Sophie's Dilemmas

This one has been independently rated at 3.5/5 pickaxe handles on CTC's and my rating system. Feel free to email me, via the SemperAmare contact link to find the system.

Once again, your thanks should go to the beautiful CreativityTakesCourage for improving this story with her editing skills. Thanks also to my old mate Charlie for his inciteful observations.

To give credit where credit is due, this story was inspired while I was reading Cinical's 'A Painful Confession: Cliff and Amy'. It ended up somewhere completely different, but fair is fair.

*****

The look my husband, Dave, gave me as I walked through the garage battered into the confidence and determination I'd felt mere seconds before.

I'd been loaded for bear and fully prepared for a strenuous confrontation before that look. Now I was back to confusion and self-reflection. All due to that expression on his handsome, familiar face.

I'd walked into the garage, from the house, to find my youngest son, Carl, under his old wreck of a Nissan Skyline, probably covered in grease, while his father leaned into the top of the engine bay, handing him tools and offering advice. There was a second pair of legs poking out from under the car. I presumed they belonged to Paul, a friend of Carl's. A year older and attending the university in the large town a half hour drive away. I don't know how long they'd known each other, but I'd first met him around February this year. Seemed a good sort. He was a fellow car nut and whenever Carl was covered in grease in the garage, Paul was normally by his side.

When he saw me enter, Dave looked up and gave me the same beaming smile he had for the last thirty years.

That smile said he was pleased to see me. I'd entered the garage fully intending to accuse him of trying to kill me; yet I was once again immediately disarmed by that familiar, unchanged smile.

CHAPTER 1

I guess I've got some 'splainin' to do. You see, I, Sophie Brown, have exactly three choices at the moment. I can maintain my current, non-confrontational approach, and risk dying violently in the near future, or, at least, being maimed. I could confront my husband and demand he stop trying to kill me. That seemed the logical choice and the one I was set on when I strode into the garage. But that smile ripped the certainty from me. What if Dave wasn't my assailant and didn't know? I'd be outing myself to a man whose words and actions indicated he loved me as he'd done for the thirty-two years we'd known each other. The third choice was to go to the police with all the evidence they needed to charge Dave with attempted murder. That would ensure my safety but would not only reveal my... lapses to Dave, if he was still ignorant, but destroy the career I'd spent all my adult life building.

Dave came to me, and after wiping his hands on some rags, kissed me as he'd done thousands of times before when I came home at the end of a day. He took my hand and led me out the side door, through the gate, into the back yard and around the end of the house. I looked at the shining metal object, new to the back yard, and my blood froze.

It was one of those prefabricated raised garden beds. Made from riveted corrugated iron, it stood about as long as Dave was tall, its sides reached his waist, it's width a similar length. With Dave still paces away from me, I ran. Not stopping in the house, I sprinted down the walk to the street, checking behind me for pursuit. Rounding a corner, I paused for breath and rang the police emergency number, 000. Fear had made my decision for me.

CHAPTER 2

The mutterings began quietly around the staff room of the exclusive girl's school I was headmistress of. A man had written in to one of those internet forums claiming to have discovered his wife was having an affair and seeking advice on what to do about it. Not an unusual tale I hear you say. However, the writer had named the town where he lived, and it was our town. With a population of less than ten thousand, it immediately caused much public interest.

The guy gave his age as late forties, but with few extra details, the gossip mongers were frustrated. Apparently, more information was being released every day, but I took little interest. Then, about day five, the writer revealed that his wife worked at a local school, which had our staff room's full attention. Names of all the female teachers from all the town's schools known to the gossipers were analysed and put on a suspects list or relegated to unlikely. With the guy in his late forties, the assumption was made the wife was within five years of that. There were only thirty something names on the shortlist when the time to return to classrooms came. I surreptitiously garnered the name of the thread and site from the young PE teacher who was in less of a rush than the others.

In my office, I relaxed after reviewing my urgent to-do list, then, on a whim, found the thread that had the others agog. I started at the latest posts. It seemed followers of the thread were either giving the guy advice on what to do with the cheating slut or pumping him for more detail. What did he know about the wife's lover? Was he big and tough or could the husband take him on?

I backtracked to the time that morning when the writer, a Mr. John Smith, yeah, right, had last written. He thanked the readers for their advice so far. I went to the beginning of the post and started reading, concentrating on John Smith's comments.

The initial post was on a Sunday. He'd come home at an unusual time the previous Friday, after being tipped off by a friend, to find his wife and an unknown man going for it in their bed. He'd left again quietly, but not before looking at the wallet in the pants lying on the loungeroom floor. He'd done some research and now knew who his rival was. He asked the readers what he should do about it as he'd never imagined he'd be in this situation. Immediately, the responses ranged from 'find out what you did wrong to drive her to this so you can correct your behaviour', to 'burn the bitch'. There was little else from this John character of interest. Married for decades with grown children and the like.

Approaching real time on the thread, I read the question that prompted John's latest response. The question was whether the wife was a professional or not, like that made a difference on whether to forgive her or not. The answer was, 'education professional'.

I could see more comments were being posted almost continually. Then on the little pop-up about new posts, John Smith's name came up again. I followed the trail and my blood ran cold.

The answer to queries on the wife's lover, was that he was about 5' 8", rich, of slim build and was the father of one of the wife's students!

My eyes bugged out at that. Until now I'd felt sorry for this John Smith and read nothing into him catching his wife porking another guy in the marital bed. The extra information just released, brought it all crashing to earth. Against my better judgement, I'd had sex with my lover in my marital bed, on a Friday a few weeks ago. My lover, Michael, being the wealthy father of one of my students. The physical description fit him to a T as well. My chest constricted as if an invisible hand had reached into it to squeeze my heart. I wondered if I was having a heart attack.

CHAPTER 3

This previously faithful housewife never set out to have an affair, although a little introspection showed I was more than averagely vulnerable to falling into one. I was a typical arts graduate in my early twenties, aimlessly working several waitressing jobs. Dave, a child from the poorer side of the tracks, had recently finished an electrical trade when I met, fell in love with and married him. It was he who settled me down and encouraged me to do a Diploma of Education to become a teacher. I worked at the chalk face for six years and was offered a senior staff position two weeks before I found out I was pregnant with Peter, our eldest child. That sniff of a career prompted me to take only a year of maternity leave after the birth of Peter, and later, Mary. Carl's birth, four years later, was proof of the fallibility of condoms.

My return to work after Carl, coincided with the industry wide push for more worldly experienced females in education management. I was fast-tracked to headmistress in the public sector before applying for and winning the head position in the exclusive private school I'd worked at for the last eight years.

I was happy in my family and career, but, as I mentioned, vulnerable to an affair. To explain why, I'd better tell you about Dave. You see, he's still a working tradesman. He refused promotions to avoid the stress and the extra hours away from his primary duty as he saw it; his family. About ten years into his career, a colleague leaned on him to go into business together on their own. Dave refused, again to avoid the stress and distraction. As he said at the time, "If we're careful, we'll be rich someday without taking any risks. Why chance it? When his friend went on to develop a multi-million-dollar business, Dave wished him well, and, as far as I could tell, never regretted his decision. The friend was on his third marriage and looked ten years older than his biological age.

The nett result was here I was, a well-respected, well-paid professional, who looked good in a suit and could mix in polite society, while Dave was still... a tradesman. Unless it was to advance my career, he pretty much refused to attend anything that required him to wear a suit, because, as he said, when he did wear one, he looked like a gorilla that had been put in fancy clothes and strategically shaved. What's the old saying? You can take the man out of the ghetto but it's much harder to take the ghetto out of the man.

He was a brilliant husband and father, though, and I never regretted marrying him. I didn't even seriously begin my criticisms of him until after I'd started my affair. Criticisms, which I suspect, helped me justify it.

CHAPTER 4

Michael, my lover, came to my notice when he moved his daughter to my school at the start of the year. We had one of those moments you all recognise. 'Don't I know you? Yes, I feel you're familiar as well'. This was at the meet-and-greet social we always held for new parents at the start of the school year. After ten minutes we both thought we'd hung with the same crowd in my wilder youth. It was a better than even chance we'd even shared a one-night stand. He monopolised my attention all night and it brought to mind, freer, simpler days. From then on it seemed he took every excuse to visit me at the school. The compliments flowed freely, and I began comparing him to my husband.

He is the diametric opposite of Dave. Born wealthy, running the company he inherited from his father, drove a Porsche and wouldn't be seen dead without a tailored suit. After one visit, for some lame reason, he happened to mention his wife was away for the week. It just so happened that Dave was also away; his company having recently won a high voltage switchyard contract a couple of towns over.

Both having reputations to protect, we made plans to meet at a very small, but exclusive, restaurant out of town the following night. After a lovely meal, much overt complimenting on his part, and too much alcohol on mine, we both revealed to the other that our kids thought we were possibly staying away overnight and had both packed a bag of essentials. The hotel where the restaurant was had an available room, so Mr. and Mrs. Smith rented one. In the here and now I wondered if there was any significance to the coincidence that the forum thread was authored by a John Smith.

The sex was... good. Just good. Michael was a considerate lover and took his time with this old lady. However, even with copious oral sex on his behalf, followed by a slow entry and good rhythm, he failed to bring me to orgasm. By my age, a lover had to know which buttons to press and when. It was still good, though. He was done after he came and we felt asleep spooned together. Our coupling in the morning was a little more hurried but equally unfulfilling for me on a physical level but complex on a psychological level. I'd been wined, dined, and seduced by a rich, handsome, sophisticated man for the first time in my life. In hindsight, a man I thought I deserved. Sure, the sex was nothing to write home about, but with the line crossed, I agreed with Michael we should consider seeing each other again.

Was I wracked with guilt after that first time? Not really. I've always been a little emotionally detached, but I did feel a little bad that I was getting something David wasn't.

I knew enough about Michael to know he was happy with his wife and family, which, deep down, so was I, so the affair was never going to lead to anything emotional.

I knew being caught having an affair was unacceptable for both of us. It would be bad for Michael's business, and for me, my main driver was earning, then keeping, people's respect. I risked losing the respect of my school's board, my peers, my husband, family and friends.

In hindsight, I was taking an illogical risk to keep an affair going, so why do it? Simple. As time passed, the memory of Michael and my illicit sex grew to mythical proportions and the thought of doing it again had my pulse racing. Avoiding being caught was an intellectual challenge rare for me at this late stage of my career. I knew not only complete idiots were caught, but how hard could it be? There must be thousands, if not millions, of affairs that were never uncovered. Lastly, I suppose, I was excited by doing something that unheadmistressish.

The ultimate result of all this was that the next time I saw Michael at the school, my breathing shortened, and my panties moistened. I was ready with my list of conditions to slip him. We were only to talk at the school or on work phones; no personal emails, texts, or phone calls from home computers, home phones, or cells. Everything must be untraceable. Meetings were only to be when our spouses were out of town and always only at the small hotel our first tryst had been at. Even then, he was to pick me up from the school in nondescript cars and I would wear a wig for the travelling and until we ascertained there was no one at the restaurant and hotel that we knew. I won't bore you with the rest of the precautions.

I slipped him the list and mingled with the other parents and teachers while he read it. He nodded his agreement across the space between us, then asked to see me in my office on a confidential matter. As soon as I'd closed the door, he grabbed me from behind and squeezed my breasts. I almost swooned. It was the hottest feeling I'd experienced in years. I could feel his erection pressing into my buttocks. I thrust back against it.

Leaving his left hand pinching a nipple, his right slid down, under my skirt, into my panties and his middle finger quickly found my clitoris. He took the strain as my knees went weak, then began stroking. I came within seconds. His left hand moved quickly to stifle any grunts, squeals, or screams that might escape me as a massive orgasm ripped through me.

I'm glad he had a good hold of me as I'm pretty sure I passed out for a few seconds. When my strength returned, he stayed behind me and lifted his slippery fingers to his mouth, licking them one at a time. I almost swooned again.

By this time, I was beginning to 'sober up' and suggested we'd had the door of my office closed long enough. As if to reinforce that, there was a knock at the door. I told them I'd be out in a tick. Michael, of course, was unrelieved and wanted more. I'd previously discarded using local hotels and motels; too much chance of being caught. He harshly whispered that his house would be empty for the next hour at least. Against my better judgement, I followed him there, parked at the back and was let in the utility gate.

Michael practically dragged me into a spare bedroom, forced me to my knees, unzipped and pushed his cock in my mouth. I hadn't blown anyone in years and was never a deep throater, even in my wild youth, so when Michael grabbed the back of my head and pushed in as far as he could, it took all my energy not to puke.

He bellowed like a bull as he shot his cum down my throat. I dry retched. It was lucky it was so long after lunch time. I was going to give the prick both barrels but when he piteously hugged me from where he'd sunk to his knees, saying how incredible it had been, and how it was the best he'd ever had, pride replaced anger. I was as horny as hell and tried to get him up again so he could fuck me, but he was drained. With an agreement to never do anything dangerously impromptu again, he snuck me out of the utility gate.

CHAPTER 5

That was eight months ago and apart from one lapse, a Friday, three weeks ago, we only got together having taken extreme precautions.

We'd managed eight or nine rendezvous in that time. Always arranged in person at the school, or calls from his desk phone to mine, with no paper trail at all. And, apart from those breaches of security, we always met at the small hotel, on quiet nights of the week, when we'd organised to be away from our homes for the night, supposedly on business. The only other exception was when I'd gone to a genuine seminar, out of state, for three days, and Michael had invented an excuse to join me. Even then, we'd organised separate but adjoining rooms in case a spouse turned up unexpectedly. We always used protection and critically examined each other before going home. We even reminded each other to not change sexual habits with our partners.

The affair remained physically unsatisfying for me, by and large, but it stroked my ego and filled a social niche I never realised I had. Wealth and power are, indeed, an aphrodisiac. Plus, it appealed to my sense of adventure. I was worried, though. Maybe when his daughter finished at my school at the end of the year, it would be time to terminate the relationship. I knew Michael's eldest child, was a boy, and a year older than his sister, but that was the limit of my knowledge as Michael rarely spoke about his children in our times together. We were starting to take risks to spark up the affair. Even in an affair, familiarity, it seems, breeds contempt. I'd have to be more careful about how we added that spark, though, as I'd allowed things to get out of hand, security wise, twice in recent times.

Once was a little over a month ago. Frustrated by having one spouse or another at home, Michael came to the school and groped me in my office. After the near miss of the previous time, I wasn't going to lock the door again, so I arranged to leave five minutes after him and met him in a local park. There, in my roomier, more nondescript Honda, rather than his Porsche, I blew him again. Me fellating him had become a regular part of our routine. Even though it still disgusted me on one level, I just loved it when he lost control and bellowed like a bull. Swallowing his bitter brew was unpleasant but better than what happened the one occasion where I'd tried to pull him out before he pumped his jizz in my mouth. That time it ended up going all over my face which was not only messy, it was degrading.

When I'd finally swallowed his load, I looked around and a man walking his dog was approaching us. I was horrified that we'd taken such a huge risk and vowed it wouldn't happen again.

The second impromptu meeting, while not nearly as exhibitionistic as that of the park, was another dangerous breach of security. It was a Friday, my hormones were all over the place, and I was so horny, I literally squirmed in my seat at my desk all day. Dave was out of town and Carl was not due home until after dark. I'd arranged to go to a movie with my sister-in-law later that evening. Still, I needed relief so as soon as school finished, I rang Michael's office.