New Wine Old Winesin

My name is Katrina Starnes. My husband, Dale, calls me Kat when he is being affectionate. I know it seems boring when I put it like that. I sometimes feel like I am a boring person that few people would want to know. I'm not sure I can explain what came over me several weeks ago. This probably sounds like I'm justifying my actions. Perhaps I am to a degree. I felt bored. I felt restless. I guess I wanted the thrill I felt with sex when I was younger. We had never really been adventurous in our love-making; more predictable than anything else. It was usually one of three positions; missionary, cowgirl and reverse cowgirl once in a while. Once the kids went away to college, I thought the frequency of our love making would increase. The stress of Dale's job killed that notion. Actually, it nearly killed our love life as well.

Forbidden fruit; is that what Icarus was thinking about when he flew toward the sun? I wanted more. I wanted the thrill back, so I searched for it. What I found, I found in spades. All sorts of personal ads wanting to get with somebody like me. I made sure I hid my browser history from Dale. I reveled in this guilty indulgence of mine, reading personal ads seemingly directed at me, or at least somebody like me. It took my breath away; it made me feel desirable again, made my pussy feel damp again. But the thrill I felt dimmed again as I realized I couldn't possibly answer those ads. The risk was too great. I would probably get caught and publicly exposed in my estimation. The thought of that kind of public humiliation among friends and family was too great to bear. No, to my great shame now, I thought it would be better if Dale were caught in some tawdry affair. If that were the case, I could separate from him and possibly divorce him and be free to pursue the thrill of sex I had set up on the pedestal in my mind. Fool that I was being at the time, it seemed so simple, so elegant a solution. I would find somebody to seduce my husband!

In my naked desire to grasp that thrill of sex again, I devised a plan to place my own personal ad. I planned this scheme in my free time and set up my own subscription on the website for personal ads. Deciding I could not risk anybody discovering my identity, I would use just the first initial of my name and the current year for my user id and would just use K as a signature. I hand wrote what that ad would say and in my shame shredded it for fear that Dale would find it and question me. Late one evening after Dale had gone to bed, sitting in front of my computer in my pajamas, I typed in my personal Seductress Wanted ad.

The cursor blinked and blinked while my heart pounded in my chest. I thought I heard Dale on the stairway wandering down, I closed my eyes and clicked on the submit button as my pulse quickened, frantic to navigate away from the website I was on. But now the ad was submitted. I resolved not to look, not to watch or wait for a response, and closed the browser then and there.

I felt guilty the next day and resolved to not look for a response, but was weak and looked anyway. I should have deleted the ad, but I didn't. I'd check whenever I thought there was no danger of Dale seeing me, and quickly close the site down if I heard him moving around. There were quite a few responses from men wanting to know if I was available, wanting to know my height, weight, and age, wanting to know my body measurements. I deleted them all because I didn't want to be the unfaithful one; I wanted Dale to be unfaithful. The irony of that never occurred to me.

Once or twice I received responses from women I presumed that cuckqueans should have their heads shaved and be marched around nude in public. I had to look up that term. I deleted those as well. I didn't want to participate in Dale having sex with somebody else, so it didn't make sense to be called that. There were also a lot of responses asking Dale's height, weight, and age. I didn't reply to any of those, but I didn't delete them yet. I didn't understand why it would matter, but I wondered if I should reply to any of them. Maybe as a last resort, but I was close to giving up on the personal ad. Then one evening, I found a succinct response from J. It wasn't demanding, it didn't deflect, just seemed to be a simple yes. Could this be the answer I was wanting? Was I ready to take the plunge? It wasn't really a plunge though, was it, because to go further, I would have to respond again to at least ask for a meeting?

Once I sort of decided that this response was going to receive a reply, I needed time to assess and reflect on what I was doing. I think in the movies they call that a "gut check." I started a list of pros and cons, but shredded it fearing it would be found. I waffled back and forth, even while at work. I was distracted and my co-workers probably noticed my distraction. My boss told me in so many words to get a grip. I knew just one way to put it out of my mind, so three days later, I replied to J. Since I only work part-time, I spent most of the next couple of days off at the computer waiting for J to tell me where and when we should meet. That evening after Dale had gone to bed, I checked my computer one more time and her instructions were waiting for me. I sent confirmation and quickly scampered up to bed afterward.

"Dale, are you still awake?"

"Yes Kat. Why?"

"You've been working late so much lately. Are you going to be working late Thursday also?"

"Probably will be. What's up?"

"I'll be having dinner and drinks with a co-worker after we finish for the day and I won't have time to prepare dinner for you."

"Okay Kat. Good night love," as he kissed my forehead.

I turned the nightstand lamp off and lay down. A few minutes later I heard his light snoring, but I couldn't sleep and stared at the ceiling until my eyes adjusted to the dark and I could count the whorls in the paint texture, but eventually I slept.

I'm nervous at work and home until Thursday rolls around. I have to concentrate throughout the day on thinking about what I am doing and what I should be thinking about at the time, but I'm distracted wondering what this person I am meeting will be like. Will I like her, will it matter? Will I be able to go through with what I've set in motion? I assure myself that even if I should back out, I've made no promises so far. J has asked for none either, so maybe it will be okay. I try to picture her, and silly me, all I can do is picture another me. What seems like a thousand times; I wonder what I've gotten myself in for. My desires override my feelings of guilt. Is it wrong to desire a better sex life?

Thursday after work, I bought a bunch of white carnations from the grocery store so that I've got one for the meeting. The rest I think I will keep in the kitchen. I think about buying a salad to eat, but I'm scared that I will drip the dressing on my dark green suit. I opt for a simple protein bar instead. The butterflies in my tummy don't want much nourishment anyway.

As I walk in to Barbarossa's, I scan the crowd for somebody else carrying a carnation. But it is crowded, and I get ushered to a booth before I can see one. I order an old fashioned, maybe it will calm my nerves, but I want to be careful not to drink too much since I haven't had much to eat. I'm fairly confident I can nurse the old fashioned through the meeting without finishing it.

While waiting for my drink, an absolutely adorable girl wanders from behind me and displays a carnation. I think, "Oh my God," she's almost young enough to be my daughter! IF I had gotten pregnant in high school, she'd probably be the same age as my oldest! I had expected somebody closer to my own age, so now I'm really nervous. I'm not even 50 yet, but I feel kind of old now. She tells me her name is Jessa, and I tell her mine. I stare at her and wonder if she really would seduce a man almost old enough to be her father. I've heard that some younger women are turned on by older men. She's self-assured, confident and brash. I like to think I am confident, but I believe she is more so than I ever would be.

My drink arrives and I'm still trying to think of what to say to her. What should one say to somebody about seducing their husband? I'm at a loss for words, but I stumble through a couple of niceties. She's getting impatient and about to leave and I blurt out my desire. I'm confessing to this slip of a girl why I want her to sleep with my husband. Yet, she seems to accept it at face value. She tells me she might want to keep sleeping with Dale after I divorce him. It wasn't something I had considered previously. I search my feelings, which I'm beginning to suspect at the moment anyway. I think I can accept what she is suggesting, but I can't say for certain.

Jessa suggests a spa weekend and I agree thinking that if I don't go along with it she might walk away and I'll not achieve what I want. I suggest a location that I've heard my co-workers mention, a Holly Springs Creek Inn and Jessa set up a reservation on her phone. I'm not really sure why we need another conversation about his seduction, but maybe she's right that I need to think more about it. If nothing else, I could use a bit of pampering the spa weekend will provide.

On the way home while I contemplate the weekend outing, I start feeling a bit wicked and soon a warming tingle in my core. It had been a while since I had masturbated, and I was starting to get in the mood. In the bedroom, Dale is barely awake when I get in. I get cleaned up and ready for bed by putting on one of my slinky lacey nightgowns. Dale is unfortunately already asleep, so I roll my nipples between my thumbs and fingers to get them tingly and hard. The heat starts to build up, blood engorging my clit. I pinch it lightly and it turns hard also. As the folds of my vagina get damp I run my fingers up and down my slit, brushing my moistness over my hardness there. I rub it more vigorously and my slit opens in expectation of being filled. I almost reach for my vibrator, but decide to use just my fingers to avoid waking Dale. I'm close to the edge when he rolls over in his sleep and throws his arm across my chest. It stretches the lace of my nighty tautly across my rigid nipples and the sensation pushes me to my orgasm, the first in several weeks. I sigh in relief and soon turn so that Dale is spooning me.

I woke up still feeling a little bit excited. Dale was up and already off to work. I didn't have to be out the door for a while yet so I used my vibrator until I had enough of an orgasm to mellow me out. I guessed that being naughty was making me horny. I'd have to be careful about being so aroused in the evenings with Dale around. I wouldn't want to explain to him why it was so. But I had to think of some explanation for the approaching weekend away. My high-school friend Marla came to mind. She had moved away years ago, before I married Dale, but we had kept in touch sporadically throughout the years. She and Dale had met once or twice, so he would have a face to put with the name when I dropped it. I worked it in to the conversation over dinner Saturday after laundry, yard work, errands and chores were done.

The rest of the time leading up to the spa weekend was mostly uneventful, but I think I might have been more horny than usual. The batteries in the vibrator had gotten old and needed to be replaced and the spares didn't last long either.

I had the day off from work that Friday, so I spent most of the day picking out what I might want to wear over the weekend. Swimsuit, hiking apparel, pajamas and some casual evening wear, which was jeans and pullover. It was only going to be 2 nights, so I there was no need for much beyond that. I called Dale at work when I left and he told me to have a good time with Marla. It made me feel naughty again, so I had to switch underwear before the drive to Dahlonega.

When I got to the Inn early I entered the lobby to wait for Jessa. At 7:55 P.M., I assumed I was going to be stood up, but I wasn't about to walk away without enjoying the spa so I got in line to check in. I was startled when Jessa hugged me from behind. I had forgotten that she was rather demonstrative in the bar. She hugged me at Barbarossa's as well, but this time it was full body, not across my shoulder like that time. I feel her nipples at my back and I wonder if she is in a perpetual state of arousal. I bite my lip to stop from asking. She's talking a mile a minute and asking me if I need to eat something and she's practically jiggling and bouncing.

I ask if she's manic and I immediately regret saying anything. She's buoyant and I'm nervous. I need to get a grip, just like my boss told me to. Only my boss isn't here, and I'm certain she wouldn't approve of what I'm doing, so I end up getting flustered. All I can do at this point is follow Jessa's lead. And Jessa seems to be a take charge kind of personality. Soon after, I am stunned to learn that Jessa has only reserved one room for the both of us. I must have lost my mind, because now I'm being buffeted around unsure of where to go and what to do. Jessa has taken charge of me, and I'm only along for the ride.

The rest of the evening, though I am almost old enough to be this girl's mother, I'm being told what to do and where to go as if I am the child and she the mother. It's all so confusing and she's so assertive and persistent. I stare in awe at her boldness, her easiness with nudity, her nakedness, her birthmark. I don't feel the fog start to lift until we are in the hot tub and she is rubbing my shoulders and neck. But afterward in the room and in the shower I am once again off balance around her. I wouldn't be comfortable with my nudity in front of my daughter and yet Jessa seems to expect it. She seems to be sex personified and I feel like a moth gravitating toward flame.

I feel drunk before I even have my first glass of champagne and eventually tell her Dale's name. Did I just commit to introducing Jessa to Dale? I have moments of lucidity in between moments of being overwhelmed by sensuality. I feel like I've tethered myself to a shooting star and I'm being towed around the solar system in her wake. I start feeling groggy after a while and she tucks me in to bed. I almost object that I don't have my pajamas on, but then her hands are kneading the tension from my neck and shoulders. I can't resist how soothing and relaxing it is and I start to drift off to sleep. I don't even mind that she's spooning me. I was reminded of my teen-aged sleepovers with my best friend Marla when we would cuddle and talk for hours about this boy or that; whoever happened to be our crush of the week.

Sunlight filters through the window shade and curtain when Jessa's arm moves across me. I gasp as her finger nails lightly scrape across my left nipple which turns into a pebble as her palm cups my areola. I can't tell if Jessa is still asleep or awake and I'm afraid to look to see if she is watching me for a reaction when her knee moves toward my belly and her thigh slides over my hips and rests across my pelvis. I've neither had nor wanted to have another woman be sexually intimate with me before, so I am shocked when the heat starts building and my body eagerly anticipates more. When Jessa started grinding against my hip bone with her pussy getting slick and slicker by the moment all I could do was concentrate on breathing. My sex wanted attention and wanted filling. I was half way to an orgasm when she straddled me with her wetness.

My resolve to remain clear headed and just converse with Jessa the rest of the weekend was blasted to smithereens on the trail when she kissed me like no one else ever had. Luckily another trail walker interrupted before it went any further. But by then my thermostat had been set on high and my blood was simmering through lunch when we returned to the room. My resistance was nil when she started kissing me again. I couldn't believe how horny she got me with her lips and then devoured me with her mouth. Dale had more than a few times given me wonderful cunnilingus, but Jessa, vixen, seductress did things to my pussy with her lips and tongue that I never thought possible. She probed and prodded, nibbled and chewed until I was quite out of my mind and it seemed like my orgasm would never stop.

I awoke that evening before Jessa did and managed to climb into my pajamas, flannel armor, as if that would stop her or protect me from her mouth. I was half exhausted and felt as if another round would put me in coma for the duration. After I dutifully entered my contact information into her phone, she let me sleep until morning.

We were both ravenous and ate every last morsel of the breakfast supplied by the inn. Jessa and I decided to meet for lunch at The Cheesecake Factory in Alpharetta before the last leg of our homeward bound journey. Over lunch we talked more and she texted me her address, all of 6 miles away from my house. I learn that she works about the same hours Dale does, though she doesn't usually work much past 40 hours a week unlike Dale. She says that she has been known to pull late hours for deploying a production change to a database, whatever that is. The kids will be coming home for the summer break soon, but we plan a shopping trip to take advantage of the summer clearance sales a month from now.

Dale is out in front finishing the yardwork when we arrive home. "How was Marla Kat?"

"She cancelled at the last minute," I say. "But Jessa was checking in at the same time as I was, and we got to talking. She's a really sweet girl and I think we are going to be friends."

"I take it this is Jessa that followed you home?" Dale wipes his sweaty and grimy hands on a shop cloth and offers a hand shake.

Jessa bypasses his hand and throws her arms around his neck in a hug as if it's a normal occurrence for her to hug any old sweaty and grimy man. Dale looks perplexed but accepts it graciously without shrugging it off, though he doesn't appear to know what to do with his hands. That is probably how I would react if I was sweaty and grimy from yardwork and she hugged my neck. It brought a smile to my face. I think she might be made of Teflon. I take her on a tour through our house after she lets go of Dale's neck.

Over the next month we'd get together for coffee or tea and a couple of times Jessa asked Dale to help her with hanging a shelf up at her place. She told me she made passes at him but he seemed to slough them off so nothing became of that. When she took me shopping, like we had planned earlier, she wrangled her way into the dressing room with me. Teasing me as she was wont to do; Jessa made me hot and flustered and a bit damp between the legs. Back at her place, I was even weaker willed than on our spa weekend and unable to resist her ministrations until I passed out again from cumming so much. When consciousness was regained, I had to scrub all of her glossy lip prints off of my torso before going home. My desire got so bad that I started to daydream excuses to go see Jessa just to have her drive me wild with her tongue, but Dale's big project ended and I was left with fantasizing.

Eventually Jessa started coming to our place frequently and teasing us both with tender caresses. I don't know how Dale wasn't affected like I was but I ached for her when she left for the evening. Dale also increased his attentions toward me and tried to make up for time lost because of his project. Though my husband and I had sex more frequently after that I felt guilty comparing the way he licked me to the way Jessa licked me; comparing the way his hand felt cupping my breast to the way hers felt cupping my breast. His mouth just didn't seem to have the hunger for my sex the way Jessa's did. I was becoming thoroughly debauched, but I didn't care. Jessa was my friend and I wanted her friendship and I wanted her love and I wanted her sex.