97 comments/ 229310 views/ 49 favorites An Innocent Question Ch. 01 By: ohio [Note: This is a three-part story. The three parts will be posted on consecutive days. Yes, I know that pregnancy and STDs are problems in the real world--but this is a story, and they're not a problem here.] "Honey, have you ever thought about having an affair?" *************** DAN'S STORY That may seem like a very loaded question, but I asked it in all innocence. Ellen and I have always talked a lot, always asked each other odd questions, always shared the pleasure of discussing everything under the sun. "Why do you suppose the clouds stay up?" "If Jesus came back to earth today, what would he have to say about the Christian religion?" "What's the point of putting up that new office building downtown, when they had to tear down two perfectly good office buildings to do it?" "Ever wondered why frogs make that crazy noise at night?" "What do you think it would be like to have three or four husbands?" Those might strike you as some of the dumbest, or dullest, questions ever. But my wife and I had fun talking about each of them, at one time or another. We met at Ohio State, in a junior year philosophy seminar (I was a philosophy major, she double-majored in philosophy and political science). From our first date we talked and talked. You might almost say our attraction was as much intellectual as sexual. Well—almost! Ellen is a short, voluptuous blonde, about 5'4", with wonderful big breasts and a curvy figure. In her mid-forties she's only gained about 15 pounds from her college weight, and she still looks fantastic. I've stayed in pretty good shape, too, but when we're in public together I might as well be invisible: it's Ellen that people are looking at. Once we'd spent a couple of evenings together, Ellen and I knew we were meant to be together. We graduated, got married, stayed in Columbus, and both found jobs at OSU. Ellen has worked in the Registrar's Office for years now, and I'm the chief tech support person for the Economics Department. We raised two kids: Dan Jr. just graduated from Denison University and works in Chicago, and Alexis is a junior at Northwestern. And all that time—23 years now—we've been talking. Friends joke that either one of us could talk the bark off a tree, but together we could talk the white off a polar bear! Like every other long-married couple, we found that our sex life had gotten less intense and less frequent, though it was still very pleasurable. We'd gone through the early stage—where you make love all the time, and you basically can't keep your hands off each other. And we'd had the parent stage, where you're either too tired or too busy with the kids to have sex very often. There were ebbs and flows—maybe a couple of months where our interest picked up, and sex became more frequent and much more exciting. But there were also slow periods, where work or family problems or a minor illness pushed sex far onto the back burner. And now we were in the empty nest stage, when we once again had time and privacy. So we did do it more, but nowhere near as often as in the early days. And as much as we loved each other, there's just no way sex can be as thrilling after 25 years together. Pleasurable, intimate, special—yes to all those things. But not white-hot or breath-taking. What was deeper, and richer, and better than ever, was our sense of love and trust and mutual understanding. We both loved to talk, and to listen. We spent hours talking about all sorts of things, from Asian philosophy to the crazy way our neighbors trimmed their hedges. And as I've said, odd questions that no one else would ever think to ask came naturally to us. All of which is a long way of saying that there was nothing strange or all that significant about the question I asked Ellen that Sunday afternoon: "Honey, have you ever thought about having an affair?" But what was strange was her reaction. We were both in the kitchen, putting away groceries; and Ellen just turned and looked at me for a moment, open-mouthed. Then her face blushed red, and she quickly turned away. She grabbed a couple of soup cans and moved towards the cupboard, saying, "of course not, Dan. Don't be ridiculous." Her response surprised me—it wasn't a ridiculous question, at least not for the two of us. "I don't know, Ellen. It doesn't seem like such a crazy question. Lots of people have affairs. I know I've at least thought about it from time to time." By this time she had turned back to face me, and she looked calmer. "Yes, I guess you're right," she said. "I suppose I spoke too soon. I've certainly had a few affairs with George Clooney, late at night inside my head." She gave me a smile, but it was kind of a tense one. "That's not really what I meant, Ellen. What about an actual affair, with someone we know? Have you ever thought about that, what it would be like, how you'd keep it a secret, that sort of thing?" She sat down at the table. I noticed she wasn't meeting my eye. "Not really. I mean, there are men we know whom I find attractive, but I've never gone very far down the road of imagining an affair with any of them." Then she turned and looked at me. More aggressively she said, "how about you, honey? There must be some reason this crazy question popped into your head. Have you got anything to confess?" I laughed. "No, Ellen, I'm innocent. Of an affair, that is. But I've had daydreams a few times over the years—remember that 5th grade teacher that Dan, Jr. had? Miss Keller, or something like that? She was certainly a hot one." I laughed again. To me this was just a casual conversation, the kind of thing Ellen and I had done a million times before. And now she seemed to be more in the spirit of it as well. "At last I learn the truth!" she said with a grin. "I'll have to get Miss Keller on the phone and hear her side of the story!" We went back to the groceries, and within a few minutes our conversation had moved on to some other innocuous subject. The whole question about adultery dropped right off my radar. Until that night. On a typical Sunday without the kids, we would have had a relaxed dinner, maybe watched some TV, and gone to bed early. Perhaps we would have made love, if either of us was strongly in the mood. But these days we had privacy all the time, so we probably wouldn't have. But on this Sunday, Ellen disappeared upstairs after dinner, as soon as we'd cleaned up the dishes. I read over some papers for work, and at 8:30 was interrupted by a call from Ellen. "Hon, when you have a minute could you come upstairs?" What greeted me when I entered the bedroom was a shock. The room was lit only by a couple of candles on the night tables. In the middle of the bed lay Ellen, and she was a sight. She'd put on makeup and brushed her hair, leaving it down over her shoulders, and she was wearing her sexiest nightie. I'd bought it for her when we took a trip to Cancun—it was a real fuck-me nightie, see-through in all the right places, and she knew it turned me on to see her in it. "See anything you like, cowboy?" Ellen murmured. When I pulled my jaw back up off the floor I said, "I'm not sure, actually. I think I'll need to look more closely." She laughed and said, "go jump in the shower and get your ass back here—you've got five minutes." Needless to say I was back before her deadline! As I quickly washed I wondered what was up. For Ellen to suggest we make love wouldn't have been unusual, but for her to make such a big production out of it was completely unprecedented. It was the kind of thing she might do for our anniversary, or my birthday, but never on an ordinary Sunday night. At least not in the past 15 or 20 years. When I came back to the bedroom, Ellen growled, "come here, you," and took me in her arms. We began to kiss, and her energy surprised me. Our sex-play didn't usually include a lot of kissing, but tonight she ravished my mouth with her lips and tongue. Her hands were all over me, aggressively. She rubbed them over my chest, running them through my chest hair, pinching my nipples lightly. As I slid my own hands up under her nightie and up her back she groaned into my mouth, and pushed her heavy breasts against me. She dragged them back and forth against my chest, and through the thin nightie I felt how hard and erect her nipples were. It was very odd. She hadn't been this quickly turned-on for years, and then she'd been like this several times in the past month or so. Our foreplay continued, with Ellen being more aggressive than I could remember. She pulled off the nightie and glided up and down my body, rubbing her belly against my erect cock, then surrounding it luxuriously with her breasts. She slid her body around mine like a cat, making noises of pleasure in her throat. I stroked her back, her breasts, her thighs, whatever I could reach, while blissfully enjoying what she was doing to me. When she slid down lower, it was clear I was in for a blow-job, a rare thing from Ellen. (And I mean rare, like maybe twice a year.) Soon it became clear this would be a once-in-a-lifetime blow-job. She took her time, teasing me with her tongue before taking me deep in her mouth. She backed off, licked my balls, stroked my cock, cooed little affectionate words to the big guy, then slid him back in her mouth again. I tried to pull her hips up towards me for a 69, but she pulled away, saying "just for you tonight, honey". She worked me slowly up to a fever pitch, then took me over the top. I gasped and groaned as I pumped myself into her mouth, and (again a surprise) she swallowed vigorously. I lay back, trying to catch my breath, feeling the sweet tingle of total pleasure and relaxation shooting through my whole body. If it wasn't the absolute best blow-job of my life, it was certainly at least the best in the past 15 years. "Wow!" I said. "What was that all about, sweetheart? Sex has been great lately, but you were absolutely a woman possessed tonight!" She nestled up close, again deliciously rubbing her large breasts against me. "I just thought it might be time to remind you how much I love you, Dan." "Well, let me be honest," I replied. "I'm not sure I completely remember yet. Could you remind me again in, say, an hour or so?" She laughed and said, "sure thing! They say the memory is the first thing to go..." We nuzzled together, dozing, for a little while. Sure enough, after a bit her hands began to explore again, gliding over my arms and shoulders, my chest, and finally down to my thighs and my cock. I lay back and enjoyed it for a few minutes, aware that Ellen virtually never took the lead like this—though she had been doing it a bit more in the past few weeks. Then I roused myself enough to return the favor, caressing those big breasts that still excited me even after 25 years together. Soon we were pressed tightly together on our sides, groaning with pleasure as we stroked each other with our hands. My fingers reached her pussy from behind and probed inward, finding her soaking wet. Breaking from her embrace, I kissed my way down her body, from neck to vagina, making a lengthy visit to her nipples en route. Ellen always loved me to lick her pussy, but she usually took it pretty quietly, lying still with her eyes closed, making soft noises in her throat, then moving her hips only at the last moments before her orgasm. This time I could barely hold her still enough to lick. Her hips rolled and bounced as she pushed herself vigorously onto my tongue. She moaned and murmured, said, "yes!" and "ooh, Dan," and "right there!", and "oh, baby, more!". I used my fingers to reach inside her for her G-spot while my tongue circled her clit over and over. Soon she began to come, and she just didn't stop! In the past an orgasm usually made her too sensitive, and I had to move away for a minute, but tonight I kept licking and stroking, and she kept coming. Her moans got louder, and before long they were yells of pleasure. She came at least four or five times within about ten minutes, with no sign of wearing out. But by then I was on fire to fuck her. I climbed up and slid into her in missionary position, groaning at the pleasure of her heat. After so many orgasms I was sure she would just lie back, relax, and let me take her. But again she surprised me, humping up at me energetically, fiercely, as though she were climbing towards her own first orgasm. Her ferocity made my own arousal soar. In no time I was slamming into her hard, gasping for breath, while she squeezed me tight with her arms, scratched me with her nails and bit my shoulder. I wondered for a moment if my wife had had a blood transfusion from a tiger—then I stopped wondering anything, and just thrust frantically until my orgasm took me over. As I shot into her I could feel Ellen coming again beneath me, her pussy spasming deliciously. After nearly a minute of mind-numbing pleasure, I collapsed on top of her. Although the last few weeks had featured several great sessions in bed, this had been about the hottest sex of my life—certainly in many years. I was too tired at the time to think about the why of it, I just enjoyed that it had happened! Not bothering with toothbrushing or anything else, Ellen and I blew out the candles, snuggled tightly together, and were soon fast asleep. As I drifted off I felt her give me one more fierce hug and whisper, "I love you so much, baby!" Something woke me out of a sound sleep—I don't know what. I looked around and Ellen was gone. It was 3:20 am. Sleepily I pulled on my boxers and headed for the door of the bedroom. Before I reached the stairs I could hear her. She was downstairs, probably in the living room, and she was sobbing. I quickly went down to her. Ellen must have heard me coming, because she was blowing her noise and making an effort to pull herself together. "Honey, what's wrong?" I asked. She smiled at me. Her eyes were red and her face looked haggard. Clearly she'd been crying for quite a while. "It's OK," she said. "Something, maybe a dream, made me think of my dad. I just got sad, thinking about him, and I started to cry. I came down here so I wouldn't bother you. I'm sorry, honey!" Ellen's father had died about six years earlier. It seemed awfully strange that she'd be sobbing her eyes out about him now, but I didn't say that. I just hugged her, comforted her, and led her gently back up to bed. *************** All the next day at work I was on edge. I should have been happy, feeling the afterglow of the most exciting sex in a long time, reveling in the love of the woman I loved so much. But something was odd—there were too many unusual things in one day to overlook. I took a long walk at lunchtime, trying to put it all together. I ask Ellen a random question about an affair and she reacts very strangely, blushing and not meeting my eye. The same evening, she takes the lead in an unusually aggressive way and gives me the hottest sex since the Battle of Bunker Hill. In fact, it was the high point of several weeks of unexpectedly great sex. Then in the middle of the night, she's downstairs crying. The most likely conclusion was also the most appalling and unbelievable one: she was having, or has had, an affair. My innocent question obviously upset her for some reason, and what other reason would there have been? If I was right, then the hot sex was guilt, or some sort of spillover of lust, or a kind of apology. And maybe the crying was guilt as well, or fear about the marriage. For all I know, Ellen may have the idea that I know all about her affair, and am just playing a game of my own. I walked around the campus, hardly noticing the warm sunshine or the sounds of people all around me. I just thought. Ellen and I had a good marriage, a strong marriage. I had never strayed, and I never thought that she had either. Back in the first few years of our marriage, we had known a couple who did some wife-swapping. Naturally Ellen and I had a long talk about it, as we always did about every subject from aardvarks to Zeus. While each of us admitted that occasionally we saw a member of the opposite sex who tempted us, neither of us wanted to go anywhere near adultery or wife-swapping. Sex only with one another was a price we were willing to pay for the love and trust of a monogamous marriage. Given how emotional and strange Ellen had been yesterday, it appeared unlikely that my stray question had brought on an attack of guilt about a long-past indiscretion. So if her crazy reactions were because of an affair—however wildly unlikely that seemed to me—it had to be something recent. I also couldn't believe that she could have had some past affair, at least one of any duration, without me noticing something. As I've said, Ellen and I talked all the time, about everything. We knew each other very well: our habits, our friends, our preferred foods, political views, favorite beers, hobbies and sports. I knew her underwear sizes and she knew mine. Hard to believe I could have missed an affair! On the other hand, what about her suddenly higher level of sexual excitement in the past month or so? What to do now was the next question. I didn't look forward to going home and confronting Ellen—both because I had no evidence and because my accusation might be completely wrong, and infuriating to her. In the short run, all I could think of to do was to keep quiet and be very very watchful. As it happened, I didn't have to wait for long. That night I got home to find Ellen putting the final touches on a beautiful dinner: roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, French bread, white wine. Tablecloth and candles on the dinner table. It looked and smelled fabulous, and I told her so, with a big hug and a kiss. "What's the occasion, Ellen? This is marvelous," I said. "Just trying to show my husband that I still like having him around," she said lightly. There was a kind of strained look on her face, even as she smiled at me. "Well," I said, "you know how they say, 'The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.' I've always actually thought that there's another way—but you found that one last night!" She laughed, and said, "and perhaps I can find it again soon! Now come and sit down, the food is just hot." We enjoyed the meal, but Ellen didn't seem relaxed. I did my best to entertain her with stories of my work-day, including some of the crazy characters I have to supervise, but she listened with only half an ear. "Can I thank you for this lovely dinner by taking you out for ice cream?" I asked when we were done. "No, thank you, honey—I've got a blueberry pie waiting for us in the kitchen." She went in to get it, and I thought, stranger and stranger. She must have come home at least two hours early from work today, gone to the store, then baked the pie and done the rest of this cooking. What on earth is going on? After dinner I took her hand and we went out into our back yard, enjoying the breeze and the fading light of the summer evening. I said, "Ellen, you've been treating me like a king, and I want to be sure you know how much I like it. Whether it's sex or cooking, you're my Number One!" She smiled at me, and hugged my arm tightly. "Dan, you're my Number One in all categories. I love you so much." I led us to a bench and we sat down together. Then I went on. "But honey, as much as I've enjoyed last night and today, I have to wonder about the reason for this sudden outburst of appreciation. Is there something bothering you?" She looked into my eyes, trying to smile. "No, baby, nothing at all!" "Really?" I said. "Really." "Really?" I repeated, looking hard at her. "Really," she replied, her smile wavering a bit. "Really?" I said a third time, with heavy emphasis, still looking at her. An Innocent Question Ch. 01 "Really," she said again, and then suddenly burst into a gale of tears. She clung to me, sobbing as though her heart would break, while I held her and tried to comfort her. My own mind was full of apprehensions. Finally her crying subsided a little, enough for me to say, "come on, Ellen. You can talk to me, no matter what it is. I love you." She looked at me, wide-eyed. "Dan, I don't know if you'll still say that ... once ... once you ...." She moved away from me on the bench, and put her face in her hands. I waited, and finally she straightened up. Looking away, she said in a flat voice, "Dan, I slept with Chris Doebe." *************** *************** ELLEN'S STORY: "Honey, have you ever thought about having an affair?" When Dan dropped that question on me in the kitchen, I thought I would die. I mean I thought my heart would jump out of my chest and my lifeless body would collapse on the floor. It was like being hit in the gut with a shotgun blast. My mind didn't freeze—it raced off in 30 different directions at once. Why is he asking this? Does he know? Does he suspect? How can he have found out? Is he guilty about something himself? What should I say to act natural? Is it already too late to act natural? Should I confess? Perhaps I could just fake a heart attack? I could feel the blood rushing to my face, and I was sure Dan was staring at me. I couldn't tell how long it had been since he asked the question—10 seconds, a minute? I grabbed some groceries and turned away from him towards the cabinet. "Of course not, Dan," I said. "Don't be ridiculous." My words sounded transparently guilty to me. Dan and I always ask each other questions, about practical, philosophical, hypothetical, and just plain absurd things. It is one of the sweetest things in our marriage, that shared interest in thinking and talking. So why would I be attacking him for a question just like all the other ones we ask each other? Thank the sweet Lord in Heaven, Dan didn't seem to recognize my response for the desperate, panicked, guilty evasion it really was. He pursued the subject a minute longer, but without all that much interest, and he certainly didn't press me hard. I gradually realized that it had just been a typical random question, not the indirect approach of a suspicious husband. My heart rate dipped back below 200, and within a few minutes we were talking about other things. But the subject certainly didn't leave my mind. In fact it had been there continuously for more than two days, and nearly all the time for more than a month. I loved Dan—I loved him a lot. After a couple of unsatisfying romances in college, I met Dan in a class my junior at Ohio State and knew within three dates that he was the one for me. I've always been a big talker, and actually Dan is too. But what I fell in love with, besides his broad shoulders and his great smile, is what a listener he is. When I spoke, he listened as though I were the wisest and most interesting person he'd ever met. He took my opinions seriously—seriously enough to challenge them and argue with me when he disagreed. Even my favorite teachers in school had never showed me so much respect. And the point of our intellectual disagreements was never to conquer one another, never to "win the argument", but simply the pleasure of matching wits and sharing ideas. Our first few dates were lunches or dinners where we talked more than ate. After that, most of our dates had even more sex than talking in them! When we first made love, the same caring and interest that Dan showed in conversation became a huge turn-on. He loved looking at me, touching me, pleasing me. He clearly adored my big breasts, and the fact that I was a little on the voluptuous rather than the skinny side never bothered him a bit. I have never been all that aggressive in bed; I feel more comfortable letting my lover take the lead, though I certainly enjoy it and I respond to what he's doing. Dan was the first man in my life who took enough time in foreplay to find out what I liked, and to really get me excited. Once we got the hang of it, our love-making was absolutely thrilling for me. I couldn't get enough, and we imitated rabbits for the first few years we were together. Then came the kids: Dan, Jr., and then Alexis. And the wonderful years of raising them were also years, inevitably, when Dan&Ellen time took second place. Not only our sex life, but all aspects of our relationship got less attention. We didn't argue more, and things didn't go badly. It was just that we had a bit less time and energy for one another—whether to make love, or to talk about the best way to install sod in a back yard! We made sure to take a vacation every once in a while, just the two of us—and it always recharged our emotional and sexual batteries. Making love was no longer the hot, almost desperate business it had once been, but we were good at it. We knew each other, and we not only knew how to please each other but we wanted to. Since Alexis went off to college we'd had more time, and lots of privacy, and our time together felt especially sweet. At 45 we were both still pretty young, and some of the sizzle came back into our sex life. It wasn't like being 20 again, but nothing is quite like that! The day my life began to fall apart was the day my friend Emily had her deck party. I've worked with Emily in the Registrar's Office for years—she's a pleasant widowed lady of about 60, very close to her large extended family. There were lots of friends and colleagues from work, along with their spouses. Dan and I knew nearly everyone there, and we were mingling, just having a good time, when Emily strolled over to us with a tall man in tow. "Dan, Ellen? Let me introduce you to Chris Doebe, my nephew. Chris is a grad student in anthropology—new this year, and he's living in the house with me." It was like a cliché, like a bad movie. My knees felt weak, my heart started thumping so loud I was sure everyone on the deck could hear it. I could feel my face turning red. My nipples hardened in my bra. Five seconds in the company of this young man, and I was feeling sexual attraction unlike anything I'd felt in my entire life. Dan gave Chris a big handshake, and I managed to say hello without embarrassing myself. Chris is about 35 or so. He's tall and good-looking, but certainly not breathtaking—at least not to most women. He has sort of a rangy, outdoorsy attractiveness, but he wouldn't stop traffic. That is, unless I'm driving the car! To this day I don't know why I reacted, and react, that way to Chris. It's as though he gives off hormones that bypass every other woman in the room and go straight to my brain and my pussy. I felt myself getting damp down below. I caught myself looking at him like he was a baby gazelle and I was a very hungry leopard. I was nearly out of my mind with lust, and with embarrassment. What's wrong with me, I wondered? A happily married 45-year old woman, standing next to her loving husband. I meet a nice-looking guy, about ten years younger, and I'm ready to tear off my clothes and drag him into the bushes! The rest of the party was a blur. The four of us chatted idly for a few minutes, asking Chris how he liked his program. I could barely get out a word, but I managed to nod and smile and say, "oh really?" at the appropriate moments, so I don't think I made an idiot of myself. After that we all drifted apart. I went straight for the bathroom, where I dried my panties, washed my face with cold water, and tried to pull myself together. I felt like I'd been shot with a big hypodermic full of aphrodisiac, and it scared me to death. Out of terror more than anything else, I stayed close to Dan. Every time I looked around and even saw Chris, I got another jolt of desire. After an hour of this, I really couldn't take it anymore. I whispered to Dan, "honey, I think it's time to go." He looked at me questioningly, and I smiled, looked around to make sure we were unobserved, and let my hand slide up his thigh and caress his cock for a moment through his pants. "I have something I really need to do at home," I said quietly. Dan just grinned, and a few moments later we were in the car, headed home. I practically tore my husband apart once we reached the bedroom. I was wild, nuts, out of control. I didn't even want much foreplay—and I didn't need it, since I was soaking wet. I pulled him on top of me and we humped each other like two maniacs. Dan never knew what hit him, but he sure seemed to enjoy it. He came unusually fast for him, but by then I was well past two orgasms and on my way to a third. "Wow!" he said, catching his breath. "Did you get the license number of the truck that just hit me? Or maybe it was an ambulance. That would be better, I think I'm going to need one!" I didn't say anything, just smiled and kissed him. I was still hotter than Billy Mike (as my grandfather used to say), and after a few minutes I was eagerly sucking on Dan's cock, getting him up for round 2. We fucked three times that night, within about two hours. We almost made it to four, but Dan couldn't quite get hard enough to enter me, so I finished him with a blow job. I must have had ten orgasms in all, and the two of us slept like corpses. Dan did ask me several times, that night and the next day, what had brought on his sudden good fortune. I certainly couldn't tell him that my hot pants were the product of my reaction to Chris Doebe. Instead I gave him the old Mona Lisa smile, and said "sometimes a girl just suddenly realizes what she's got—and feels kinda grateful for it". It wasn't the truth, or at any event not the whole truth, but it made Dan happy, and it fended off a question I really didn't want to answer. Dan got the benefit of my reaction to Chris for the next couple of weeks as well. From having sex 2-3 times a week we were suddenly doing it almost every night, and I was more into it than in years. We tried some positions we'd neglected, we spent more time on foreplay, we just excited each other more. Inside my head, of course, I was fucking Chris. Dan may have been wondering what was going on, but we were both so happy with each other that we didn't talk any further about the reasons. And all the while I thought about Chris, and wondered, and worried. I wondered why on earth I'd reacted so strongly to him—with a heat I'd never felt about any man before. And I worried that it might happen again. After all, he was living in Columbus, with my co-worker Emily. I could run into him any time. I saw him once, about 50 yards down on the other side of the street, carrying a big box of what might have been books. He was going the other way and didn't see me. I froze, once again overcome by lust, memorizing every detail of his legs in his shorts, and his tanned arms, and the way his hair curled up at the back of his neck. When he'd turned the corner and disappeared, I realized I'd been holding my breath. That night when I dragged Dan into bed for another fuck session, it was fear as much as desire that drove me. My reaction to Chris was beginning to scare me a lot, and I had no idea what to do about it. One Friday at about 11:45 I was sitting in Elgin's Restaurant having a sandwich. It was my day off and I was doing some casual window-shopping downtown, with nothing particular in mind. Chris came into the restaurant. I froze, almost in terror. Before I could even think of whether I wanted to hail him or hide behind my book, he spotted me. Chris came right over with a friendly smile on his face, and shook my hand. "Hi, I'm Chris," he said. "Emily's nephew? We met at the party recently. You're Ellen, aren't you?" Desperately pulling myself together, I greeted him in a cordial way and invited him to join me at the table. We had what must have looked to an outsider like a perfectly amiable lunch, chatting away with smiles and laughter. Chris seemed to be an intelligent and thoughtful person, very interested in his anthropology program, quite savvy about the politics of academia and his department in particular. I say he "seemed to be" because for the life of me I could barely listen to what he was saying. I must have been making acceptable responses, but what I was most of aware of was: first, how gorgeous he was; and second, how hard my nipples and how wet my panties were. It was excruciating, thrilling, and embarrassing. I flirted shamelessly, I realized later. I did all the subtle things that women do to indicate interest: I mirrored his expressions and body positions, putting my elbow on the table when he did and so on. I showed him my palms, which some scientists say indicates interest and availability. I smiled constantly, and licked my lips from time to time. And I took every chance to lean forward and touch him—on the back of his hand, or his wrist, or to lightly hit his bicep as I pretended to laugh at a funny remark. The man would have had to be brain-dead not to notice I was coming on to him. In retrospect, he must have had a time of it! First, just being friendly to this nice older woman who works with his aunt. Next, gradually realizing she was flirting with him. Then wondering how far she would go, and whether he was even interested. Finally, deciding he was interested, and beginning to respond in kind. By the end of lunch, which we lingered over, he was also smiling constantly at me and giving me the little touches. I was thrilled, and terrified beyond belief. I had absolutely no idea what to do next, and no control over myself. Without planning it for even a moment I found myself saying, "Chris, I've got about six flavors of ice cream at home in my freezer. How about if we head back there for dessert?" I was so obvious I wanted to crawl under the table. He gave me a long look, and a slowly widening smile. It said 'I know just what you're really asking me, and I'm going to take you up on it!' What he actually said was merely polite: "Sure, Ellen, that sounds like fun, if you really don't mind?" I had walked downtown, so Chris drove us to my house. On the way we chatted amiably, staying far away from the subject in both of our minds. We each had some ice cream, still chatting, me growing wetter and wetter between my legs and more and more frightened between my ears. I hadn't forgotten I was married. I remembered Dan, and I remembered our vows. But I couldn't have stopped myself from fucking Chris for anything much less than the house catching on fire. When the bowls were in the dishwasher I had no idea what to do next, but it didn't matter. Without a word Chris took my hand, and with a smile on his face led me upstairs until he found the master bedroom. He placed me in front of him next to the bed, gently kissed me, and with great gentleness took off my clothes. I was trembling like a 16-year old virgin. As he took off each item he kissed the skin newly exposed: my neck and shoulders, then my breasts and nipples, then (kneeling down) up my thighs, and finally my exposed pubic hair and pussy. I truly cannot describe how excited I was—it was beyond anything I'd ever experienced. I could feel my own fluids all over my thighs. I might have been embarrassed, feeling that at 45 and after two kids I don't have a model's figure anymore. I've got the rounded belly and the thick thighs that all women hate. But I was just too turned on to care. Chris stepped back from me, and said, "let me look at you while I get undressed. You are so beautiful!" I watched as his body emerged from his shirt and shorts. He was leaner than Dan, and a bit fitter, as one would expect of a man in his 30s. His penis was already erect, pointing up directly at me. It was about the same length as Dan's but thinner; and it was beautiful! I wanted to fall onto my knees and worship it, devour it, but Dan took me in his arms and laid me down on the bed. He began to kiss and nibble me. First my lips and face, while he stroked and hefted my breasts in his hands, telling me there were beautiful. I was moaning, totally out of control. Then he slid down a bit and began to kiss and lick all around my breasts. He avoided the nipples for several minutes, even as I twisted around to try to get his mouth on them. Finally he sucked hard on one while pulling the other with his fingers, and an unbelievable orgasm hit me! I groaned aloud, and then just lay back, overwhelmed by the feelings. Dan didn't stop using his lips on my breasts, but his hands moved downward, sliding up and down my thighs and all around my pussy. He avoided my labia for awhile, then circled in on them, stroking up and back each one over and over. I was moaning continuously, completely out of my mind. I don't know how long he stroked me there before I felt his head between my thighs and his tongue inside me, but every second was miraculous. When the licking started, another orgasm took me over almost immediately. Dan kept licking and sucking me, flicking my clit with his tongue, and I kept screaming and coming. I thought I'd die with the pleasure, as ridiculous as that sounds. I was afraid my body would explode, as my hips jerked all over the bed. I tried over and over to pull him up to me, to get his cock inside me. Finally he slid back up over me, and entered me in one incredible, cosmic, smooth stroke. "You have the hottest pussy I've ever been in!" he said with a smile. I just pulled his mouth down on mine and began to hump him as hard as I could, banging my hips up against him. It wasn't a subtle fuck. It was forceful and strong and rhythmic, and on my side it was desperate. I felt like my life depended on him fucking me harder and harder. It was absolutely amazing. I came again, and then again, and then again. We were bathed in sweat, both making animal noises, and finally he sped up for about 30 strokes and came into me, roaring as he spasmed and spurted inside me. We collapsed, lying side by side, holding one another. I was gripped by some different and scary feelings. First, I had never been so thoroughly, so achingly, fucked and satisfied in my life. You know those terrible movies when the girl says, after sex, "I never knew it could be like this?" Well that was me. I just had No Idea it could be like that! Second, I was guilty and frightened. I'd cheated on Dan, in our marital bed, without giving him much of a thought for the last couple of hours. What kind of whore was I? Was that all he deserved from me, after years of being a loving and faithful husband? Would he catch me? If he did, would it be the end of our marriage? Third, and at the same time: I wanted more. I wanted Chris again. I was exhausted, and yet I knew we weren't nearly finished. If he didn't have a hard-on again in a few minutes, I'd be sucking him up to one. I knew it, and I knew nothing was going to stop me. After a few minutes Chris opened his eyes and smiled at me. "You are the hottest woman I've ever met in my life." I smiled back, and said, "that's because you make me the hottest woman I've ever been in my life. I'm hoping there's going to be some more of that." In mock seriousness he slowly nodded his head. "You can count on it," he said in a playful deep voice. At about 3 that afternoon, as we were resting after round two, I recalled that Dan had to work late—he wouldn't be home until after 8 pm. With delicious relief, I realized that I wouldn't have to hurry to get Chris out of the house, the bedroom cleaned up and me showered. We'd have another 3-4 hours together. In the end, Chris fucked me four times before he left, not counting the time he spent licking me or I spent sucking him. Each fuck was different. After the first, unbelievably intense and physical one, our second time was slow and gentle, exploratory. We lay on our sides, our legs entwined, and as he slowly slid in and out of me we kissed each other on the lips, the face, the neck. I was so wet that the friction was minimal, and the pleasure made both of us sigh. It felt like we did it that way for an hour, though it was probably half that. An Innocent Question Ch. 01 The third time I did begin by sucking him until he was hard again. Well, actually that's not quite right. I began by stroking and exploring his body all over, with my hands and my own body. I slid over him, slipped my hands up and down his arms, then his legs. I rubbed his scalp with my fingers, I slid my breasts all over his chest, I licked his nipples. I just adored his body for a while! It was after that that I sucked him back up to a big, beautiful erection. Then I rolled up on my knees and offered him my well-upholstered ass, while I put my shoulders down on the bed. I didn't have anal sex in mind, just doggy-style into my pussy, and Chris obliged me. I love that position because I can be passive, just letting myself be taken by my man. (Usually Dan, of course!) He can be slow and gentle or hard and forceful, and I'm just there for him, wide open. Chris seemed to love doggy-style too. He took his time, running his hands all over me. He stroked my breasts over and over, pinched and pulled my nipples lightly, slid his hands all over my hips and back and ass, caressed me everywhere as he stroked in and out of me. As his own excitement built he reached beneath me and worked on my clitoris, making me gasp with the double stimulation from front and rear. When he could tell I was very close to coming he used a finger of his other hand to slide an inch or so into my ass. I shrieked in surprise and pleasure, and came like crazy beneath him, shaking and gasping. Chris slowed down a bit to let me enjoy my orgasm. Then when I relaxed, he laid me flat on my tummy, his cock still deep inside me, and began stroking more forcefully. It took him five magnificent minutes to reach his own orgasm, while I just lay there, feeling like a boneless cat, soaking up the pleasure of his gorgeous dick going in and out of me. It was indescribably delicious. After the third time we both slept for a while. When we woke around 5:30, Chris felt he needed to leave, but I told him Dan wouldn't be home until 8:00. So he led me into the shower and we washed each other, lingering gently around each other's tired-out genitals. I wouldn't have believed it, but a few minutes of that got Chris nice and hard again, and I could feel my own moisture inside me. We jumped out of the shower, laughingly dried each other with big towels and dived for the bed again. This time Chris sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me onto his lap, facing him with my legs on either side of him. In no time he'd lifted me up and slid me down over his erect penis. After three earlier fucks, I still couldn't believe how great it felt! This position allowed him to bounce me slowly up and down, rocking me an inch or two up or down his cock. At the same time it put my breasts right in his face, and he teased them deliciously with his teeth and lips and tongue. I just clung to him, my arms around his neck and my head tilted back, moaning with the pleasure of it. We'd been in bed together for five hours by then, and I just wanted it to go on and on! I was in no need of any more orgasms by this point; I was just enjoying all the feelings. But I could feel Chris getting more and more worked up, so I started cocking my hips a bit with each thrust to give him more leverage. He pumped harder and harder, getting faster and more urgent, and to my surprise I felt one more orgasm racing towards me like a freight train. When he was close to coming Chris grabbed my nipple in his mouth and sucked hard, pumping forcefully into me, and I came like crazy one last time. A split-second later he was shuddering and bucking into me with frantic energy. Our last fantastic come of the day had been together, at the same moment. After we lay, sprawled side-by-side for a few minutes, we pulled ourselves together and got up. It was nearly 7 pm. Chris took another quick shower, then I walked him downstairs. We didn't say much, just grinned at one another. I knew I wasn't the only one who'd just had an unforgettable day of fucking, and it excited me to know that I could give this 36-year old hunk a run for his money. With no discussion of any "next time", just some gentle kisses, we said our goodbyes. I dragged my tired ass upstairs, got the soaking and stained sheets off the bed and into the wash, re-made the bed and jumped into the shower again. I washed my body and my hair thoroughly, brushed my teeth, and looked all around the bathroom and bedroom to make sure there were no traces of our day of lovemaking. Finally, utterly exhausted, I pulled on an old nightie and flopped back into bed. I didn't even have the energy to reflect on what I had just done—I was asleep in what felt like seconds. When Dan came home from work, he must have been surprised to see me already asleep but he didn't disturb me. Like the considerate man he is, he scrounged some dinner from the refrigerator, watched TV or read or something, and came to bed without waking me. The next morning was really when my nightmare began. I woke early. For a brief moment my tired, happy body reminded me of the utter bliss I'd had the day before with Chris; but that was followed almost instantly by a wave of guilt that tied my stomach in knots. How could I have betrayed Dan that way? Cheated on him in our own bed, without an instant of regret? I slipped downstairs to make coffee. I was frantic to try and pull myself together before Dan awoke and I had to face him. I was sure he'd take one look at me and know what I'd been doing. Bustling around the kitchen, making Dan an extra-nice breakfast of pancakes and bacon, I grappled with my tangled thoughts. Two ideas kept pushing all others aside, no matter how hard I tried to keep them in line. The first was that I had done something awful, disgraceful, shameful. I had behaved in a selfish and dishonest way, I'd done something that would hurt Dan beyond measure if he ever learned of it. I was filled with remorse. The second was that I absolutely, positively, without any doubt would do it again. The pleasure and excitement of my afternoon with Chris were like a drug. My whole body tingled, my skin felt like it was radiating light, I wanted to dance around the kitchen and shout for joy. I'd never experienced anything like it, and I couldn't possibly imagine never having it again. It was unthinkable. So that's how I was when Dan came down and joined me—beside myself with guilt and anguish, and at the same time so full of joy I was like a kid on Christmas morning. He noticed the joy first. Smiling at me, he took me in his arms. "You woke up on the bright side of the bed today, didn't you?" He gave me a kiss. "Don't know the last time I've seen you so cheerful." I sighed inwardly with relief. At least my guilt hadn't given me away. "I feel great, Dan. For some reason yesterday I was just exhausted. I went to bed earlier than I almost ever do, and I slept right through. I didn't even hear you come in! I'm sorry not to be up to make you some dinner." We had a nice breakfast, Dan chattering away about some problems at work while I pretended to listen, pushing my own feelings as far down inside as I could. And the rest of Saturday was uneventful. We did our usual Saturday errands, Dan did some yard work, we had dinner out and went to a movie—all the usual activities. To my immense relief he didn't seem to notice that anything was amiss, that I'd been turned completely inside-out, that I was no longer the same person he'd kissed goodbye on Friday morning. Of course with every free part of my mind I was obsessed with my problem. I had to stop seeing Chris, I couldn't stop seeing Chris. Fucking Chris was horrible and wrong, fucking Chris was the only thing in my whole life that mattered. The battle inside me was utterly draining, and making sure that none of it showed on the outside was equally hard. By the end of the day the only resolution I'd reached was that I couldn't decide anything until Monday anyway, since Dan and I would be together all weekend. That helped ease my self-torment a little, and on Sunday I was somewhat less out of my mind. Until Dan's innocent question, when I felt myself falling off the edge of the earth and down towards Hell. Ten or fifteen minutes later, when the subject was safely changed and I seemed to have dodged the disaster that was coming right at me, my guilty feelings returned more strongly than ever. I love my husband so much! He has been so steady, so loving, so thoughtful, so responsible. He is a wonderful friend and lover. And so loyal to me. In return, I've cheated on him like a whore. While I was making dinner, I figured out that one way to convey my feelings to him was to surprise him with a hot time in bed. Things had been pretty active recently anyway, as my constant lust for Chris had been heating me up with Dan. But tonight I'd top myself, go all out and let my body tell Dan how much I loved him. I went the whole nine yards—make-up, my hair down, the sexiest nightie I own, candles in the bedroom. And when he came up and gaped at me, I chased him into the shower. I was fully prepared to give him a major blow-job and I wanted him clean. I was very aggressive with Dan that night. I used my lips and breasts all over him, and then I delivered on the blow-job. I took a long time, teasing him and changing from sucking to licking, moving from his cock to his balls and back, building things up for a long time. When I finally took him over the top he went crazy, arching his back and groaning. I knew I'd given him a good one! But I was determined there would be more sex that night. After a few minutes I got us started again, and this time after some foreplay he ate me out—and damn well, I might add. I was really wound up, and I had several intense orgasms in a row. I could tell Dan was pleased with himself, and I certainly wasn't complaining. When we got around to fucking it was wild, about as wild as Dan and I had ever been together. I was just so excited I kept thrashing around and humping up against him, and he matched me stroke for stroke. We came pretty much together at the end, and then we just cuddled up to go to sleep. Only one thing wrong with all of this, of course. I couldn't get Chris out of my mind the entire time I was having all this wild sex with Dan! I wasn't judging, and it didn't feel like the sex with Dan was less good. Sex with Dan is always good, and the love and trust and familiarity that we have are such a crucial part of that. That Sunday night with Dan had been as exciting and fulfilling as any time we'd ever had together. But my sex with Chris two days before had been mind-blowing, out of this world. And I couldn't stop thinking about Chris's hands and tongue and beautiful cock, even while I was enjoying Dan's. To say I felt horribly guilty doesn't begin to cover it. I hugged Dan tight and whispered to him that I loved him; then he peacefully drifted off to sleep. On his face was just the sort of "happily-fucked" smile I'd been hoping to leave him with. But I couldn't sleep. Miserable, guilty, ashamed, I tossed and turned. At about 2:30 am I got up and went downstairs, just to be sure I wouldn't wake Dan. Before I knew it I was in tears, crying and then sobbing as I realized that my lust for Chris might be about to cost me my marriage. How could I have done what I did? Was a fuck, even an amazing and cosmic fuck, worth risking destroying my whole life? To my dismay, Dan came down and found me. I tried to clean myself up, but it was obvious that I'd been crying. I lied and said I'd been thinking about my father, but I doubt he really believed it. Nonetheless, he didn't press me. Instead, he sweetly held me as I calmed down, then led me back up to bed. Soon Dan was asleep, while I, my guilt worse than ever because of his unfailing kindness, just lay there in the dark. *************** Monday was simply awful. Dan and I had a routine breakfast, then each of us went off to work. I couldn't concentrate, couldn't think about anything but Chris. And Dan. The unspeakable joys of fucking Chris, and the horrors of having cheated on Dan. I fought a battle with myself all morning—I won't call Chris. I won't call Chris. At 10:25 I called him. To my disappointment and relief he wasn't home. I didn't leave a message—I certainly didn't want Emily to hear my voice! Good, I thought, though I was crushed. I won't be tempted if I can't reach him. The relief lasted until about 10:45. I called again. He wasn't home—thank God. I managed to get through the day, calling him only three more times. I never reached him, and never left a message. When I wasn't fighting myself not to call Chris, I was agonizing about Dan. My feelings there were an equal mixture of guilt and fear. Finally at 3:30 I couldn't stand it. I told my supervisor I was feeling queasy, and she let me leave early without much protest. I ran to the store, picked up things for a special dinner, went home and began to cook. I made a blueberry pie, Dan's favorite, and then put together a nice dinner of things I knew he liked. I guess I was so worked up, so desperate, that I didn't realize how suspicious all this extra attention might seem to him. I just knew that I was terrified, and that I loved him, and that I wanted him to know it. In retrospect it was utterly foolish of me. We had our nice dinner, and he appreciated it. But afterwards we strolled in the back yard and he began to question me about what was going on. He was kind, as he always is, but relentless. He wouldn't let me off the hook—it must have been very obvious to him that something was bothering me. Finally, I just couldn't hold it back. All the tension and fear and worry inside of me just burst open. I started to sob, while he held me and comforted me, and then I jumped off the cliff. I couldn't help it. "Dan, I slept with Chris Doebe." There was a long, long silence. Dan just looked at me closely, his face impassive. His jaw didn't drop open in shock—I guess he must have suspected something like this, though I don't imagine he knew anything about Chris. I couldn't hold his gaze, and I looked away. My whole body felt as though it would explode. I was aware of two thoughts above all. First, I was utterly petrified that my marriage had just ended. Second, I knew that I had just done the one thing that would ensure I'd never have sex with Chris again, and I was both relieved and crushed. There was absolutely no chance of Dan letting me continue to see Chris—unless he simply decided to divorce me and move out of my life. So my "affair", if you could call it that, was over. But at what price? When Dan finally spoke, I could hear that he was controlling himself with great effort. "Do you want to tell me about it?" "Dan ... yes, I'll tell you. Only please don't forget how much I love you!" I started to cry again. "I've fucked things up, I know it ... and I'm so sorry! But it's not because I don't adore you!" This time he let me cry, sitting back without reaching to comfort me. I could hardly blame him. After I calmed down a little he said, "well?" I wiped my face. "It only happened once. On Friday. We bumped into each other in Elgin's and had lunch together. Then we came back here for ice cream and ... and we went to bed together." I stopped. Dan just waited. "I don't begin to know how to explain this, Dan. I have never cheated on you before in my life, I swear it. Never even a little flirtation. When we met Chris at Emily's party last month, something about him got to me. I had some sort of crazy, instant attraction to him. It's never happened to me before, just meeting someone for the first time and getting so turned on. You remember how I dragged you home early from the party for sex? "Well, I'm ashamed to tell you ... but it was ... thinking about Chris that got me so excited." Still keeping his voice quiet, Dan said, "so is that what the last few weeks of terrific sex have been about?" Looking down, I said, "mostly. It was like I caught a fever when I met him. I couldn't help thinking about him all the time. "I didn't see him again at all after the party, Dan—except glimpsing him once downtown from the other side of the street. Until Friday, and we ran into one another completely by accident." I raised my head to look at my husband, and was shocked by what I saw. His face and body were tense, as though it took all his concentration to hold himself together. There was an icy rage that went far beyond the occasional outbursts of anger I had seen in my husband over the years. I knew he would never hurt me—but he looked as though he could reach over and kill me with his bare hands. "Maybe you should tell me about Friday." His voice was barely above a whisper. I knew I was treading on thin ice here, to say the least. My husband deserved my complete honesty—that was the least he deserved. On the other hand I felt that depending on how I told this story, my marriage might be over. "It was my fault, Dan. Totally. Chris is not to blame. I came on to him over lunch, and he just took me up on it. I'm the one who invited him back here." "Exactly what does that mean, 'came on to him'? Would you care to enlighten me a bit?" Dan's voice was harsher, and the sarcasm was biting. "Just like at Emily's, I was ... aroused just from being around him. I didn't plan to ... I didn't plan to seduce him, Dan. I didn't plan anything. I kind of lost my mind. I flirted, smiled a lot, touched his hand when he made a joke. All the little things that women do to convey that they're ... interested. "I am so sorry." "Yes, you keep saying that. Would you go on?" His voice was cold. I felt more and more frightened. "Dan, should I ... how about if I save the details for another time? When we're both calmer?" "No, Goddammit!" Suddenly he was shouting at me. "I want to hear about the whole nasty business, right now! I want to know everything, so I can decide what the rest of my life will be like!" I waited, terrified, and finally he said in a quiet voice, "it's all right, Ellen. You know I'd never hurt you. But I need to know all of it, right now." I sighed inwardly. I didn't see any other way but to go on. "By the end of lunch, it must have been obvious to Chris that I was flirting with him. When I invited him back for ice cream, we both knew it meant for sex. "So he drove me back, and we had the ice cream. And then we went to bed." "And?" "Oh Dan, what do you want me to say?" "How was it, my darling wife? Did he fuck you good? How many times did you do it? Is his cock bigger than mine? Does he have a good tongue? Did you let him come in your mouth? Did you learn any great new positions? When is the next time you'll be fucking him? Are you going to leave me? I gasped. "Jesus, Dan! There isn't going to be a next time, and I'm never going to leave you. Unless you throw me out. I love you, and I always will. This was ... some crazy thing that I never planned, and that I'm thoroughly ashamed of. I don't want to be with Chris, I want to be with you." What I had said was all true. Of course, what I hadn't said is that the only reason I wouldn't be with Chris again is that Dan now knew about us. I looked at him. He had relaxed, just a fraction. "All right then. The sex—the fucking. Tell me." I waited as long as I could, then began to speak. "Dan—I'm sorry. The sex was ... very exciting. I told you, there's some crazy attraction I felt for him from when we first met him, and it got me very turned on. We did it ... we did it four times. Different positions—missionary, doggy style. I came a lot. Then he went home." All true, but not the whole truth. I'd die before I'd let Dan know the whole truth—that the sex had been mind-bending, awesome, beyond the impossible. Whatever happened now, he didn't ever need to hear that. An Innocent Question Ch. 01 I sat silently then, hoping that he wouldn't ask for more details. But I didn't get off that easy. "So it was better than the sex you and I have?" Oh God yes, I thought to myself. It was better than anything. It's better than the sex they have in Heaven. "It was different, Dan. It was the first time with anyone beside you in 25 years. That's just exciting, having a new partner whose body is unfamiliar, whose responses are unpredictable. And I told you, I had this crazy attraction to Chris. "I love the way you and I make love together. I am as satisfied as a woman could be with the wonderful way you love me. Wasn't what we did last night terrific?" "Yes it was, actually," Dan replied. "But since we're suddenly on the subject, what was that last night? Make-up sex? A little of guilty Ellen atoning for her sins? Or were you just seeing what it would be like to fuck Dan while thinking about Chris?" All of a sudden his voice was cold with rage. "No, honey," I replied slowly, trying to be as clear as possible. "Last night was me trying to show you how I feel about you, just like tonight's dinner was. It was me saying 'I adore you, you are the man for me, I want to give you all of myself'. And, I'll admit, it was me being scared to death of what I had done, scared to death that I might lose you." "I like that," he said sardonically. " 'You are the man for me'—just not the only man, right Ellen?" He got up suddenly and began to pace around the yard. I waited, afraid to say or do anything that would make it worse. He paced, clenching and unclenching his fists. His body language shouted his rage, even though he didn't say a word. Finally he came and stood in front of me. "I'm going inside to pack a bag. I'm getting the hell out of here for a while. I'll find a hotel room. Obviously I need to think, and I'm too crazy right now to do any thinking." I had been pretty sure this was coming. I said, "I can be the one to leave, Dan. I'm the one that ... the one that fucked things up." "No—I don't want to spend another night in that bed—probably ever!" Then suddenly he was walking quickly back into the house, saying over his shoulder, "I'll call you." I sat quietly by myself in the yard, trying to hold back the tears, until I heard the sound of his car driving away. An Innocent Question Ch. 02 [This is part two of a three-part story.] INTERLUDE: CHRIS'S STORY I can't honestly say I had a thing for Ellen. When I first met her, at my aunt's party, she was just one of many nice people I spoke to. I did notice her figure, though—she's carrying around a couple of extra pounds, but she has a curvy figure and great tits. Not just great for a woman in her 40s, they'd be great on anyone. Running into her a few weeks later in Elgin's was a total accident. I wasn't sure at first that I wanted to eat with her, but she was so cordial and waved me over, and I didn't want to be rude. It took me a while to catch on that she was flirting with me. If it had been a woman more my own age I might have picked up on it quicker. When I finally noticed, and watched for a few more minutes to make sure I was right, I felt kind of like a dork. Like, how could I have missed it, she was being so obvious? Then of course I needed to figure out what I wanted to do about it. I've dated a few women since I've been at OSU, and gone to bed with three of them, but I don't have anything serious going on. And in fact the grad students I slept with were kind of a disappointment. A couple of them were very attractive, but none of them was particularly assertive or interesting in bed. Typical intellectuals, maybe—a lot more going on mind-wise than body-wise. In any case, when I realized that Ellen was basically begging me to screw her, it didn't take me long to decide I liked the idea. Not only does she have a great body but she's a lot of fun, and I sensed we'd have a good time together. I'd never been to bed with a married woman before. I grappled with that for a minute, but since she was coming on so strong I decided that it wasn't up to me to be the protector of her marriage. That was her issue. Once we got to her house, I could tell that she was both nervous and extremely turned-on. That was certainly flattering! So I took the lead, got her out of her clothes—she does have a fabulous body, never mind that she's not built like a model—and got things started. It was the hottest sex of my life, without a doubt. Ellen was just desperate for it, and much more aggressive than my recent grad students had been. When I stroked and licked her, and then ate her out, she was just so responsive! She was really wild, like she was being given electric shocks or something. And when we started to fuck it immediately got very physical and powerful, both of us slamming at each other. She's not the 'I'll lie here, you do it to me' type! After our first time I already knew it would be quite an afternoon, and it was. We did it three more times, with lots of kissing, touching, and oral stuff mixed in. Sometimes we were gentle and slow, other times wild and forceful. I thought we'd be finished after the third time, but her husband wasn't due home until late. So we took a shower together, and before long we were hot for it again. It was amazing! Not only that we fucked four times, but that the intensity was so high. I've never seen a woman come so many times in my life. Her pussy wasn't all that tight—she's 45, after all, and has two kids. But she was so desperate to have me, and she practically worshiped every part of my body. I've certainly never had treatment like that before! It was just an amazing afternoon. I don't know whether we'll get together again. I am certainly up for it, but I'm going to let Ellen take the lead. She's the one who's married—and despite how much fun it was, I have no interest in breaking up someone's marriage. Maybe she and Dan are estranged, or maybe they have an open marriage, I have no idea. But I'm going to let the next step be Ellen's. *************** *************** DAN'S STORY "Dan, I slept with Chris Doebe." In the silence after she said it, almost my first thought was, 'there it is. I'm a cuckold. I was a happy, contented husband, and now I'm a cuckold.' What a fucking cliché! The poor asshole who thinks he's happily married, except his sexy wife is getting banged behind his back by some younger guy. If I had a nickel for every time I heard that story.... Except this time it was me. It was me feeling the empty hole where my heart used to be, me wondering whether I still had a wife—and whether I wanted her. If I were the kind of man who could hit his wife, I surely would have, at least once. But I'm not, it's unthinkable, and so I never even came close. But maybe that will tell you how angry I felt. It seemed like every muscle in my body was tensed and ready, like I could lift up a whole car all by myself. I managed to keep my cool, pretty much, and I made Ellen tell me about it. She obviously wasn't eager to do so, and I had the feeling she was sparing my feelings about the worst of it—namely how incredible the sex was with Chris—but I certainly got the gist. She'd had the hots for him for weeks, but thank God they'd only gone to bed together once. That was something, a small something. If it was true, and there was no real reason to believe it wasn't. She had confessed, after all, so why would she have confessed only to some of it if there was more? She'd just be risking my finding out the rest of it later. In some ways what she told me, especially the immediate and overwhelming sexual attraction she had felt for Chris, seemed utterly unbelievable. Like something a creative writing major would dream up for her senior short story project. Except it was perfectly designed for this situation, tailor-made to excuse her adultery. 'I've never felt anything like this, I kind of lost my mind, he made me weak in the knees, I didn't know where I was or what I was thinking'—that sort of bullshit. Who would believe something as extreme, something as ridiculous as that? From my humorous, skeptical, feet-on-the-ground, eminently sane wife? No, it seemed preposterous, except for one thing. I remembered what had happened to me with Bridget. I considered staying with friends, but decided I'd rather be at the Marriott near the OSU campus. It was private, I could walk to work if I felt like it, and most of all I wouldn't have to tell my story to sympathetic friends—see their faces, full of sympathy and secret feelings of smug superiority ("Dan, that poor bastard—and he's such a nice guy"). I checked into my room, then had three quick beers downstairs in the bar, hoping they'd help me sleep. No luck. You'd be amazed how long a night can be, especially between about 3 am and 7 am. And perhaps especially when you're contemplating your wife's adultery, and the possible end of your happy marriage after 23 years. To have your peace of mind taken from you, suddenly, and by the person you love most in the world—it feels like being stabbed in the back. Or in the heart. Maybe like being stabbed in the heart from the back! Anyway, it was a long night. I dragged myself to work, determined to get through the day without talking to anyone about my problem or letting my misery show. I more or less made it, though a couple of people asked if something was bothering me. I said I was just tired, and that seemed to satisfy them. After lunch I called a friend who works in the Counseling Center at OSU. I briefly explained my situation and asked for his help in finding a therapist I could talk to. He said he'd call me back. An hour later, he rang and said he'd gotten an appointment for me that day at 5 pm with Arthur George, a psychiatrist in private practice downtown. "He does a lot of marital counseling, Dan, so if the two of you decide at some point to bring Ellen into your sessions he'll be an excellent person to work with." When I walked into Arthur George's office I liked him right away. He was older, probably mid-50s, but not at all stuffy. We were on a first-name basis from the beginning, and his warmth and kindness came through in a way that really made it easier for me to talk to him. At his request, I briefly filled him in on my background, the earlier history of Ellen's and my marriage, our kids, and so on. Then we got to the reason for my wanting to see him. I don't cry very often—and I was sitting with a complete stranger—but for about 20 minutes I cried my eyes out. I told him about the events leading up to Ellen's confession, the confession itself, and the aftermath. I talked about how devastated I felt, how empty I was inside. How I couldn't imagine ever again feeling the way I used to feel about my wife. "I used to trust her, Arthur, to feel safe with her. To know that she and I had an understanding that no one else would ever get in the middle of. "And now—now I just keep thinking of her with him, I keep seeing them together. Lying on the bed with Chris, wild with excitement, begging him to fuck her. I see her lying back with her legs open, and him between them, pumping her. I see her squeezing her legs around him, bucking, humping at him, crying out as she comes again and again. "My mind just won't stop showing me pictures. Her sucking his cock, and moaning as he comes in her mouth and she swallows it all. Him eating her, while she moans and shouts. Him pounding her from behind ...." I stopped for a minute, overcome. He just waited for me to continue, sympathy in his eyes. "Ellen tried to ... to downplay how great it was, the sex with Chris. But she was honest enough to make clear that it was very exciting. For all I know she can hardly wait to get into his pants again! Even if she never does, it won't be because she doesn't want to. It would be because she knows it will be the absolute end of our marriage. "And that's hardly what I want, is it, Arthur? To be married to a woman desperate to fuck another guy, who's restraining herself only to keep me from throwing her out?" I sat, breathing hard, trying to calm myself a little. "You know what's so great about sex with your wife? I don't know that I ever realized this before. There's nothing to prove. I try to please her, because I want to please her—because I love her. And I know she tries to excite and please me. "But I was never competing with anyone before, never felt that my 'talents' were being measured and judged, let alone compared to those of another man. I never felt I had to prove myself worthy of being her husband or her lover. "And now . . . she's got this irrational, intense attraction, out of nowhere, for a younger guy. And she dragged him into bed, and he fucked her four times in one afternoon. And he clearly knocked her socks off. So of course she wants him again! And where the hell does that leave me?" I was crying again and I didn't even care. I let the tears stream down my face, and I went on. "I have loved Ellen since our third date, 25 years ago. She has my whole heart—she and the children have been my whole life. And now, now it feels as though it's all turned to dust." Arthur waited a minute, then quietly asked, "do you know how Ellen feels now, and what she wants?" "She says she loves me," I said. "I guess I believe her. And I think she's feeling very guilty and very ashamed of what she did. And afraid—afraid I'll throw her out, or divorce her. She doesn't seem to want that." "Forgive me for asking this, Dan. What about Chris? What do you think she is feeling about him, and their ... afternoon together?" I thought for a moment. "To be honest I think she's all mixed-up about that, Arthur. First, she had this crazy desire for him the first time they met, more than a month ago. Then, they must have absolutely fucked the hell out of each other last Friday. She tried to tone it down a bit in the telling, to spare my feelings, but I think he turned her inside-out. "If I had to guess, I'd guess that she's dying to fuck him again. As I said before, the only thing that might stop her is the fear of losing me." "And is she going to lose you, Dan?" I looked at him bleakly. "I don't know. I love her, I know that. And the prospect of living alone in some small apartment, trying to rebuild my life from scratch, certainly doesn't appeal to me. "But how do I go back home again? What am I supposed to do, say 'Hi honey, I'm home, all is forgiven'? How can I make love to her—when every time I close my eyes I see her with Chris, gasping as she comes again and again? "And how do I trust her? How do I deal with every time she's ten minutes late coming home from work, or she says she's going out for a couple of hours to do some errands?" We sat in silence for a couple of minutes. I could feel Arthur's sympathetic eyes resting on me. "We'll have to stop for today in a couple of minutes, Dan. But I want to ask you about something. The pain you've talked about is certainly understandable, for a man in what he feels is a strong, loving marriage who suddenly learns of his wife's adultery. "But you don't seem as angry as a husband normally would in this situation. Why do you suppose that is?" "Well, I certainly do feel anger, Arthur. When I think about what Ellen has done to our marriage—the damage she's done to it, damage that cannot be undone, because of her own selfishness—I get pretty damn angry! "But you're probably right, I'm probably a lot less angry than another husband might be, and I'm pretty sure I know the reason why. I need to tell you about a woman I used to know, named Bridget." "All right, Dan. We need to stop for now. Can we meet again the day after tomorrow, at this same time?" I thanked him—genuinely feeling a little bit better—and left the office. *************** *************** INTERLUDE: ARTHUR'S STORY I liked Dan right away. Now, therapists don't by any means like all their patients. Some of the people we try to help are very unpleasant, though we do our best for them nonetheless. But Dan is a man who knows himself, and who's pretty comfortable with himself. He has a kind of dignity, without being the least bit pompous or taking himself too seriously. On the contrary, his sense of humor came through even in what was a very painful session for him, talking about the shock and pain of learning that his wife has cheated on him. Two things were clear to me even before the end of my first session with Dan. The first is that he is not a man with significant psychological problems. Rather, he's a pretty happy and well-adjusted guy who just got hit by a bus (figuratively speaking). He needs to work through his injuries and decide how to go on with his life, but there aren't fundamental problems within his own character that need to be resolved. The second is that he has, or at least had, a strong and loving marriage. By far the majority of cheating spouses are acting out their pain or disappointment in a troubled marriage—a relationship where there are serious issues between the spouses and where, almost always, communication and a sense of loving rapport have broken down. In those cases, it's not uncommon that the marriage is beyond saving, or not worth saving. Alternatively, it happens that the shock of the adultery and its discovery open a door that can lead to better communication and the saving of the relationship. But Ellen's adultery occurred within what seems to be a very strong married relationship. Although it's far too soon for me to say it to Dan, I am hopeful that that their marriage can be re-built. I haven't met Ellen, but from what Dan tells me I can guess that a divorce would devastate her. And it would also be a tremendous blow to Dan himself. He loves Ellen, and their relationship has given him a great deal of happiness. The difficulty, of course, in both the short- and the long-term, is how the two of them can get past the pain of what Ellen has done to Dan. And I say "to Dan", because even though she didn't go to bed with Chris to punish Dan in any way (so far as I can tell from what Dan has told me), the effect of her actions has still been to cause Dan terrible suffering. It appears that Ellen already recognizes, at least a little, what she has done to her husband. But there is much more that has to happen before he will feel he can return to her. In some fashion, even if only symbolic, she has to "make up to Dan" for what she has done. And the two of them must also work to create an environment in which Dan can once again trust Ellen—a hard task. It may be even more difficult in this case because, if Dan is right, Ellen still desires Chris, and might be tempted to continue her affair with him. If she restrains herself from that step only out of love for Dan, her continued desire may be poisonous to her marriage even if she doesn't act on it again. A final consideration is that Dan has his own story to tell, about Bridget. The fact of her existence seems to be mitigating his own anger at Ellen. Yet the absence of any signs of guilt when he mentions Bridget suggests that she is not a woman he had an affair with. Any further speculation about her role in Dan's life would be premature until I learn more. *************** *************** ELLEN'S STORY "No—I don't want to spend another night in that bed—probably ever!" That's how Dan ended it—the horrible conversation that began when I confessed that I'd had sex with Chris. He went inside, packed a suitcase, and left. I did about what you'd expect—I cried half the night, then tried to pull myself together the next morning and get through the day. Thank goodness work was entirely routine, because I certainly couldn't concentrate. Just as the day before—was it really only the day before?—I had to fight myself not to keep calling Chris, that Tuesday I had to restrain myself from calling Dan. I knew that, as angry and hurt as he was, he wouldn't do anything crazy. And I felt sure that he'd get in touch at some point, just to let me know where he was and that he was all right. It just felt to me like I needed to wait to let him do that, rather than calling him first. Coming home to an empty house, and making a little dinner just for myself, brought home to me all over again the consequences of my stupidity. Is this what my life would be like from now on? Divorced, living alone, facing many nights of dinners by myself in the kitchen or in front of the TV? Was the man I loved more than anyone in the world except my children really gone from my life for good? I couldn't believe that he was, and yet I knew that husbands and wives divorced their spouses for adultery all the time. No one hearing the story would blame Dan. "You mean his wife brought home a young guy and spent the afternoon fucking him in their bed? Jesus, poor Dan! What a bitch! And she seemed so nice when we met her ...." After dinner I called my sister Diane. Five years older than I, she was my best friend, and had been since we were kids. She had advised me, protected me from our middle brother Jason (two years older than I was) when he was on the rampage, taught me about boys and clothes and make-up, and inspired my undying adoration. Now that we were both grown-ups, with jobs and families and responsibilities, we were a little closer to equals. But I still looked to her for advice and support when there was trouble, and this situation certainly qualified. Diane and her husband lived outside Pittsburgh, and we didn't see each other as much as we liked. But we spoke on the phone all the time, so she wasn't surprised to hear from me. No sooner had I reached her than I was telling the story: my initial attraction to Chris, our day in bed together, my guilt, the hot night with Dan, my confession, and his angry departure. And no sooner had I started telling the story than I was crying, sometimes so hard I could barely speak. It took poor Diane a long time even to get the whole story out of me, but she patiently let me tell it, offering sympathetic words and sighs where appropriate. "My dear Ellen," she finally said. "This IS a bit of a mess, isn't yet?" An Innocent Question Ch. 02 "Yes," I replied, still sniffling. "And I'm the one who made it!" As we talked, my patient sister helped me see that I really had two problems. One was Dan, the pain he was in, and the serious threat to our marriage. "Beyond a certain point, El, there's not much you can do about that. You can make sure he knows how much you love him, how sorry you are, that you're willing to do just about anything to save the marriage. But what he decides to do is pretty much in his hands. "But your second problem is Chris. It sounds like you're still in lust with him." She giggled. "Sorry--I know I shouldn't laugh. But it sounds like the two of you must have really had a wild time of it!" "It's true, Diane. Thank God I can at least be honest about it with you. I've never had sex like that in my life, and all I can do is babble about it. It was awesome, phenomenal, divine ... I don't know what to say. I was already so hot for him before we even got to the bedroom, and then he knew just what buttons to push. It was the world-record fuck session of all time." "Fine, Ellen—and I'm jealous, believe me!—but what now?" "I don't know, Diane. Obviously Dan will never take me back if I ever do it again. I already told Dan that there won't be a next time with Chris. "Believe me, I know that my husband and my marriage are far more important to me than a fling, even a cosmic fling. But that doesn't mean I'm over my lust. It scares me, but I still want Chris again ... a lot." There was a long silence. Then Diane said, "well, Ellen, I guess we're getting to the nub of the problem. As I said, you can't do much about whether Dan comes back to you. "But what you HAVE to do is resolve your feelings for Chris, one way or another. As long as he's in the picture, even just inside your head, you're never going to have your marriage back." "I know, Di," I said with a sigh. "I wish to hell he'd move to Tanzania—but unfortunately he's in his first year of grad school at OSU, so he's surely going to be around for a couple more years at least." There was the noise of a scuffle behind Diane, and she said, "sorry, babe, gotta go. My two teenagers are fighting, no doubt about something important like the TV remote! I love you—don't do anything stupid, and call me again soon, OK?" Even though Diane hadn't helped me resolve my problems, I felt better after talking to her. I always did—that's what big sisters were for, at least mine! What was the rest of the week like? I went to work. I came home and had lonely dinners. I lay in bed at night, sometimes crying, always feeling sorry for myself. And angry at myself—I knew it was totally my own fault. And I tried hard to remember that what Dan, my completely innocent husband, was feeling was a hundred times worse. How could he ever forgive me for what I had done to him? Could I have let him back into my heart if he had betrayed me the way I betrayed him? And what the HELL was I going to do about Chris? *************** Dan called me at home after dinner on Wednesday. It was a short conversation, and pretty bleak. He wanted to give me his number at the Marriott, and let me know that he was OK. "I've started seeing a therapist," he said, "someone that Ed in the Counseling Center put me in touch with. I've only seen him once so far, but I think it will be helpful. He does a lot of marital counseling, so if he suggests it I may call to ask you if you'll come in sometime with me." "Dan, I will happily do that. In fact, I will happily do just about whatever you want me to do. "I'm the one who has caused all this, and I am SO sorry. I want to make sure you know how desperately I want you back—but I know that that decision is up to you." There was a silence, a long one, and then finally he said, "thank you, Ellen. "It feels like it's going to be a while before I know what I want to do. I'll probably drop by the house sometime during the day tomorrow and pick up some more clothes." I felt myself starting to cry. "Do you want to come after work? I could make you dinner, and wash your dirty things for you." Again a silence, then "no thanks. I know you're there, but I don't think I want to see you right now." We got off the phone a minute or two later, and I spent the rest of the evening crying. The rest of my week was pretty much the same, except for one truly horrific moment on Friday. I was at my desk, doing some file-merging, when Emily stopped by to say hello. "Chris asked me to give you his regards," she said. "He said the two of you had the nicest lunch at Elgin's last week!" I stared up at her dumbly, feeling my face starting to turn red. Chris had TOLD HER? For a moment I was beside myself with terror. Then I managed to pull myself together a little. Emily's face didn't have any sort of sly look to it, just innocent friendliness. Thank God! Chris appeared to have told his aunt only about our lunch. "Oh, sorry, Emily," I said breezily. "My mind was a million miles away for a moment! Yes, Chris and I just ran into one another, and we had a good time. He told me a lot about the anthro department and its political maneuverings. I must say, Chris seems pretty shrewd—for a first-year student he seemed to have a pretty good take on all that infighting." We chatted a minute more, me gradually regaining my composure, and as she headed off Emily said, "well, Chris told me to be sure to say that he's hoping to see you again soon." Again I blushed, and said something innocuous like, "absolutely, that would be great!" When Emily had turned the corner and disappeared, I just put my head down on the desk. That had been one hell of a nasty shock! And I also realized that, once my terror about what Emily might know had passed, simply having an innocent conversation about Chris had gotten me a little damp. My brain knew with 100% certainty that he and I were done—that our mind-blowing afternoon was a one-time mistake, never to be repeated. The only trouble was that my body didn't seem to have received the news yet. *************** *************** DAN'S STORY On Thursday at 5 pm I was back in Arthur's office. Both of us remembered that Bridget was to be the first item on our agenda, and I recounted in full detail my months of obsession with Bridget Zuzich. Bridget had come to Columbus about six years before, the wife of a new hot-shot young Assistant Professor of Economics from Slovakia. Despite her last name she was Irish, and looked it. She was tall and slim, with a pale complexion and fiery green eyes. She was the typical Irish red-head in every way, even down to the dusting of freckles everywhere, except that her hair itself was jet-black. It was brilliantly shiny, and hung just past her shoulders. I was introduced to Bridget at an early fall party held by the Economics Department, where nearly a hundred people mingled and ate finger food in the lavish modern home of one of the senior faculty. I said hello politely to her husband Istvan, and then narrowly avoided tripping over my tongue when I shook hands with Bridget. She was stunning. There's no other word. The beauty of her pale skin, her dazzling hair and hypnotic eyes, her perfect figure in a black dress that was perfectly appropriate and yet somehow enticing. And beyond all that, she was a flirt, a tease. I could tell in the first few seconds, from the way she held my hand an extra fraction of a second and said, "so pleased to meet you" in a low, melodious voice that seemed to linger just a trifle on the first word. I was nearly 40 then and she couldn't have been older than 28. I was certainly no matinee idol. Plus she was the wife of a new faculty member, and I just part of the tech support staff of the department. Yet despite all that, her greeting affected me as strongly as if she'd said, "I want you. Meet me in the back yard in ten minutes and I'll fuck you to death." For the rest of the party I was in a daze. I managed to circulate and to make vapid conversation with the other guests, most of whom I knew well. But whenever I could, I watched Bridget. I was completely besotted, and it scared the hell out of me. Our ten-second introduction had given me a hard-on, and while it subsided after a few minutes it threatened to rise again whenever I saw her, or even thought about her. After a couple of hours of wondering what was wrong with me, I decided that Ellen and I should go home. I'd barely talked with her during the party, but I'd seen her happily in conversation with some of our friends. I headed for the bedroom where the coats had been piled up, thinking to get our coats first and then find Ellen. When I pushed the bedroom door open I froze, as did the two people already in the room. One was Thomas McAllister, Chair of the Economics Department, a tall and good-looking man of about 55. The other was Bridget Zuzich. They had been in each other's arms, kissing. As they swung around to look at me, I saw his hand clutching her left breast tightly through her dress. Her hand was stuck partway into his fly, and she was holding his erect cock which protruded out proudly towards her. After a brief moment of paralysis I muttered, "sorry," and quickly left, closing the door behind me. My mind reeled with the image of what I had just seen, and what it meant. The department chair with the wife of one of his junior colleagues! And she'd only moved to town a few weeks before—either she or McAllister was certainly a fast worker! I stepped through the French doors of the living room and out onto the back deck, needing to cool off and pull myself together. In addition to being utterly shocked, I realized that I was totally aroused by what I had seen. Just meeting Bridget had already filled me with a kind of desire I hadn't felt in years. But seeing her holding McAllister's cock in her hand had my own hard-on pulsing in my pants. I probably stood out there alone for ten minutes. Finally, thinking that the two of them must surely be out of the room by now, I was about to return to the bedroom. But as I straightened up, I was surprised to find Bridget standing beside me, a Mona Lisa smile on her face. We both spoke at once. I said, "I'm sorry to have barged in on you like that," just as she said, "I'm sorry we embarrassed you." We both smiled at the simultaneous communications, and then she spoke again. "I do apologize, Dan." Her face showed not embarrassment, but amusement. "I guess that was hardly the appropriate place to be doing ... what we were doing." "I suppose I should have knocked," I said, feeling a blush rising, "but it ... didn't occur to me that anyone would be in there." She took my arm and squeezed it, turning us both to face away from the house and towards the yard. "No, no, our fault." She laughed lightly—a delightfully sweet sound. Once again I was aware that I was beside myself with desire for her. Then she looked at me more seriously. "Dan, are you ... can I ..." I knew what she wanted to ask. "Bridget, I have always believed that people's private business is just that—private. I will certainly not speak to anyone about what I saw." She relaxed a little, and gave me a big smile. "Thank you, Dan. I thought you were a gentleman when I first met you, and you have confirmed it. Thank you." I thought she would offer another couple of meaningless pleasantries and move away, but she surprised me. "I wonder, Dan—whether you imagined what it might have been like if it had been YOU in the room with me? Did you think about that, even just for a moment?" And, turning her body towards mine, she planted a soft kiss on my ear, while her hand reached down and stroked my rock-hard cock through my pants. "Oh, I think you HAVE been wondering, haven't you, Dan?" She laughed again, in her wonderfully melodious way, and then she left me and returned to the party in the living room. I remained another few minutes on the deck, stunned, and also aroused beyond my wildest imaginings. What was the last minute about? Was it an offer? Or just a continuation of her teasing? Or perhaps just a way to sweeten her thank-you for my promise of discretion? Whatever it was, it left me reeling. At that moment I would have given every penny in my bank-account—and probably in my kids' college funds—for a chance to make love to Bridget Zuzich. There was nothing in my mind but my desire for her, a desire whose intensity swept away any thoughts of propriety, of loyalty to Ellen, or even of good common sense. After five minutes more on the deck my erection had wilted enough so as not to be unavoidably visible. I went back to the bedroom for the coats, found Ellen, thanked the hosts, and drove us quickly home. Ellen and I chatted about the party, but I barely heard what either of us said. I paid the sitter, then pulled Ellen unceremoniously towards the bedroom. She looked at me in amused surprise, but I couldn't find an explanation for my behavior. I just said, "I can't explain it, honey. But you are gorgeous, and I'm so eager to have you tonight!" That seemed to do the trick, and in moments I had thrown off my clothes and she was letting me remove hers, just cautioning me to "slow down! Don't rip my nice green dress!" I fucked her that night like a man possessed. I couldn't slow down enough for delicate foreplay. As soon as she would let me I was between Ellen's legs, licking her frantically, not tenderly. At first she tried to get me to take my time, but soon she was aroused enough to enjoy my desperate haste. I licked and fingered her to two orgasms, all the while imagining Bridget's pink pussy surrounded by coal-black hair, before leaping on top of Ellen and sliding into her. I was harder than I had been since we were 22-year-old newlyweds, and even more worked-up. I buried myself deep inside Ellen, over and over, with scalding pleasure. I was half-crazy, and fortunately she loved it. We didn't do it roughly very often, but she'd had some champagne and was more than willing to play along. As I pumped her I licked her neck, kissed her ears, pulled her body tightly to me, and moaned again and again. But it was Bridget I was pumping, Bridget's body I was clasping so forcefully against mine. After only a couple of minutes I was near climax. I slid my hands under Ellen's buttocks to pull her harder up to me with every stroke, and reveled in her own cries and moans as I came like a stallion. This was fucking, not making love, and it was more intense than anything we'd done in more than a decade. When we were catching our breath, Ellen just said, "wow! Who is that sex-starved escaped prisoner, and what have you done with my husband?" "Oh, that guy? He said I could borrow you for a couple of rounds tonight. He's still back at the party, I think." "A couple of rounds? Maybe he didn't tell you that I'm an old tired married lady, with two kids asleep down the hall." "Yeah, he mentioned something about that. But he also said that once you got warmed up, you had lots and lots of energy." I grinned at her. By now I was gently stroking around and around her breasts, not yet touching the nipples, and she was beginning to respond. I kept at her, soon replacing my fingers with my lips and tongue, and Ellen lay back and enjoyed my passionate attention. We were both excited, and only one of us knew that it was Bridget's small firm breasts I was thinking about as I licked and sucked Ellen's large ones. Suddenly I wanted the room in darkness. I reached for the lamp and turned it off. I wanted Ellen from behind this time, so I turned her on her stomach, then kneeled behind her and licked her again for a few minutes. Then I pulled her up by the hips, let her settle on her knees, and slid slowly back inside her, both of us groaning at the wonderful feeling. This second time I lasted longer. Inside my head I was again fucking Bridget, but lovingly, the darkness making it easier to believe my fantasy. I caressed all over Ellen's hips and ass, reached up and held her hanging breasts, stroked her clit as I pumped in and out. This was my favorite way to fuck, and I could almost believe it was Bridget's moans I was hearing, louder and louder as we built towards our climax. Only at the very end did my gentleness leave me. I got so excited that I was pulling Ellen fiercely back onto me by her hips, grunting like crazy. When I finally exploded, my first conscious thought after the pleasure drained away was a fear that I had hurt her. Fortunately, Ellen had been as into the hard sex as I was. We snuggled together, and she whispered, "thanks, prisoner. When you see my husband Dan, let him know that you're welcome to come back anytime!" I didn't know whether to feel happy or guilty. I had pleased Ellen and myself, and she certainly didn't know that my sudden wave of desire had been because of another woman. But I knew. Over the next few months we had more sex, and more hot sex, than we had since before the children were born. I must have fucked Bridget 50 times, in every possible position, as well as eating her pussy and having her suck my cock. Of course, it was only Bridget in my mind—the woman in bed with me doing all those exciting things was Ellen, who had no reason ever to suspect that she was standing in for a young black-haired Irishwoman who was married to someone else! Ellen asked me several times what was going on, and I never had a good answer for her. The best I could manage was, "I don't know, honey. One day it occurred to me that I'm about to be 40. I don't feel like having one of those 'go buy a red Porsche' mid-life crises. (Not that we could afford it anyway!) But I do want to taste all the pleasure I can in this life. "And you have been looking so gorgeous, I just want to have you any chance I can. I don't want to wake up one day and be 80, and wish we'd had more sex back when I could still get it up!" She seemed perfectly happy with this response. And though it omitted the central fact of my ongoing, desperate lust for Bridget, it was otherwise true enough that I could live with myself. I only saw Bridget herself a few more times, and never had anything like the flirtation of that one time at the party. We'd see each other at Economics Department gatherings, but only to wave and smile across the room. I never heard any gossip, so either she'd cooled it with McAllister or they were very discreet. And at the end of that year, her hot-shot husband got a job at NYU and they moved to New York. Over a period of months, my obsession with her gradually relaxed its hold on me. I still fantasized, but not so intensely or so often. And, sad to say, the intensity of Ellen's and my sex life gradually declined too. Probably about a year after Bridget had first turned me into a drooling maniac, we were back to where we had been before she turned up in Columbus. Ellen never knew anything of my hidden, crazy lust. I basically laid out this whole story for Arthur, who listened intently and sympathetically. When I was done, he nodded at me. "So I'm assuming, Dan, that you see a parallel between your desire for Bridget and Ellen's recent desire for Chris?" "Yes, of course," I replied. "There's an obvious difference, and it's pretty important. I never acted on my obsession, I never had sex with Bridget, I never betrayed Ellen with her or anyone else. "But the thing is, Arthur—I've been thinking about this a lot. Maybe I never cheated on Ellen with Bridget just because I never got the chance. What if I'd run into Bridget at a restaurant? Maybe I would have come on to her. And if she had responded, it's hard to imagine I would have turned her down!" He looked at me. "Did you ever pursue her? Did you ever call her, or propose to her that the two of you get together?" "No, but it wasn't because I didn't want to. I just never thought for a moment she'd have any interest in me. She was clearly a big tease. But between her husband and the Chair of the Department, I figured she had a pretty full plate. An Innocent Question Ch. 02 "So ultimately I wasn't guilty of anything, except a vivid and intense fantasy that contributed to some great sex, which Ellen and I both enjoyed. "But Arthur, can I really say I'm any better than Ellen? We each have had some kind of insane attack of wild desire for someone else. She ran into her guy and acted on hers, while I never had that chance and never did. Does that mean I'm innocent and she's guilty? Or does it just mean she was faced by an irresistible temptation, and I wasn't?" Arthur thought for a while. Then he said, "your last phrase, Dan, 'irresistible temptation', seems like the key to your view of this whole situation. "Was your desire for Bridget truly 'irresistible'? Would you have been able to resist it if, say, you'd met her in a restaurant and she'd made a pass at you?" I slowly shook my head. "I don't know, Arthur. I thought a lot about it back then, God knows I've thought about it this week, and I don't know. I'd like to say, Sure, I'm stronger than that, I'm devoted to Ellen, I would have said 'no thank you'. "But at the time, my desire for Bridget just made me crazy. I thought about her all the time, wondered every time I went into the department office if she might by chance be there, fantasized about her in bed with me, with McAllister, with her husband.... I was pretty nuts for a while." "We need to stop now, Dan," said Arthur after a minute. "But I think we should continue with this discussion when we meet again—is Tuesday OK? I think that your feelings about your obsession, and Ellen's, are going to be crucial in our thinking about the future of your marriage." "Thank you, Arthur. I'm pretty sure you're right." *************** The days passed. Work-days weren't so bad, because I had things to do that kept my mind busy. The weekends were awful: empty and lonely. I wasn't ready to confide in friends, so I spent the time alone. I took some long walks, hoping they'd help me stay in shape—they certainly gave me lots of time to think. I had a lengthy chat on the phone with each of my kids, though I didn't tell them anything about what had happened with Ellen. I even went to the mall for a couple of hours, something I normally hate, just to pass the time. Life was a little easier once Monday came. The worst times were at night, when I lay in the dark wondering what the rest of my life would be like. Would I be alone? Would I have to try dating again, hoping somehow that I'd find another woman who could give me the happiness that I'd had with Ellen? Or perhaps the nights weren't the worst. It might have been the moment of waking each morning—of looking around sleepily for Ellen, then remembering suddenly that I wasn't at home, in my own bed next to her—I was in a hotel room by myself. I was there because I'd left my wife. And I'd left her because she'd fucked someone else. Arthur and I continued to meet twice a week. Our sessions focused, almost obsessively, on the question of Bridget and whether I would have resisted her. Somehow I couldn't get past that single point. If I believed that I would have turned down an offer from Bridget, that I would have stayed faithful to Ellen in the face of that awesome temptation, then I just couldn't see how to forgive Ellen for what she had done. But if I would have given in to Bridget, then I was no better than Ellen—I was just as vulnerable to temptation, and I had no right to feel morally superior. My faithfulness and Ellen's adultery were then reduced to a matter of luck, of pure circumstance. Arthur tried to get me to see that the question was unanswerable—and that ultimately it didn't matter. He pointed out that I'd experienced the same kind of unexpected, irrational desire for another person that Ellen had. No one would ever know whether I could have resisted Bridget, but that wasn't the point. The point was that I was in a position to identify with Ellen's feelings, to know what had caused her to act as she did. Now I needed to let my empathy rise above my outrage and hurt feelings. Truly, I knew how it felt to wrestle with that aching feeling of lust. Did I have it in my heart to forgive Ellen for her weakness? I didn't know, but after my third week away I was ready to find out. I'd called Ellen every 3-4 days, but the conversations were always very brief, just letting her know I was still all right. Now I called on a Saturday with something else in mind. "Ellen, it's Dan." "Hi, honey!" She sounded happy to hear from me. "I'm planning to come back home today. I don't know what will happen with us, but being alone in this hotel room isn't doing me any good anymore. I figure we have a lot of talking to do, and we might as well do it in the house." Her response sounded pleased but wary. "That's wonderful, Dan! It will be so great to see you again... I've missed you." "I'll be by in about an hour, OK?" When I got home and dragged my suitcase to the door, Ellen was waiting. She smiled, but her face looked strained, and she seemed tired. I suppose she probably wasn't sleeping any better than I was. I wondered whether she'd spent any nights with Chris. It didn't seem likely, but I no longer trusted her enough to have any confidence in my own guesses about her. I took the suitcase straight upstairs and put it on the queen-size bed in the guest room. Ellen, following me, had a look of shock on her face. I was blunt. "I'm not sleeping in our bedroom, Ellen. Not after what you and Chris did in there." She flushed, and I saw tears in her eyes. She looked down, but said nothing. I walked back downstairs and went into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. I poured another one for Ellen and we sat at the table. We hadn't touched since I came in the door. I said, "here's where things are with me. I'm much calmer than I was when I walked out. I've had time to get used to ... what you told me. I'm still very hurt, but I'm not so angry any more. I'm more ... just sad, I guess. I haven't stopped loving you—I can't just turn that off like a faucet. But I don't trust you now, and I can't see how that trust will ever come back." Ellen just nodded, looking miserable. "But there's a story I have to tell you, something I don't think you know anything about. It's the main reason I'm back in the house with you, Ellen. It has to do with something that happened six years ago. Do you remember Bridget Zuzich?" I told Ellen the whole story, pretty much as I had told it to Arthur George. She listened attentively, looking surprised once or twice but not interrupting until I had finished. Then she said, after a little bit of silence, "wow, Dan. I can't get over how much that story sounded like what happened to me with Chris. Except, of course, that ... that you and she never ...." I nodded. "Right. And I and the therapist I've been seeing have talked about that point over and over. Would I have been any stronger than you were? Maybe not, in which case I have no right to punish you for what you've done." "No, Dan," Ellen said, with surprising firmness. "Whatever you may have fantasized, you never did it. Never mind the circumstances. You didn't cheat, you didn't break your vows or threaten our marriage. I did." "Yes, but you also confessed to me, Ellen. You didn't let it become a long affair, and you didn't keep me in the dark about it." After a pause, I asked the question I had promised myself over and over I wouldn't ask. "Have you seen him again?" She shook her head. "No, Dan. I told you, that's not going to happen." She looked serious and completely sincere—and it broke my heart how little I believed her. What a fragile thing trust is! Once it's broken, how the hell do you put it back together again? We had a quiet dinner, then watched TV together. I think we were both striving for a normal evening, neither of us wanting to have to tackle anything painful for a while. But when we went upstairs to bed it was hard to avoid the fact that we were headed into two separate rooms. Ellen said, "honey, I understand why you ... don't want to be in the bedroom. Could I ... could I join you in the guest room tonight?" I looked at her. I had anticipated the question, and planned to say no. But a different answer came out of my mouth. "I'm ... not ready to make love, Ellen. But if you'd put on a regular nightie, nothing sexy, it would be nice to hold you as we went to sleep." She nodded, giving me a shy smile, and disappeared into the bedroom. After a few minutes of changing and brushing teeth, I was in the guest bed when she came into my arms, again looking very wary. I put my arm around her, and she gently snuggled up against me, her head on my shoulder. I wasn't up to talking—the emotions were too close to the surface. Without a word I turned the light out. We lay quietly, hearing one another's breathing, and thank God I was soon asleep. *************** It would be wonderful to say that once I moved back home again, things got better and better between me and Ellen. But it just wasn't true. We fell into a kind of uneasy semi-intimacy. There were ways in which we enjoyed one another's company—at times we could find our way into our old routines, of lengthy talks about all sorts of crazy subjects. We worked well together with cooking and cleaning up, and with sharing the other household duties just as we always had. But we didn't get back to making love, or even to hugging and kissing. Holding one another in bed each night was pretty much the only touching we did. And the central, painful topic of Ellen's romp in bed with Chris hung like a cloud between us. Neither of us wanted to mention it, but the feelings it stirred up weren't going away. I continued to see Arthur George. I had developed a plan to test Ellen, and he couldn't talk me out of it. "Dan," he said, "you need to see that you have nothing to gain with this idea. If she 'fails' your test, you'll be convinced you need a divorce. And even if she passes it, that is not going to lay all your fears to rest. There's just no point in doing this!" Part of me knew he was right, but I stubbornly refused to back down. I had picked a morning when I knew Ellen would be at work to come home and check through her email. Her computer at home was linked to the OSU system she used at work, so I could see all her incoming and outgoing email from the home computer. First I checked to see if she'd had any communication with Chris since the day he spent with her in our bed. I didn't find anything. Then I went ahead and wrote him a carefully worded email, which I signed from Ellen. Here's what it said: ***** Dear Chris: I've been thinking about you a lot since the day we spent together. Could you come to the house this Thursday at 7 pm? Dan will be out that night until 10, so we can have time to be together. It may sound silly, but please don't email me back—just come, if you can. And when you come, please pretend I never sent you this email. I'd be grateful if you just acted like you were spontaneously coming over to see me, OK? I hope to see you Thursday— Best, Ellen ***** When Thursday came, I called Ellen from work at about 2 pm and told her there was a major server re-installation that we had to do that evening, and that I would be stuck at work until 10 or 11. I told her to go ahead and eat dinner without me, and I would scrounge something when I got home. Of course, there was no server re-installation to do. And at 6:45 pm I was sitting in my parked car, six houses down from our house, in a position where I could see when Chris arrived and when he left. My "test" for Ellen was pretty simple. She'd either send Chris away, or tumble into bed with him again. I figured that if they just talked, he wouldn't be in the house more than say 30 or 40 minutes. Once an hour had passed, the bad news would be pretty obvious. As I said, Arthur thought this was a pretty bad idea all the way around, but I just couldn't let it go. So I sat, listening to my car radio and wondering about the rest of my life. Chris pulled up at 7:05 and went right up to my front door. I couldn't see Ellen opening the door, but after a moment or two Chris went inside and the door shut behind him. I sat some more, not really hearing the music. The first half hour wasn't so bad; then it started to be really difficult. I willed my front door to open, but it didn't move. I closed my eyes for ten-minute stretches, but when I opened them again only thirty seconds had passed. At 8:15, I realized the worst. My wife was fucking Chris again—and I had set it up! I'd wanted an answer, and by God I'd gotten one! At 8:30 I realized I was crying. At 8:45 I couldn't stand it any more. Why was I just sitting here? I could at least storm in, catch them in bed, and play out the final scene of my marriage. I started the car, and then just before I put it in gear I saw Chris come walking out my front door, get in his car, and drive off. I quickly drove down to my house and ran in, hoping to catch my guilty wife cleaning up the scene of the crime. When I came into the house Ellen was sitting at the kitchen table, fully dressed in the clothes she'd worn to work. She looked up at me in surprise and said, "Dan, did you finish early?" Then she saw my tear-stained face—I must have looked awful—and cried, "honey, are you all right?" Ignoring her, I looked around wildly. I saw two empty coffee cups on the table. I ran upstairs to the bedroom. The bed was neatly made. I yanked back the bedspread to see the sheets, but they were clean and unwrinkled. I quickly checked all the beds in the other rooms, with the same result. I could hear Ellen coming upstairs, saying, "Dan, what's going on?" Ignoring her, I went into the bathroom searching for signs that someone had showered, but the shower stall was dry. I looked in the hamper, then in the closet and under the bed for any clothes she might have been wearing when they started making love, but I found nothing. Frustrated and confused, I slumped down on our bed. Ellen looked at me with concern in her eyes. "Dan, what on earth is the matter?" Suddenly I was sobbing. "I know Chris was here tonight! And I know you fucked him again!" She looked directly at me and said, "yes, Chris was here. But no, I didn't fuck him. I'm not going to fuck him ever again, Dan." I couldn't stop crying. It felt as though weeks of painful feelings were pouring out of me, and I couldn't control them. "Then what the hell were the two of you doing in this house for almost two hours?" Ellen sat down next to me on the bed, and gently pulled me into her arms. Quietly she said, "we were talking, Dan. He probably came over with the idea that we'd go to bed again—but he didn't touch me, and I didn't touch him. All we did is sit in the kitchen, drink coffee, and talk. "And now he's gone, and you need to tell me what the hell is going on. How did you know he was here?" "I set it up!" I cried. "I sent him an email from you, asking him to come see you tonight, and that I'd be out late. And I sat in the car down the street and watched him—when he came, and when he left. "I figured if you didn't go to bed with him, he'd be gone in half an hour. But he was here an hour and forty-five minutes!" I couldn't get control of myself. "Jesus, Ellen, do you see what I've been reduced to? Skulking around, playing silly bullshit cloak-and-dagger games with my own wife? The poor cuckolded husband, trying to catch his wife in the act!" She didn't answer, just held me close while I cried. When I grew calmer, I sat up and looked at her. She'd been crying, too—her face was streaked with tears. Suddenly I couldn't stand to be near her—I couldn't stand feeling her arms around me, or looking at that loving, pitying face. I abruptly pulled free of her and went off to the guest room. I undressed, brushed my teeth, pulled on my boxers and climbed into bed. The door didn't lock, but I closed it—sending a message to Ellen, since every night since I'd come home I'd left it open. I longed for sleep, but it didn't come. After more than an hour I was still awake in the dark, restless and miserable. Then I heard Ellen quietly slip into the room. I rolled over in bed without a word, so that if she got in my back would be towards her. Ignoring this silent rebuff, she slid in and spooned tightly behind me, pressing her breasts into my back, sliding her arm around my chest beneath my own arm. She didn't say anything, thank God. I didn't want to hear anything she had to say! After a few minutes of lying still, just holding me, Ellen began touching me. Her lips brushed the back and side of my neck over and over, and her hand drifted around my chest, stroking my nipples, then dipping down lower, beneath my boxers into my pubic hair. I really didn't know what to do. I wanted to reject her, but I didn't want to speak to her. Also, it felt good! We hadn't had sex in more than a month—we hadn't even necked in all that time. Somehow I hoped I could silently reject her, simply by not responding, by not getting aroused in response to her caresses. For a while it worked that way. She began to move her body against me, and I could feel her erect nipples against my back. Her hand held and stroked my cock lovingly, gently. Under most circumstances I would have been rock-hard within a minute, but I remained totally limp. Good! I thought. Fuck you! I don't want your pity fuck! But after a while the pleasure of her hand on me, her kisses against my neck, and her wonderful breasts caressing my back, began to have their effect. My penis thickened, then rose in her hand. She cooed happily into my ear, and slid her hand down further to pleasure my balls. I felt her pubic hair rub against me through my boxers, and realized that she had come to bed naked. I was still totally torn. Her body, her lips and her hand felt great, and I wanted more. But at the same time I was angry and hurt, and full of an irrational desire to reject and hurt her. If I had felt that she were seducing me out of her own sexual desire, it might have been all right. But I couldn't help feeling that this was just Ellen trying to win me back, just trying to make up with me. 'Give the poor guy a good fuck, make him think that I want him, and he'll come around.' I felt manipulated, and that made me far more angry than horny. Without a word, I suddenly wrenched myself free of Ellen's embrace. I rolled out of the bed onto my feet and left the room. Without looking back, I headed down the stairs and into the living room. I found an extra blanket in the closet and settled myself down for the night on the couch. I listened for sounds from upstairs but heard nothing. No words from Ellen, no crying. I lay awake for awhile longer, miserable, wondering whether I had done the right thing. No answer ever came. An Innocent Question Ch. 03 ELLEN'S STORY Each time Dan called, I got my hopes up. Maybe he was ready to come home! But each time we had the same brief, matter-of-fact conversation, and then he said goodbye. I didn't know what to do. I was being patient and giving him time, but it didn't seem to be helping. After three weeks, he finally called and said he was coming home. I was overjoyed! And then immediately terrified. Maybe he wasn't coming back to reconcile, but to talk about a divorce. Or maybe he was hoping that I would say and do the right things to persuade him to stay—and I had no idea what those things were. When Dan came into the house, I was shocked. He looked terrible, like he had aged 20 years. There were big circles under his eyes, and his shoulders slumped. He looked old and defeated. I thought I had understood what he was going through, how much pain he was in—but seeing him that way made me realize how much worse it was for Dan than anything I had imagined. For the first few days I had high hopes that we could gradually find our way back to one another. We weren't kissing, let alone making love—but at least Dan was letting me sleep in his arms in the guest bed. At first, that reassured me so much! But as time went by it seemed things were getting worse, not better. More tense, with less communication. We could do routine chores together, but our unrestrained pleasure in each other's company was almost totally missing. I didn't know what to do. Dan didn't seem to want to talk about anything serious—and I figured that since he was seeing a therapist, perhaps the best thing for me to do was to be patient and loving, and let him work through his feelings there. Then one evening, when Dan had called and said he'd have to work until 10pm, the doorbell rang and there was Chris Doebe! It scared me to death, I have to tell you. My first instinctive reaction was not desire, but terror. I think I must have stuttered, "what are you doing here?" and not in a very welcoming way. But he just smiled, sweetly, and said, "hi, Ellen. Okay if I come in for a few minutes?" Numb, truly at a loss, I led him into the kitchen. We sat, and I poured two cups of coffee. We looked at one another. More to keep Chris at bay than for any other reason, I told him how Emily had given me a heart attack when she came by and told me that Chris had said he enjoyed our lunch together. I made a funny story of it, describing my panic and Emily's innocence, and before long both Chris and I were laughing. That broke the tension, thank God. Then Chris said, "I've missed you, Ellen. The time we spent together was amazing. I've never experienced anything like it in my life. It is entirely up to you, but I would love to ... be with you again." He was looking at me in a kind but serious way, not flirting, and I appreciated that. I just sat, trying hard to examine my own feelings. I knew my heart was beating fast; but my panties weren't damp—that was a change! And while I was still attracted to Chris, the attraction felt quite different, more under control. Previously, just being around him had rendered me incapable of rational thought. I was all wet pussy and hard nipples, his for the taking. But at that moment, while I still felt the temptation it was balanced by a very rational understanding of the consequences. It was like standing in a grocery store, staring at some absolutely delicious peaches. I knew I could take one and just bite into it—and the juice would dribble down my chin (!), and the taste would be fantastic. But I also knew that it would be stealing, and it would be wrong, and I might even be arrested. As I sat there, I understood to my immense relief that I could say no to Chris. And more: that I could do it without dying of the disappointment. The commitment of marriage, like any other commitment, means that sometimes you can't have what you want—from something as trivial as a night out at a restaurant when your spouse is tired and wants to eat at home, to something as cosmic as mesmerizing sex with Chris Doebe. I'd broken that commitment once, and it grieved me. But sitting there now, looking at Chris' expectant face, I was almost exultant in the certain knowledge that I wouldn't break it again. So I smiled, looking at Chris, and shook my head. "I'm sorry, Chris. I would never lie and tell you I'm not incredibly tempted—and you wouldn't believe me anyway! That afternoon was beyond terrific. I always thought that 'rocked my world' was just an expression, until you did it to me that day!" We both laughed, and I went on. "But as great as it was, it put my marriage to Dan in real jeopardy, and I am scared to death that I might lose him. Having to face that makes me realize how important he is to me—much more important than sex with you, even mind-blowing sex. "So while our day together will always be one of my sweetest memories, it will have to be our only time together. "And in one other way that's probably a good thing. I don't see how the second time could ever live up to what the first time was like!" He laughed again, and said, "I'm not so sure about that! But I do understand, Ellen. I felt pretty bad about being with a married woman, but I was following your lead—and to tell the truth I was incredibly turned-on! But in a way it's a relief not to be getting involved any further in something that could ruin your marriage. "And if you and Dan don't . . . stay together, I will always be so sorry for my role in that." I shook my head firmly, reaching over to squeeze Chris' hand. "Chris, what we did was NOT your fault. I know you find me attractive, and I am so flattered!—but we both know I was all over you that day. I did everything but take my clothes off right in the restaurant! You have nothing to reproach yourself about, and I mean that." With the central issue between us firmly resolved, Chris and I relaxed and talked a good while longer. I heard about his studies, and we shared war stories of the administration at OSU and our various battles with it. I continued to marvel at how relaxed I felt, how the desire I still felt for Chris stayed very much in the background and under control. He was still a very attractive man. If I had been unattached I would happily have jumped in bed with him again. But I wasn't, and accepting that it wasn't going to happen was surprisingly easy. After awhile, Chris said he needed to go do some studying, and we said a friendly goodbye, without even a hug—that seemed safest! I was barely back in my chair when Dan burst through the door, looking like a madman. His face was red and tear-streaked and he was breathing hard. When I understood after a few minutes that he was planning to catch me and Chris in bed—and that he'd set the whole thing up—I was furious for a moment, but then just deeply sad. Dan's having stooped to such a thing showed yet again how much pain he was in, and how desperately he was wrestling with his feelings. My wonderful, strong, loving husband was behaving like a maniac, and I had caused it all! After he pulled away from my arms and went silently off to bed, I sat and thought. How could I reach him? Was there any way to communicate to Dan the love I felt, the remorse? How could I make any of this up to him? So far we'd been snuggling in bed every night, but without kissing or caressing or having sex at all. I had been waiting for him to take the lead, but tonight I decided to be more aggressive. I took off all my clothes and slid in behind him, spooning him tightly from behind. After a few minutes I started to caress him, enjoying the feeling of his chest, his back against my breasts, and then his cock in my hand. It surprised me that his erection didn't appear right away, but I took my time and soon it was everything I might have hoped for! I began to slide my body against him, enjoying my own feelings of arousal and looking forward to our first love-making in more than a month—the longest time we'd ever gone without sex. Then he suddenly, violently pulled himself away from me, and without a word headed downstairs. I was shocked, and hurt. I almost started to cry, but I restrained myself, lying quietly in the darkness and listening for him. I hoped he'd come back, but soon it was clear he was planning to stay downstairs, away from me, all night. I was hurt, frustrated, and at a loss. I had welcomed Dan home with affection and patience. I had gently given him time to turn to me physically, and had waited patiently when he showed no signs of doing so. Then, tonight, I had tried to be more assertive, using my body to communicate my love to him. Both approaches had failed. I had no idea what to do now. In the morning when I went quietly downstairs, Dan was fast asleep under a blanket on the sofa. I figured he needed the rest, so I didn't disturb him. I dressed, had my breakfast, left him a short note, and went to work. The note said: Dear Dan: I love you so much, and I'm so sorry, and I don't know what to do. When you moved back home, I was so hopeful that we could gradually find a way back to one another. But it doesn't seem to be working. I am trying as hard as I can to show you how much I love you, and atone in any way I can for what I did. But it seems we are growing apart, not together. Would you consider letting me come with you to your appointments with Arthur George? Do you think that might be helpful? I don't wish to intrude, and it's entirely up to you. I'm just reaching for any means I can to help work out our problems—problems I know I'm totally to blame for. Please let me know what you think. Your loving wife, Ellen *************** The weekend was quiet. When I came home from work that Friday Dan was clearly still unhappy, but calm. We didn't talk much, but he told me that he'd contacted Arthur George and they'd agreed that I should come to the next session, on Tuesday. Over the weekend we were civil but not warm. I didn't know how to reach out to Dan, and he seemed content for us to do our errands and household chores pretty much in silence. I longed for Tuesday to come, hoping desperately that seeing Dan's therapist together could put us on the right track. Arthur George, God bless him, made me feel welcome and at ease right away. I had feared that he'd be judgmental, or worse. After all, he'd been working with my husband for several weeks, helping him deal with terrible misery caused entirely by me. But he was straightforward and kind, and my nervousness disappeared very quickly. Rather than take me back through my sexual encounter with Chris—which I feared he would insist on—Arthur asked both Dan and me to tell him what had happened on the previous Thursday. Clearly Arthur knew all about Dan's plan to "test" me with Chris. He listened gravely and attentively to each of us, watching to see how we reacted to the other one's version of events. It was the first time that Dan had heard about my conversation with Chris, and he looked hard at me the whole time. I made a point of elaborating on my changed feelings for Chris—that I no longer felt the crazy, uncontrollable attraction that had caused me to jump in bed with him that one time. I so hoped that Dan would hear this and believe me, and begin to feel less angry and humiliated. When our two versions of the Thursday night were finished, Arthur said, "I'd like to focus for a few minutes on what happened when you were in bed together that evening, all right? "I'm going to ask each of you to try something. Please take a couple of minutes and try to reverse roles. Ellen, imagine that encounter as if you were the one cheated on, OK? Imagine that he'd had an affair with Bridget, that you were hurt and angry, and that he'd approached you in bed that night. "Dan, I'd like you to imagine the same thing: that you had previously been to bed with Bridget, that Ellen was very hurt and angry, and that you were approaching her that night in bed. "Each of you, just think this through for a bit, and I'll ask you to share your thoughts about it." I was astonished at the feelings that boiled up in me! But when we both looked ready to speak, Arthur nodded to Dan to begin. "I would be feeling that I so much wanted to reassure Ellen that I still loved and desired her. What I did hurt her so badly! It hurt her pride, and it destroyed her trust in me, her trust that I would sleep only with her. "So my approaching her for sex was a way of telling her I DID desire and love her, and a small first step in rebuilding her belief in that." "Okay, Ellen—can you tell us what you imagined feeling if the situation were reversed, and Dan approached you?" I looked straight at Arthur. "I felt: that fucking bastard!" The rage I had been experiencing suddenly flared up in me, as I went on. "That son of a bitch has a hot night of sex with Bridget. And he knows how devastated I am. So he climbs in bed and rubs my pussy, and I'm supposed to get all hot and bothered and let him fuck me until I feel better? I know whose pussy he's thinking about, and wanting! "How can I see it as anything but the most cynical kind of 'oh gee, honey, I'm so sorry'? It's supposed to make me believe it's ME he desires? What bullshit!" By the time I finished I was practically shouting. I almost couldn't believe how angry I had become, thinking about that night from Dan's side of things. And then, in the silence, I started to cry. "Oh, Dan," I said, "is that what it felt like to you?" "Pretty much," he replied quietly. Then there was more silence, as I continued to cry. Finally, after a long time, Arthur cleared his throat to get our attention, then spoke to us. "I think we can all see the problem you two are facing right now. Dan, putting himself in Ellen's shoes, was able to recognize what she did as a loving attempt at renewing your intimacy. But Ellen, considering it from Dan's side, was furiously angry at what felt like a hypocritical invitation to some sort of superficial 'make-up sex'. "But I want you to see that there's some good news here too. In all my sessions with Dan, and in today's session with both of you, I perceive two people who love and value one another very much. I see a strong marriage with a big problem, not a fundamentally troubled marriage. "Second, you should each take note of how empathetic you were able to be, how successfully each of you was able to understand what the other person was feeling. Even though Dan was very angry at what you did that night, Ellen, he was able to see today that it was a loving gesture. And Ellen, you were able to understand why your actions made Dan so angry." I said, "yes, Arthur, but I'm not sure where that leaves us. I want to show Dan my love for him; and, yes, my desire for him. I want to ... be with him again, sexually, a lot—and only with him! But there don't seem to be any ways that I can express those feelings that he will believe." To my surprise Dan agreed with me. "She's right, I'm afraid. I don't feel like I can trust anything she says and does right now. She wants to save our marriage, and I see every one of her actions from that perspective—her self-interest. And, I guess, her guilt." Arthur responded quickly. "But Dan, the fact that Ellen wants to save your marriage—doesn't that in itself mean something? Surely you don't think that's just because she likes your house, or doesn't want to cook for herself?" Dan nodded, slowly. "I guess I see that. She loves me. She wants me in her life. Yes, I believe those things. "But it's a whole hell of a lot harder to believe that she desires me—that I'm the one she wants to have sex with, and not Chris Doebe." Quietly I said, "I turned him down, Dan. You set up a test for me, and I turned him down. That must mean something." "Yes, Ellen, it means that our marriage means more to you than fucking Chris again. That is something. "But it doesn't mean that you want to fuck me rather than Chris—it just means that you recognize you can't have our marriage if you fuck Chris. So maybe it means you're willing to settle for just fucking old Dan. Better than nothing, perhaps. But hardly a ringing endorsement of my desirability, or my talents in bed." "Dan, you've told me that for months you fucked me up one wall and down the other, all the time imagining I was Bridget Zuzich! So what if I occasionally think about Chris?" Dan looked at me, with such sadness I almost had to turn away. "Sweetheart—the difference is that you never knew Bridget was in my head. You never had to compete with her. You remained happily secure of my love and desire. And my fantasy about Bridget stayed safely in the realm of fantasy. "But you slept with Chris—and I know you did, and I know it was incredible. So now I have to compete with that, and I always will. And I don't know how I'll ever know whether it's me you want, or just a warm body you can rub against while imagining that it's Chris Doebe inside you again." There was a long silence. I sat, utterly devastated by Dan's words, trying hard not to cry again. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Arthur said, "it's clear that we still have some work to do. But I urge each of you not to give in to your unhappiest feelings, or your most pessimistic fears. You have a lot of love and mutual understanding to build on. "Dan, I think that Ellen is absolutely right about one thing. At this point, she has no idea how to communicate to you her love, her remorse, or her desire for you. So it's going to be up to you to figure that out. YOU will need to discover how she can do that without making you even more angry. "And Ellen, I think you're going to have to be patient about it. Because right now I don't think Dan has any idea about how to let you in. "Finally, I'm going to suggest that I continue to see Dan twice a week, and that Ellen come with him once every other week. Much of what we have to work on will be easier just between me and Dan, but I also want us to check in together regularly as a threesome to see how things are doing from both sides of the marriage." As we left the office and headed to the parking lot, I said, "Arthur is an awfully nice man, Dan." "Yes he is—we're lucky to have him." Then, without a word, he took my hand, holding it gently all the way until we reached my car. *************** *************** DAN'S STORY I knew that Arthur was right—it was up to me to find a way to get back to intimacy with Ellen. I had made it very clear to both of us that she couldn't take the lead, that I simply didn't trust any move she made. I couldn't shake the feeling that she had come to me in bed out of guilt or apology, rather than out of desire. We limped along for another month or so. The anticipation of Christmas at home with the kids was a little tense, because we didn't want them to know what we were going through. At Ellen's suggestion she and I returned to sleeping in the master bedroom a couple of nights before Danny and Alexis came for their visit. Fortunately they were so happy to see us, and each other, that Ellen and I were able to relax and just be loving parents for a week. After a couple of days the kids were mostly out of the house, anyway, spending time with hometown friends that they couldn't see most of the year. In early January Ellen asked me to sit down for a talk after dinner. "Baby, I'm going to take a few days and visit Diane. It's a slow time this week at the office, and they won't mind my being away." I nodded, just looking at her. I knew this meant more than just a visit. Finally she continued. "I just don't know how to reach you, Dan. We live in this house, we're civil and kind to one another, we go together and talk to Arthur . . . but we're stuck. "You know that I love you, and you must know that I want you, too—I want to make love again—but neither of us knows how to make that happen. Arthur keeps saying that it has to come from you. But it isn't coming." An Innocent Question Ch. 03 All of a sudden I felt cold, and a little angry. "Is this a separation, Ellen? Is that what you're telling me?" My voice came out harder than I'd meant it, and I could see her eyes widen in surprise. "No, Dan." She reached across the table and gently took my hand. "Nothing like that. I'm in this with you for the long haul—until the day you throw my cheating ass out of your life." She managed a kind of sad half-smile. "I just thought that a break of a few days might do both of us some good, clear the air a bit. And I haven't seen Diane in so long, or had a chance to spoil her kids." I relaxed. I could see what Ellen was saying. "All right, sweetie. When are you going to go? I'll get a couple of hours off so I can drive you to the airport." My week without Ellen was quiet, contemplative. I missed her, and found that I was speaking to her all the time inside my head. Somehow in her absence I could appreciate more fully all the good things in our relationship, and be tormented less by our sexual impasse. I found I was storing up odd, random questions to ask her when she got back—the kind we were used to trying out on one another. After several days Ellen called and confirmed her return flight was on Thursday afternoon, getting in around 3pm. I had a meeting I couldn't get out of, so she'd take a cab home. But when I turned into the driveway that night around 5:30, I didn't see any lights on inside the house. What I saw instead was Ellen, lying at the foot of the front steps in her heavy coat, her suitcases a few feet away. I ran to her. She was unconscious, and her skin was cold and clammy. I hastily unlocked the door, then ran back and picked her up gently in my arms. She moaned a little, and started to come around as I carried her inside and straight into our bedroom. Wasting no time, I propped her up against some pillows and swaddled her tightly in several blankets. Then I ran downstairs and put on the kettle. In another few minutes I had her suitcases inside and I was sitting by her side with two cups of tea. Ellen was awake now, trying to smile at me, but she was shivering violently. "Dan, I . . . I think I must have fallen, I . . . don't really remember." "Shh," I said, lying down and taking her tightly in my arms. I held her and hummed quietly into her hair, keeping her calm as she gradually warmed up. When the shivering slowed down I sat up and gave her the tea, making sure she drank it a little at a time. There was a tiny trickle of blood on the right side of her forehead; and when I probed very gently I found a big tender lump on the side of her head. While Ellen drank the tea I got her a small ice bag, then took her back in my arms, holding the bag very gently against her lump. By now she was back to herself a bit more, and I started to relax somewhat. I realized that my heart had been pounding with tension for the last hour or so. "Thank you, Dan. The tea and the blankets are just right. I still can't completely remember—but I must have slipped on the steps and hit my head. God knows how long I was out there. The cab dropped me off just before 5—what time did you get home?" I realized she'd probably been lying out there a half-hour, in January in Columbus, Ohio! Thank God I hadn't come home late from work! "Baby, how about if I run you a hot bath? You're not shivering so much any more, but I'm sure you're still chilled." She nodded, smiling and saying, "thank you for being so sweet, Dan. I really missed you, you know! I had a wonderful visit with Diane and her family, but I wanted to be back here with you." When I had the bath ready I got Ellen out of the blankets, then carefully undressed her. I had her down to her underwear, and was frankly enjoying the view—then I took off her socks. To my horror her right ankle was purple and hugely swollen. It had to be badly sprained, unless it was actually broken. Not wanting to let Ellen put weight on it, I carried her straight to the tub and gently lowered her into the water, making sure she used her good leg to guide herself. I kept her right leg propped on the side of the tub, out of the water. She sighed happily as she settled into the tub. "God, that feels good, Dan! Thank you." "How bad does the ankle hurt? Can you move your foot at all?" She rotated it slowly, grimacing. "It hurts a lot, but it's not broken. Everything seems to work, and I can still move my toes." I went for another ice pack. When I returned I strapped it to her ankle with an Ace bandage, then got the smaller ice pack for her head. "There you are—any other broken or bruised spots for me to put ice on?" She laughed and said, "no, that's all of them, I think! Except that my ego is a bit bruised. I'm not such an old woman that I can't walk up my own front steps!" While Ellen relaxed in the tub I called our doctor and described both of Ellen's injuries. After getting my assurances that she was awake and completely lucid, he said that it was unlikely she had a concussion. He agreed that the ankle sounded like nothing more than a sprain, and that I could bring her in the next morning. He reminded me of what I already knew: ice, elevation, and ibuprofen. I put together a salad with some cut-up chicken, made some soup, and brought the food up to our bedroom. By then Ellen was ready to get out of the bathtub—her chill was long gone. I made her sit on the toilet seat while I dried her feet and legs, and then she stood on her good leg, her arm on my shoulder, while I dried the rest of her. "You're getting my attention with all that nice rubbing, Dan," she said with a grin. I smiled back and continued with my pleasant task. Somehow taking care of her this way, knowing that she needed me, reawakened some of my desire for her. This was the longest I'd seen her naked in months, since before she had sex with Chris. And her body was absolutely beautiful, rounded and voluptuous. She sighed as I dried her breasts, and I had to restrain myself from dropping the towel and just fondling them. I carried Ellen back to bed, helped her into a nightgown, propped her up against some pillows, then replaced her two ice-packs and put a tray of food in front of her. As we sat and ate together she told me about Diane and her husband, and what their kids were up to. I filled her in on the latest minor disasters at work, and we talked about the new Chair of the Economics Department, who thank heavens seemed to understand that my budget requests were for needed technology, not for me to redecorate my office with. When we'd finished eating Ellen looked a bit sleepy, so I cleared the dishes and turned out the lights. "I'm sorry, baby," she said. "I want to stay up and be with you, but I'm just fading out!" "That's all right, honey—you've had a nasty fall, you were outside for a while, and I'm sure your body needs the rest. I'll see you in the morning," I said as I headed for the door. "Dan?" she called after me, sounding anxious. "You're not going to sleep somewhere else tonight, are you?" Actually I had planned to sleep in the guest room, so I wouldn't roll over onto her bad ankle by mistake. But I could hear the concern in her voice, and I said, "no, honey, I'll come back in after a while, and I'll be here all night." I went back and gave her a gentle kiss, then tucked the covers around her and left the room. As I cleaned up the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher, I wondered what was happening to me. At first of course I'd been very worried about Ellen. But once I was confident that she was OK, with nothing worse than a sprained ankle, I found taking care of her quite erotic. Not just seeing her nude, and drying her after the bath—there was something else, something that must have had to do with her vulnerability. I knew that she needed me; and caring for her felt not only nice, but sexy. When I climbed into bed that night I had to restrain myself from reaching for her. Dr. Westcott gave Ellen a thorough examination the next morning, after which he told us she had not only a sprained ankle but a mild concussion. "Lots of bed rest, ice and elevate the ankle, ibuprofen every 5-6 hours, no driving, no weight on the foot for at least three days, no alcohol," he said briskly. "And call me if there are any problems. OK?" He lent us a pair of crutches, which I stowed in the car, but I carried Ellen from the office to the car and then from the car back into our bed. Our two hours out of the house had exhausted her and she slept virtually the rest of the day, waking up only for some spaghetti at dinnertime. For the rest of the weekend I was a male nurse, or at least a home-health aide. I made all of Ellen's meals, helped her to the bathroom or into the shower, and kept the ice-packs and ibuprofen coming. Mostly, I liked it. I liked being useful and taking care of her, and I enjoyed our time together. As her concussion faded and she was more herself, we had hours together to talk and laugh, as we had done for so many years. There was only one part I didn't like. I was touching Ellen a lot, and also seeing her naked a lot, and it was making me very aroused. This was new—I hadn't had much sexual desire since I first heard about Ellen and Chris. I hadn't even been masturbating—I just didn't have sexual feelings. But now they were back with a vengeance, and for some reason this made me angry. By Monday Ellen was well enough to go back to work, though I had to drive her each way and help her in and out of the car. With the crutches, though, she could get around pretty well. At my Tuesday session with Arthur I told him about her accident, and about my caring for her all weekend. Then I spoke about how aroused I was feeling, and how angry that made me. When I glanced at him he had a half-smile on his face, which for Arthur is like a belly-laugh from anyone else. "What?" I asked, a little peeved. "Is it so risible that seeing my wife naked, and holding her in my arms, turned me on?" "No, Dan, it's not," he replied calmly. "It's actually great news. But I can't help being a little amused that your response to those feelings is anger rather than pleasure." I thought about it for a minute, and then I had to laugh myself. "I guess I see what you mean." He asked me why I thought that I felt anger, and it stumped me a little. "I guess it makes me feel vulnerable. Until now I haven't had any desire to make love to Ellen, and that made me feel in control. As though it were important to be able to resist her; as though wanting sex meant I was giving in somehow." He nodded. "Giving in to what, do you think?" "I guess, letting go of my hurt pride. Every day I don't have sex with Ellen, it's like I'm saying to her, 'See how hurt I still am? See what you've done to me?' "Now that I put it that way, it actually seems pretty dumb. Cutting off my nose to spite my face." He just sat, letting me think some more. "And the other thing," I finally went on, "is that I still don't trust anything she might do sexually. I'm afraid she'll fake it—she'll act excited and eager with me, just out of a desire to make me feel better and stroke my ego. And the thought of her doing that just infuriates me! It makes me want to become a monk, and never touch her again." After a long minute, Arthur said, "well, there are many possible reasons to have sex, Dan. It's OK to have sex simply for your own pleasure, to satisfy your own desires—as long as you don't force Ellen to do something she doesn't want to do. There's no reason you have to see love-making as a test, where you get a grade from Ellen as to how much she desires you or how much you please her." We talked about it some more, and I found Arthur's words staying with me as I left his office and drove to pick Ellen up at work. She could see right away that I was a little pre-occupied, and we didn't talk much on the drive home. When I carried her into the house she probably expected we'd head to the kitchen and start dinner. Instead I went straight to the bedroom, where I stood her up gently next to the bed, took her in my arms, and kissed her deeply. It was the longest kiss we'd had in more than three months. "Ellen, I want to make love right now. OK?" She smiled broadly. "Oh, sweetie, I . . ." "Wait a minute," I interrupted. "I don't want to talk, I just want to do it. I won't hurt you or anything, but this is for me. All right?" Her smile faded to an uncertain look, but she nodded. I quickly turned up the heat in the bedroom to a cozy 78º, threw off my clothes, then undressed Ellen. I touched and stroked her as I took off each item, and she stood passively, letting me enjoy the feel of her. By the time she was naked and I'd laid her on the bed I was very aroused. I was angry, too—still resenting my desire for her—but I decided I needed to ignore it. I pulled her tightly to me and kissed her deeply, sending my tongue into her mouth. She responded to me and we lay pressed together, my hands sliding all over her. I couldn't get enough of her body—it was like I'd never seen her or touched her before. I touched her arms and shoulders, her sides, the cheeks of her ass, then I gently pushed her down on her back and devoted myself to her breasts. I stroked and caressed them, ran my palms across her nipples over and over, then took them in my mouth one at a time and sucked on them. Ellen lay back quietly, understanding that I wanted her to be passive, but her breathing told me that she was getting aroused too. As I focused on her breasts with my lips and tongue I sent one hand sliding down into her pubic hair, and stroked all around her mound and the tops of her thighs. She was already moist, and she got wetter as I gently caressed her lips. In a few minutes I had two fingers inside her and my thumb caressing her clitoris, and she was rolling her hips in response to my caresses. My mouth returned to hers for another deep kiss, and then back to her breasts again. I had her thigh between mine, and was pressing my hard cock against her. We were both moaning a little bit. I could tell that she was near an orgasm, but I suddenly didn't care to wait. I rolled on top of her and she instantly pulled her knees wide to welcome me. She reached for my cock but I used my own hand to guide the tip into her wet pussy. As soon as I was aimed right, I smoothly but forcefully slid all the way inside her, bottoming out with enormous pleasure. My cock was as hard as I could ever remember, and I reveled in the heat of her around me. I lay still for a minute, clutching her tight in my arms, kissing and nibbling at her neck. Ellen was still being passive, taking the lead from me, but her arms slid up and down my back caressingly. My mind was torn between excitement and anger. It was full of thoughts of Chris Doebe—how he'd been on this bed, inside of Ellen just like this, a couple of months before. But that didn't make me lose my erection—sort of the opposite: it made me angry and more determined to take my own pleasure: something like "fuck you, Chris, and fuck you Ellen—now it's MY turn!" Once I started moving inside her I didn't want to stop. I tried to keep my thrusts long and smooth, but before long I was speeding up, pounding into her forcefully, lost in the pleasure of her hot sheath around my cock. I knew she was moving with me, humping her hips up at me, but I didn't pay much attention. I pistoned in and out, faster and faster, feeling my climax racing towards me. As it arrived I grabbed her hips and plunged into her hard several times, grinding myself against her tightly as the pleasure poured over me, crying out, hearing Ellen's moans distantly in my ears. All the energy and tension drained out of me. I didn't want to crush Ellen, so I held her tight and rolled us over on our sides. I kept her head pressed against my shoulder, and felt her warm body all along mine, and listened to our breathing as it gradually slowed. I still didn't want her to speak, but after a few minutes she lifted her head and smiled at me, her eyes shining. "Baby, that was so . . ." she began. "No!" I cried, suddenly angry. "I don't care how it was for you! This wasn't about you, it was about me! You're my wife and I get to fuck you! I know I can't do to you what Chris did, and I don't care---I'm the one you married and I'm the only one you get to fuck!" I started to pull away from her and get off the bed but she held me tightly. Then suddenly I was sobbing, holding her, my head on her shoulder, crying like an infant. And Ellen just held me, saying "shh," and "it's okay, baby", quietly, waiting for me to calm down. Finally my tears stopped, and I lay back on the bed, exhausted. I felt too embarrassed to look at Ellen, but she just lay on her side, pressed against me, her head on my chest. After a long time I sat up and looked at her. To my surprise her face was stained with her tears. "Sorry," I said. "I don't know what . . ." "Shh," she interrupted me, putting her fingers to my lips. "You don't have to say anything else. You're right: I'm your wife and only you get to fuck me." She smiled. "There's nothing else to say." Half an hour later, we were down in the kitchen in our bathrobes, making dinner together. We didn't speak much, but I noticed that both of us were smiling, and we kept giving one another little touches as we passed by each other—a pat on the cheek, or sliding a hand along an arm. We had soup and roast-beef sandwiches, and Ellen held my hand almost the whole time we were eating. We made some tea and had a piece of cake, talking idly about work and the kids. When we were finished Ellen took my hand and looked at me seriously, but with a smile, and pulled me towards the stairs. "Please?" she said. It lasted longer this time, and it was even better than before dinner. Ellen knew that I didn't want us to talk, but we both caressed and pleasured one other. I pulled her into one of my favorite positions, on her hands and knees over me while I lay on my back, my head beneath her beautiful dangling breasts. I kissed and sucked one while caressing the other with my hands, switching back and forth. All this time she was gently stroking my cock, sliding her hands down between my thighs and stroking my balls, then coming back to my cock. I felt enormous and hard as a rock. Then she pulled her breasts away from my lips and slid down further to take me in her mouth. I lay back and let her work on me. Because we'd had sex earlier I could revel in the pleasure without worrying about coming too soon, and she teased and excited me for a long time, using her hands as well as her mouth. When I realized I wanted to come in her pussy, not her mouth, I pulled away. She looked up at me, excitement obvious in her face, and I grabbed her and kissed her deeply, pushing my tongue in her mouth, pulling her mound against my erection. Then I turned her away from me, on her side, and got in position behind her. I love rear-entry, feeling the way her muscles clutch at me from that position. I lifted her leg and she took my cock and guided it into her. My dick felt like a steel pipe, and I flexed it a couple of times inside her. Without thrusting at all, just staying plugged tightly inside Ellen, I reached around and began to caress her. My left hand glided back and forth across her nipples, while I used my right to stroke her clit and her pussy lips as they stretched around my cock. I wanted to make her come while I was buried inside her. I worked on her steadily, enjoying her faster breathing and her quiet moans. Soon her body began to tremble, and then her hips started jerking back and forth as she got closer and closer. Without changing the speed of my caresses I made my touch lighter and more delicate, and her groaning "ohh"s got more intense. I kept it steady, loving the feel of her body moving against me, and then she cried out and jerked violently back and forth. I didn't let up, just kept stroking, and her orgasm seemed to go on and on, for almost a minute. An Innocent Question Ch. 03 Finally I felt the tension go out of her, and she put her hands on mine to stop my caresses. "Baby, please—just, wait, you need to . . ." I stopped, just holding her close, enjoying the feeling of her warmth and the sweat on her, my cock still hard inside her. For a minute or two we lay together, and then she wriggled her bottom at me. It seemed like an invitation, and I began to stroke in and out of her. She was very wet and it felt great. I wanted to fuck her forever, just to go all night. I found a rhythm and stayed with it, letting my pleasure build. After a few minutes Ellen started trembling; I could feel her clutching me inside and knew that another orgasm was coming. I just kept fucking her, holding her tight against me. She spasmed around me, crying out. "Ohh, oh my God, Dan . . . do it!" Amazingly enough I was still fully in control, her orgasm hadn't brought on my own, so I kept thrusting. She relaxed after her orgasm with a sigh and lay passively, letting me continue to drill her. After another couple of minutes I wanted to go harder. I reached for a pillow, then put it next to her and rolled her up on it, so she was on her knees with the pillow under her middle. I thought I could stay in her but my cock slipped out. I got her in position, then slid smoothly back in. From this position I could thrust harder and get deeper. I was almost ready to come and I wanted to build up to it. My strokes were deep and hard, but not frantic. I pulled at her hips with each push inside her, staying in a regular rhythm, feeling the surge of pleasure rushing through me. With each stroke it got more intense. I felt focused on her pussy around my cock, and nothing else. Each thrust felt like the countdown to a missile launch, and I reveled in the feeling of keeping it regular, keeping it rhythmic. Only at the very end did I lose it, ramming into her, grinding every millimeter of my dick into Ellen's hot cunt, losing myself in the agonizing pleasure of the final short strokes. I jerked and grunted and pushed as the feelings washed over me. When the physical joy faded, finally, I held Ellen and pulled her with me as we collapsed together on our sides, me still behind her and plugged into her. It had been an incredible fuck—not only for me, but clearly for her as well. I idly wondered whether it was as good as fucking Chris Doebe had been, but I was too tired to give a damn. Ellen pulled away from me. I didn't know why at first, but then she rolled over towards me, her face flushed and alive with joy. I was afraid she'd speak, but she just came into my arms and began kissing me, passionately. She deep-kissed my mouth, then kissed my cheeks, my eyes, my forehead. She pulled my head close to her lips and murmured, "thank you, thank you!" into my ears as she ran her fingers through my hair and stroked my scalp. Then she returned to my mouth and we kissed some more, for a long time. Eventually, without any more words, we turned off the lights and went to sleep. *************** *************** ELLEN'S STORY Thank God for me falling on my head! Because after that first night of incredible sex together, everything changed. I'd like to say that it was all smooth sailing, but that wouldn't be true. There were good days and bad days, good moments and bad ones. On the good days we were so happy! I'd make an extra-nice breakfast for Dan, then he'd carry me upstairs for some loving and we'd both be late for work. Or he'd show up at my office at 12 with a picnic lunch, and we'd go sit in the lobby of the University Library for an hour while we ate (it was far too cold to eat outside). And we started having more conversations like in the old days, too. Dan would say, "can you explain Paris Hilton to me? I mean, why does anybody care?" and we'd laugh and talk about that for a while. Or I'd ask him why the same people who scream about the high price of gasoline go on buying SUVs that get 8 miles to the gallon. In other words, we were getting back to talking about anything and everything. One night he decided he was going to torture me a little. We went to bed on the early side and began to make love. Dan started going down on me, and he just wouldn't stop! I loved it when he gave me orgasms this way, but usually it was a prelude to some regular fucking. This time he teased me, using his lips and tongue to get me close, then backing off. He'd lift his head and kiss my belly, caressing my breasts with his hands, and wait until my excitement eased a bit, then he'd start over again. He took more than half an hour, bringing me to the brink at least five times, before I couldn't stand any more—I grabbed his head and pushed it into my crotch, rubbing my clit on his mouth until I exploded. I shrieked and came all over his face. It was fantastic! About three weeks after our return to making love, I plucked up my courage and asked Dan a question over dinner. "Honey, would it be all right if I . . . if I started reaching for you again?" "You mean in bed?" he replied. I nodded. "You remember that Arthur said I really had to wait, that it was going to be up to you to let me know how I could show you how I felt—how much I wanted you? Well, now that we're getting along so well, I feel it more than ever." "Go on." "Dan, there have been so many times in the last couple of weeks when I've wanted to jump you. Like yesterday morning in the shower; I lay in bed wishing like crazy I could just come in there with you, but I was afraid to." He thought for a minute and then said, "things feel different now, I guess. I guess I don't feel like you'd be faking it, or it would be out of guilt or pity. At least not as much. "Why don't you try it the next time you feel it, Ellen. And if it bothers me, I promise I'll say so gently. No more pushing you away, or leaping up out of bed." Dan was silent another moment, and then he said, "can I tell you something else? That night a while ago, when I did leap out of bed? I was still too mad and hurt then—but I want you to know that what you did was really sexy. I'd like it if you'd try it again sometime." I smiled at him, remembering. I'd come to bed without my nightie, and spooned in behind him, rubbing my breasts against his back, sliding my hands around to caress his chest and his cock. It had turned me on a lot too—until the moment he rejected me. "I'll be happy to try that one again," I said. "Are you busy about twenty minutes from now, once I've gotten these dishes washed?" "You wash and I'll dry," Dan said with a grin. But as I said, there were bad days too. I came home one Thursday and found him sitting in his living room chair, holding a bottle of beer, with a cold and distant look on his face. Somehow I knew not to say a word—I knew what it was about. I sat on the floor next to his chair and put my arms around his legs, leaning my head against his thigh. We sat there in silence together for quite a while. Finally, he said, "I'm starting to feel better, I guess. It was the silliest little thing. Harold told a stupid joke this afternoon about an older woman and a younger man, and it got me thinking about you and Chris." I didn't answer, just squeezed his legs a little tighter and stayed right where I was. After another few minutes he said, "okay, enough of that. How about some dinner?" And the moment passed. Another time was worse. We were screwing, energetically, in the missionary position, both of us really excited. I was pushing my hips up at Dan and making little rhythmic groaning noises, sort of an "uhh" on each stroke, my eyes closed. Then all of sudden he stopped, suddenly. My eyes popped open in surprise and I could see a pained look on his face. "What, baby?" I asked, before I could stop myself. He just grimaced, shook his head, and rolled off me to lie by my side. It was several minutes before he spoke. "You sounded so excited, like you were really getting into it. It turned me on a lot, Ellen. And then suddenly I wondered . . . whether that's what you sounded like with Chris. And whether I excited you as much as he did. Whether sex with me would ever be as good as it was with him." He stopped, and I wondered whether to say anything. It felt like making a mistake at this moment would be really terrible. "Sex with you is terrific, Dan. Sometimes it's gentle and loving, sometimes it's fast and exciting, like tonight. But it's always great. "And you know something else? I don't really think that much about sex with Chris anymore. I mean, I certainly remember what he and I did. But it never even occurs to me to compare it to what you and I do." Dan looked at me, wanting to believe me but still doubtful. "Think about the last time we had dinner downtown at "Chez Marcel". The food was fabulous, right? Well, as you ate your Veal Sorrentino, did you compare it to some other meal at some other restaurant, or did you just think, 'damn, this is really good veal'?" Dan laughed, and said, "okay, I see your point. Actually, I thought 'I need to give Ellen a taste of this'!" I snuggled up tightly against him and we just lay there for awhile, not talking. We weren't getting back to screwing that night, that was clear—but at that moment the talk we'd had was far more important. *************** On a Saturday in late April Dan asked if we could take a picnic and go hiking, about 20 miles outside Columbus where there's a lake we really like. I suspected something was up, but I didn't ask questions—I just made us a nice lunch and off we went. We hiked for a couple of hours, then settled down on our blanket and had lunch. I was a little nervous, but Dan was relaxed and happy so I didn't fear that anything bad was coming. We'd had some of our usual random, speculative conversations on the way up. After lunch he sat back against a tree and gestured for me to come curl up with him, which I did. "On Thursday Arthur and I agreed that I'm ready to stop seeing him," Dan said. "Really?" I replied. "That sounds like good news." "Well, it had been coming for a while, but something I talked about with him this week seemed to clinch it for both of us." Dan gently turned me so he could see my face. "On Tuesday I told him that I think I still hadn't completely forgiven you—no, wait, that's not quite right. I told him that I have forgiven you, but that a part of me is still holding onto . . . onto what you and Chris did. And holding it over your head. "I said that I wanted to let go of it, because it was keeping me from being happy. It seemed crazy, I said to him, because I was holding onto my painful feelings just to have something to be mad at you about, or to be hurt about. "See, if I'm totally happy again, if you and I are back to our loving relationship, then I must be over what happened—so I can't be upset with you about it any more. So in some sort of crazy way, I wasn't letting myself be completely happy, because then I would have to accept that I was done being angry at you. I wouldn't have a moral advantage—I couldn't feel that you still owed me something for making me miserable, if I wasn't miserable any more. He looked intently at me. "Does that make any sense?" "I think so. I think all of us secretly like that feeling of being angry or hurt, that sense that someone owes us something. So we maybe hold onto our grievances sometimes longer than we really need to." "Exactly." Dan nodded, and smiled at me. "Anyway, when I got through saying all that to Arthur, he looked thoughtful, and then said he thought we were ready to finish our sessions." We were silent a minute, and then I squeezed him tighter. "I like the idea of you being completely happy again. Especially if it's happy with me. "But I want to say one other thing. Even if you're over being hurt by what I did, I'm not over feeling bad about it. So I hope it's okay if I go on trying to make it up to you." He smiled again. "What do you have in mind?" "Well . . . I have a couple of ideas. Like right now I'd like us to clean up this lunch, finish our hike, then take a long hot shower together, and then I'd like permission to fuck your brains out." "Granted," Dan replied. *************** *************** Epilogue Dan was already getting dinner going when I came home. I checked the machine and found one message that he hadn't already erased—it was from Emily, inviting us to her annual deck party in a couple of weeks. Feeling tense and worried, I went straight into the kitchen and hugged him. "Hi baby. Did you hear the message?" "Yes. Emily and her deck party." He looked closely at me. "You look unhappy. Worried about me, and us bumping into Chris?" I nodded, feeling tears start to build up in my eyes. "I don't . . . you . . . you don't deserve to go through that, Dan. Having to . . . I don't know, make conversation with him. Pretend that I never . . . did what I did." Dan smiled, and kissed me. "Actually I've given this a fair amount of thought, Ellen. Emily has her party every year, so I knew we'd be facing this. It's been a year, and I'm happy with where we are. I can be a man—I can shake hands with Chris and make a couple of minutes of polite conversation. "That is, as long as you're all mine again. You are all mine, aren't you baby?" I took a step back and looked at him seriously. Then I said, slowly, "yes Dan, I am. All of me is yours—always." I stepped forward and gave him a big kiss. "These are yours—" pointing to my lips. "And these—" taking his hands and putting them on my breasts. "And this—" I held one of his hands in mine and slid it slowly, gently down inside my slacks, where he got the idea and cupped my pussy, making me tingle. "And this." I moved his other hand, placing it right over my heart. "Okay then," Dan said. "In that case we'll go to Emily's party, we'll visit with everyone—including Chris—we'll have a nice time. And then we'll come home and have the same kind of hot sex we had after last year's party. Just you and me, hon. No Bridget, no Chris. Just the two of us." I kissed him again, and held him close against me. "It's a date," I said.