I awoke from what felt like a very long and deep sleep, the faint recollection of what might have been a dream faded into the morning air upon reflection. Far from being alone, I was entangled with my lover. We passed the night, in what is best described, as one body. We were intertwined and overlapped, twisted together by our limbs under my sheets. The embrace felt good and I was in no pressing need to free myself from the consuming hold. The world had settled again, after the terrible rain storm from the night before, I could hear the birds chirping outside and the early morning rays from the sun lent to the feeling of rebirth.
I felt sensitive to every part of my familiar surroundings. I was in my own bedroom, the same bedroom I had slept in for the past 15 years with my husband. Almost everything was the same: the dresser was in the same place, the armoire that housed my excess clothes was still in the corner, the closet that seemed to always be partially open still was, my nightstand was piled with books and bookmarks, the hardwood floor was clean but still in need a refinishing. There was something different about the mirror that stood on top of the dresser facing the bed, it was still the same mirror, in the same position but it's in the reflection that made all the difference.
I held him tightly in my arms with his head pressed into my breast; his hair was messy and slightly covered his sleeping eyes. We had slept naked, falling asleep at some point between softly placed kisses we each tried to prolong with just one more. The passion and the energy that fuelled the night had settled into a sublime feeling of calmness. I just wanted to watch him sleep, all the while, hoping the morning light would last forever.
I used my free hand to move his hair back, to look at his beautiful and somehow unusual face. His face was one that changed a lot depending on the angle, the light and his expression. At times he looked like he had the most baby face, while at others he looked very manly and even rugged. He could have fit into a boy band as the dangerous and dark one, or in a truck commercial as the wild off roader throwing caution to the wind. I just couldn't make up my mind as to which one without switching to something else the next time I looked at him. At that moment, with his sleeping head was between my breasts, he looked the most baby faced I had seen him; completely peaceful and secure and I wanted that to last.
I cradled him like this, for what seemed like blissful hours, as I tried hard not to gather my thoughts. I resisted the urge reflect because I felt the moment I did he would have to leave. We were in my bed, this was certainly my room, but this was certainly not my husband. At only 20 years of age, Andrew Ashton was probably too young to be anyone's husband. He was in shape, but had the body of a young man, lanky in certain ways, this was especially noticeable when he was completely naked. The sunshine had barely begun and he was already impressively tanned in a what that didn't look store bought. I had just met him the night before, within hours we had engaged in illicit activity in my very own basement, before I hid him away in my bedroom. The danger, excitement and unrestrained passion had released chemicals into my head that were not allowing me to acknowledge reality at this point.
A short background into what led to this most illicit embrace is a short foray into the realm of primal urges that go unsuppressed. Decent people take pride in suppressing these urges; indeed, family, society and balance in our lives require that we suppress these urges. The first crack in my resolve came when my son introduced me to his friend and his friend flashed a confident and reserved smile at me. I was taken with his looks, but I wasn't sure he was taken with mine. I'm 23 years his senior, and I have many of the telltale signs of experience. I carry a little more weight in my hips than I did 23 years ago, I have some lines on my face that I have given up the fantasy that moisturizer will cure, my body is a bit more pear than hourglass and I am comfortable with that. I stand 5'7", with brown hair that curls and bit and can look stringy at the bottom, deep grey eyes.
He stood out, to me, in the small crowd of boys my son had invited over to drink before a party that was happening close by. We live in Canada, this was the May long weekend, a weekend most use as an excuse to drink to excess. The boys were using my house as a place to start and a place to crash, my plan had really been to avoid them. Since I already described the events elsewhere, in rather graphic detail, I won't get into them here. What started as harmless flirting ended with an illicit sexual encounter on my washing machine.
I was playing the moments back in freeze frames and slow motion all the while I held my lover ever closer to my body. It was impossible to escape: the sex had an impact that I was not going to be able to shrug off. It had revived nerves that had layed dormant for so long that they were all but forgotten. These nerves, which had been starving for energy, were now buzzing in gratitude for their revival. I knew I couldn't be in love, I barely knew the young man, and our places in life precluded the possibility of a shared experience. I couldn't be in love, regardless of this rational fact, my body was trying to convince me otherwise. It was as if there was another mind at work, one that was terrified that I would let my awakener go.
I mean what were my options? Lay with Ash forever, hope that the door never opens? Announce to my family that I was moving in with my 20 year old boyfriend? I could just move in with him, and his roommates, and live happily ever after. After all, what was I to him anyway? The likely answer was simply a conquest, and that didn't bother me, I've been a conquest before and really the role does have its own special perks. Perks aside, none of them make the foundations for a successful relationship of any kind.
Removing the nonsense from the equation, there were two very real options left. The most parsimonious, prudent and moral would be to end the entire thing at that moment. Wake Ash from his slumber, tell him that it had all been a mistake. Call him a car to meet him a block away, slowly sneak him out of the house before anyone in the basement awoke. Leave him no doubt that he was out of my life, and leave him no doubt that I regretted my actions. Bottle all my emotions and passions from the night before, close them off to him and everyone in the world. Find a way to turn his emotions against him, make sure that he hates me, so that he never tries to open it again.
That would be the sane thing to do. That would provide some measure of damage control. Any hint of innuendo could be plausibly denied, there really wasn't any proof anything happened. The other option was beckoning like a roller coaster to ruin; a ride where all the danger signs are visible to all and you take it anyway. This option, was of course, to continue an illicit affair with the young man who was not quite half my age. Knowing that any and every minute that I spent with him was adding more risk to being caught, risking more than just my marriage, but risking utter humiliation and ostracization. A scarlet tattoo on my forehead would be too light a mark for an indiscretion of such proportions.
These thoughts were formulating in my head as my lover woke from his peaceful sleep and engaged me in a kiss that was melting away all the rational points made in the sane route. Our kissing became more frantic and impassioned and as his hardness entered me slowly in the morning light I knew that the illicit affair was the only way open to me.
"ugghh, honey slowllllly," I managed to whisper in a groan while wrapping my legs tightly around his waist, "weee cann't make anyyy no..ise..." I continued in laboured syllables.
Ash didn't really need the direction, his pace had been slow to start. He smiled in response and then kissed me pushing in deeper at the same time. Every movement was slow but impassioned and deliberate. The heat was building between us, boiling and looking for a place to overflow. Ash placed kisses all over my neck, face and head, seeming to look for a moment my legs would relax their grip so he could push back into me and my legs could lock again and pull him even tighter. Laboured breaths were still escaping my lips and I looked for ways to muffle them. For his part Ash would grunt under his breath at the chance to trust into me. Adding to our less than silent love making was my old wooden bed frame creaking filling the air in otherwise silent moments.
There wasn't much away around making some noise; we were fucking. The further we got into it the more caution was abandoned. He was pushing me to the edge, and I knew that if I reached it I would need to let something out. He freed himself momentarily and gave me four or five hard and unrestrained thrusts. I buried my head into his muscular shoulder and bit down in an attempt to control my scream.
He stopped with his hard cock buried inside of me, when my head fell back on the mattress our eyes locked. I could feel the excitement coursing through his body and see it in his eyes. I could tell, in that moment, that he never knew sex like this, this sort of passion was foreign to him. He had, for the first time, tasted a bit of pain during sex; he liked it.
I'm not sure on what terms he understood this while it was happening, but it was clear he wanted it to continue. On some level he accepted the overflowing passion from my body and took it into his, the fits he was giving my body were being absorbed back into his skin. He broke our gaze and lowered his shoulder back to where it could meet my mouth and shoved himself in and out of my very hard. The bed must have been creaking quite loudly but there was too much noise in my head for me to stop that. All of my energy was focused on one place and I was almost spent. I knew that my orgasm was coming and that it wasn't going to be any sort of normal orgasm. We had been making love for over an hour, mostly in a slow and uneven pace, the build up and tension was now being taken out and he was fucking me hard.
"Giveee mee your...hand..." I said with such a sense of urgency that my lover didn't dare question.
