A Husband and a Wife Story

Strong hands massaged my shoulders ... my muscles were tight and knotted.

Strong, powerful hands with talented fingers.

A masculine scent lingered in the air. Old leather, motor oil, and rich chocolate it seemed to me.

Strain, stress, and routine had combined with lack of attention to fuse my muscles into one solid twisted mass of uncomfortableness.

Warm fingers seemed to pry them apart and although painful, there was more than an element of pleasure too.

It seemed like forever since someone had rubbed my shoulders like this. The massaging was more than just muscle relief, the attention and feelings made it more sensual than simply a back rub. It had been so long since I had felt this way.

Lying on my stomach, a light breeze from somewhere eddied around me. On my lips, the faint taste of sweet rum lingered and that very masculine scent filled my senses.

My brain tried to make sense of what was going on. Those powerful fingers moved down my back. Warm oil flowed onto my skin and made me whimper softly in response. Those magic fingers glided over my back sending shivers of electricity coursing through my body. I felt like I was glowing, it was a feeling I had missed.

No sounds, other than those made by me accompanied those fingers and hands.

Moving down my back to the flair of my ass, fingers kneaded my cheeks roughly and with a passion that took my breath away. It seemed like there were hundreds of them touching me at the same time as more oil lubricated my body. Some dribbled between my cheeks and joined the moisture and heat coming from my pussy.

I felt the warmth of the oil on my tiny rosebud as the oil made its way to the puddle forming beneath my increasingly wet pussy.

I bit my tongue as fingers followed the path left by the oil. One paused, circling my tiny rosebud, teasing the promise of more to come. My mind stopped trying to make sense of it all and simply submitted to it.

The teasing was short-lived as the finger continued to circle my little asshole, slowly but steadily riming me, drawing me deeper into their magic.

More fingers ran and stroked the sensitive skin between my cheeks. I could barely stop myself from screaming as I felt hot breath not more than an inch from my rosebud. Dormant stirrings of orgasm began to build inside me. I ground my pussy into the surface I was lying on, my body twisting and flexing as the pleasure and intensity of the massage grew.

It seemed like decades since I had felt this way, at some level my consciousness knew it had only been four or five years, but right now those feelings seemed like they had been lost for a lifetime.

I longed for more ... I needed more. I sensed more fingers exploring my pussy, each one exploring and penetrating me, finding all of my most sensitive secret places, it felt like my body was on fire.

A loud moan escaped from my lips, followed by a series of "yes, yes, yes, yes," in increasingly louder tones, and then my mind filled with images of a naked Eric.

Surprise entered my mind for a second or two before my mind returned to the sensations of pleasure. His naked form was close enough for me to touch with my mouth. My lips and tongue did to him what those fingers were doing to me. My explorations seemed to last for hours with growing waves and deep valleys of pleasure.

My mouth and fingers explored from his lips down his muscular frame, biting and sucking his small nipples, taking his cock into my mouth, feeling his tight muscular ass, and continuing down his toned legs to his feet.

What started small grew and grew. Those feelings from deep inside me, rose and ebbed, then repeated. Each rise rise took forever, and then the plunge down seemed to be endless, only to start again and again. The waves built on the previous ones, soon my breathing was ragged and energy coursed through every nerve ending in my body.

On the biggest wave, when I thought that I couldn't possibly stand it anymore, I plunged over the precipice and fell into darkness and my body exploded. Images of reds, yellows, and oranges filled my closed eyes.

Waves of electricity jolted and shook my body and only thanks to my pillow was my scream muted from echoing in the room, and then blackness enveloped me.

I was in our bed, my husband distantly snored and my eyes popped open.

I didn't know where I was, my eyes searching the darkened room for some frame of reference. I was awake, the bed seemed strange and small, my eyes searched for Eric, I must have been dreaming.

Damn, it seemed so real. My husband snored again.

The orgasm was real enough, my hips were sore from tightening and flexing, and the throbbing was real as well. My breathing was ragged and my pussy was dripping, in my mind, I continued to see Eric.

Gradually the throbbing faded and Eric disappeared back into the darkness. I twisted around onto my back and let my head fall back into the pillow. It was 3:46 in the morning.

The scent of my sex filled the room and my body felt completely relaxed, in a way that I had almost forgotten it could.

This dream had first started a few months ago visiting me from time to time. It had never been this vivid before, the feelings had never been this real, and tonight was the first time the man had been Eric. I had dismissed it the first few times; tonight had been different for another reason too. Tonight was the first time I had orgasmed to it, to him.

Eric.

My neighbor, the father of my kid's best friends when they were growing up, a man I had known socially for a quarter of a century. A man who was not my husband. Married Eric. Married to a woman who had turned from a person who was fun and exciting, to a very religious and very rigid woman. At least I thought so; I could only imagine how she was with Eric.

I used to know how old he was. The question caused my mind to roll back to the last few days.

That was the second time this week I had waved at him. The first time was just an automatic wave, I barely recognized him, I was driving home from work, unwinding and decluttering my brain and he was jogging. Two days later, today, I noticed him in about the same spot and made a point of smiling when I waved.

We had been kind of neighbors forever. We lived in the country and neighbors are kind of a loose concept. I could not see his house from mine, but our mailboxes were together by the edge of the road, so from time to time we saw and waved at each other. I hadn't really seen or talked to him more for what seemed like years.

I had always thought that he was attractive in a quiet way. He kept himself in good shape when many of our friends did not. I always enjoyed the lingering sense that he was watching me, particularly in the summer when I wore my small bikinis. Other than some friendly flirting, nothing ever developed from those encounters.

We had been closer when our kids were growing up, but since all five, three of ours, and two of theirs had grown up, we seldom saw each other for more than a few seconds.

He wasn't really on my mind when I saw him today. It was about the same time of day, coming home again, I saw him running. Paying a little closer attention for some reason, maybe because he was running shirtless, I noticed his small black shorts.

The black shorts covered what seemed to be quite a nice ass and revealed strong muscled legs. His tanned upper body was in pretty good shape, not spectacular, but not bad either, far better than my husband's condition. I would have had to slowed down more to get a better look, but there was traffic behind me and I didn't want to get caught staring.

He was in good shape, despite me knowing that he was older than me by maybe ten years. I enjoyed the view of his body and I laughed thinking so many of the men of his age turned from men with flat stomachs and tight asses to men with big stomachs and no asses.

Today, he waved and smiled, for some reason, I felt a little flushed and realized just how long it had been since I had really noticed a guy's body like that. I waved and smiled at him and wondered why after so long I was just noticing him running now.

Earlier tonight, my husband had gotten home first and barely nodded when I got in the door. I found that with the kids gone, what little conversation we used to have had virtually disappeared. It didn't happen on purpose, it just kind of happened. I would make supper, we would eat in front of the TV, I would do the dishes, and he would read for a while, and by 8:30, he would be in bed asleep, snoring.

Every day was the same; weeks, months and years passed and each night was the same.

Seeing Eric was different; it was like someone turned on a switch somewhere deep inside me.

To be fair, my husband did start work at 6 am and I understood that he was tired. But, as much as I had tried to get him to find another job, he said he could retire in a year or two and he liked what he did. The money was good and he said he could live with it. We weren't old, he was only 58 and I was 51, but somehow he had turned into his father or worse his grandfather.

I was alone every night. I had always hated his hours, but now the kids were gone, it was worse. I filled the time working out and doing extra work at home. I was damned if I was going to turn into my mother. I wasn't going to simply waste away reading, being on Facebook, and looking after a house that was way too big for two people.

"Do you know how old Eric is?" I said during a repeat of a show we had already watched.

"Eric who," he replied and then caught himself, "Oh Eric."

My husband focused on the show and I had to repeat the question.

"About my age, maybe a couple of years older, I think," was the reply as his eyes never left the TV screen.

Not a helpful answer, I wondered how I might be able to find out.

"Facebook," I thought, but I realized I had said it aloud, I looked up but my husband never even noticed much less responded.

I sighed, realizing how long I had been putting up with this and how much I needed something more.

I felt stuck.

I was frustrated.

I had felt this way for so long that I knew I was going to snap eventually. The difficult thing was that, I had all of the material things I could have ever wanted. I had a good job. I had three awesome kids. My husband was a good man in some ways. We were in a very secure comfort zone that nobody but me wanted to escape.

I needed more; I needed to feel alive again.

Sex was a distant memory and even before it ended; it was pretty tame. It was always just straight missionary and it ended when he came, my only orgasms were self-created and never involved him. Nobody saw my frustration; instead, all my friends were always telling me how lucky I was. I found that I was reading erotic stories online more and more and had even started watching soft porn videos. Sex for me was infrequent and a solitary act and I wanted more than just that.

I didn't feel lucky at all, I felt trapped.

Later that night, while exercising I had trouble concentrating. I did yoga for 30 minutes, lifted weights for a while, and finished with 15 minutes on the elliptical machine and was sweating hard when I finished at 9 pm. I looked for my husband and could hear snoring; he had fallen asleep on the couch ... again.

Sighing, I opened my laptop sitting at the kitchen table. I logged onto Facebook and did a search for Eric. It only took a few minutes, he wasn't really active on Facebook, but I did find out when his birthday was and that he was in his early sixties, I couldn't believe it. From what I had seen, he could easily pass for 15 years younger.

I crept his photos and information but it was pretty generic stuff. I noticed that he had changed jobs recently after a million years at the company I remembered him working for and wondered what happened to make him change.

I had always thought he was good looking and that hadn't changed. I remembered flirting with him, one time in particular when I was wearing a very small bikini. I remember getting caught by a disapproving stare from his wife, who normally I liked, but I remember thinking that her look was so cold I was surprised my nipples hadn't hardened. I remember Eric's reaction; he smiled and later winked at me for the rest of the afternoon.

Closing Face Book, I found myself seeing his face even after I had logged off.

I had some work to do that night and I thought I put him out of my mind and tried to focus on work. When I finished at almost 11:30 after a couple of hours of not being productive, I noticed on my legal pad I had written the name Eric about thirty times and there were little hearts all over the page.

"What the fuck?" I hadn't even realized I had done that. I balled the paper up and threw it into the garbage.

At some point, my husband had gotten up and gone to bed without saying anything to me. I turned off the lights and went to bed myself. Just like yesterday and the day before it.

"Fuck."

I brushed my teeth and looked in the mirror and shook my head, how did this happen to me, what's wrong with me, a small tear ran down my cheek. My husband's clothes were laying on the floor where he had just dropped them. They were sweaty and smelled like him; it wasn't a pleasant smell.

I think that is when something finally snapped, although I really didn't realize it at the time.

I could hear the snoring from the bathroom; it was really loud despite the distance to our bedroom. He sounded like a truck and I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep in our bed.

I went to my son's room and realized I had nothing to wear. Fumbling in the dark, I found the light switch and grabbed one of his old t-shirts. I stripped out of my clothes put on the tee. My son is 6.2 and 215 pounds, I am 5.1 and 105 lbs, it looked like a dress on me, but I pulled it on and set the alarm on my phone, and climbed into his bed, he was away at school and I knew he wouldn't mind.

Although I was asleep before my head hit the pillow, I tossed and turned.

My mind seemed to shift into high gear. At some point in the night, my t-shirt rode up my body and because of the friction, I become very aware of my skin on the fabric of his sheets. Heat began to rise between my legs and my nipples were becoming harder to the point they almost hurt.

That's when that dream about the massage happened.

Afterward, I lay looking up at the ceiling illuminated by the moonlight for a long time.

Was dreaming of Eric cheating?

Did thinking about another man make me guilty of adultery?

Was just dreaming about Eric wrong?

The warmth between my thighs screamed "NO!"

One part of my brain told me that this wasn't telling myself, "You deserve and you are allowed to feel this way and should feel like this more often."

A lifetime of social and religious conditioning dragged my heart the other way arguing I was selfish and ungrateful. My thoughts tore me apart ... all the time the snoring rumbled loudly in the quiet house.

Despite one orgasm, I longed for my pussy to be filled, I desperately wanted to be stretched, to be fucked; it was a feeling that had been missing for so long. Eventually I drifted back to a restless sleep.

As morning approached, I told myself it was not wrong, it was just a dream, and it was not wrong for me to feel this way.

My heart sank though because I knew that my days of feeling sexy and desired were just a memory in my reality. Even if my husband did feel like sex, I didn't want or need the kind of sex that we had always had. I wanted and needed more excitement and variety and I needed it more often than once every few weeks, right now, I felt like I needed it every day.

The next night as I drove home from work, I didn't see Eric running, and I even waited at the mailbox until I saw my husband's car approaching. I felt disappointed and very old and foolish. I pretended to have just grabbed the mail and then pulled away and followed him up the road to our driveway. Another night just like last night happened again. The black cloud that that hung over me seemed to get a little darker.

Later that night, alone again in my son's bed, Eric visited me. The dream was similar but my alarm went off just as Eric was preparing to fuck me, the details this time were vague and distorted. I awoke in a cold sweat, naked with the sheets lying on the floor and my pussy aching for relief.

The following day, I had to work late and it was dark when I arrived home, missing Eric again. My frustration was so intense I am sure people noticed.

My normal quitting time came and went as the extra time ticked away at work and I knew I felt myself becoming bitchier as my frustration moved to an entirely new level. My mood was a mixture of frustration and despair because I had created a recurring dream that only a schoolgirl would have.

I was greeted when I finally got home by the sound of snoring, dishes in the sink, and clothes on the floor.

That night it was almost 10:30 pm by the time I had cleaned everything up and when I decided to go to bed. His snoring was louder than ever and I got up and closed our bedroom door. I decided to sleep in my son's room again and grabbed another t-shirt.

I wasn't tired and decided that I needed a little TLC for me and stopped and looked at the bathtub. On an impulse, I turned on the tap and found some bubble bath. I hoped it would help me relax, my muscles and back were so tense.

I hadn't had a bath in such a long time. I grabbed my phone from the kitchen as the tub filled. Going back into the bathroom as I started to take off my clothes I noticed that maybe I should do a little trimming here and there. I had always done the basics to prevent being embarrassed when I wore shorts but in my current state, anything like a bikini was out of the question.

The water was almost unbearably hot as I lowered my furry little body into the suds. The effects on my muscles were almost immediate. I must have lain in the bubbles for 30 minutes; the hot water seemed to drain my tension away. After catching up with some texts, I took out my razor and did my legs. The feel of the steel blades always turned me on when I shaved. The stubble that had been accumulating was soon replaced by the smoothness that always made me feel sexier.

I did under my arms and then looked at the jungle between my legs. I reached for a small pair of scissors I kept near the tub and started to trim. And trim. And trim. After a few minutes, I had tamed the jungle but I wasn't satisfied. Pulling myself up to sit on the edge of the tub, I used a little shaving cream, and grabbing the razor again, I removed every trace of my pubic hair. I hadn't been bare ever and the feeling was incredible.

As I shaved, I was careful but my fingers couldn't help but find some of my more naughty bits and the closer I got to being smooth the more turned on I became. I could feel the moisture rising and watched fascinated as my lower lips became engorged and started to unfold, I knew I was going to need some relief tonight. I would have stayed in the water but it was getting cold.

I shivered slightly and dried myself off. Shaving myself had reawakened almost forgotten feelings of loving to be be naked. I thought of my husband, maybe just maybe ...

I slipped on my robe, brushed back my wet hair, and slipped into our bedroom. The terrycloth material tickled and aroused me as my hips swayed, maybe he would be not so tired. Maybe if I was lucky ...

I slipped into bed after dropping my robe onto the floor. I snuggled up next to him like we did when we were first married.

"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted, seemingly angry that for the first time in several days I was in bed with him.

"Are you naked?" he turned and flipped on the light and lifted the blankets revealing my nakedness.