I adore married women. I always have. The idea of bedding a woman while her husband waits at home having no notion that his wife is betraying him is very erotic to me. Consequently, almost all the women I'd ever had sex with have been married. I've probably had more than my share of them for the simple reason that I exploited every chance to have sex with women. However small the chance seemed, I took it. This has resulted in being shot down from time to time – I've had more than my share of that, too!
To show you what I mean, I'll use the example of Dolores. She was someone I knew some years ago, when I was in my mid-twenties. I had just started working for a delivery company, and had been paired with a man in his fifties named Al, who was to train me. Al was a sweetheart: kind, gentle, loyal, funny, smart and considerate. In other words, just the sort of man whose wife cheats on him.
It's not that Al and his type attract bad women, for few women who commit adultery are bad. No, it's just that kind, gentle, loyal, funny, smart and considerate men are usually too kind, gentle, loyal, funny, smart and considerate to be exciting. And so their wives start looking elsewhere for that particular feeling.
I first met Dolores after only a week or so of working at the new company. She and Al had gone to lunch together and I was in the loading bay when she dropped him off afterward. Al got out of their car and, seeing me, called me over.
"Hey, Jim, this is my wife, Dolores. Honey, this is Jim, the new guy."
"Oh, hi! Al has told me about you. You're supposed to be promising."
"Oh, every woman tells me that," I said.
Dolores laughed. She had a nice laugh, easy and natural. She was about fifty, I estimated, looking neither older nor younger than her age. She was attractive in a healthy girl next door grown up sort of way (if you get what I mean), with reddish brown hair cut short to her collar and a pretty face that had a rash of freckles and all the wrinkles concentrated around the eyes. I rather liked that, as it made her face look always as if it were smiling, which it usually was. She had high cheek bones and expressive lips, both features which I found fetching in women.
I shook her hand as she extended it through the open car window from where she sat behind the steering wheel. As usual, I let my hand linger in hers just a half-second longer than one might think proper. I always did that to make a woman wonder if she felt a slight come-on or whether it was her imagination. The dense ones never wondered at all.
The three of us chatted a bit, after which Dolores drove off. I waved to her as the red Ford disappeared around the corner of the building and was rewarded with a wave in return, showing that she had been looking back in her rear view mirror.
I learned about Dolores from her husband, whom I encouraged to talk about his life and family during our rounds. She didn't work permanently but put in some part-time hours at a clothes bank in the centre of town. Their two children, both boys, were grown and lived away from home, the elder in another city and the younger at university. Al was sometimes worried about his wife because she had only a few good friends. I countered by saying a person was lucky if they could boast of such a thing. Al agreed with a chuckle but said that he still wished she had more to occupy her time.
As you can probably observe, I was actually gathering information on what seemed to be a very possible conquest. While Al was away (which, in our job, was as frequent as not), Dolores lived alone, had time to spare in afternoons or evenings, and had few people to confide in. Granted, this meant nothing if she wasn't interested in me, so I had to find out if she was.
Over time, I saw more of Dolores. I saw her out of the car, which showed me that she was slender, with medium sized breasts and freckles on her arms. When the opportunity availed itself, I would stand next to her, close, and was encouraged when she didn't move away. On occasions such as these, I demonstrated that I was discreet by not doing anything remotely suggestive when or where her husband could see. If a woman is looking for a lover, this would not be lost on her.
After a couple of weeks of being trained by Al, I took the two of them to lunch. I chose a nice place, quiet, and sat at a round table, so that I wouldn't have to choose between sitting next to Dolores (which might have seemed rather forward) or next to Al (which might have seemed awkward). Only when Al went to the washroom (which was twice) did I flirt with his wife.
"That's a very nice blouse, Dolores," I said; "a nice colour. Not a lot of women could wear that."
"Something green?" she asked, a little incredulous.
"No," I chuckled, "something so slim. It looks very nice on you."
"Oh, thank you, Jim," she said, pleased that I had noticed. "Well, I do work out. Nothing too heavy, but two or three times a week."
"Whatever you are doing, keep it up. Every man in the restaurant wants you to."
Dolores smiled at that remark, and almost inevitably looked about. Some men had been glancing in her direction, some had not. But when she turned back to me, I was gazing into her blue eyes.
You may have noticed that I never said anything such as 'you look good for your age'. Older women don't think of that as a compliment. It's like saying a woman is attractive – considering what she has to work with. A woman wants to know she's appealing, period. Not appealing compared to something that usually isn't.
When Al returned from his second bathroom break, Dolores suggested to him that they have me over to the house for dinner.
"Not just to repay this wonderful lunch," she added, "but just because it's about time we had him over. After all, you two have been working together for weeks now."
"Good idea," agreed Al. "Training finishes after another week. Why don't you come over then, Jim?"
I told him that I was looking forward to it.
Dolores and Al lived in a large house in an affluent part of the city. It was a spreading bungalow with three bedrooms and a finished basement. They had owned it since their boys had been small, and though they thought of moving, they loved the expansive yard and the location. I couldn't have blamed them.
The dinner was great. Dolores spent a lot of time preparing a glazed ham, something which I hadn't tasted in a decade or so, and all the trimmings to go with it. I was a perfect gentleman whenever Al was present, but when he left, even for a moment, to the bathroom, to the car to make sure he had rolled the windows up, to find a family photo album to show me pictures of their sons, I flirted with Dolores. My flirting had been getting bolder, and she had raised her level, too. It was nothing obvious, but I wanted to show her my interest, and she showed me hers.
"That's a great look for you, Dolores," I told her, when Al was out of earshot. And it was. A cool white sweater clung to her torso, showing the slim form she worked so hard at, but plunged at the neck line to give a hint of cleavage. The slacks she wore were very thin and moulded themselves around her ass. "Al's a lucky man. Does he ever get jealous?"
"Oh, I don't think so," Dolores smiled, her eyes wrinkling at me. "He trusts me." Her gaze didn't break from mine, and I noted that she had not said 'he has no reason to be' or anything else that would declare her completely loyal. "Besides, everyone knows I am very happily married." She stood to gather up the dishes.
