Last Summer our house needed a coat of paint. I was off for the Summer because I was teaching school, and was just working on lesson plans at home. My husband hired a painter to do the work. He'd done some work for us before, and he seemed to be a nice guy, but this project would take at least two weeks because he worked alone.
Mike wore jeans on the job every day, faded and paint stained, and usually a T-shirt. I was 35 that Summer and had been married almost ten years. I'd guess he was a good five years younger. Most days I was alone in the house while he worked, and at first I stayed out of his way. But then I found myself watching him when he was unaware. Doing physical work in the Summer sun, he was manly in an earthy way and I was attracted by the combination of his handsome looks and un self conscious proficiency.
Since we married, my husband had been my only man. I had been with a few others before I met him, but I thought I would always be faithful. My husband, on the other hand, playfully entertained fantasies of me being with other men, and thought it would be unnatural if I never found myself attracted to another.
I wore my usual Summer outfits, shorts, halter tops, T-shirts, around the house while he worked. After a first few days I realized that the attraction I felt to him was mutual. He went out of his way to be near me. On the fourth or fifth day the weather changed. That afternoon the skies blackened, and it started to rain. He had to pack it in early. When he finished, I offered him a beer and invited him to join me on our covered porch.
His questions got me talking, first about the history of the house at first, then more personal history. I asked questions too, and learned that he was married and had been a ball player in college. He had studied political science, but it didn't prepare him for much of a career. He was learning computer graphics, going to school at night, and wanted to get into web design. The painting allowed him to work outdoors, which he loved, and he took a lot of satisfaction from satisfying his customers.
The beer turned into two, and then three. He explored me with his mind as well as his eyes, and the chemistry I felt caused a dampening in my pants that I hadn't experienced with another man in many years. He inquired about my work, my interests, and ultimately, my marriage.
At first it was about how my husband and I met, what he did, what we liked to do together. Then I almost choked on my beer when he asked if I'd always been faithful. "Of course," I answered, "haven't you?"
That opened up an entirely different territory for exploration and I found it very interesting. In a round about way he told me that both he and his wife had been with other people. Most of the time, together, as two couples, but sometimes separately. I guess my upbringing had been more sheltered, because I'd read about things like that, but surely none among my friends would admit to it.
But I did recall how my husband and I entertained fantasies together, and how it was him who conjured that I might one day find myself in a situation such as I did right then, but it didn't prepare me for facing the power of my reaction.
It was getting late and we both knew my husband would be home soon. Mike thanked me for the beers. He took my hand in his and told me how much he enjoyed talking with me, and told me how fortunate I was, and then closed by telling me how beautiful I was! My hand felt hot in his and blood rushed to my face. I must have turned a hundred shades of red, but I couldn't take my hand away. Time stood still for a moment, then he turned to leave, saying that he looked forward to seeing me in the morning.
After he left, I was hot and bothered in a way I was not accustomed to. I washed the empty bottles and put them in the recycle bin. I felt the urge to pee, hot between my legs, and I put my hand there. My pants felt damp.
The bathroom was right next to the kitchen. I unbuttoned my shorts and kicked them off. My panties were dark where my juices saturated them, my lips were swollen. I sat on the toilet and relaxed, allowing the hot stream to splash into the water. I let two fingers of my right hand part my lips to reveal my engorged clitoris. I looked down. The tip of it looked back and me, red and needy. My fingers parted the folds of my vagina and became coated with copiously flowing lubricant. They glided softly around the tip of my clit, bearing down as I abandoned myself to shameless masturbation. When I slipped my left hand under my halter, and began pinching my nipples, I felt the circuit connect with my clit, and I convulsed in orgasm. A hard one first, followed by two or three aftershocks, until I stopped for fear of getting sore.
All the time I was imagining Mike. Taking me in his arms instead of letting go of my hand, and holding me against him. I closed my eyes and could almost feel his warm, hard body. Then I realized how soon my husband would be home, and I scurried to shower and change.
Early the next day the skies were clear and Mike was back on the job. My husband left early, and I could see Mike on a scaffold outside my bedroom window. I parted the drapes, just a little, not wanting him to be aware. He was just a few feet away, and the height of the scaffold had his legs at just about my eye level. I looked up and saw his muscles rippling under his shirt as he raised and lowered the big roller. His well-worn jeans fit close to his hips, and hugged his butt when he bent to dip the roller. He worked steadily, methodically, and I began to imagine how I might throw open the curtains, raise the window, and lure him inside!
Once more I felt myself lubricating with my fantasy. Fingers traced my swelling nipples through T-shirt I had slept in and caressed my dampening pants. Mike worked unaware, making his way closer to where I was standing, and I held just one eye to a crack in the drapes. At moments I found myself as close to the front of his jeans as if we were lovers, and I imagined what was just behind the faded denim. I was close enough to touch him, were it not for the window, and I wished it wasn't there.
My need was great and I threw myself back on the bed, face down, bunching the covers between my legs, and humping myself against them as I've done since my early teens. Clamped to the blanket, I thrust myself into it, squeezing my nipples and frictioning my clit against the bundle imagining it was Mike's leg between mine!
I knew he was right outside the window, and fantasized that I had left the drapes ajar, and he bent down to pick up a brush, and saw me in the throes of passion! I gushed from the imagined intensity of his eyes and the very real burning, wet slide of skin against pants, until I had to bury my face in the pillow to stifle the cry of my sweet orgasm.
I had never felt such an fixation on another man in my years of marriage. Not that I had never fantasized about other men, and not that I hadn't flirted, but nothing that felt as real as this. It made me feel youthful and mischievous, a most pleasant feeling.
It was a very hot day, and I could see Mike was sweating. I had an appointment that day to have lunch with two of my colleagues. I showered and dressed as I would for work in a skirt and blouse. I was too hot for hose, so I shaved my legs particularly close and wore strapped sandals. As I made up, I knew that Mike hadn't seen me in anything but cutoffs or shorts. I imagined that I was dressing for him and chose the tightest, most fitted skirt I could and yet still be appropriate for work. I'm usually pretty expeditious getting out of the house, but my making up and primping in front of the mirror almost made me late.
When I walked out the back door, Mike was standing nearby. The slam of the door caught his attention, and was surprised to hear him let out a whistle! I knew I looked good in that skirt and was not surprised that he came over. "Hey, where are you going?," he asked, "Got a hot date?"
