Perfect A Fleeting Concept

My face was covered in my wife's juices and some Astroglide, and her ankles were on my shoulders as she finished her last orgasm of the night, quickly followed by my own release.

As I regained full use of my brain, I pumped the last bit of semen inside her as I kissed her hard on her lips, my tongue snaking inside her welcoming mouth. We kissed several more times until my softening dick gradually slipped out of her hot, moist pussy. I rolled to the side and just held my bride of 27 years as our breathing gradually returned to normal and the light sheen of sweat on both of our bodies dried.

We lay in each other's arms like that for about 10 minutes. Her eyes were closed and she had a contented, tired smile on her face. Since her eyes were closed, she couldn't see that I, too, was smiling. Making love to my wife for an hour and getting her to orgasm many times on my fingers, tongue and dick had me feeling pretty good... no, great actually. She was everything in life to me, and I loved pleasing her to the extreme. Everything in our life was perfect, I thought.

I would soon find out that perfect was a fleeting concept.

Our lying in bed after making love was an important part of our process. The snuggling and cuddling, the little thoughts we exchanged in our afterglow were part of "connecting," as we called it. Very often we exchanged an, "I love you," or similar feelings. Sometimes it was nothing more than her purring and me humming my agreement. On this night, however... she whispered something softly into my neck that I was sure I didn't hear correctly.

"Wait. What?" I asked in a voice that started softly but finished full strength as I moved my face away from hers so I could study her.

"I've been seeing another man for the last several months," my wife repeated, this time only slightly louder but not garbled by the sound of my flesh.

"Fuck! You've got to be kidding me! Tell me that this isn't some kind of cruel joke!" I yelled as I jumped out of bed.

She continued to lie on the bed, but turned her head to look at my now standing form.

"I've been seeing another man, Joshua. I'm serious. This is not a joke," she said. "I've needed to tell you this for some time because the guilt has been killing me, but I've determined there was never going to be an ideal time to do it, so I just felt like I should do something this important during a time when we were at our closest..."

"Wait. Wait. Wait," I interjected as the light bulb above my head suddenly went on. "So you're really telling me that you've been fucking another man; having an affair? That's what you're telling me when you say you've been

seeing

someone?"

As was our habit when we made love at night, the only light in the room was from a clock on my wife's nightstand. We could see each other well enough in the mostly dark room for playing and lovemaking, but the soft lighting wasn't enough for me to see into her soul through her eyes, which is why she picked this time to make this confession, I guessed... assuming for the moment it was a confession.

The silence in the room stretched out for what I felt was an eternity, but in reality, was probably no more than a few seconds.

"Yes. I have been having an affair," she admitted softly.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," I said just as softly. "I thought you loved me. We just finished making love..."

I staggered to the side of the bed and sat down, then realized I still had her juices on my face. I headed into the en suite bathroom, clicked on the light and started to clean my face. She came in a few seconds later to do some clean-up of her own.

"I do love you, Joshua. I always will. That hasn't changed," she said as she gingerly cleaned her lady parts with a washcloth.

I stood at my sink feeling like someone had just hit me in the stomach with a baseball bat. I hadn't cried since my father died about 10 years ago, but I was coming close.

"How could you be fucking another guy if you love me?" I asked, trying my best not to sound like a whine-ass. "You don't cheat on somebody you love. I would never cheat on you because I love you."

"I'm glad you feel that way, Joshua, but my having sex with another man doesn't diminish my love for you in any way," she explained slowly, like one would to a slow child. "I care for him differently than I care for you. A person can have feelings for more than one other person. You have different feelings for me and the kids and your mother, but you still love us, right? I have feelings for you and the kids and my parents, but I still love all of you. I've just added another person to my list."

"So you love this guy? What the fuck, Monique?"

"I do have feelings for him, Joshua, but not on the same level as the feelings I have for you. You're my husband, my number one love," she said, still using that superior tone.

"There's not supposed to be anything after number one," I rasped. "You don't fuck anyone else besides your husband."

"Do you have to keep being so crude and using that term? You know I hate that word. You've never used it when you've talked to me before," she lectured.

"Excuse the fuck out of me. I've never been told by my wife before that she's fucking another man!"

I put on my robe and went downstairs to the family room. I turned on the TV although I knew I wasn't going to watch it. Reflex move. I just needed some time to think.

Apparently, that wasn't going to happen, though, because less than a minute later Monique came downstairs in a short robe, as opposed to her long, fluffy robe. She wasn't stupid. She wanted to distract me, and she knew her body always had that effect on me.

At 50 years old like I was, Monique looked like she was maybe 40, despite having two grown children. She worked out three times a week and her body was both curvy and yet muscular. Her mop of blonde curls went down to her shoulders, and I could get lost in those azure eyes forever.

"I need some time to think about this, Monique. You coming down here is not going to speed up my thinking," I said harshly.

"No, we need to talk about this, baby. I love you, and what I have with Paul...err, doesn't interfere with what we have. It's really outside of us," Monique said as she tried to settle into my lap.

"Before I told you about Paul, didn't you think we had a practically perfect marriage. That's because I was discreet with Paul, and nothing I did took anything away from you. I never turned you down for anything, did I?"

I pushed her off my lap. I had to admit that I never suspected anything was wrong in my marriage until Monique confessed. Our sex life was pretty good for a couple of 50-year-olds, and I noticed no fall-off in recent months. The only thing I did notice recently was that Monique seemed to be happier; she often hummed while she made dinner... oh fuck! The happiness was obviously coming from her affair, not from boring old hubby.

"I did think we had a practically perfect marriage, Mo. But now I've found out that your happiness apparently was being generated by your affair... with Paul. Paul who, by the way?"

"You... you don't need to know that. All you need to know is that we have been discreet," she answered, her tone suddenly clipped.

"I do need to know, Monique," I answered sharply. "Somebody named Paul has been fu... boffing my wife for the last several months, and I think it's important to know who this fuckhead is. Paul who?"

She blushed crimson and fidgeted in her spot on the sofa. She kept her eyes down as I glared at her.

"You have to promise you won't hurt him if I tell you his name," she said, her eyes coming up quickly.

"Can't promise that. I will only promise that I will not kill him."

I could see the wheels turning in her brain. She squirmed. She blushed some more. She opened her mouth to speak several times, but nothing came out.

"I'll take it that you are protecting 'Paul' because you care for him more than me if you don't tell me," I said, making air quotes when I said her lover's first name. He obviously knows you are married, and I'm sure you've talked about me some. Yet I know nothing about him. You have kept something from me, which makes you a liar by omission, in addition to a cheater. Oh, yeah, let's also add untrustworthy and disrespectful."

I watched as several emotions flew across her face. Tears dripped from her eyes. I was guessing she never considered her dishonesty and disrespect in this episode, and I knew my accusation would unsettle her further. An hour earlier, her obvious discomfort would have caused me to wrap her in my arms. Now, it was all I could do to keep myself from strangling her with my bare hands.

"Paul Vickers. He's a teaching assistant at the university," she said barely above a whisper.

I know my jaw dropped at her admission. Monique was the administrative assistant to the dean of the fine arts department at our local small university. All of the teaching assistants in fine arts were younger than 30 years old, as far as I knew.

"You've got to be kidding me," I rasped as I slowly sat down on the sofa, my head suddenly starting to ache. "You're fucking a kid."

"I told you I don't like..." she started to say.

"I don't give a fuck what you like anymore. We can add pervert to your list of offenses, I suppose," I accused.

She started to respond, thought better of it and sat there silently.

"So why did you confess, Monique? You had everything going your way, including having a clueless husband. Why confess to me? To rub my face in it?" I asked.

She finally looked at me, although the tears continued to run down her cheeks.

"I had to tell you. The guilt was killing me," she said softly. "I love you, Joshua. Keeping this from you was taking a toll on me."

"You felt guilty because you knew it was wrong. You knew it was wrong... because it was wrong," I sneered. "You stepped out on your vows.

"Why, Monique? Am I that terrible a husband. Am I that bad in bed?"

"No. No. You're a great husband. You're great in bed," she answered quickly. "This wasn't about you. It was about me. We didn't plan it. It just happened."

"It just happened? Really? Paul Vickers was just walking by one day and his dick just fell into your cunt. Yeah, I got it."

She glared at me for a moment until I glared back. We sat there with our eyes locked on each other for a few seconds before she broke off.

"Well?" I asked.

She huffed and blew out a deep breath before telling me that Paul was a shy, gentle 25-year-old. Their first conversations were strictly business, but after a while they started talking on a more personal basis. She was surprised to find out that Paul was still a virgin. She found it very endearing when he blushed and told her that in almost a whisper, telling her he just wasn't very good with girls.

Much to my chagrin, my wife had always been what I call a fixer. Through the years she had insinuated herself into the broken relationships of several friends, trying to get that friend and an estranged partner back together. To my amazement, she had been successful more often than not. I've always been afraid that when she failed, both parties would blame her and end their friendships, but so far that hadn't happened.

She and the kid started going out to lunch occasionally, she continued, and she started building up his ego. It was during a Friday lunch with two margaritas that Paul leaned over and gave her a soft kiss. She said she knew she should stop him at that point, but she was so pleased with his increased boldness that she returned his kiss. They kissed several more times, and when she got back to the fine arts office, her boss, Dr. Linley Hicks, pointed out to her that her lipstick was a bit smudged.

"He's certainly a cutie," Monique said Dr. Hicks told her.

A few days later, Dr. Hicks told her that she wouldn't be averse to Monique taking a longer lunch hour occasionally, and the two shared a knowing look. She took her boss's advice, and the next time the two went to lunch they wound up back at Paul's apartment, where they made out like horny teenagers for a while before Monique started to undress the younger man.

"It... it was tender and sweet as I guided him through losing his cherry. For a first-timer, he was very attentive and it was one of the best experiences of my life, honestly," she said, her voice dreamy while her eyes looked unfocused at the memory.

"It was wrong and sweet, and he was so appreciative when we were done. I've got to admit that I felt really good about what we had done. And that was the beginning. After that we had long lunches once or twice each week. I taught him several positions and how to satisfy me orally. Once we got rolling, he even asked about several other... options, and we worked through everything either one of us could think of or wanted to try."

She started out her story in a tentative voice, but she finished in a clear, concise tone, and her face was... glowing. Fuck. I put my head in my hands. Hopefully she didn't see the tears in my eyes.

"Fuck," I finally whispered. "You're so proud of yourself for fucking a virgin and making him a man... even though we are married."

After what I felt was a long silence, she finally said, "I care for him greatly, Josh, but I don't love him the way I love you. You're my husband, and you'll always be..."

She stopped herself from saying it again.

"He's a really great kid, Joshua. I think you'd like him if you two ever meet."

"Pretty sure that would be a really bad idea, Mo. You do realize you're... fucking a kid who is the same age as our oldest child?" I queried.

She shrugged. Once again it took everything I had not to choke the shit out of her. Who was this woman? Where was the woman I married?

I didn't know about her, but between the sex we had earlier and what she had dropped on me after, I was absolutely exhausted. I saw that it was 3 AM and was glad that it was Sunday and I had the whole day off.

I shut the television off and headed up the stairs. Monique followed me, until I turned in to the guest room. She stopped in the hallway and looked at me, confused. I shook my head sadly, shut the door and locked it.

I woke—sort of—at 8:37. I'd slept—sort of—for slightly more than five hours. I hoped my wife slept just as poorly as I had. I staggered downstairs and made a pot of coffee. Monique must have smelled the brew, because she staggered downstairs five minutes later, fortunately looking every bit as bad as I felt.

I got up, poured her a cup and added a splash of milk. She smiled weakly at me. We both drank our cups in silence.

"Another?" I asked as I got up with my cup.

She nodded.

I poured her another cup and added the requisite milk.

"I don't think you're seeing the big picture here, Joshua," she finally said to break the silence.

I stared at her in disbelief.

"Okay, you have the floor. Explain please," I said.

"Like I told you a few hours ago, I've never turned you down... and I never will," she started. "As you know, I love sex. Always have, hope I always will. Paul adds another element to my sex life. He's new, different and yes, part of the fun has been because it's been risky.

"But in the last few months I've never felt so alive. I've got my loving husband and my young lover. You and I are still going at it pretty good for a pair of 50-year-olds, then I've got an adorable young stud who thinks I invented sex. He makes me feel like the sexiest woman alive... and we go at it hard. He's a wonderful lover."

"And I want to hear this why?" I snapped. "Are you telling me that you'd prefer him in bed? And I'm supposed to be happy to hear this?"

"You're the best man I know, Josh, and I know you'd want me to be happy because you love me so much.

I know that.

So what I want is to keep the status quo for a while longer. He'll finish his doctorate next year and then move on, and you and I can then ride off into our golden years together," she explained.

"What the fuck are you talking about, woman?" I growled. "Not only have you been having an affair for several months behind my back, but now you confess and expect me to let it continue for another year or so? How stupid do you think I am?

"I'm thinking maybe... maybe... we could keep this marriage together if you would get counseling, and you're thinking that I'll let you keep your lover? You must be fucking nuts. What have you done with my wife?"

"We've been incredibly discreet so far. We will continue to be incredibly discreet. Nobody but the three of us has to know," she argued.

"And your matchmaker boss, of course," I snarled. "How many people do you think she's already told?"

"Dr. Hicks won't tell anybody. She's a friend," Monique remarked.

"A friend would have tried to talk you out of this insanity, not given you time off from work to fuck around on your husband," I said, my voice rising in volume. "You told me before that she's a bit of a 'free spirit,' to quote you. 'Divorced once, gets some on the side occasionally' while married a second time, I remember you telling me. I'm sure she's very pleased to know she's not the only slut in her department."

Monique's visage changed from guilty to angry at my slut comment. I didn't care and wasn't holding back.

"I'm not a slut!" she claimed. "Paul and I have been very discreet."

"You've been sleeping with another man behind your husband's back! That's the very definition of slut in my book!" I raged back. "I'll find a lawyer tomorrow and get started on a divorce. You can keep him. I'll leave."

"Divorce? I'm not going to agree to a divorce. Haven't you been listening to me? I love you!" she screeched.

"Actions speak louder than words, babe. You fucking another guy hardly says love. Stop fucking this kid and get some counseling. If I think you're sincere I won't file."

"No, I'm not going to let you control my life. He won't interfere in our marriage. I promise," she said.

"He's already interfered. He knew you were married. You told him. And it doesn't matter who made the first move. You. Broke. Your. Vows. To. Me. With him.

"Why did you really confess, Monique? You told me it was so you could relieve your guilt over your cheating. It was to make you feel better over your cheating. You felt guilty because you know this is wrong. Telling me doesn't change what you did. You cheated. Whether you feel guilty about it or not, you still cheated. Cheating is wrong.

"You just told me you're going to continue. So what choice do I have?"

"There are way more choices than divorce. We've been together for 27 years, have a great marriage and... boom... one mistake and we're divorced?" she asked incredulously.

"Ah, if it was just one mistake," I replied. "A one-time slip, a mistake in judgment. But you've been cheating with him for several months. You had your one-time slip, then kept slipping and slipping, over and over again. You put the knife into my heart, then just kept stabbing me again and again. Hardly a one-time mistake. This is a planned betrayal. You've lied to me, cheated on me, disrespected me. Yet you keep telling me that you love me.

"Answer me this: have you lied to Paul, cheated on Paul or disrespected Paul? Of course you haven't. You love Paul. Then why did you do all of those things to me... if you love me?"

Large tears were leaking down her cheeks. She looked frustrated because I wasn't going along with her version of love.

"If you don't want a divorce, show me that I'm your one and only love and drop him now," I said.

"I've told you. I can love more than you, but you are my number one. But I have real feelings for him. It's not cheap, tawdry sex. I have feelings for him. We make love like you and I do, but you are my husband, you get me whenever you want. He only gets to have me occasionally, and he understands that. Why can't you understand that and live with that? He gets that and he's only 25. You're twice that and you don't get it. Wake up and join the 21

st

century," Monique lectured.