For as long as I can remember I have been attracted to interesting men particularly if they are intelligent as well. Whenever I hear one explaining a complicated issue in easy-to-understand terms my attraction to them increases. If they then show they can solve complicated problems, metaphorically I feel my knicker elastic loosening and if they can explain the solution so I understand it then, just as metaphorically I feel them sliding down my legs and off.
During my career in advertising, particularly before my marriage, I met numerous men who were both interesting and intelligent and that illustrated to me that my knicker issue was a good deal more than merely metaphorical.
I think it was missing this, the interesting and intelligent people not the loose knicker elastic that I missed most when I gave up work to bring up our two children. That hadn't been much of a problem when they were young but as they tore through their teens and needed me less so it became one. On top of that I had to cope with a workaholic husband who was away from home usually travelling to the US at least a week a month and worked murderous hours and entertained frequently when at home.
As it had been an inheritance of mine that provided him with the funds needed to get his business going so I benefitted from it in many ways; I had more clothes than I knew what to do with, I had fantastic holidays even though Kevin was always on his mobile, iPad or laptop and I got to go to all the top restaurants, clubs and sporting events. When I wanted to, I accompanied him on trips to New York, LA and most European cities, I had a brand-new car every year and we lived in a huge house in an upscale suburb of London and owned holiday homes in Florida and Sorrento.
So, what's the problem many would ask? There's two actually: I am so bloody lonely and I so fucking frustrated I masturbate most days and have the wildest fantasies. And as much as I have tried, Kevin is losing or has lost his sex drive. At first, I thought he was getting it elsewhere but after we talked about it at some length, I doubted that he was though that didn't help me as I was still not getting anywhere near what I needed and had been used to during most of our twenty-five plus years marriage.
This situation was compounded when Kevin informed me that he was opening an office in New York and that he would be working there full time for a few months.
"Don't worry though love, I'll pop home some weekends and you can come out when you want," was his rather weak attempt at pacifying me.
I often contemplated an affair, thought about having flings, considered taking up the invitations from the 'my wife doesn't understand me' brigade at the golf and tennis clubs or guys I met at dinner parties and other soirees. I have even pondered on getting a toyboy many times, but so far, all of these had remained as my masturbatory fantasies.
However, all that changed when I went to work.
I wasn't looking for an affair. I didn't want a guy to be dipping his pen in the company ink and I certainly had no intention whatsoever of doing anything that might ruin my marriage as I still loved Kevin and, apart from sex, we got on great. I hated the lonely and frustrated situation I was in, but was even more scared of being divorced. As it happens, I didn't have an affair but I had a series of rather extreme, intense and quite dangerous liaisons which gave me all the thrills and the sex of an affair without having to make the excuses and tell the lies that affairs demand.
The incongruity of it was the guy with who I had these liaisons and how he got me involved in them. Apart from being interesting in his almost unique way and most certainly frighteningly intelligent, he was not at all my sort. That is if there is such a thing as 'my sort' for since marrying Kevin there hadn't needed to be one as I have been physically totally faithful to him. Emotionally I may have strayed with my fantasies and my thoughts of having a discrete affair or a virile toyboy. Certainly, many men and probably Kevin as well, would have considered my frequent, almost daily, masturbating sessions as me being unfaithful and without doubt he would have thought that my occasional chat room cybersex, sometime accompanied by a phone call as me being a philanderer as well as a slut. In my heart and mind when I let my imagination flow, I knew that deep down he would be correct thinking that. But then he had mostly encouraged me to be the 'lady in the drawing room and the whore in the bedroom.' And on top of that he had for many years now used his hobby to provide both of us with some wonderful sexual experiences by photographing me as I undressed and then played with myself.
*
"At least give us your knickers to sniff then."
As chat up lines go it was certainly different when he suggested that with a mischievous glint in his eyes after I had told him that I wasn't interested in giving him a blow job.
I had been working at the newspaper as a Senior Sub-editor for a month or so and had slowly got to know everybody including Stevie Taylor. He was the IT King at the local newspaper group where we both worked. Amongst the women in the company he was known as the office stud or a bit of a sleezball; I preferred the latter description as it seemed to be more accurate. What was so strange was that although some of his behaviour and language made my flesh creep, he also turned me on in almost equal measures. I put it down largely to him being so different to anyone else I knew. That side of him combined with his intelligence certainly made for an interesting character.
He was rather loud, a little arrogant and assumptive as well as being quite foul mouthed and crude but in a humorous way. That said, he had oodles of charm that he seemed able to turn on and off easily and he was very likeable indeed. He was Irish from Dublin and had a lovely brogue and the cutest twinkle in his stunningly ice, blue eyes. He was tall, around six two and looked fit and trim. He had black, wavy hair that he wore quite long and he was good looking. He was witty and humorous, was noted for his generosity and treated everyone the same whether they be the tea boy or the Managing Director. He was in his late twenties and had a first-class honours degree in computer science from Trinity in Dublin so, he was frighteningly intelligent. At first there was nothing that suggested he would be my 'saviour' and that he might become the man who helped me solve in the most dramatic way my frustration and my sexual dilemma.
We were working together on a short-term project to archive past articles and stories on a new computer system so they could be easily cross referenced. I was being paid a generous bonus for the extra work as it had to be done outside the normal working hours of the newspapers. That meant either, early mornings between five and eight or evenings from six to twelve or both. As the offices were just a ten-minute drive from my home and as I was often alone the anti-social hours didn't bother me.
"Nooooooooo I will not," I sighed, laughing a little as I dismissed his request.
This was on the Monday evening of the second or third week of the project. I had agreed to do most of the early morning work alone for he had said.
"I'm fucking terrible getting up in the morning Jayne; waking up that is not getting it up for I love early morning sex."
I didn't reply and he went on.
"But then I don't usually get to bed to two, well sleep that is if you know what I mean," he'd explained leering at me.
"Yes, I know what you mean," I'd replied.
"What about you and your husband do you do it at night or in the mornings?"
I ignored him.
"Or do you do it both?"
"Leave it Steve."
"Or maybe neither Jayne, are you on a low sex diet?"
We were doing our evening shift and were the only people in the office at that time of night. As usual, he was taking every opportunity to introduce sex into the conversation. Although I'd worked for the newspaper for over a month now this was the first time, I had worked closely with him and it was a little bit unnerving.
"I bet you wear really sexy knickers," he went on. "A thong? A tiny G-string? Open crotch? Yes, that's it," Stevie chuckled when I glared at him, "I bet you're wearing cheap, red tacky open-crotch knickers."
