Influenced

For those with a forgiving nature. Stop reading NOW!

Thank you XTCH for the proof reading, bullshit filtering and grammar lessons.

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Of all the rotten luck. Or was it an act of fate? I'd only just arrived at the motel, not five minutes before in fact. After months of being talked into it and weeks of battling my own conscience, I was finally going to do it. Finally going to have an extramarital affair. No, that's not the right phrase. But what is the right one? My conscience just wouldn't accept the words cheating, adultery or infidelity. They made it sound like something sordid or cheap. It certainly wasn't cheap. On Jane's advice, I'd booked a corner room in a good hotel, plus the room next door. She said I would be making a LOT of noise and would need the privacy. That cleaned out my newly opened bank account. The one with my work address as my contact, that I'd diverted a portion of my annual pay rise to every pay day.

Even as I thought about appropriate words, my mind shied away from the subject. My conscience was still troubling me. After six weeks I'd finally convinced myself, with Jane's help, that what I was doing wasn't the usual sordid affair. No, the usual affairs were one man and one woman with the odds being that the guy wasn't as skilled or as well-endowed as the husband, with only the prospect of the excitement of cheating differentiating it from marital sex. No way was that worth the risk. This was different. Very different. One woman, me, and two guys, pre-approved and pre-tested by my best friend Jane. Both well-endowed and if you believe Jane, very skilled. That is what finally broken through my defences. Even without Jane's vivid descriptions of what I was in for, my own imagination would have ensured my pussy was dripping enough to cause me to dehydrate. Shit, even setting up the untraceable bank account made me wet.

Like I said, I'd just got to the hotel room and introduced myself to John and Paul. They didn't muck about I'll give them that. John was in front of me, kissing my lips and groping my ass. Paul was behind me with a breast in each hand over my clothes. I was in heaven. It was everything I'd dreamed of. Then my bloody phone rang with my husband's ring tone. God, why now. I couldn't ignore it though. Pushing the guys away, I answered. Dave was sick and was coming straight home. He wanted me to pull strings to get him a doctor's appointment ASAP. Just one of the perks of marrying a doctor's receptionist I suppose.

I promised I would do what I could and said I'd see him at home. That left me with a huge problem. I was in a hotel 15 minutes from home, reeking of female excitement. He was on his way home from work 25 minutes away. Making my hurried excuses I grabbed my bag and sprinted for the lifts. Once in my car, I rang work and got an appointment for an hours' time. I beat Dave home by four minutes. He really didn't look good.

My next problem was how to avoid getting in a car with him. In the enclosed space, he would smell me for sure. I'd only found time to fix my smeared makeup. Shit, this affair business was stressful. Dave solved this problem by suggesting he went alone so he minimised the chances of infecting me. Typical Dave. We killed time by talking about our days as usual. I told him that I'd been home relaxing since finishing at 1PM, waiting for Jane to come around for our usual afternoon run. All the time, I'm sitting there nervously. I know Dave possessed a keen sense of smell. He'd commented on my various odours before. I sat as far away from him as possible, ostensibly to avoid his germs.

I experienced another minor turn when Dave asked me if he could take my car as it was easier to drive than his monster. I couldn't think of a reason why not quickly enough. I handed over my keys and he left. I worried that he would notice the temperature gauge in my car and expose my fresh lies. Then of course there was the small bag in the trunk with a change of clothes and my toiletries. Fuck! For less than five minutes of groping, I was certainly paying a high price in mental stress. One thing was for sure. If I got through this, I wouldn't be doing it again. No amount of lust was worth risking my idyllic marriage. It took me too many years and too many loser boyfriends to find such a good man.

Still, the memory of that kiss and the hands fondling my breasts was a powerful force. Involuntarily my back arched and I slipped my hand into my panties at the recollection. No! I had things to do. First, an excuse for the warm engine. I found Dave's keys and quickly drove to the local deli. As I was standing in the queue at the checkout, I asked myself what other clues I may have left behind. As usual, I fingered my wedding and engagement rings in my nervousness. Or the place where they usually were. With shock I remembered I'd taken them off and left them in the ashtray of my car. The car that Dave was now driving!

Suddenly terrified, I drove home and quickly put the chicken soup I'd bought on the stove to warm. Grabbing an egg from the fridge, I cracked it and put a little of the white on my ring finger. From experience I knew my raw egg allergy would make the skin red within minutes. I examined my handiwork and when satisfied, washed my hand. Next on the agenda was burying my panties deep in the laundry basket. They were soaked. Once again I experienced an involuntary but very pleasant flashback. Hopping in the shower I detached the flexible head and turned the dial to jet. What can I say? In less than five minutes, my sex was very, very clean.

Out of the shower and dressed, I turned the stove off and wondered where Dave was. He'd been away nearly an hour. Even as I thought that, I heard my car return. Dave staggered in and lay on the couch. It wasn't an act to play the loving wife. I did love this man with a passion and had since shortly after meeting him seven years ago.

Dave was what I and the people I'd asked, considered eye candy. 6' 1", muscled and very easy to look at. After being introduced, we'd talked for hours and I was pleasantly surprised he wasn't nearly as dumb as men of that physical calibre normally are. In fact he was obviously very intelligent and going places professionally. What staggered me most, was the fact that it was obvious he was interested in me. With the slightly pessimistic self-image common to women, I'd thought he was out of my league.

That was the first of many meetings as he pursued me with alacrity. It was very complimentary. We didn't consummate our relationship for two months. Dave said he thought we were at the beginning of something very special and had all the time in the world to do it just right. We were. Our first was at a very romantic ski chalet, when he'd organised a trip to the snow for us. It was well worth waiting for too. His combination of size and skill sent me to heaven. His stature next to my 5' 6" daintiness, gave me a delicious sense of powerlessness. We never did go skiing.

His proposal seven months later was not unexpected but very welcome. I made sure to warn him that I had malformed ovaries and doctors advised me I might have trouble conceiving. Dave didn't reconsider for a second. He in turn warned me that he had a bit of a temper. It was normally fully controlled but every now and then he lost it completely. He related a story from his younger days when he was walking home from a bar. Passing an alley he'd heard a scream and on investigation, discovered a woman being assaulted by three men. He'd pulled them off her, then placed himself between the woman and her attackers. They made the mistake of pushing the issue. Five minutes later, two of them were unconscious and one had fled. One of the former had his jaw broken in three places. The other one died that night in hospital. Dave said he had no recollection of the fight, just a memory of a red rage. Luckily the woman's statement cleared Dave of any wrongdoing. Her story that Dave simply put himself between her and them and acted in self-defence when they took offence to this, ensured a verdict of 'death by misadventure' was returned by the coroner. We also both discussed our values including our views on fidelity. Unsurprisingly we both valued it high on our lists. Dave told me the story of how his ex-fiancé cheated on him and how hard he'd taken it. I was his first serious girlfriend since her.

We married and were in the middle of living our happily ever after. A little over a year ago I'd gone off the pill at age 33 and we'd had a very busy and pleasant time since, trying to make a baby. Our lack of success wasn't overly worrying yet and I was thoroughly enjoying being one satisfied lady. A month ago at a party I'd whispered in his ear that I was ovulating. He'd made our excuses quickly and we'd left. I took us two hours to get home with two stops at different dark

cul-de-sacs

. Once in the back seat and once in some bushes on our picnic blanket. Oh yes, I was in heaven. I'd even surreptitiously considered going back on the pill just to make this fantastic time last forever but I was looking forwards to a family as much as Dave. If our children inherited Dave's looks and my brain, they would rule the world.

Hello. This is your conscience speaking. You went to a hotel today and got groped by two non-Daves.

Oh shut up.

I thanked the god of fate for saving my marriage today. What the hell was I thinking? Like most people I didn't recognise the power of lust driven hormones to override all logic circuits. Now, after a powerful showerhead orgasm and the extremely unsexy environment of my husband's sick bed, I really couldn't understand why I'd even attempted to stray.

I fed Dave some chicken soup and mopped his brow. With a full stomach he could take the first of his meds. I took the opportunity to ask if we had any cream for dermatitis and pointed out the red patch on my ring finger. I escorted him to bed and tucked him in before 7PM. Going back downstairs, I quietly retrieved my rings from my car. Thank god they seemed to have been undiscovered. I might not have to use the dermatitis defence at all. That only left two potential exposure points to cover.

At Dave's insistence I made up the bed in the spare room. The doctor said he was contagious. I went back to the lounge to relax. Jane didn't answer her phone. After her divorce last year she spent a lot of time in noisy bars; making up for lost time she said. My conscience asked me if she was really my friend. Would a friend plant the seeds in my head that led to my near miss of today?

Until January I'd never considered infidelity. It just wasn't me. I'd finally found the man of my dreams and wasn't going to do anything to spoil that. As I'd often discussed with Dave, I hated cheaters. Not so much on moral grounds but on the hurt and damage it did to the innocent partner in the relationship. So what happened to lead me into a hotel room on the brink of, well, let's be frank, cheating? In a nutshell, Jane.

Jane and her husband were acquaintances until 18 months ago. Then, in short order, my two best friends left town and Jane and her husband mutually agreed to call their marriage quits. I saw her looking lonely at a party and so talked to her. We were pretty much inseparable after that. Just about every weekday for the last year, Jane came over and we went for a run in the local park then back to my place for a gossip.

For the first few months after her separation, Jane was quiet and seemed to be working on her ex to consider giving it another go. Then about a year ago there was a step change when she re-joined the swinging singles scene. She kept me entertained with her various conquests over our coffees. She never described anything near as good as an average session with Dave and sometimes when we were all together I would catch her looking at us longingly as a couple. She once jokingly suggested a threesome with Dave and myself. I burst that bubble pretty quickly. As healthy, mature people, Dave and I often shared fantasies. He possessed a kinky imagination but always drew the line at a third wheel in bed. Final, end of story, no discussion.

She would often invite me to go to bars with her. If she promised to behave herself and go home alone, I would agree. It just felt really wrong to accompany her if she was on the hunt. I didn't want any rumours impinging on Dave's absolute trust in me.

In fact, these nights out were the subject of several of our 'state of the union' talks. Early on in our marriage we recognised that poor communications were the downfall of many a marriage. So we'd begun a habit, every month or so I suppose, of sitting together as a couple for what became jokingly known as state of the union talks. We discussed the rules at the first meeting. We could and should raise any issues that bothered us, in an atmosphere of complete honesty and with no fear of recrimination. Over the years, several small, niggling issues had been discussed and neutralised. One was me telling Dave that he snored when he slept on his back. For the next month he slept on his side with a pillow tucked where it prevented him rolling onto his back. After a month, sleeping on his side was habit. Thus, snoring, the cause of many a divorce, was never an issue for us. In turn, Dave raised that he was slightly uncomfortable with me wearing revealing clothes when I went out socialising without him. I started dressing more conservatively. When our friends found out about our state talks, many of them pumped us for details. We were happy to help them out.

Our last talk had been six weeks before. Jane had cast doubt on my absolute faith that Dave had never strayed. Verbally I shot her down, but a seed had been sown. In the back of my mind was the unanswered question of why Dave chose me. I was honest enough to know he could have done better. That is exactly what our talks were for. The next night I initiated a discussion. With only a slight nervousness, I told Dave what Jane said and asked him if he'd ever been tempted since we'd been together. Without any apparent rancour, Dave told me that though he'd been propositioned many times and even felt an animal temptation to do it, he'd never seriously considered it. He then thanked me for being open enough to ask. As I was on a roll, I asked why he chose me over all the other contenders. His answer wasn't really an answer at all but was so 'Dave'. He pointed out that he never asked himself questions like that. For really important decisions he just went with his gut instincts. On first meeting me, his gut told him this was his life partner and the mother of his children. Christ, I could hardly walk the next day.

So what happened in January? The two snakes in the grass entered Jane and by extension, my life, at a New Year's Eve party. Two smoothies that plied her with drinks and at the end of the evening offered themselves to her as a package deal. With her defences low, she'd taken the risk and agreed. For the next month I was bombarded with stories of how fantastic it was. I listened with interest, recognising for the first time that my friend was describing something better than I'd ever experienced. Much better. Eventually I made the mistake of telling Jane this fact. By that stage, she'd pretty much given up one-on-one sex as no longer stimulating enough. She managed to find two new guys willing to share her, once every two weeks or so and in between those, entertained a few regulars. Once I'd let my inner thoughts slip, the gentle pressure started from Jane.

Every time she had a session she would lay it on thick about how good it was. This went on for about a month. Then she slipped into a casual conversation that she thought all women owed it to themselves to be spoiled rotten by multiple men at some point in their lives. I recognised she was suggesting I give it a go and brushed her off. Pointing out that she'd nothing to lose, while I would be putting everything on the line. I shared my contempt for cheaters who destroyed their partners by their selfish, shallow actions.

Looking back on it, this conversation just gave Jane the ammunition to refine her attack. She now knew squarely where to aim. Nomenclature and consequences. Over the next months she convinced me it wasn't really cheating. Sex with one man was cheating. Straying with a man who was a threat to a marriage was adultery. Meaningless fun with two married guys was my birthright and absolutely no threat to my marriage.

Like a fool, I didn't shut her down but continued to argue logically. I pointed out that even without the threat of falling in love with another guy, my marriage was just as dead if my extramarital fun was discovered.

Why didn't I shut her down? Simple. I loved talking about it and got really, really turned on experiencing it vicariously through Jane. Dave had a lot of fun as a result of those conversations too. Several times he complained about being raped as soon as he got home. Funny, he never seemed to struggle that much. An overheated marshmallow could have put up a better fight. At the rate we were going, that baby would make an appearance soon.

Sensing she'd almost got me convinced that a threesome wasn't cheating and justifying further conversations as improving my sex life with my husband, Jane changed tactics. If my main objection was on the damage an affair did to relationships, then no harm was done if Dave never found out. I laughed this off at first but didn't object when Jane offered to do some research for me. The whole subject just made me so horny and led to some mind blowing sessions with Dave. I certainly didn't recognise that sex with my husband now just left me that little bit unsatisfied. After all, you can spend thousands of dollars working up a Ford but it will never drive like a Lamborghini.

Three weeks later Jane presented me with the results of her research. Her guide to not getting caught she called it. I thought it might be fun, so went along with it for the next week. Sometimes we were so engrossed in it that we didn't even go for our regular runs.

Venereal diseases and the husband finding out he wasn't the father of any children the couple bore, were both covered by the wife taking condoms along. Jane did stress that the woman might get so carried away with the excitement of the mind blowing experience, that she would have to be super vigilant to make sure the guys always used them and never came in her mouth.

The husband coming home early was covered by meeting in hotels, paid for untraceably and always answering the phone. Jane again pointed out this may be difficult in the heat of the moment.

Behavioural changes could be combatted by vigilance and a friend constantly critiquing the woman on her actions around her husband.

Being seen somewhere she shouldn't be by her husband or friends was always a killer. Jane suggested that choosing a hotel near a shopping centre the wife had every right to be visiting, would get around that. Someone else could do the booking and a basic disguise and a bit of stealth should guarantee the safety of the rest.

Physical signs of sex could be negated as a giveaway, by the woman leaving ample time to thoroughly clean up afterwards. She could even set an alarm for the time that all activities must cease.

The husband finding lingerie was a non-issue. The purpose of lingerie is to put the participants in the mood. Jane assured me that would be completely unnecessary. I had to agree.

Overheard conversations and intercepted communications was easy as well. Jane offered to do all the organising so there would be no record on my phones or email. If she booked the room and did all the organising, then I just needed to turn up. Any communication between she and I would be done verbally over a coffee.