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Looking Right At It Ch. 01

By: ohio



JULIE'S STORY

In my whole life I'd never looked so closely at a penis as I was right then. I was holding it in my hand, Bobby's cock, and it looked beautiful. It was so hot, and so unbelievably hard! My husband's penis had never been so hard, had it? Certainly not any time recently—but then, he wasn't 26 anymore, the way Bobby was.

No, Alan was 43, two years older than I was, and about the only time I ever held his cock was when I was sliding it into me—either lying on my back, missionary position, or sitting on top of him. In either case I didn't have it right in my face, and it was never as stiff and hard as this one.

Bobby interrupted my excited thoughts. "C'mon, Julie, suck it," he said.

"I ... I've never ... Bobby, I don't know how!" I confessed, blushing.

He looked at me, incredulous. "You've never sucked a cock?"

I shook my head.

"Okay, babe, it's not so difficult. Just take it gently in your mouth... just the head, that's it. Ooh, good! Now use your tongue all around it—just keep your teeth from scraping me..."

He continued to give instructions. I was too excited to be embarrassed, and Bobby's moans and groans made it clear I must have been doing all right. Within a few minutes he was warning me, "baby, it's coming, it's coming, it's ... oh God!"

The hot sperm shot into my mouth. I tried to swallow, but there was too much of it, and some dripped out between my lips and down my chin. I gasped for breath, and looked up to see Bobby leaning back against the headboard, smiling at me.

"Baby, that was great! Give me a minute, I'm gonna return the favor."

In no time he had his head between my legs, and for the first time in my life I felt the incredible pleasure of having my pussy and clit licked and sucked. Bobby's tongue and fingers worked me over good—I was gasping, rolling my hips, crying out over and over. He didn't let me up until I had come twice, and then he was on me in an instant, his cock rock-hard again, fucking me deliciously.

Only much later, when we'd both showered and were getting dressed, did he ask me about my inexperience.

"Julie, you've really never blown a guy before—not even your husband?"

I blushed again, this time for two reasons. I was embarrassed to be so inexperienced, and I wished Bobby wouldn't mention Alan to me. I was trying as hard as I could not to think of him.

"No," I answered shyly. "He's always wanted me to, but ... I guess I thought it was gross. After a while he just gave up asking."

Bobby looked amazed, as though the idea of any man giving up on oral sex was unthinkable. "And he never goes down on you either?"

I shook my head. "I never ... let him."

Buttoning his shirt, Bobby grinned at me. "Well then, baby, we sure have a lot of lost time for you to make up for!"

Looking at the clock, I hustled him down the stairs towards the door. Alan would be home in less than an hour, and I had to get the sheets in the laundry and the bedroom cleaned up. I'd better open the windows to get the smell of sex out of the air, too!

***   ***   ***   ***   

This was the second time I'd had sex with Bobby, and it was even more exciting than the first. We'd met about ten weeks before, when he joined the staff at the insurance office where I work. Bobby is gorgeous—about 5'11", with dark wavy hair, amazing dark eyes, and a muscular body. Every woman in the office probably started fantasizing about him within his first two days at work!

I half-expected him to make some sort of pass at me—that's what I'm used to getting from male colleagues—but he was completely professional. We exchanged pleasantries over coffee breaks, or at lunch in the building cafeteria, but he never went further than that. 

After a while it started to get to me—why wasn't he at least interested? I may have turned forty, but I still had a nice figure and a big chest, one that got lots of looks from all the men in the vicinity. But never a come-on, or even a hint of one, from Bobby.

But I would notice him gazing at me from time to time, and it stirred me up inside. I'd been faithful to Alan for all of the 21 years of our marriage; and I had turned down a fair number of offers in that time, too. There was something about Bobby, though—the way his eyes looked hungrily at me, yet he never behaved in a flirtatious way with me at all.

I rushed into the stock room one day, in a hurry as usual, and found him looking through some boxes for something. We were alone, and without thinking I went over and stood in front of him until he looked up.

"Why don't you ever flirt with me, Bobby? I see you look, and I can tell you're interested."

I couldn't believe I had said that! I started to blush, and backed up a step. He just looked at me, a broad grin slowly spreading on his face, his eyes burning into me. But he didn't say a word.

I was suddenly terribly embarrassed. I was going to turn and run out of the stock room. Instead I stepped forward and kissed him, hard, on the mouth.

Inside I was screaming at myself! Julie, what the hell are you doing? But then his arms slid around me, holding me close, and our lips opened and his tongue came into my mouth, and I was more aroused than I'd ever been in my entire life.

He held me and kissed me for several minutes, and I was out of control. We rubbed our bodies against one another. My nipples hardened, and my panties felt wet. I could feel his hard cock pressing into me. I was breathing hard, and I could hear he was too. Neither of us spoke.

Finally, he gently stepped back from me, holding my shoulders. We gazed at each other, still not speaking.

Then he said, "how soon can you get out of here today?"

I looked at my watch. It was 1:45. "I could make an excuse and be out by about 2:30."

Bobby said, "my apartment building is at 220 Green St., right near the corner of Elm. It's apartment 310. I'll meet you there in an hour."

And before I could answer, he had moved past me and disappeared out the door of the stock room. I had no time to say, "no, I can't," or "we shouldn't", or any of the things I should have said.

But would I have said any of them? As I stood there, feeling the wetness in my underwear, I knew the answer was no.

***   ***   ***   ***   

When I got to Bobby's apartment he greeted me at the door, wearing a bath robe and holding a bottle of champagne. I didn't even give him a chance to put the bottle down before I was in his arms, kissing him desperately. I felt like a teenager—had I ever been this excited before?

We went straight to bed and fucked for two hours. There were some pauses in between for some champagne and a little conversation, but it was mostly just sex. Hot, glorious sex. He had me the first time in missionary position, which I was used to—but after that we did doggy-style, which Alan had asked me for but which I'd always refused. And the third time Bobby sat on a chair and had me straddle his lap. That way he could lick and suck on my breasts while we fucked, and I loved it. Feeling his tongue on my nipple and his cock in my pussy at the same time made me come like crazy.

I finally showered and staggered out of there around 5:15, with barely enough time to get home and make dinner for Alan. I was dizzy; and satisfied; and thrilled; and appalled; and guilty.

For one thing, Bobby seemed to like to ask me about Alan, while all I was doing was trying to forget about my husband, forget about the fact that I was cheating on him. Adultery was a sin—I believed that. It was an unforgivable act, something that no loving wife would ever do to her husband.

So how was it that that strongly held belief had not kept Bobby's tongue out of my mouth? Or me out of his bed, or his cock out of my pussy? I simply hadn't any idea.

***   ***   ***   ***   

I was terrified that Alan would take one look at me and see right into me, knowing instantly how I had spent the afternoon. I was not much of a liar (or even a poker player), and he was always very aware of my feelings and moods.

But I tried hard not to over-do it, not to be TOO affectionate or cheerful when he came in the door, just play it as I always did; and it seemed to work.

We had our usual chatter over dinner, about his work and mine, and what the kids were probably up to. Brian, our oldest, was a junior at Lehigh, and his sister Bethany was a senior at a boarding school outside Harrisburg.

That night I was eager to make love to Alan, I think mainly to reassure myself that he and I were still fine. But he didn't seem interested, and I let it go rather than doing anything unusually aggressive. I almost never initiated sex, and if I had come on to him too strongly he might have wondered what was going on.

The next day at work I tried to be cool as a cucumber around Bobby—the usual casual morning greetings, a bit of chat over coffee with the rest of the office, nothing special.

It just about drove me NUTS! He seemed able to drop back into that role without a second thought, while I was as jittery as a hunting dog who hears shots fired.

I managed to get through that day and the next, but by the third day I simply couldn't stand it. About 11am I strolled past his desk and handed him a brochure, saying something innocuous about how it advertised a new product I thought he might want to offer to some of his clients. Inside I had written, "next Thursday at lunchtime, my house?"

In the early afternoon he came by my desk, thanked me for the brochure, and said quietly, "I'll be there around noon."

I felt my pulse start to race. I knew I didn't have to worry about Alan on Thursday; it was the day he had to make a weekly trip to an electrical switching station, part of his regular maintenance routine; so all I had to do was get the approval of Maureen, my office manager, for a personal day.

And that's how I came to be naked with Bobby, in my own bedroom, with him giving me blowjob lessons! And as I sent him out the door, then hurried back upstairs to wash the sheets, I felt even more confused about things than the first time.

Was I guilty? Yes, incredibly. I didn't know what the hell I was doing, slutting around behind the back of my faithful, loving husband. What would he do if he found out? I had no idea, but just thinking about it scared me.

And was I excited? Yes, excited and fulfilled and delighted with myself. Fucking Bobby, letting him lick me, and above all taking his cock into my mouth, was about the most thrilling thing I could remember doing. I knew it was wrong—I knew I had done something that all my life I considered dirty—and that made it even more exciting.

As I cleaned up the house, unable to solve the problem of my guilt and my excited pleasure, I concentrated on just one thing: be normal for Alan. Just like the first time, make sure I was my usual, calm, affectionate self by the time he came home.

***   ***   ***   ***   

ALAN'S STORY

I don't know if I'm an unusually perceptive person, but I've always been able to read Julie very well. We met in college, and I fell in love with her almost instantly. It maybe took her a bit longer to be convinced that I was the right guy, but we've been together ever since: nearly 22 years.

One of the things that helped me win Julie's heart was my ability to tell what she was feeling, and what she might want in any situation. I remember a big party we went to my senior year, at a frat house that some friends of mine belonged to. Everyone was a little drunk, having a good time, the music playing; but I could tell about an hour into the party that Julie was uneasy. She didn't say or do anything, and no one but me picked up whatever the subtle cues were.

So I took her aside, and sure enough she really wanted to leave. When we were walking away from the party, she explained that a former boyfriend—who had sort of stalked her after they broke up and whom she wanted to avoid—had been in the next room, and she was uncomfortable being around him.

The happy ending of the evening for me was Julie's gratitude to me for being so aware of her feelings. By then we were sleeping together, and our love-making that night was more passionate and intense than anything we'd had together up til then.

Throughout our marriage, I've always been able to tell how Julie is feeling. So one day early last week, I wasn't in the kitchen for more than two minutes when I knew something was different.

I didn't immediately know what it was—just that Julie was not herself. There was an indefinable way in which she was trying so hard to ACT normal, that I could instantly tell that she wasn't FEELING normal.

Figuring out what it was took a little longer, perhaps because as I began to suspect the truth it seemed so unlikely. Julie having an affair? Not only was she a very moral person, with a strong sense of ethical responsibility, but she was pretty uptight sexually. So a sexual escapade was certainly not the first thing to occur to me.

But as I observed her, that possibility kept rising to the surface. She was not angry or unhappy—on the contrary there was a kind of suppressed giddiness to her, the way she moved around the kitchen, the way she chattered to me about things at work.

And it seemed she glanced over at me a lot, as though wondering what I was thinking. After 22 years, married people don't normally work that hard to check their spouse's feelings!

Then, there was the conspicuous absence of the name "Bobby" from her conversation, as there had been for several days previous to that night. When Bobby first joined Julie's office she mentioned him a lot: not only was he the new guy, but Julie thought he was attractive, and apparently the other women in the office thought he was hot and talked about him all the time.

So for a few weeks, Bobby's name figured prominently in Julie's chitchat about work. Then it suddenly disappeared—he was never mentioned.

All in all, by the time dinner was over I was sure that something was going on with Julie that she wasn't telling me about; and I had the unhappy suspicion it had to do with Bobby.

At bedtime, Julie came out of the bathroom in one of her very few sexy nighties, and smilingly asked me if I "wanted to fool around". She takes the lead in sex very rarely—and almost always on a Saturday night after we've been out with friends and had some drinks. Approaching me sober on a Tuesday night was pretty surprising.

So, while I certainly might have been interested, I made a snap decision to put her off and see what would happen. "You look gorgeous, Julie," I said with a fake yawn, "but I'm dead on my feet tonight. Eddie kept me running all afternoon at work today. How about a rain check until tomorrow?"

Out of the corner of I my eye I watched her hesitate, as though unsure what to do next. Would she push me, or let it drop? She let it drop, contenting herself with giving me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Why did she give up, I wondered? If she really wanted to make love, Julie surely knew she could easily enough talk me into it. She must have been afraid that her unexpected interest in sex would seem suspicious to me! But the irony was that NOT trying harder to seduce me made me more certain than ever that something was up—something I wasn't going to like.

You might wonder why I didn't simply ask her. Well, that was never my style. I grew up in a household with two parents who fought like the Hatfields and the McCoys. There were brutal arguments several times a week—especially if they'd been drinking—and it used to get so bad that my kid sister and I would lock ourselves in the bathroom and cower in the bathtub, covering our ears.

It was a frightening and unhappy way to grow up, and I vowed that I would never be the sort of combative spouse my parents had been. My philosophy with Julie, and with all my girlfriends before I got married, was be calm, be patient, and let things slide.

That didn't mean I let women walk all over me—just that I tried hard not to get upset about little things, or challenge Julie about small issues that didn't matter very much. If she was overtired or stressed from work and made a cutting remark, I'd let it go rather than snapping back at her. And when I could sense something was bothering her, especially if it seemed to have to do with me, I would wait and see how she handled it.

Sometimes, after stewing about something for a couple of days, Julie would come talk to me about it, and we'd work it out. But in other cases, I found that if I left things alone, they'd frequently work themselves out without our having to hash them out. And for 22 years that approach had worked pretty well.

So: that night I had some suspicions about Julie, and the horrific possibility that she was cheating on me had raised its ugly head. But I was far from certain, and there seemed no point in confronting her without evidence. It simply wasn't my way of doing things.

***   ***   ***   ***   

Three days later, though, matters got much more serious. I happened to get home before Julie, which is unusual, and as I came in the door I heard the phone ringing and the answering machine pick up. I didn't grab the phone, and I heard the voice of Maureen, Julie's office manager.

"Julie, this is Maureen. I got your note—yes, of course you can have next Thursday for a personal day. Just make sure to mark it down on your quarterly report. Bye!"

Just a moment later Julie came in the door, and I went over to give her a kiss. 

She said, "any messages on the machine, honey?" 

Just to see what would happen I said, "I don't know, I just came in and haven't had a chance to look."

Then I went off to the bedroom to change out of my work clothes. When I came back, Julie was bustling around, getting dinner ready. I glanced over at the message machine, which now said "Zero".

"Were there any messages?" I asked.

"No," she said casually, reaching into the refrigerator.

This is getting a lot worse, I thought. Julie's taking a day off from work and I'm not supposed to know about it. And her demeanor all that evening had the same "everything is oh-so-normal" quality that kept my alarm bells ringing.

After an uneasy night, I got up the next morning knowing I had to know more. Over the next two days I got in touch with a buddy in the electronics business, and arranged to borrow four voice-activated tape recorders—real small ones, about the size of a paperback book. I told him I was trying to figure out what Julie wanted for an anniversary present, so I was hiding them in the house for when she spoke to her sister on the phone.

On the night before Julie's secret "day off", I hid one recorder under the front seat of her car. The other three I concealed in our living room, in the guest bedroom, and in our bedroom. If Julie did any fucking around in our house, I would know it—and if she went elsewhere, at least the tape in the car might give me some clues. I also noted down her mileage, so I could see how far she might have driven during the day.

I went off to work on Thursday with an uneasy heart. When I came home that night Julie was cheerful and affectionate, but just a little too giddy and excited for me to believe that all was normal.

I discreetly looked around the house. All the rooms were tidy, the bedroom just as usual; but I noticed that the shower in the bathroom was still wet—someone had used it that afternoon.

I spent an unhappy evening, watching Julie try to pretend everything was fine and pretending the same thing myself. I'd already arranged to take Friday afternoon off—I was going to come home early, check the tape recorders and find out what was really going on.

***   ***   ***   ***  

"What was really going on," it turned out, was about as bad as it could be. Julie and Bobby fucking in our bedroom! Her sucking his cock—something she had never done for me in 22 years. And him eating her pussy, a treat similarly denied to me despite numerous requests.


Looking Right At It Ch. 01



My strategy of "lie back and wait, see what happens" had not exactly paid off. It was time to look right at what Julie had done—and make her look at it.

When Julie found me in the living room Friday evening there was a surprised look on her face.

"Honey, is everything OK? I saw your car when I got home, and wondered if anything had ...."

She broke off when she saw my face. I was sitting up straight on the sofa, looking at her with a face that must have conveyed the icy anger I was feeling.

"Hello, Julie," I said quietly. Then, "anything go on yesterday that you neglected to tell me about?"

She stood very still, just looking at me. She looked too terrified to speak.

After a minute of waiting I reached over to the side table and picked up the tape recorder I'd brought down from the bedroom. Without speaking I pressed "Play".

In the quiet room we heard Bobby's voice say "C'mon, Julie, suck it." 

Then Julie: "I ... I've never ... Bobby, I don't know how!" 

Bobby: "You've never sucked a cock? ... Okay, babe, it's not so difficult. Just take it gently in your mouth... just the head, that's it. Ooh, good! Now use your tongue all around it—just keep your teeth from scraping me..."

The tape stopped suddenly. With a sob, Julie had lunged forward to press "Stop". Now she was sitting on the edge of the sofa, crying, her face buried in her hands.

I listened to her cry for a few minutes. Then I got up and walked to the door.

"I'll be back in half an hour. In case it's not already obvious to you, we have some talking to do."

With that, I left her and climbed the stairs to the bedroom.

***   ***   ***   ***   

When I returned to the living room Julie was sitting on the sofa, gazing out the window. She turned to look at me, and I saw her red eyes and the make-up that had streamed down her cheeks along with her tears.

I sat down without a word and looked at her, waiting.

Finally she said, "Alan, I ... I know you ... you must be expecting me to explain what I've done ....

"But I can't! I've done a terrible thing, I've cheated on you, I've broken our marriage vows, and I can't ... I don't even know what happened. I know I've hurt you, and ..."

"Do you love him?" I interrupted her, my voice quiet but harsh.

Her head swung towards me, a shocked expression on her face. "Of course not! It was just ... just a stupid flirtation that got out of hand. I'm so sorry, sweetheart!" She started to tear up again.

Quietly but relentlessly, I made her tell me all of it. The meaningful glances at works, the kissing in the stock room, the first time at his apartment, and then their tryst in our bedroom. Her voice flat and toneless, she answered all of my questions. I even asked her about the positions they fucked in; looking at me shamefacedly, she told me about the doggy-style and the time she sat straddling him in a chair. Her expression made clear that she remembered just as well as I did that she'd refused to try things like that with me.

"And was he a good fuck?" I asked, still in a quiet voice. "Did he make you come? Is he better than I am?"

For the first time she hesitated, crying harder—but she must have felt she had no choice but to answer me.

"It was ... exciting, Alan. Because it was somebody new and different. And he's only 26, so he can ... he can do it again pretty quickly."

She saw the pain deepen in my face, and turned away.

"And you were cheating on me, right Julie? You were fucking him behind my back, and it was a turn-on, wasn't it?"

She looked back at me, distraught. I could tell she wanted to cry, "no, Alan, no it wasn't like that"—but she couldn't deny it.

"And then there were all the new tricks," I went on. "Sucking your first cock, after 22 years, and it wasn't even your husband's! Getting your pussy licked, and not by your husband's tongue! Fucked from behind, fucked on a chair, fucked all afternoon in your own bed, your husband's bed—but not by your husband!"

"Stop, Alan, stop!" Julie was weeping, looking at me beseechingly.

"Oh I will, Julie, I'm all done." I went to the hall and returned with the suitcase I'd packed upstairs in the bedroom. When she saw it Julie jumped up and came towards me. "Please, Alan, please don't leave!"

"Oh, I'm not leaving," I said. "You are! I've packed some of your things—and I want you out of this house. Now!"

She looked at me in utter shock, and I went on.

"I don't want to see you this weekend. You can come back during the day on Monday and get the rest of your things. That will be your last chance—after that I'm changing the locks."

"But Alan, please, you can't throw me out!"

"On the contrary, I most certainly can. Go to your sister's, go to your parents, find a hotel, I don't give a shit. Just don't plan on coming back here.

"This is how it is Julie. I don't want to see you, talk to you, or hear from you for two months. Don't call me, don't email me, don't send me a fucking carrier pigeon."

"But honey..." she was wailing. I ignored her cries. Taking her firmly by the arm and the suitcase in the other hand, I walked her down the hall to the front door. 

Getting more and more hysterical, she cried, "Alan, don't do this! I'm your wife!"

"You WERE my wife, you silly bitch. But right now you aren't anything to me but a slut who fucked another man in my bed! And you're getting the hell out of my house!"

Turning to the hall table, I put her purse in her hand and the suitcase on the front step. Then I moved Julie, still sobbing, out the door and closed it firmly behind her.

[End of Part 1—This story will continue in two months.] 



Looking Right At It Ch. 02



[Note: This is the second part of a three-part story. The first part was posted exactly two months ago. The third and last part will be posted tomorrow.]

ALAN'S STORY

I knew Julie too well to think that she would actually leave me alone for two months, and I was right. The phone calls began within hours. I could have predicted what she wanted to say, but I don't actually know because I let the machine pick up (adjusted to silent mode, so I couldn't hear her) and I deleted every one of her messages without listening.

It was the same at work. She left message after message the first week—either on my voicemail (which I deleted) or with Mariel, the office manager. I had already told Mariel that I wouldn't answer any of Julie's calls, so she just came to me at the end of the day, an ironic smile on her face, and said, "six more calls today!", or whatever the number was. And I nodded and thanked her.

I could tell on Monday after work that Julie had come home for more of her clothes and things. In fact, I was mildly surprised that she hadn't come back over the weekend and tried to talk her way in—but perhaps the depth of my anger when I confronted her Friday night had frightened her too much.

In any event, on Monday night her side of the bedroom closet was bare, and several of her dresser drawers had been emptied. Her cosmetics were gone from the bathroom, and she'd taken a framed picture of the kids from our dresser.

And—of course—there was an envelope in the middle of the dining room table, addressed just to "My husband Alan". I tore it in half and tossed it into the trash.

I figured it would be her sister next. Either her or Julie's dad—but that would mean confessing to him what she had done, so it seemed unlikely. Sister Sarah was far more likely to have given Julie a sympathetic ear, while Dad would have ripped her a new one for cheating on me. I knew he liked me, and I liked him a lot too.

Sure enough, an hour after I got home from work on Thursday there was Sarah ringing the bell. She began, "Alan, I know that you ...."

I raised my hand in her face, cutting her off before she could go any further.

"Hello, Sarah, it's nice to see you," I said cordially. "Let me make this as plain as possible: I am not having any conversation with you that has anything to do with Julie, or in which her name is mentioned. Is that clear?

"If you've come for any other reason, by all means come in and we can visit. Have you had dinner?"

Looking a bit shocked by my firmness, she just blinked at me. Then she said, "no, Alan, you know what I came to speak to you about. It's just that she's so ..."

Again I interrupted her. "No more, Sarah! I'm not kidding. I will not speak to you about her, and I won't listen to you about her."

She looked hard at me for a minute, then sighed. "Okay, Alan, have it your way. I'm sorry you're doing this, but it's your decision."

I didn't reply to that. I watched as she walked back to her car, shaking her head, and drove away.

The kids were tougher. Knowing Julie, she would have called both of them; then Brian and Bethany together would have decided that she, my little girl, would be the one to speak to me. She always had a way of getting me to do pretty much what she wanted! 

But when the call came Bethany got an unpleasant surprise. "Dad, it's me," she began. "What on earth is going on with you and Mom?"

"Hi, sweetheart," I replied. "How is everything at school? It's nice to hear your voice!"

"Dad, Mom called me and Brian, and she's . . ."

"Beth, stop!" I interrupted her forcefully. "Your mom and I are going through a difficult period right now, and that's all I'm going to say to you and Brian about it. We both love you very much, and we will always be there for you. Beyond that, sweetie, I don't want you or your brother in the middle of it, and I'm not going to discuss it with you."

She started sniffling a little bit. "But daddy, she's so upset, and I ..."

"Bethany, that's enough! We can talk about something else, or we can get off the phone. Is that clear?"

There was a longish silence. I could just see my daughter's face, as she wondered how she was going to get around me.

"Okay, dad—I guess I understand." She spoke to me for a few minutes about school, and her friends. Then she said, suddenly, "dad, mom said that you ..."

I interrupted her again. "That's enough, Bethany! Nice talking to you! Bye, sweetie, I love you!" I hung up the phone.

Somehow the message finally got through, and when Brian called a couple of days later he complied with my prohibition on conversation about Julie—for which I was grateful.

The next few weeks were empty, and lonely. Given the alternative, that's how I wanted it. I spent a lot of time by myself. I didn't feel much like seeing friends, so I had an occasional beer with my co-workers at the end of the day, then went home. I read a lot. I worked in the yard, getting caught up on some of what I had fallen behind on.

And I spent a lot of time at the gym. I had always worked out a couple of times a week, but I was no fanatic. It was mainly to keep encroaching middle-age at bay a little; as I approached 44, I didn't want to look as flabby and sagging as some of the guys on my block.

Now, however, I began to work out enthusiastically, almost eagerly. I went to the gym 5-6 times a week, sometimes to run, other times to work out with weights or on the machines. After a few weeks, my 3 miles on the treadmill in about 30 minutes had become 4 miles in less than 34 minutes; my 120-lb bench press and my 210-lb leg press were getting up around 180 and 300.

It was the running I liked the best, because it hurt. I would set the machine to throw some unexpectedly steep hills at me, and I'd storm up them, feeling the burning in my hamstrings and in my lungs. I think I liked the pain because it was so intense that it temporarily drove out the other pain, the one I had with me all the time—the pain about Julie. Somehow it felt as though each time I upped my speed in the final half-mile, I was overcoming the helpless rage and frustration I carried around me every day and night.

To tell the truth, I also liked the way I was starting to look and feel. I lost about eight pounds, and my legs and arms and chest got firmer. I had to go out and buy some pants with a smaller waist, while my T-shirts started to look tight around the arms and shoulders. I even noticed an occasional approving glance from one or another of the ladies at the gym.

But while that was flattering, it was the hard work, the pain, that did more for me. I needed to stop feeling like a helpless victim and more like a guy in control of his life. And of course, I wasn't in control of my life, yet—but I was while I was running.

I had sent Julie away for two months because I knew I'd need some time to figure out what I wanted. No decision made in the blind fury of those first days would have made any sense. At first my fantasies were of killing her, of humiliating her publicly, of beating her boyfriend to death with a tire iron. Perfectly justifiable feelings, but not the wisest alternatives!

As the end of the two months approached, I was calmer. I hadn't stopped being angry, or hurt—and images of my Julie with another guy's cock in her mouth, or poised on her hands and knees on our bed while he plowed her from behind, still tormented me all the time. But I was past the white-hot anger, the helpless desperate rage, and a bit more able to think clearly.

And I'd found out I could live without Julie. I was lonely, and very sad, but I wasn't falling to pieces. I was still going to work and doing my job; I was coming home and making myself decent meals; I was taking care of the house and paying the bills. I could even imagine myself going out with friends, starting to date again, though I wasn't nearly ready to do it yet.

I had a nice visit with Bethany at her school's visiting day—after I made sure Julie was going a different day—and several good phone conversations with Brian. They both left me alone about Julie, and I felt close to them—still in touch despite the problems in my marriage.

Those glances from women at the gym really did help—they reassured me that Julie wasn't the only woman who could ever be attracted to me. 43 wasn't 26, that was for sure, but it wasn't 83 either.

One Saturday one of the women came over and asked me to help her use the weight machines. I was pretty sure she already knew how to use them, but I didn't mind playing along. She was cute—about 5'2" and pretty, with blonde curls and a nice tight figure. She was probably in her mid-30s.

After I'd "helped her" for a while, she rested and we chatted a bit; then she invited me into the health club's Snack Bar for a quick bite. Why not? I thought, and off we went. We had a nice chat for a few minutes about this and that. Then there was a silence, and Denise said, "I've been divorced for about two years. How about you?"

I was a little taken aback by her directness, but I replied, "separated. Only a few weeks now. I don't really know what's going to happen."

She smiled in a genuinely nice way, and said, "it gets easier after awhile. I'm a little surprised by your answer, though—I noticed you weren't wearing a ring."

"I took it off the day I ... the day my wife and I separated. It's at home, on the dresser, and I see it every day. Just didn't feel like having it on my finger right about now."

We finished our lunch, and I said, "thanks for the invitation, Denise. I really enjoyed this."

She gave me another big smile and said, "well, it was a pleasure for me too, Alan. Depending on what 'separated' turns out to mean, maybe we can do it again sometime."

I continued to see Denise in the gym after that, and we had two or three more lunches on Saturdays. It was so great to be around an attractive woman, one who didn't mind making clear she was interested in me. But it never went any further than conversation. I wasn't nearly ready for a new woman in my life—I wasn't sure I was done with Julie—and she clearly understood at least some of what I was going through.

Two months from the day I'd thrown Julie out fell on a Wednesday. My prediction was that she'd call during the morning and leave me a message. When I came home there it was, her first call in several weeks, and the first one I listened to. In a quiet voice she said she'd come over to see me after dinner, and hoped I would talk with her.

As I sat in my kitchen on Wednesday evening, I wondered what Julie would have to say. I had not made any final decisions about what I wanted. But I realized that I was looking forward to listening.

*** *** *** *** 

JULIE'S STORY

In retrospect Alan was entirely right—we both needed the two months. I certainly found out that I did, although it took several weeks before I stopped being too upset to realize it.

Not having any idea what else to do, I drove straight to my sister Sarah. She lives alone in a big apartment, and when she found me sobbing on her doorstep of course she took me in.

Sarah is a couple of years older than I, always the logical, calm member of the family, while I was the impulsive one. She fed me soup and let me cry and made up her guest room bed for me and let me talk and talk and talk to her, all weekend long.

But even Sarah couldn't make me really see what I had done. Oh, I knew I had broken my vows, and hurt Alan's feelings, and it was wrong ... blah blah blah. But Sarah could see that I didn't really get it, and after about a week she let me have it.

"Jesus, Julie, will you listen to yourself? You sound like you ruined Alan's favorite shirt in the wash, or crashed his car into a fire hydrant, or forgot to pay the water bill! If I have to hear you say one more time how 'unreasonable' he's being, I'll throw you out myself!"

I was shocked into momentary silence, and she went on.

"You have absolutely NO idea how serious this is, or how much danger your marriage is in!"

I just blinked. I had those nightmares, when I imagined Alan divorcing me, but I somehow couldn't really believe he would do it. We'd been married for more than 20 years, and had two wonderful kids. I'd only slept with Bobby twice! Surely he was going to give me another chance....

"I called a friend of mine and got the number of a terrific therapist she saw when she and her husband split up," Sarah went on. "Here it is. Go call her this instant and make an appointment."

Darlene Wysocki seemed way too small and pretty to be a real therapist, but she was a tough cookie. At our first appointment she let me ramble on and on, giving the background of Alan's and my marriage, then the circumstances of my "flirtation" with Bobby (I couldn't bring myself to call it an "affair"), and finally my complaints about how Alan wouldn't answer my calls and so on.

Near the end of the session she interrupted me. "Julie, aside from your kids, who's the person you love most in the world?"

"Alan," I said simply.

"What is the absolute worst thing he could possibly do to you—aside from something ridiculous, like killing you or your children?"

I just stared at her. The answer was obvious, but I hesitated to say it. "I guess ... cheat on me. Have an affair. Fall in love with another woman, and leave me."

I sat there, shaken by the obvious implications of what I had just said.

"And why would his having an affair be so painful?" Darlene persisted.

"Because ..." I stopped, confused. There were so many reasons, I needed a minute to sort them all out.

"Because ... it would be stealing from me one of the most important parts of our relationship: my trust that he belonged only to me. Because it would destroy my confidence that he was attracted to me. Because ... Jesus, Darlene! Because a million things!"

By then I was crying, but Darlene just sat calmly and watched me. After several minutes she gently said, "Julie, we need to stop for today. But between now and next time I want you to think about why Alan cheating on you would be so painful—all the reasons why it would hurt. That's what we need to be talking about."

As I opened the door to go out, she said, "and Julie? We need to talk about your job, too."

I saw Darlene twice a week for the next eight weeks. With her help, I began to see how utterly devastating Alan's cheating on me would have been—and how devastated he must be feeling about what I had done. After our third session I went back to my office and quit my job. I had been at that insurance agency for 11 years—I loved the people and I loved working there.

But I knew that I couldn't possibly continue to work in the same place as Bobby. Even if I lost Alan, which I prayed I wouldn't, I still needed to get away from Bobby. I'd avoided talking or even looking at him since the day Alan threw me out. I was too upset even to tell him I'd been caught, and that I couldn't see him anymore. But I imagine he figured it out. His eyes still followed me around the office, but he never came over to talk to me.

My boss was kind enough to give me a great letter of recommendation, and after three weeks I found a similar job in another agency. I hated being away from all my old friends at work, but I realized I had to do it. And the energy needed for getting familiar with new routines and getting to know a lot of new people made it a little easier not to obsess about Alan, what I had done to him, and what would happen to us.

Once Darlene and I had been over and over all the ways in which my affair had hurt Alan—that is, once I finally it got it into my thick skull what I had done—we began to talk about why I had done it.

There weren't a lot of good reasons—at least, not good enough to make me feel like any less of an idiot. But I did learn some things about myself, things that I could think about and work on in the future.

And Darlene gave me one other thing, which felt like an honest-to-God gift. She told me that people don't always act logically—that sometimes even smart and reasonable people go off the track and do something crazy, or stupid, or self-destructive.

But one bad deed doesn't make you a bad person. It just makes you a person who did something bad. What matters more is how you deal with what you've done—how you atone for it, how you do whatever you can to make it right.

By the end of two months I felt like a very different person from the one who had jumped into bed with Bobby, and let him teach her how to suck his cock. I was sadder for sure, and more serious. I probably laughed a lot less and thought more.

But I also felt like I understood myself better. And I knew that I loved Alan, and wanted to do whatever I could to make up to him for what I had done.

I had a couple of great visits, and a lot of good phone conversations, with my kids during that time. I completely stopped complaining to them about Alan. I told them that he and I had separated temporarily, that we were going through some tough times, and that it was my fault. I requested that they not ask either Alan or me about any of the details.

I asked them to remember that we both loved them more than anything, and we would always be their devoted parents, whether or not we stayed together. Both Brian and Bethany were just terrific—patient, loving, and supportive. I was so proud of the young adults they have grown into!

My sister had generously let me stay with her for the whole two months. I promised her that if Alan didn't let me go back home within one more week, I'd face the unhappy task of finding myself an apartment.

*** *** *** *** 

ALAN'S STORY

When Julie came up the walk I was standing at the open doorway, gazing at her. My throat was tight, and my heart was pounding in my chest. I didn't know whether it was anger, hurt, or the love that I still felt for her.

"Hello, Alan," she said softly, looking directly at me. She appeared to want to hug me, but stopped herself.

"Hi, Julie. Come on in. Would you like some coffee?"

We sat with our cups in the living room, and she looked around at the familiar walls, the furniture and the pictures. I realized how strange it must have felt for her, to have been exiled from her home of more than 20 years.

"Alan, I have so many things I want to say to you. Would it be all right if I just came right out and said them? I guess you must have things to say to me too, or questions to ask, and I will tell you anything you want to know. But could I start?"

I just nodded.

"The first, and most important thing I have to say is: I am so sorry. Sorry for the thoughtless, selfish, stupid thing I did by having sex with Bobby. At the time I didn't have the slightest understanding of how deeply I had hurt you. But I've been seeing a therapist for the last eight weeks, talking about this over and over.

"And now I think I really do understand what I did. I understand that I took the person I love most in the world, aside from the children, and hurt him in about the worst way I possibly could."

She was speaking calmly, quietly, looking right at me, though tears were sliding down her cheeks.

"Darlene, the therapist, made me think about how I would feel if you had done this to me, and I really had to look at it—look right at it—and feel those feelings for myself. I won't presume to say that I know how you feel, but I can tell you that I've spent an awful lot of time thinking about it and imagining it."

I said before that I've always been sensitive to Julie's moods, and pretty much able to tell what she was feeling. But I had never seen her like this before. She was speaking with a seriousness and forthrightness that was brand-new to me.

"I betrayed you so horribly. And I'm never going to try to minimize it, or pretend it was less than it was. I know what I did, and how awful it was. I ... I had sex with another man. I initiated it. I did it with him in our bed."




Looking Right At It Ch. 02



She stopped for a minute, sobbing a little, but pulled herself together and went on.

"And I did ... things with him that I never did with you—things that you had wanted to do with me, but I refused. And it would ... have gone on, if you hadn't found out. I don't know how long, but I hadn't ended it.

"Alan," she said suddenly, "do you want to talk? Do you want to shout at me, or call me the names I'm sure you must have thought of a thousand times? Shall I stop, and let you say something?"

"No, Julie. I'm sure I'll have plenty to say to you, but for now I don't mind listening. You have obviously thought about this a lot, and frankly I'm impressed. Your attitude is very different from the way it was the last time we talked."

She smiled ruefully, her cheeks still wet. "Yes, well, I was still in total denial back then, Alan. But if I can, let me at least say one more thing.

"I don't know what you want now, and I'm pretty scared to ask. But what I want is to come home and be your wife. I want to show you that I am so sorry for what I did; and show you that I can love you so much and so well that you'll want to stay with me."

She was crying again, fiercely. "You haven't asked yet, but I haven't spoken to Bobby even once since they day you threw me out. I've been staying at my sister's, and I quit my job at the agency. I found another job with Williams & Prentice, and that's working out all right so far."

"You really quit your job?" I said in surprise. Julie just nodded, then gradually pulled herself together and stopped crying. We sat quietly, each of us full of our own thoughts.

I got up and started to pace. "I didn't really know what to expect, Julie, but I was more than prepared to toss you back out of the house if you came in with any sort of attitude at all. I'm sure the last two months haven't been much fun for you either, but you can't really imagine what they've been like for me.

"I had a wife that I knew loved me, respected me—and desired me. Maybe our sex life was a little bland, but that was a compromise I was OK living with. 

"And now—now I don't know what I have. I have a big hole where my trust in you used to be. And an even bigger one where my confidence used to be—my confidence in myself as a man, as your husband, and as a lover."

She just nodded, her eyes brimming again.

"I've found out some things about myself in the last two months, Julie. I found out I can manage without you. I could actually live the rest of my life without you. I can run the house, feed myself, stay in touch with the kids. I could maybe even find someone else who would love and respect me."

She was watching me intently, and now I did recognize what she was feeling. She was absolutely terrified.

"So if we're going to be together," I concluded, "I need to be convinced that I'm better off with you than without you. And that it's worth going through the continued pain of working through this. Because frankly, I'd probably be able to put the pain behind me a lot faster if we just got divorced and I moved on, maybe found someone else.

"Let's be honest, OK? Every time I see you, talk to you, hold you, I'm going to be thinking about you and Bobby. About how what we had meant so little to you that you could jump into bed with him."

I was still calm, speaking quietly, though my heart was thumping. "And how the hell am I ever supposed to make love with you again? How can I even kiss you, and not imagine his cock in your mouth?"

To my surprise she didn't gasp—she just kept looking at me intently, and listening.

"The worst, Julie—the very worst, and there's a lot that's bad, believe me!—is the sexual things you did with him that you would never do with me."

I started to say more, then abruptly stopped. What was the point? She knew what I was saying. I could see it on her face. Her expression had changed: she was no longer frightened for herself or worried about the marriage, she was feeling sympathy for my pain.

I kept pacing, enjoying the silence in some strange way. 

After several minutes she said, "how about I get us some ice cream, and we can go out in the back yard? I miss seeing our trees."

We sat outside with our bowls of ice cream, talking about the yard and the work I had done. Then we chatted about the kids, and shared our impressions of our visits with them. We walked around the yard, and Julie told me a bit about her new job. She complimented me on my tighter, more muscular appearance, and I told her about how I'd been working out harder at the gym.

A couple of hours went by, and I realized that my mood was calm and cheerful—which surprised me. The good feelings had just sneaked up on me, enjoying Julie's company without thinking about what she had done, what had come between us.

Of course, at that thought I tightened up again. Julie saw it in my face, and she waited several minutes before she spoke again.

"Alan," she said very quietly, looking down, "do you think it would be all right if I came back home, at least for a little while? I'll sleep in the guest room, or wherever you want me to. And our relationship can be whatever you want it to be. I'm so desperate not to lose you . . ."

I could tell that she was once again very frightened—this was the moment of truth.

I sat silently for a couple of minutes. I had certainly considered this possibility, but I wanted to be sure before I said anything. And, I will admit, I didn't mind letting Julie hang in an agony of suspense for a while.

"Okay," I said finally. "I think you should sleep in the guest room for now.

"Frankly, Julie, I didn't expect I would want you to move back in. My feelings are still pretty raw. But I was really impressed by what you had to say to me earlier. It makes me feel we might have a chance."

I could tell she wanted to move into my arms, and I let her come to me. The hug was intense, very warm. I hadn't had her, or any other woman, pressed up against me in more than two months, and the feelings were almost overpowering. Neither of us spoke. I loved the feel and the smell of her. I was aware of how aroused I was feeling—which made me think about sex, which made me think about her and Bobby, which made me angry again. I broke the hug and stepped back.

Julie could see it all in my face, and she just looked down and said, "I know; I am so very sorry, Alan."

*** *** *** *** 

Julie drove back to her sister's to pack a bag, and then she moved her things into the guest room. We agreed that I'd help her move the rest of her stuff home on the weekend. After our intense conversation I guess we were both exhausted; we quietly said goodnight, without touching, and went into our separate bedrooms.

The next morning I was up early, but Julie was already in the kitchen. There was fresh coffee and a big breakfast waiting for me, along with my wife watching me hopefully and a bit fearfully.

We still didn't touch, but I smiled at her and we ate together, sharing the newspaper and reading bits of it to one another as we had done for years. It was totally weird, simply because it felt so familiar and so good.

When our plates were empty and we were on our second cups of coffee, I looked at her and said, "Julie, can you tell me why?"

She flushed a bit, but never looked away from me. "Alan, I want to tell you everything—but I need to say first that I have no excuses. There are reasons for what I did, but none of them makes it excusable. None of them makes it less awful, less selfish. Okay?"

I nodded.

Julie talked for a while, mentioning some things that were new to me and others I'd already thought of. It was our first year with both the kids out of the house, and she'd been feeling a little restless. She still had her job, which she liked, but the big part of her that was her life as a mother suddenly seemed over. It made her feel a bit useless, and afraid of being middle-aged.

And we'd been married more than twenty years, and sex had become pretty routine. (It enraged me to hear THIS complaint, since she was always the one refusing to try anything different, but I sat quietly and listened.)

Men had always shown an interest in Julie, because she was very pretty and had a great figure, with breasts almost too big for her small frame. She was used to being flirted with, and to handling passes from men; and the attention pleased her. It had gone on the whole time we were together, and it was not a big deal to either of us.

But Bobby had caught her at a time when she was feeling vulnerable, wondering if she was getting older and less attractive. And his passiveness—the fact that he eyed her with obvious interest, yet never made any sort of move—confused her, and intrigued her. In all likelihood, this was Bobby's standard way of getting women, and it probably worked with a lot of them.

"Again, Alan," she said seriously, "none of this is an excuse. I HAVE no excuse. But the last thing I want to say is something Darlene talked to me about. Sometimes a person—even a person who knows better—does something really, really stupid. Or really, really bad. It's not logical, it doesn't make any sense, but they do it."

Suddenly, out of nowhere, she was crying again. "And that's what I did. And all I want is to make it up to you, and for you to take me back . . ." She stopped, crying hard.

I felt the instinct to take her in my arms, to be her comforting husband—but I just couldn't do it. I reached over and held one of her hands, and just watched her while she cried.

JULIE'S STORY

After a couple of weeks I was thrilled, but I was also very frightened. I couldn't believe how much Alan and I had gotten back to being good friends again—sharing our lives with one another the way we had before. We watched TV together, ran errands, cooked, and talked about everything. We talked about the kids, and work, and friends—but we also spent a lot of time talking about my adultery, and how he was feeling about it, and how we could move forward.

It had shocked me that when I first came back he wasn't wearing his wedding ring. But after a couple of days, without our discussing it, it was back on his finger.

I was so grateful to him for his patience! I could see the anger boil up in him at unexpected moments, I could almost feel the heat of it from across the room—but he would control himself until it had passed. Sometimes our talks would get fierce, but never nasty. I felt he was being a lot fairer to me than I deserved—or than I could have been if the situation were reversed.

But while as friends we were doing great, as lovers we were nowhere. There was an occasional hug, and once we held hands at the movies, but nothing more. I was still in the guest room and there were no signs that that would be changing anytime soon.

It wasn't that we weren't talking about sex. We talked about it a lot, and Alan was very direct about how he felt.

"Even though we're getting along, Julie—and I'm amazed sometimes at how well we're doing—it's painful even to imagine making love to you. When I think that you took my twenty years of fidelity and pissed all over it . . .

"And how am I supposed to compete with a 26-year old, who can probably get it up four times in an afternoon? For that matter, how am I supposed to touch you, while in my mind I'm seeing you fucking him doggy-style, or giving him the blow-job you never ever gave me?"

He was right, and I knew it, and I said so. And I said that I hoped that eventually my two times with Bobby would fade in importance, compared to the hundreds or thousands of times Alan and I had made love.

"And I didn't make love to him, Alan—we fucked. It was a matter of physical pleasure and nothing more. He didn't make me feel cherished and safe, the way you do."

"Yeah, well, he must have made you feel something good or you wouldn't have invited him back for seconds, would you?" Alan glared at me, and then sighed.

"Julie, I know sarcasm doesn't help, but I don't know what to say. Of course I want you, but too much of me is just too hurt and insecure. I can't match a 26-year old hunk; and knowing that you gave him what you wouldn't give to me is a pretty big obstacle."

I had been continuing to see Darlene twice a week, and she'd helped me a lot in understanding how Alan must be feeling. I had two things to try, and I tried them.

"Alan—honey. What I did is awful, we both know that. The first man I . . . took in my mouth should have been you; and the first man I tried those positions with should have been you. To my dying day I will wish I could take those things back, but I can't.

"But each of them happened only once. I want all the rest of the oral sex I have in my life to be with you. I want to . . . please you that way over and over, and learn with you how to please you best. I should never have begun with anyone else—but please let me continue with you!"

He smiled faintly. "That's a nice way of thinking about it, Julie. I know what you're saying is true ... it's just not so easy to get past what I'm feeling."

"I know," I said, and I handed him a book I'd been holding. "Let me tell you about this, OK?"

He looked at it in some amazement. " '101 Positions for Great Sex?' Hardly your cup of tea, I would have thought!"

I smiled at him, as lovingly as I could. "I bought that about a week ago, and I've been looking through it at night. There are lots of things in there that we've never done—that I've never done with anyone. I put some bookmarks in to mark the ones that particularly excited me.

"Alan, I know I robbed you of something that should have been yours. But there in the book are things that would be all ours, no one else's. And I promise you, I am ready and willing to try whatever you would like to try. I want is to be all yours."

I smiled at him and felt the tears welling up in my eyes yet again. I'd given it my best shot. I truly didn't know what else I could do.

*** *** *** *** 

ALAN'S STORY

It had been almost four weeks, and where were we? I didn't know. Julie was back in the house. We were getting along okay, and in fact I liked seeing her every day, liked eating with her and talking about things. I liked our life together—this was my wife, and I hadn't stopped loving her.

My anger and pain was no longer broadly focused on Julie, but much more narrowly on Julie as a sexual being. We could be friends, we could be parents together, we could laugh and talk and hold hands—but the moment the possibility of sex arose, even if it was just in my mind, the painful feelings flooded over me.

So not only had we not made love, we hadn't even kissed, beyond a quick peck when we left for work in the morning. We'd had a couple of nice hugs, but they'd been the warm, friendly kind. As soon as they started to arouse me, I got angry and pulled away.

Julie was being patient and loving. I couldn't get over how much her work with the therapist had helped her, made her more self-aware and more understanding of my feelings. I felt a maturity and a generosity in her that I certainly didn't see during her brief affair with Bobby. In many ways I felt more than ever that this was the woman I wanted to grow old with.

Except. Except. That I couldn't have sex with her. Part of me wanted to, of course. I'd never stopped being attracted to her, and she'd made it very clear that she was ready and willing whenever I said the word. She didn't push, but she did make sure to let me see her a couple of times in her sexiest nighties as she poked her head into my room "just to say goodnight".

And the sexual positions book she gave me was quite a turn-on, especially for a man who hadn't had sex in about three months. Some of them appeared to require advanced gymnastics skills, but there were a few I would have been dying to try, had the situation been different. And it was definitely arousing thinking about the half-dozen or so that Julie had specifically marked as being exciting to her.

So we were stuck—or perhaps I was all by myself. I couldn't think of making love to Julie without feeling angry and humiliated all over again. Even imagining plain old missionary sex made me think about the guy who'd last been on top of Julie—and about whether his 26-year old cock was bigger or harder than mine, or whether he'd had more stamina and made her come harder. How does a guy get past that?

And imagining oral sex was worse. Julie was clearly eager to give me a blowjob, by way of atonement if for no other reason. But the vision that filled my mind was not of my cock in her mouth but Bobby's, with her sucking hard and looking up at him in excitement. Needless to say, the image was painful rather than erotic.

In short, we were at an impasse, and I didn't see how to get out of it. 



Looking Right At It Ch. 03



[Yes, I know about such things as pregnancy and STDs. And no, I didn't mention them in this story. It's a story—a fantasy—and while in some stories I address those matters, in this one I didn't.]

ALAN'S STORY

One Saturday I ran into Denise in the gym, and she made a point of coming over to ask how I was doing. I was nearly finished my weight work, and asked if she could join me for lunch in a few minutes.

When we were eating our salads she said, smiling, "Well congratulations—I see that the ring is back on your finger."

She must have seen something in my face, because her smile disappeared. "What is it, Alan? I would have expected a happier look than that. It's not going so well?"

She and I had never talked in any detail about our marriages—I just knew that she was divorced, and she that I was separated. Now I took a deep breath and said, "Denise, would I be imposing if I talked to you about my situation?"

She smiled and said, "I'd be flattered!"

I filled her in on the whole story: Julie's cheating with Bobby, what they'd done together, how she'd never done those things with me, my throwing her out for two months. I told her about Julie's return and how impressed I was with her greater understanding. And I said that though Julie and I had rekindled our affection, I just couldn't get past my hurt and insecurity enough to be sexual with her again.

Denise listened patiently and sympathetically. She didn't speak much, but I could feel her support, and I thanked her for being such a good friend. I got us each one more cup of coffee, and we sat a while longer in a comfortable silence.

It began to feel like it was time to go. Impulsively, I spoke up. "Denise, I want to ask you a question, but I need to say something else first."

She nodded, looking interested.

"You have become a friend I really value and like, and I don't want to hurt you or ruin that in any way. So if what I ask you angers or offends you, I apologize in advance, and I'll never say anything like that again."

By now she had a curious smile on her face. "Alan, that's quite a preamble! I assure you I'm listening closely! And you are a good friend to me too—I won't be offended, whatever it is."

I felt kind of tongue-tied. "Denise, would you consider . . . well . . . Denise, I wonder if you would . . . Denise, I'd like to go to bed with you!"

It finally came out in a rush, and I hurried on. "I know this probably seems crazy, and maybe even horrible. I'm trying to reconcile with my wife, and I don't have any sort of continuing affair in mind. It's just that . . . I don't see any way to get over what's tormenting me. You are a very attractive woman, and if Julie and I had broken up I would have been hitting on you long before now."

She looked surprised and serious. Before she could speak I went on. "Denise, I can see from your face that I've offended you. I'm SO sorry—please forgive me. Let's just forget about it. I love being gym buddies, and I don't want to spoil that. Please tell me that I haven't."

Coming out of her silence, she smiled at me. "I'm not offended, Alan, believe me. Surprised. Flattered, and quite interested! You are an attractive man, and I've had the pleasure of watching you work out in those skimpy shorts for weeks now.

"I just need to sort through what this would mean for each of us. I've never had a one-time hookup with a man before, and I need to feel sure that I'd be okay with it. And I guess I have some reservations about screwing up your marriage, too. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

We talked some more about it. I was relieved that I hadn't angered Denise, and I managed to persuade her that sex with her felt like my only chance to get past the feelings I was struggling with. In the end we agreed not to decide anything right then. I was just happy not to have lost a friend!

On Monday I found a voice message at work, from Denise. "Alan, I've been thinking about our conversation on Saturday. I wonder if you're free Wednesday at about 1 o'clock for lunch . . . and the afternoon? Let me know. Here's my address and phone number."

I didn't hesitate to leave a return message, accepting her invitation. When Denise opened the door to me that Wednesday, she laughed to see a bottle of champagne in one arm and a bouquet of lilies in the other. "Thank you, Alan! But I've already got some champagne in the refrigerator myself—I guess great minds think alike."

We had a quick lunch—a little rushed because we were both quite eager—and then a long afternoon in her bedroom. I was very excited, and also a bit nervous about my performance. But Denise was excited too, and her obvious pleasure in touching and being touched let me relax a little and enjoy the whole experience.

After we kissed and stroked each other for a while, she wordlessly pulled me on top of her. I guess most couples use the missionary position the first time, don't they? I was a little distracted by thoughts of Julie, but Denise's body was delicious; and once we started to move together, her excitement was fantastically sexy.

I was used to Julie, who enjoyed sex but was pretty passive. She didn't move much, mostly letting me thrust into her; and she would pant a little but not talk or make much noise. But Denise rolled her hips, urging me on with each thrust. And her breathing gradually turned into little groans each time I pushed into her, groans that got louder and deeper as we went on.

Despite my fears, I neither lost my erection nor came too fast. We moved together for more than ten minutes, and just as I knew my orgasm was close I felt her gasp and clutch me tightly, forcing her hips up at me to take me as deep as possible. Her pussy spasmed around me, and within a few more thrusts I was coming frantically inside her, groaning loudly with the pleasure.

We lay side by side, catching our breath. As I turned to her, preparing to say, "Wow!", she spoke first.

"Thank you Alan—that was wonderful. It's been a while for me and I was nervous, but you got me so excited I forgot to worry about it! And you knew just when to be gentle and when to be forceful. It was great!"

I laughed with pleasure at her compliments—I felt like a blushing teenager! "Thank you Denise—it was just fantastic for me too!"

We relaxed for a few minutes, kissing occasionally. Then she said, "I hope there's going to be more?"

I smiled and nodded. I quickly ran back to the kitchen for the champagne and some fruit, enjoying the feeling of being naked in her house.

We lay together, sipping champagne and feeding each other grapes and strawberries, giggling when we spilled. Then I put the things aside and we began to neck again, sliding together and caressing.

Denise got a look in her eye and gently pushed me down on my back. "I know this is one of the things on your mind, Alan," she said, "and I like doing this." Then she kissed her way down my chest, through my pubic hair, and took me into her mouth. I was already a little erect, and the pleasure of her lips and tongue had me hard within a minute or so.

Again, I couldn't avoid thinking of Julie. It was weird—Denise was giving me such wonderful pleasure, yet I wished it was Julie's mouth performing the magic. However, it couldn't be helped, and I pulled my thoughts back to the moment.

Denise worked on me skillfully and lovingly, bringing me closer and closer to coming. I groaned, and said, "Denise . . ." She pulled off for a second, smiling, and said, "finish you?"

"It feels incredible, Denise—but that might do me in for today. Could we—"

"Do it from behind?" she said, laughing. "Yes, let's."

In no time her beautiful tight ass was up in the air, her shoulders and head down on the bed, and I was kneeling behind her, gently stroking my cock all around her lips and through her blonde pubic hair.

"Are you teasing me?" she said in a tight voice. "Come on back there, let's go!" 

But I kept on stroking a few moments longer, then slowly guided myself into her, sliding smoothly until my hips met her ass. It was my first doggy-style fuck in more than two decades, since before I met Julie.

We did it slowly, then faster and harder. I had all the control I needed, and I just lost myself in how fantastic her pussy felt from this angle. Again Denise was very responsive, pushing back against me, wiggling her ass, gasping out her own pleasure. I stroked her back with my hands, then held her breasts and caressed the nipples, then held her by the hips and pulled her back onto me.

It felt like the best fuck I had ever had in my life (though who can make comparisons at a time like that?), and it ended finally with faster and faster strokes, loud shouting from me, and an orgasm so intense it felt like my whole body was going to shoot out the end of my cock.

When it was over I felt I had just swum the English channel. I held Denise tight in my arms, kissing her face and lips and neck and murmuring, "thank you, thank you" in her ear.

She pulled away, giggling, and smiled at me. "You're welcome. You know, that wasn't exactly a charity fuck or anything, Alan. It was terrific. I haven't been with anyone in a while—and not with anyone as good as you in a really long time."

When we'd showered, and I'd helped Denise clean up the bedroom and the lunch things, we said goodbye in a kind of bittersweet mood. We both knew it had been wonderful—and felt that it could be again—but we both also knew that I was still hoping my marriage would survive, which would mean that this lovely afternoon would be a one-time thing. Without much talking we kissed lightly, and I headed out the door.

JULIE'S STORY

Something had happened. Something had changed, though I didn't know what. Alan's face that evening at dinner was just different—it was softer, like the muscles were more relaxed than usual—and he was quiet and contemplative. A little withdrawn, maybe.

I plucked up my courage, fearing the worst, and finally asked about it while we were doing the dishes.

"Anything going on I should know about?"

He gazed at me, and then said quietly, "just some things I need to work through before I talk about them. Sorry, I don't mean to be mysterious. Give me a day or so.

"Listen," he said, suddenly more energetic, "want to do something fun? I know it's a weekday, but we could go see a movie or something."

Very relieved that no axe had fallen, I agreed. We looked through the listings in the paper and settled on a chick-flick—not Alan's cup of tea but he readily agreed to it.

We held hands for most of the movie, occasionally feeding each other popcorn. When the weepy part came just before the happy ending and I started to sniffle, Alan put his arm around me and gently pulled my head onto his shoulder. I was so thrilled that I forgot to cry about the sad scene!

When we got home I wondered if that tenderness at the movie would translate to sex, or at least to more contact, but Alan said good night in the usual way, with a smile and a peck, and we disappeared into our separate bedrooms. It was more disappointing that night than ever. His actions at the movie had gotten my hopes up that we could start making love again. I cried into the pillow for a long time that night.

The next couple of days Alan seemed pretty normal, but I was very tense. I knew that some shoe was soon to drop, and it scared me not knowing what it would be. Finally on Friday night he turned off the TV, on which we'd been watching a fairly pointless sitcom, and said, "can we talk for a bit?"

I nodded, my heart suddenly pumping fast.

"Julie, let me just tell you all of this at once—then we can talk about it." I nodded.

"I slept with someone else the other day."

I just closed my eyes tight. It felt like a hard blow to the chest—not exactly painful, but as though I'd been pushed back hard into the couch. I opened my eyes, managed to take a deep breath, but didn't speak. I'd promised Alan to let him tell it all first.

"It was mostly on impulse. There's a woman I got to know in the gym over the past few months. We'd see each other working out, and we've had a casual lunch at the snack bar there a few times. Her name is Denise, and she's divorced. In her mid-30s. Attractive.

"It's always been casual. I could tell she was interested in me, but she knew I was separated and not sure what would happen. Then she saw me wearing my ring again and was happy for me. I found myself telling her about our—about my sexual problem. About how thinking of what you did with Bobby kept getting in my way.

"Well, to make a long story short I asked her to go to bed with me. And we did—on Wednesday."

Alan was watching me. I was trying hard just to breathe in and out—it felt like I had six broken ribs.

He leaned forward. "Listen, Julie. This wasn't to hurt you—it wasn't about revenge. Though I guess it must feel like that to you right now. But to me it was the only way to break the logjam, to get through my paralyzed feelings. I couldn't make love to you—I couldn't even imagine it without so much anger, such hurt feelings and insecurity . . .

"The . . . things you did with Bobby kept getting in the way. And now—well, I've done them too. With someone else. And I think they won't be in the way anymore, or at least not as much."

There was silence. My head was spinning a little.

"How was it?" I blurted out the words suddenly, without being aware I was going to.

He looked at me seriously. "It was great. It was weird, of course—touching and holding someone besides you. Having you in my mind—and Bobby—while . . . being with someone else.

"But it was very exciting. And it gave me some confidence back. Somehow I wasn't sure I . . it sounds stupid, but I wasn't sure I could ever . . perform again. And I was fine."

"Did you do it six times? All over the house? In all sorts of wild positions? Did she scream and scratch your back while she had her orgasms?" I was starting to cry, and the pain was obvious in my voice.

"No. We did it twice. The second time doggy-style. And she gave me a blowjob in between, though I didn't come. There wasn't any screaming, but it was exciting for both of us."

His voice grew harder. "Listen, Julie—some things neither of us can do anything about. You fucked a 26 year-old, a guy you'd previously described to me as 'gorgeous'. He turned you on like crazy, and that's something I'll always have to live with.

"I fucked a woman in her mid-30s, with a fantastic body, and I had a great time. That's something you'll have to live with.

"Like I said, this wasn't something I did to get even with you. I did it in the hope of getting past what you did. To me it seemed like the only chance for me to be able to come into your bed ever again. I may be wrong, it may just make things worse, but I don't feel bad for trying it."

All of a sudden I had nothing to say. I just nodded; tears were streaming down my face. Without another word, Alan moved over next to me on the couch and put his arms around me, letting me cry against his chest.

ALAN'S STORY

The night I told Julie about going to bed with Denise was pretty emotional—especially for her, but for me too. I felt bad for the pain she was in. But I really hadn't done it to hurt her; I'd done it as a way to find my own sexual confidence again. God knows nothing else was happening to bring it back!

After I held Julie for a while and let her cry, she just gave me a sad look, a kiss on the cheek, and went up to bed—in the guest room as always.

The next morning I was up making breakfast for us when she came downstairs with an overnight bag. I gave her a raised eyebrow.

She said, in a tired voice, "I'm going to stay at my sister's house for a day or two. I know I don't have the right to blame you for what you did, Alan—but it hurts, a lot. I just feel like I need a little time away, and my sister said she doesn't mind."

The time apart was strange. After two months alone, it should have been easy—but it wasn't. Julie and I had gotten back into our rhythm as husband and wife, in every way but sexually; and I missed her a lot.

I had gotten used to the quiet in the house when I was alone; now it bothered me. When I made dinner that night and the next, it wasn't much fun just cooking for one person.

I thought about calling her sister's house and asking her to come back, but I decided to let her make the choice in her own time. I certainly knew what it felt like to learn that your spouse had fucked somebody else! It hurt, and even though the circumstances weren't the same for Julie, I knew that she must be suffering.

On Tuesday when I came home from work, the house was full of good smells: Julie was in the kitchen making dinner. She'd been gone three days.

She gave me a big smile when I came into the kitchen, and I went right to her, saying "Hi" and giving her a warm hug, which she answered in kind. We held each other, silently, for a long time, until she broke away with a little laugh, saying, "don't let me burn the sauce!"

I knew right away that things were okay between us. I just sat at the kitchen table and we chatted as she cooked, talking about nothing but getting back into our closeness again.

I set the table and got us some wine, and we enjoyed the dinner together, neither of us in a hurry to talk about anything serious.

As we were clearing the table I told her I had missed her, and I was very glad she'd come back. Taking my hand, Julie gave me a serious look and led me to the living room couch, where we sat together side by side.

"Alan, listen. What I did with Bobby—that was totally my fault. It might have destroyed our marriage--I guess it still might, and I am to blame. I understand that.

"What you did with Denise—in a way I guess that's my fault, too, at least in part. Because my cheating made it impossible for you to make love to me. And even though it hurts a lot, I understand why you did it.

"But baby—I just couldn't stand a repeat. If you're going to keep going to bed with her, tell me and I'll leave. I want our marriage more than anything, but I just . . ."

I stopped her, seeing her eyes fill with tears. "That's over, Julie. That was a one-time thing. As long as we are together, you are the only woman I will be with."

She tried to smile, but her eyes were wet. "Then could you take me upstairs and make love to me, Alan?"

It had been quite a while since I picked her up—but then, I had been working out! I scooped her up in my arms and headed straight for the master bedroom. Not the guest room, where she'd been staying—we were going to make love just where she had cheated on me with Bobby.

I could tell you that the first time was marvelous, the greatest, hottest sex I'd ever had, but it wouldn't be true. It was sweet, and careful, and very emotional for both of us. For a while I took the lead, gently undressing Julie and caressing and kissing her, while she pretty much just held me.

Then all of a sudden she grabbed me and pulled me on top of her, demanding me inside her. Our fucking was almost desperate, especially on Julie's part. She clutched me to her and humped her hips up at me more frantically than ever before, as though she were trying to prove something to me, or to herself. It was really exciting, and I came pretty quickly.

The whole time her eyes had been tightly closed, and her cheeks were wet with her tears. When it was over I held her very close, just kissing her hair, her neck, her ear. We didn't speak. In my mind I could still see her with Bobby; I could even see her on her knees with his cock in her mouth; but it didn't stab me with pain anymore. It was just a scene from the past.

Julie got up and disappeared into the bathroom. When she came back, she had a warm washcloth, and she lovingly cleaned off my cock and pubic hair. Then, putting the cloth aside, she bent to take me into her mouth.




Looking Right At It Ch. 03



"Julie, you don't have to . . . "

"Sshh," she interrupted me.

"No, I'm serious," I persisted. She didn't look happy—she looked determined, but a little terrified. "You don't have to prove anything to me, there will be time for this."

She shook her head, and said, "no, I'm proving something to me—or to both of us. I am your wife, and you are my man, and you are the only one I will ever do this for . . "

All of a sudden she couldn't speak—she was sobbing again. I pulled her up into my arms and held her while she cried, holding tight onto me.

Finally her crying subsided, and her breathing returned to normal. Without a word she smiled at me, and slid down the bed to take me in her mouth. I didn't try to stop her.

It wasn't perhaps a supremely skillful blowjob—not that I'd had very many in my life!—but it was loving and slow, and I really enjoyed it. I tried to give Julie hints about what I liked by groaning or sighing when it felt especially good, and I could tell she was listening for cues from me. When I got close, after several minutes, I said, "oh, baby, it's coming!"

She just stayed on me, sliding her head up and down the top two inches of my cock, stroking the rest with her hand, and I spasmed happily into her mouth. It felt terrific. She swallowed and then gazed at me a little anxiously, but I think she could see from my smile that I was pleased. I pulled her up to me and kissed her lips, then all over her face.

After a couple of minutes of enjoying how good I felt, I was eager to eat her out for the first time ever. But I warmed her up with kisses and touches all over her, sliding my fingers over her arms, then her chest and breasts, teasing her nipples, then running my hands up and down her thighs.

Julie loved all this, but she started to tense a bit when I settled myself at the bottom of the bed, my head between her legs. I didn't say anything, just started kissing and licking the tops of her thighs, staying an inch or so from her pussy at first. By the time I actually touched her pussy lips with my own lips, she was more than ready!

I spent ten minutes doing her with lips, tongue, and fingers, responding to her squirms and groans, doing everything I could to build her up to a big orgasm. When she seemed to be very close I pushed hard into her with two fingers and sucked gently on her clit, and her climax made her jerk and grunt and gasp, her hands clasping tight into my hair.

I don't know if she knew it, but pleasing her that way pleased me—and I would certainly make sure she understood that.

As we lay together once more, Julie looked right at me. "Wow. Wow and wow. I can't believe I wouldn't let you do that . . .

"I was an idiot, Alan."

I grinned. "Does that mean I might get a chance to do it again sometime?"

She stuck her tongue out at me. "What do you think?"

Then she grabbed me and pulled me close for another hug. In my ear she whispered, "could we do it once more tonight?"

I said, "sure, but you pick the position. Something you liked from the book."

It was the climax of the evening, if you'll pardon the pun. She got me hard again with her mouth, while I stroked her breasts. Then she arranged herself on the bed on her right side, with her right leg on the bed, her left more or less vertical in the air.

I got between her legs with my knees on either side of her right leg, her left leg draped over my shoulder, and she guided me into her. For me it was almost like missionary position, but I was entering her sideways instead of front-on. Somehow this position let me get deeper—it felt incredible!

As I started to pump gently Julie groaned, a low sound from deep in her throat. "God, baby, it feels like you're going to come out the top of my head. Just go slow, OK?"

We went at it slowly and gently for a long time. My having come twice already gave me plenty of staying power, and it felt so damn good I didn't ever want to finish. I could run a hand over her back and ass, or tease her breasts with my other hand. Sometimes we'd stop for a minute and kiss deeply, then start thrusting again.

After a while Julie said, "make me come, baby. Just get a steady rhythm and don't stop, OK?" 

So I did what she asked, and reveled in it as she slowly got more and more worked up, until she was clutching my shoulder with her arm, digging her nails into me. "Yes, yes, closer! closer! oh my God!"

Her orgasm rose up and up, then rushed through her. She cried out, and my steady pace suddenly broke down; I was pumping her frantically, and I came a few seconds after she did.

This time we were finished for the night. We're not teenagers, after all! I managed to get the light out, and we were asleep within minutes.

JULIE'S STORY

After that first night in bed together again, it was like the dam broke; everything got steadily better. I could never have imagined that Alan sleeping with someone else would have been a good thing, but it seemed to be for us.

Not only was he able to make love to me again, but his sense of grievance and anger lessened every day. He never forgot about what I did with Bobby—I know neither of us will ever forget—but he seems able to think about it without falling into a rage anymore.

For me, enduring the pain of thinking about him with another woman has helped me feel a little less guilty. I know he wouldn't have done it if I hadn't cheated with Bobby, but it still does something to balance the scales. We've each hurt the other, and we've survived it.

And I'm just so happy that we're able to be sexual with one another in a way we had never had before. With the kids out of the house we can be spontaneous—once last week he picked me up literally in the middle of breakfast and carried me back up to the bedroom. We were both an hour late for work!

It's not that we've turned into sex-fiends. We are both in our forties, and there are limits. For about two weeks after that first night we were like rabbits—we must have averaged twice a day at least. But inevitably it slowed down a bit. Now we probably make love two or three times a week.

But what I know Alan loves is that I initiate sex as frequently as he does. He knows that I want him, which makes him feel good. And God, I know he wants me! His eagerness is just so flattering and exciting—maybe he feels more free to let it show because he knows I am open to just about anything he wants to try.

At least once a week we have a "Book Night", where we try something in the sex positions book that we haven't done before. It's not even that we like them all; a few are just uncomfortable, or weren't very exciting or pleasurable. But we've also discovered a couple that are terrific, and they are part of our regular menu now.

I try to remind myself that it will be years, if ever, before Alan fully trusts me again. Any time I tell him I'll need to be an hour late coming home from work, I can see that look on his face. He doesn't need to say a word—I know what he's thinking. So I'm going out of my way to tell him where I'll be, and when, and with whom.

He's met all of my new co-workers, so he knows there are no threats there. And I just don't make jokes about hunky guys anymore, however harmless such remarks seemed to be in the old days. 

The bottom line is: I feel incredibly lucky. I did something amazingly stupid—and I really, really hurt my husband—and I'm fortunate to still be married to him. That our marriage is as strong as it still is, and that our sex life has become so much more fun and satisfying for us—well, it's like a miracle. I know it's far more than I deserve.