For my birthday several colleagues took me out for drinks after work on a Friday evening. On our way out we bumped into Susan and someone mentioned to her that she should join us. Susan was very non-committal. But sure enough about an hour later Susan and Kelly, one of the senior secretaries for the organization, met us at the bar.
If there were ever the vision of the perfect Mrs. Robinson, besides Ann Margaret, it would be Kelly. She was statuesque, with perfect posture, perfect curves, perfect hair, perfect clothes, and a perfectly disdainful attitude to all. Her only limitation in making it into the Mrs. Robinson hall of fame was that she wasn't married, and rumor was she was having an affair with the director of the organization, Pamela. So much for Kelly.
It was in fact quite surprising to see Kelly there and even more surprising to get a hug from her when she came around the table to wish me a happy birthday. The feel of her luscious breasts pressed against my chest and my hands on her back along with her smell up so close, are etched in my memory. But that was all Kelly offered. Susan also gave me a quick hug, very casual, nothing memorable.
Susan and Kelly sat across from where I was located, so I didn't get a chance to chat with them, but I did get the opportunity of checking them out. Susan wasn't the type of woman that wowed you with her looks, but upon closer examination one could see her fine features: a long neck, sparkling eyes, and most importantly ample cleavage.
Over the evening the party dwindled and soon there were just four of us left. Along the way we had ordered a few dishes and I found myself sharing the remains of a large order of potato skins with Susan. We swapped a few war stories of our experiences in graduate school and found we shared a healthy skepticism about the organization we worked for; a place many of our colleagues took way too seriously.
Susan talked about her marriage three years ago to a fellow graduate student, who was several years her senior. He worked for an international organization that put him overseas most of the time, including for the past week. For now, she confessed she enjoyed the situation, giving her the space and time to concentrate on her own studies and career path.
She pried into my own relationship status and I explained how I had lived with a fellow graduate student the past several years, however, she pursued her academic career taking up a position in California, while I pursued mine in DC. Neither of us felt attached enough to change career directions but remained close friends, talking regularly, but there was absolutely no expectation or commitment to anything in the future.
I'd been in DC for about six months and hadn't dated since arriving. I did have a short fling with a girl I met online, but the whole encounter was a bit strange and there was no connection between us to sustain any kind of relationship. If I remember correctly her name was Diane. She was a little on the thick side, certainly not fat, which I don't mind at all. I much prefer a little meat to the anorexic look. She worked as a human resource administrator for the Department of Agriculture, not a particularly exciting career path if you ask me, and it reflected in her personality. The one thing she had going for her was her joy of sucking cock.
We had met on Myspace and even though we had little in common, I was intrigued (or was it desperate?) enough to continue chatting with her. She enjoyed hearing my stories of travels from around the world and so we finally agreed to meet one evening after work. She picked a bar she was familiar with, which happened to be conveniently only a few blocks from my apartment in Adams Morgan.
It wasn't the most painful date I had been on, but close. She had little to share, though asked intelligent enough questions to keep me talking about my experiences. After a few drinks I said I should get going and that I would walk her to the closest metro station (which was a ways away in Dupont Circle and it was cold out), or wherever she wanted to go. She then asked where I lived and when I mentioned nearby, she was interested, as she always wanted to live in the neighborhood but found everything to be much too expensive. She resided just across the Potomac, in Vienna, Virginia, easily accessible by the metro.
I'm not sure what came over me, but I invited her over to see my apartment. She loved the small flat and my collection of art objects from around the world. I was being the perfect host and offered her a drink; she opted for another beer (perhaps why she was a few pounds overweight!).
I'm not sure what led to what, but soon enough she was topless on my couch and I was sucking on her tits. For her size they were a too small and pointy, but hey, breasts are breasts. She then pushed me back and stripped off my pants, never saying a word, and dived right on to my cock. She sucked me hard, bobbing up and down in rapid motion, then stopping and licking while she held it. She never said a thing and I just moaned with pleasure as my orgasm built up. She brought me close to orgasm twice, each time stopping her sucking just before I exploded and wrapping her index finger and thumb tightly around the base of my cock to keep me from cumming. Once I recovered, she started right back up with her sucking and licking. Finally she let me cum, and cum I did, squirting several loads into her mouth, all of which she swallowed.
She might not have been the most exciting person to hang out with, but she sure did know how to suck cock. Strangely, after that, she put her bra and blouse back on and left, grabbing a taxi down to Dupont Circle to catch the metro home. She wasn't interested in any reciprocation or in intercourse.
After that night we chatted a few more times on line then about a week later she called me asking if she could come over again. After the previous time, I had no qualms about spending a night with her.
