It was a rainy summer day and I was lost in a mystery novel when the insistent ring of the telephone shocked me out of my fantasy world.
"Hey Jon, I'm having trouble with my computer. Got a second to give me a hand?" It was my good friend Michael, a man who was all thumbs when it came to anything mechanical. "I need to get this report done for work and I am having all kinds of trouble downloading my background information.
Now don't get me wrong, Michael is a smart man. It's just that he and computers barely get along. Not that I am a computer genius, I'm not much of a techie either, but I do manage to find my way around the keyboard using the help key and manuals. Michael and I went way back, aside from borrowing and not repaying $1,000, he was still okay in my book.
I told Michael I would be right over, and told him it would cost him a beer and a hoagie at least.
Michael and his wife Sarah lived nearby, so the trip was quick. Sarah was at the gym, working on her sweet body, so we were alone in his rec room.
Sarah and Michael have been married 15 years, a perfect couple. I had lusted after her since I first met her some 10 years before. She had a great body, but the prim and proper lady didn't show much of it off.
Sarah really didn't like me. Something about me pushed all the wrong buttons. She always talked down to me, as if she was the queen and I was the lowly stable boy. Her comments and tone cut to the quick. We went together like oil and water, but I was strangely disappointed that she wasn't home.
After some small talk, we discussed his computer problem, and I sat down at the computer and began clicking away.
"How about that beer?" I inquired.
Michael handed me a cool Corona and asked what kind of sandwich I wanted. He was going to head down to the deli to grab our lunch, which was a good thing, as I hated someone hanging over me while I worked at the keyboard.
Fixing his dilemma was a simple enough task, and I had his problem solved before he had backed out of his driveway. With time to spare, I decided to clean up his files, and began deleting some of the trash on his hard drive. Somewhere along the line I accidentally noticed a file, "Embarrassed", hidden deep within his files and clicked on it.
Boy, was I in for a surprise. On the screen in front of me was a note Sarah apparently had composed and sent to Penthouse Letters, complete with a risqué photo. Upon close inspection, that photo was indeed of Sarah, a much younger Sarah, but even with the blurred face it was clearly a shot of her from days gone by.
Interest peaked, I began reading her note.
[F-36] I just read the embarrassing moments piece in last month's magazine, and thought of a couple embarrassing sessions I've had in my life.
I wanted to tell you about one from years ago. I am now 36, but this embarrassing moment occurred when I was 18.
It was summer and I was with my boyfriend at the beach. Unfortunately, he was staying with his parents, and I was rooming in a house nearby with four other girls and a landlord who had a strict "no boys" policy. Now, my boyfriend Rick and I weren't hot and heavy at sex, but we had made love several times.
On the day in question we visited a house where my Rick had several friends who had rented a three story side-by-side house for two weeks. We sat in the living room and talked with the boys --- I was being flirted with in a playful way by several --- as we drank beer and told stories while watching a baseball game. We laughed and laughed, especially at their "wall of shame", a wall filled with Polaroid's of the guys in various stages of drunkenness. After a while I stopped to use the bathroom, and when I came out Billy met me and said he's show me around the house.
We went upstairs, looked around the second floor, before heading up to the loft on the third floor. As luck would have it, nobody was around, and after some pleading we began making love. We both knew it would be a quickie, but as we hadn't been "with" each other in more than a week we both wanted it badly. I slowly went down on him and then reciprocated on me, but we quickly moved on because neither could concentrate when 69ing. Rick slid a lubricated rubber onto his cock and lay back on the bed. I maneuvered on top (both of our favorite way), wearing only my skirt, which was bunched up around my midsection. I rode him for several minutes, coming a couple times before he shot his copious load deep inside by wet and willing pussy. It was a hard, quick sex, but we were both satisfied.
After cleaning up and getting presentable, we went back downstairs. We laughed and joked a bit more with the boy. They were unusually wild, and were wondering where we had gotten to...making several suggestive comments. After a while, one said I had a "perfect ass" and I felt that went over the line. I told him to stop, and he said again, "no, it's absolutely perfect". I told him he'd never know and got up and started to leave, my boyfriend in tow. Halfway out the door one of the guys said, "hey, you're forgetting something." I said "huh" or something, and he pointed to the wall with pictures.
Curiosity got me, and I walked over and looked, and was embarrassed to death to see several Polaroid's of me on top of my boyfriend, taken just minutes before. How we never saw or heard anything I'll never know. I started crying, and tried to get the photos, and after a while they gave me them.
The worst part was that, months later, I found out a couple other photos had been taken. My boyfriend Rick told me he had seen them, and while you couldn't be sure it was me, we and the boys there knew it was me. I lost some sleep over that and couldn't help but wondering who knew and who didn't.
It was a long time ago, and I've never let anyone photograph me in the nude. My husband always wants me to, but once was enough of that embarrassment.
My husband knows nothing of this black mark in my background, nor does he know that I cheated on him --- with Rick --- just last month. I don't know what it is, but Michael (my husband) is just too nice, too good. I miss living on the edge, and Rick does that to me. It's a physical thing, there is no love between us. It is just sex, wanton sex. We've met secretly a few times a year for the last five or six years. As much as I love Michael, well, messing around with Rick does things to me I just can't describe. We make love in the car, in sleazy motels, and even in the stairwell of the school he worked.
It's nasty, it's wrong, but it is exciting just the same. I guess I just have a very special need.
I stared at the computer screen, my dick hard in my pants. Attached to the note was a grainy Polaroid photo showing a young girl riding a hard cock. The girl's skirt was lifted high on her waist, and the ass that was displayed was fantastic. A side view of a young face was blurred, but there was no doubt in my mind about whose it was.
Quickly, I copied the file and several others and stuck the disk into my shirt pocket as Michael returned.
We ate our lunch as I wondered if he had a clue his lovely wife had been a wild one in her younger days and had cheated on him in recent years. One part of my mind told me to clue him in, another told me to keep the knowledge to myself. I decided on the latter path, and bid my goodbye after explaining to him about how to access the information he needed for work.
I re-read the note that night, cock in hand. Upon inspection, one of the other files I copied included several other shots taken that fateful day. None had a great facial shot, but the body and the clothing were the same. I couldn't believe Michael's prim and proper wife could be such a wanton slut. I masturbated that night with visions of the pretty housewife doing all kinds of sexy deeds with a man who wasn't her husband. Somewhat later that night a plan began to formulate in my brain on how to take advantage of the situation.
First came a trip to the local library where I found a copy of Sarah's high school yearbook. Luckily, there were only 56 in her graduating class, and only three Richard's. From there I went to the archives, where I searched on her class' 15th reunion. One of the Richard's was remembered as a man who was killed in a tragic automobile accident. Another, from a nearby town, was listing as have attended the reunion, while another, from the west coast, had not.
I surmised it was the Richard who lived less than 90 miles away who was porking my friend's wife, and decided to escalate things a bit and confront him on it.
Actually, it was easy. My research indicated he was a history teacher, and one afternoon I drove upstate and stopped by to visit with him...under the ruse of me being a private detective. I found him sitting in his classroom, grading papers. His eyes widened as I told a little story about the married schoolteacher who was cheating on his city councilwoman wife, a woman whose family had deep pockets. In the yarn I spun I reflected on how that wife might be a little ticked off about her husband's transgressions, and how she, and her trust fund, might exit the premises. I mentioned this and more, and it wasn't long before Richard guiltily muttered the right words.
"What do you want?"
I glanced out the window then back at the scared man. "I want what you have..." I said with a smile.
"You mean, uh, money?"
"Nah, something more, uh, female."
"Sarah?"
