The third person I had sex with was my husband so you certainly wouldn't have called me promiscuous in my younger years. I actually lost my virginity aged eighteen during a drunken student party and I was not at all impressed with the whole sex thing. The second man came along two years later. He was my first long-term love -- well, a few months anyway before it fizzled out. Then came Steve. We dated for a long time, got engaged, and eventually married.
I didn't know and didn't really care if our sex life was good or not, it was good enough for me. We weren't particularly adventurous, but we did have sex. Okay, it was mostly lights off, no words spoken sex, but sex nonetheless. Oh, and I'd orgasm more often than not. In a nutshell, it was okay.
So, in the late 1990s, we celebrated ten years of marriage and my thirty-second birthday with a foreign holiday. On our return and driving back from the airport, we both needed a pee and stopped at a motorway service station. It was then, as I left the toilets, that I encountered the man who would become my lover. I don't know how it happened, but we collided, laughed as we reached to steady each other, and then apologised at the same moment. I should have turned away after that, but his look of shameless desire lifted me in a way I really needed.
Moments later, I was standing behind that same stranger in the queue for coffee and I was overwhelmed by his presence. So much so that I imagined him caressing my body, making love to me, filling me. I'd never thought about being loved by another man and the intensity of this daydream had me reeling. The confusion I felt truly knocked me for six.
I had sometimes speculated -- from an artistic viewpoint -- what this or that hunk of a man would look like naked. But I never considered sex; it just wasn't important to me then, not really important at all. Steve worked away a lot of the time and I really didn't bother about sex at all. When he returned home, it was a quick grope and he would cum inside me and that would be it. To be quite honest, it suited me.
Looking back, we couldn't possibly know that this was the day that forever changed my outlook on sex. In fact, changed both our outlooks as it turned out.
Steve guided us to a table next to that stranger and, as we drank our coffee, he started talking in a dramatic whisper about the man, revealing what he'd seen in the toilet. I was already guilt-ridden at my feelings in the queue and I just wanted Steve to change the subject. The animated way he spoke and his expression hinted at what he wanted me to do. I was frightened and began to panic. I'd always known that my husband truly loves me so I put my irrational terror down to my wicked thoughts -- and that realisation helped to change my mood and my panic subsided.
But I couldn't understand why Steve should be so interested in talking about the size of another man's penis! What had brought that on?
I glanced at the stranger. The speculations I'd had about naked men had been few and far between but this man was good-looking, tall and slender but well-muscled, and clearly looked after himself. He was well-dressed and obviously confident. He actually looked like one of those movie stars I found attractive. I realised that while I was studying him he was looking at me and smiling. He winked and I flushed with embarrassment.
This made me angry with myself and I became more and more upset with Steve. I wished he'd just drop the subject and so teased him with a little reverse psychology, telling him about the effect this man had had on me. I hoped that would shock him into dropping the subject.
It backfired.
Steve told me exactly how excited he was and what he wanted to happen -- how much he wanted me to have sex with this man. What? Absolutely not. I'd never contemplated infidelity.
Then Steve asked me, "Would you... really?"
It was more of an appeal but the excitement in his voice and the words burned through my mind. I was shocked, stunned. For some reason, my husband wanted me to be unfaithful, to have sex with another man. And not just any man but this allegedly exceptionally well-endowed stranger.
My immediate response was one of disgust followed by guilt for my earlier thoughts. I went with my heart and firmly said, "No."
I was livid when Steve's expression immediately changed from flushed excitement and anticipation to total rejection. Yet, I remembered the desire in the stranger's eyes and that flood of lust that he'd created in me. Yes, I began to feel quite naughty and I glanced again at the stranger. The words, "Would you... really," echoed in my mind. Would I? No... definitely not, how could I even think such a thing? But, he really was very good looking and he was still watching me with those lustful eyes.
I turned back to Steve and saw the disappointment on his face. He really wanted me to have sex with this man. Again, I thought, no... definitely not. But, to my utter amazement, I realised that I'd said, "Okay."
It had taken almost no time at all to switch from my venomous "no" to my soft "okay." The cafe seemed to have gone quiet and I sat a few moments in stunned silence not believing what I'd said. What sort of woman am I? What sort of woman could agree to a proposition like that? I was upset with myself and with Steve for asking me. Most of all I was astounded that I could agree. What sort of person considers having sex with a stranger? That very thought raised an illicit excitement in me and, as I told Steve to ask the stranger to join us, the man got up and walked away.
Relieved, I decided that I'd have strong words with Steve when we got home. But, being brutally honest, I was somewhat disappointed at the missed opportunity.
However, a few minutes later we saw him in the car park. What should I do? I hated myself for agreeing to a betrayal of everything I held dear, including our marriage vows. But, to please Steve, I'd agreed and he seemed so eager that I just couldn't disappoint him. So, for the second time, I asked him to approach the stranger.
I don't know to this day what was said between them but after quite some time they smiled and nodded at me -- then he turned to walk away and the bottom fell out of my world. How strange that I should feel such disappointment, rejected by someone I didn't know. But this stranger had sparked wicked feelings that angered me and made me feel terrible inside and yet so very different, so very excited. I honestly don't know what then came over me. With butterflies fluttering in my stomach and a little flood of moist warmth, I caught up with the stranger and quivered inside as I kissed him on the cheek.
Taking a step back, I blushed slightly as I introduced myself. Again that powerful feeling washed over me, that feeling of him making love to me. I'd acted with the knowledge of what Steve had told me but I was trembling with fear and desire at the thought of this man's body against mine -- of his cock, his large cock, within me.
I then found myself walking away from my husband hand-in-hand with a complete stranger. I felt so very cheap and I was scared stiff. My heart was thumping, my stomach churned, and I was very unsteady in high heel boots. My mind reeled with horrible names -- slut, whore, slag -- but I was tremendously excited.
A Travelodge hotel adjoined the services area and I was numb and embarrassed when Steve apparently settled down to wait in the reception while I departed with a stranger.
On the way to the room, it began to sink in just how much Steve had emphasised the size of this stranger's penis, his flaccid penis. Steve grows about one and a half, perhaps two inches, to almost five inches erect. How big would five or six flaccid inches grow? Bigger limp than Steve's erection, he'd be huge when aroused. What if he's too big? Abject terror began to course through me and by the time we reached the room I was feeling physically sick and on the verge of running.
Then, in seconds, we were standing in the room facing each other, I was unsure what to do but he grasped one of my hands and said, "You're apprehensive. It's not too late and I'll understand if you leave."
I was very confused, guilty as hell and full of apprehension, and I wanted to flee. But... well, I really couldn't disappoint Steve and I had amazing sensations in my stomach and pussy.
He stared deeply into my eyes as though trying to read my mind. If he could've done that, he'd have seen abject terror. I'm happy standing before a group of hard-nosed businessmen and pitching a proposal worth thousands of pounds, but this whole situation was beyond my experience.
I was alarmed at the sensations this stranger had roused in me. I was terrified of actually enjoying his apparently huge cock and I was petrified of not enjoying it. I was afraid that he'd be too big and hurt or damage me. I was scared that I might be too inexperienced and embarrass both of us. I was terrified of the damage sex with another man could do to my life. Yes, more than anything I was horror-struck at the thought of losing Steve, wrecking our marriage. It wasn't right; I needed to get out of there.
I was framing what to say, how to apologise and excuse myself when he took hold of my other hand and looked deeply into my eyes. His face was so close to mine, I could feel his breath and smell his masculinity.
I trembled with fear and my legs were like jelly. His warm, erotic aroma wafted across me and my panties became damp from another release of moist warmth. I was terrified that he was going to kiss or fondle me, make a grab for me in some intimate place. Instead, he spoke and I'll always remember his words.
"You really are a very beautiful and seriously desirable woman and I think your husband is totally off his head. You think you're being unfaithful to him, yet--"
