We had finally turned a corner in our marriage and it really started feeling like old times. Well, as close to old times as we could manage considering a nearly 20-year relationship, kids, infidelity, and having just stepped back from the precipice of divorce. My husband and I were both fully on the same page, working hard to save our marriage. The fruits of two years of labor -- counseling, brutal honesty, confessions and lots of pent-up emotions have finally paid off. The ebbs and flows of intimacy and trust were now a surging river of love and acceptance. I accepted his transgressions and he accepted mine. We learned a lot about each other and like a rubber band stretching to it's maximum, threatening to break, we snapped back together and I think we're stronger than ever.
A couple of years back I got drunk on a girl's night and hooked up with a guy at the bar. He was young and slick, not to mention gorgeous. He was with a group of similarly studly young men who were clearly on the prowl. They had been flirting with our group throughout the night at the bar. All of us were married and in our late 30's, which we made clear early on, but none of us would ever admit that we really liked the attention. Some of the ladies flirted pretty hard to the point in which I figured something crazy was going to happen, but we parted ways before anyone jumped from that cliff. We headed to the club a couple of blocks up the street to dance and drink our faces off. I was at the bar getting another cocktail when I felt his strong hands around my waist and a big cock grinding against my ass. Next thing you know I was being held against the wall of the bathroom stall, legs in the air, cumming all over Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome.
Weeks went by and the guilt overwhelmed me. Hubby knew something was amiss because our normally active sex life had immediately dried up. I feared diseases and getting caught cheating because I gave my husband something, but the reality was that my libido was killed by the guilt of knowing what I did to our marriage. I was terrified of his response. I was terrified that the kids would find out eventually. I thought about everyone in my life finding out what type of whore I really was. Ashamed and disgusted with myself, drowning in anxiety, I dried up like worm on the sidewalk after a summer afternoon shower. Following nearly a month of refusing his touch, my husband finally confronted me. I had prepared for the conversation as much as I could, but how it unfolded was especially devastating and ultimately liberating.
I evaded his questions until it was obvious what I did. He's a very smart guy -- one of the smartest people I've ever met. Trying to hide my infidelity from him as we talked was futile and I knew it. Once he figured out I had cheated, I confessed every part of my actions, only sparing the gory details of the admittedly great sex. To my surprise, his anger subsided as my confession gave way to the full testimony of all of my sins. I didn't stop with Mr. Big Dick Bar Stud. I went deep. I told him about the stripper at my bachelorette party who ate my pussy. I told him about time right after our first child that I felt ugly and unfuckable when an ex started texting me out of nowhere. Nothing happened between us other than texts, but I did send him a couple of naughty pictures. I told him about playing naked drinking games with our friends when he was at home watching the kids. I told him everything I could remember about all the times I flirted harder than I should. I pulled no punches. I dumped the motherload of my failures as a wife into his lap.
In our extreme emotional state, we agreed to never lie or hide anything ever again. Sure, it was something every couple says at one point or another, and we were no different, but this time was unique. I had just confessed every infidelity and after crying together for a bit, he started making some confessions of his own.
We both sobbed as he described having sex with a stripper at my cousin's bachelor party some 15 years ago. I felt sick as he talked of how flirting with his assistant turned physical almost a decade ago. I remember her well and it especially hurt because I always really liked her. She seemed like a very sweet girl who was very innocent and ambitious. I first met her when I came in to take him to lunch one day and there was this beautiful girl alone in his office. We chatted and I just loved her. I used to joke with him about how he better not get any ideas and he used to pan that there's no way she'd be interested. Apparently, she was.
She had only been working there for a few weeks when she began pursuing him. At first, he was clueless, but her flirtations became more and more aggressive. The best we can figure, she had already started the courtship when I met her that day. She began standing close, complimenting him on his cologne, and telling him how lucky I was. Gross. He said in retrospect he really should have noticed when she started leaving her blouse partially unbuttoned and her skirts kept getting shorter. One day she noticed him gazing at her cleavage as she bent over his desk and made her move. She embarrassed him by asking if he liked what he saw and as he tried stammering his way out, she shut the door and lifted her skirt to show her panties, telling him that he made her wet. I believe him when he says he never fucked her because he had no reason to lie at that point. However, they did pretty much everything else. Kissing, touching, oral. "3rd base, but no home runs." It didn't matter, it hurt just the same.
Eventually she ended up being fired along with a different Director after getting caught fucking him by the cleaning crew after hours. Like I said, she was ambitious. Come to find out, she was fucking her way up to the e-suite before getting caught, landing a couple of VP's as well as most of hubby's director group; not that it seemed to be helping her career. Maybe fucking leadership just really did make her horny.
Beyond that he had little to confess that was bothersome. I knew he'd go to the strip club with clients, and I've been with him before, so I know about lapdances. I knew he was flirty with cute girls tending bar or in the checkout line. A big surprise for me was that he collected phone numbers with no intention of calling, just to make himself feel attractive. If he had confessed this to me before this conversation, I would have lost it. Considering everything we were admitting to, it really seemed benign. His explanation made perfect sense. Ever since my first training bra I've had the boys' attention and for guys, I guess they get their validation 'in the hunt' as he says. 'Scoring a kill' wasn't getting his dick wet, just getting a number was enough to make him feel powerful.
A major shift occurred that day. Our policy of brutal honesty held up and began created major problems. All of a sudden, all the little things we've ignored forever that pissed us off were now frequent topics of conversation. Conversations we never had in our two-decade relationship, but probably should have, became almost a daily routine. There was a major pile of shit we had built around our foundation and it all came out. I know for me; it was both miserable and liberating. No more hiding or holding anything back, but the shovels didn't just throw things over the fence in one direction. It all came right back over and sometimes the loads were heavier than we expected. Having all of your wifely flaws and inadequacies catapulted back in your face day after day takes its toll. Very quickly, our relationship was eroding apart and we decided counselling was in order.
Our therapist really helped us. Weekly meetings, some incredibly productive, some not at all, but we endured. We slagged through it not really being able to see the progress most of the time, but we came through the other side remembering why we loved each other in the first place. He was brilliant, hilarious, and as a whole, a dominant force in every conceivable situation. We fit together like a set of Legos. I filled his gaps and he filled mine (no pun intended). Peas and carrots as they say. We were once again best friends who were absolutely wild for each other. And the sex? The first year of our recovery, non-existent. Over the last year, it really flourished. Our brutal honesty brought about delving into our fantasies and very quickly, acting them out. A little bit of kink for me and a little bit of role play for him. We bought toys and outfits and other gear, using them regularly to fulfil each other's desires. Our sex life was always good, but now it began blossoming into something really special. I swear to god I've never had so many orgasms as I've had in the last six months.
My little kinks were minor, but we found role playing was a major driving force that worked for both of us. One of our goto's had become reliving our darkest marital moments in a fantasy situation. It all started by accident when he asked me to surprise him with a new role play scenario and he would surprise me with a new fun toy. He showed up with some nipple clamps and I showed up with, "Chrissy, the Office Whore." I wore business attire two sizes too small and seduced him on my home office desk. He was shocked considering our history, but I honestly hadn't really thought about it. I was just racking my brain for ideas and found some dumb article that had suggestions. We already did the slutty maid, the hot personal trainer, and the handyman with a hard-on... and there it was. The Office Romance.
We both ended up so hot and bothered we didn't stop at one. It became a thing. We started having 'office sex' consistently for weeks. We talked about how close we were getting towards dangerous territory so we kept things vague. I never asked him about the specifics of that fling and he never mentioned how close things were hitting home. We both felt as if this was a deviation from our brutal honesty policy, but agreed that pure accuracy in this area wasn't totally necessary as long as we expressed how everything was making us feel. He acknowledged the hint of danger excited him as I'd graze the edge of reality and I admitted the flashes of jealousy in having him relive those times was pretty hot. The touch of danger and rush of jealousy added to the energy and made both of us cum much harder. I was fine with everything staying exactly how it was when I received that first text message.
"Hey babe, how you been?"
I ignored it. I figured it was a wrong number. Then I got another, with my name.
"Who is this?"
"Sorry, I wouldn't expect you to have my number after all these years."
And then it came. My adorable husband sends me a picture from a pay as you go phone he picked up at a gas station. It's him. Hair slicked back, gold chain, sunglasses, and shirt unbuttoned halfway looking like the mid-40's version of at least four douchebags I dated in college. He knew my old type as we joked about it for years... and he nailed it. I sent him an 'lol' before realizing what he was doing. We texted back and forth like that for a while, but never talked about it beyond that. I tried that first day when he got home, but he shushed me right away and dismissed it -- "I have no idea what you're talking about."
