0 comments/ 75253 views/ 2 favorites Not Good Enough By: Dear_Dora Carol I don't know what it is about him that turns me on so much. He's not really great looking ... frankly, he's not even good looking. He wears a corny goatee but if he shaved it off, he'd have a skinny, geeky face, I think. And he's certainly not a young ripped athletic kinda guy. He's older than I am, and I'm nearly thirty. And he's bookish and looks it - body lank and eyes squinty from maybe too much reading in the library's dim light. Not at all like my husband, who's a big bear of a man and much more "my type." I guess it's because he's smart that he's so attractive. My husband's smart, too, I guess, but in an engineering sort of way. John can figure out how anything works, can design clever machines and knows about computers and so on. But Carl is smart in a different way ... he's smart about people, and feelings, and he's subtle and somehow maybe dangerous. When Carl talks with me, it's not about how things work and why the car is making a funny noise, like with John. Carl never seems to tell me anything. He guides me through things, through stories, through poems, through plays. He makes me figure out what it is that's in them, he whispers just a word or two that reveal some inner truth about the work, about the poet, about himself, about me. And over and over, that thrills me. Last night was alarming and exciting. Carl took me to a campus production of a play we have been reading in his class. It seemed so natural; I always was asking the most questions in class, and I often stayed after class to talk with him - not because I didn't know the material, but because I did know the material and wanted to share my knowledge and my intellectual pleasure with someone who I felt was my equal. Carl's attention was so supportive, and his manner so flattering - leaving it to me, guiding me to make the insightful comment, the witty observation. And after talking with Carl for a few minutes, I would often realize that he had opened up another whole layer of insight for me. Soon enough, we would just drift away from class to the coffee lounge in the student center in a very matter of fact way after class each night. It wasn't a date, or even spoken agreement, it just seemed natural to walk together while we talked and somehow we always ended up at the coffee lounge. We somehow were just always there together after class twice a week, talking about everything ... not just the play or poem or story we were discussing in class, but everything - life, love, art, war, death - everything. Every class night, I would have to tear myself away from it and from him, from Carl, my professor, and get back home to my husband and our little daughter and my "real" life. Although increasingly, my real life seemed to be when I was at the University in class or talking with Carl afterwards. So when Carl mentioned that there was to be a live production by the drama department of one of the plays from our syllabus, it seemed only natural that we should go to one of the performances that fell on a night when we didn't have class. Of course we should go. Of course we should go together. It certainly never occurred to me that I should maybe go to this play with John. I really couldn't picture John sitting through an amateur play on campus. It only occurred to me when I spoke about it to John the next day that John would be using the car that night to go to a meeting of his professional society. We had originally planned my class schedule and his obligations so that we could share our only car. I called my mom about baby sitting, and she said that she would be happy to do it, and I asked Carl after class the next night if he would be willing to pick me up and drive me to the play. I was flattered when he said "I'd be delighted!" as if he meant it. I was unaccountably nervous while I was waiting for Carl to pick me up the night of the play. John was all dressed for his meeting, and we were waiting for my mom to get there to take care of our little girl when the doorbell rang. John answered, and there was Carl, dressed up nice and carrying a little posey of flowers as if he was picking me up for the prom. Suddenly, I was self-conscious, because I too had dressed up a little for that night, maybe a little too much for just a casual evening amateur play. It must have looked suspicious to John, the two of us all nervous and chatty like high-school kids, dressed up as if we were headed off to the big dance. After I kissed our daughter one last time, John, in his "manly" way, shook hands with Carl, and gave me a little peck on the cheek. As we went down the front steps to Carl's old Plymouth, John called out "have fun ... see you in the morning!" And a little thrill ran up my spine; I knew he meant that whoever got home first would probably be asleep when the other one got in, not that I was going to spend the whole night with this man, my college professor, but for a second it sounded as if he was sending me off to an over-night assignation. I had no such thoughts. Did I? The play was excellent, challenging material well produced and well acted. Afterwards, the coffee lounge was closed, so we hopped in Carl's car and drove downtown to a little cafe he knew of. It was both intimate and noisy, crowded and busy even this late in this otherwise hick little town we lived in. It was thrilling to be here among other people like myself, active people with active social lives, buzzing with creative ideas and energy (and caffeine!) So unlike my usual evenings of quietly grading papers on the dining room table while John stared at his computer or watched tevee. I felt so alive. We were drinking wine instead of coffee. Carl transfixed me with his insights into the play, and our discussion plumbed depths we hadn't even glimpsed in our classroom discussions with the other students. From time to time, Carl would rest his hand on my bare forearm, or lightly grasp my fingers to emphasize a point. I started to tingle. Carl would set up a question and allow me to make the revealing connection. He would mention another character or a tie to another work or social trend, leaving it to me to flesh out his glimmer of an idea, and I realized he was doing it on purpose, to let me in, to let me grow closer to his level of understanding. To let me grow closer to him. It was so sexy, I could have died. Finally, I realized that it was almost two in the morning, and in a panic, I told Carl that he really had to get me home right away. I never dreamed we'd be out so late, but time had seemed suspended while we were sitting there in that stimulating soup of ideas and feelings. We plunged out into the cold, and Carl wrapped his arm around me to keep me warm and to steady me as I tried to navigate through the snowy morning darkness to his old car. Still like a gentleman on a date, he opened and held the door for me, then walked around and slid in behind the steering wheel to start the car. I slid over next to him on the old-fashioned bench seat, commenting on how cold and stiff the vinyl was. After we had been underway for a few minutes, Carl turned the heater up on high, and welcome warmth flooded the passenger compartment. I began to relax, but remained snuggled next to Carl as he concentrated on driving on the slippery roads. After an evening of non-stop talk, the trip to my house was silent. Each of us was thinking hard about what might come next. Carl pulled up to the curb along side our old house on the corner. He located his car in the darkness under a tree, shaded by the bare branches from the glare of the corner streetlight. He put his arm around me again, and pulled me tight toward him. Carl kept the car running, the heater blasting blessed warmth onto our laps and knees. "I had a wonderful time, tonight, Carol. As always, you've been delightful!" I turned my head to smile at him, and he timed it perfectly to lean forward and kiss me lightly. I startled at first, but then just melted into his kiss. I don't know if I opened my mouth first or if it was Carl, but soon our tongues were sliding along one another. This wasn't just a polite good-night kiss, and I felt it all the way down to my toes. As we prolonged our kiss, I realized Carl's hand was lying lighly on my breast, over my coat, and he was massaging me gently. I broke off the kiss, and Carl looked at me in concern, but I just looked down long enough to unzip my coat and slip my dress straps off my shoulders. Carl smiled, and pulled me back into a new, deep kiss. I had forgotten how sensual, how sexual, a deep kiss can be ... John and I seldom bothered with them any more. Again, I felt Carl's hand on my breast, first pushing my dress down, then lifting my brassierre out and up, allowing my breasts to slip out. He gently embraced each breast, then more assertively squeezed first one then the other, and finally lightly pinching my nipples between his thumb and finger and rolling them back and forth in rhythm with the motions of his tongue in my mouth. Almost as if it had a mind of its own, my hand slid down to Carl's lap, and there I felt the mound of his hardness under his trousers. I slid my hand up and down along its length over the fabric a few times before I realized where we were and what we were doing. "Oh Carl!" I said as I sat up quickly. "I've had a great time, but I've got to get in the house!" I quickly reassembled my clothing and fastened my coat. "Thank you so much!" I slid across the seat, and opened the door. The dome light seemed like a spot light, so I quickly pulled the door in - not completely closed, but far enough that the light went out again. I leaned over and gave my professor a chaste little peck on the cheek. "I'll see you in class on Tuesday, okay?" When I fully opened the door again, Carl grinned at me in the harsh light and said, "Of course! And don't forget to read the Miller!" both of us acting as if nothing unusual had just happened. "G'night!" I said, pushing the door to shut. "G'night," Carl answered as it slammed. I walked to the porch steps, and turned to see him driving slowly away, the long, old Plymouth emerging into the cold blue-green light of the streetlight while the tires made that crunching sound that old snow makes when it is very, very cold. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Carl It's the same thing every year. In the summer, the campus is flooded with teachers trying to fulfill their re-certification training requirements, and we try to balance the undergraduates in each class with returning public school teachers who are here for a much different reason. None of them cares much for English Literature. The undergrads, even the English majors, are just filling in boxes in the degree-requirements checklist. The classroom teachers are just picking up credit hours to keep their teaching certificates. So most classes are full of unmotivated teeneagers and over-eager middle-aged women. Oh, there's the occassional male secondary English teacher, just as there is the occassional hen's tooth. But most English Lit classes are long slogs through the syllabus, punctuated with stacks of uninspired term papers to grade and piles of hourly exams with grammar and spelling so bad, one wonders how these people ever graduated high school ... and the undergraduates are worse! But there are rewards for these trials. Scattered among these students are a few who rise above the many for one reason or another. There are, of course, the stunningly beautiful bimbos, girls who squeaked by high school with grades just good enough to gain admission to the local campus of their state university, and settled on teaching as a major because they thought they already knew what teaching was, having just witnessed it performed for twelve years. And anyway, they didn't really expect to have to actually use a teaching degree ... these were the days when a good-looking girl went to college to find a good-looking boy with good prospects to save her from all that. So these girls were on the prowl for a husband: very good to look at, but generally wise to keep a distance from. Then there are those girls who were shy wallflowers in high school, but who were suddenly finding themselves while at college. These are a delight to watch. Out from under the control of their mothers and fathers, away from the oppressive peer pressures of public school, these young women often have excellent minds and are sometimes truly interested in the art of our language, but more importantly, they are soaking in for the first time what it means to be a healthy young woman in the era of easy birth control and casual relationships, and they suddenly find themselves surrounded by many, many interesting and interested men. It is amazing to think that these ripe women were only a few months earlier so suppressed and unattractive ... they practically radiate sexuality and readiness, and they often seem to blossom into very attractive young women. These young ladies often made excellent companions, and have the virtue of being interested in trying out everything without getting bogged down before trying out everything with somebody else. Perfect. But winter term was often more of a drudge. As we near Christmas break every year, the campus is filled with undergraduates, many of them realizing they may not be able to succeed at college, and virtually all of them eager for classes and finals to be over so they can go home and get away from school and what seems like high school but much harder and without the friends and without the hope. There are not dozens of summer-school girls and women to entertain or tantalize, in their short skirts and short shorts and loose tops and flip-flops. There are just hundreds of lower-division boys and girls wrapped up in layers of insulation and in each other, hundreds of upper-division men and women looking weary and uninspired, and dozens of graduate students looking desperate. Nowhere near as much fun as summer session, or even as spring term. But every now and then, a special one appears that makes it all worthwhile. The best ones are young married women, thirty-something, who are smart enough and ambitious enough to be picking up their certification hours in evenings and weekends, leaving their summers free to work or travel with their families. Married long enough for a lot of the zing to have gone out of their relationship. You can see it; they are still fresh and eager for the material, trying to ignite in their studies a passion which they are beginning to see wither away in their work and their marriage. Not desperate at all, just aware that time is passing and hoping that there might still be room in their lives for a little bit more. Of something. And of these, which never number more than a handful each year, only two or three really has a first-rate mind and true insight into the material. And of those, only rarely is there one who also catches the eye and catches the breath. Those are rare. Still young, still lovely, so sharp and engaging, and eager for your attention and approval. Eager for the supplemental reading, for the enrichment activities, for more. Yes. Eager for more. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Carol The next morning I was appalled to discover that my wallet was missing. I knew right away what had happened. I had placed my purse on the seat of Carl's car between us, and it must have slipped out when I foolishly slid over next to him. After the embarrassing thing that happened in Carl's car when he dropped me off, I was none too eager to ever see him again; what a fool I had made of myself! But at least I supposed I had from the Friday evening of the play to our regular Tuesday evening class to gather my wits and reassemble my dignity so I could somehow face him in the classroom and maybe pretend that it had never happened so that we could just ignore it. But I couldn't go three days without my driver's license and my checkbook! And I wasn't really sure that I had lost it in Carl's car, anyway. I would have to call him. I felt like I was back in high school ... no I felt like I was back in junior high school ... and had to call some boy. Some boy I had a crush on but needed to call about a homework assignment ... such acute misery! I had to make the call, but I didn't want John to overhear my conversation. It was such a juvenile feeling, and also felt like cosmic justice for my indiscretion. Finally, John ran out to the store for something late on Saturday morning, and I had my chance to make my call. "Oh, Carl, I'm so glad I caught you in! Did you happen to find my wallet in your car last night?" "Yeah, hi Carol! Yes, I have your wallet right here! I was going to call you just now!" "Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh, I'm so relieved; you know what a hassle it is when you lose your wallet!" "Yeah, I found it on the floor of my car last night when I got home, and I brought it in the house with me. It's safe and sound; I'll bring it to class on Tuesday, okay?" "No, no, I can't really wait until Tuesday to get it! I need my drivers' license, and I need to grocery shop this weekend, and my checkbook's in there! Is there some way I could get it right away?" "Well, sure, Carol, I guess I can bring it by your house this afternoon! I'm going to be going to my office on campus, and that's half way to your house any way!" Oh, good Lord, no; I can't have him show up on my doorstep with flowers one day then again the next day returning my wallet. That would looks suspicious even to me! "Oh, no, Carl, absolutely not! I can't ask you to bring it to me!" The last thing I need right now is for John to see you, or see me seeing you after what happened last night! "As soon as John gets back from the store, I'll hop in the car and come to your place and pick it up." I realized how contrived that sounded after what had happened, like I was desperate to find an excuse to see him again! What a screw-up! While I certainly didn't want him to get the wrong idea, I didn't want to suggest that my motives had nothing to do with last night, either. I didn't want to even mention what had gone on out there at the curb last night at all. I just wished it had never happened; I never wanted to talk about it or think about it again. Although, all last night while I was quietly getting ready for bed, and all this morning, that was just about all I had been thinking about. "Carol, tell you what. If you can wait an hour or two, why don't you meet me at my campus office? I'll bring your wallet along and that way neither one of us will have to go too far out of our way. How's that sound?" Scary is how that sounds. "Okay, I guess. John's out with the car right now ... how long will you be there?" "I won't even be leaving here for another half an hour or so! I'll probably be in the office til about five; just drop by any time before then, okay?" "Fine, and thanks so much! If I can't get there before five, I'll call your office number?" "Fine. See you then!" Oh, God, this is the worst. I don't want to even mention to John how I lost my wallet or where I'm going to get it back, so I'll have to kinda sneak out to go get it. Maybe I can go shopping right after I pick it up, and sort of hide going to see Carl at his office that way! I feel like a complete cheater, and I haven't even really done anything yet. At least not much, yet. Yet? What am I thinking? I mean, I haven't done anything, period! ---------------------------------------------------------- Carl Professor Rosen stopped me as I was coming into my office to chat. I told him I had to get on up to my office because I was expecting one of my students to be dropping by on an errand. "It's not that cutie I saw you with at the play last night, is it, Carl?" Rosen asked with a smirk. Not Good Enough "Well, actually, it is, yes." "Way to go, man! I think you've outdone yourself this time!" "No, no, it's nothing like that!" I lied. Rosen and I had often swapped tales of students we had enjoyed over the years. There had been many. "Yeah, sure. Tell you what, though. If she swings that way, call me over and we'll have a nice three-way!" "Sure, you bet, Barry, you old pervert!" I said with a comic scowl. And I hurried away to my office to do busy work until Carol arrived. ------------------------------------------------------------- Rosen I knew better. I had seen Fellows at work often enough to recognize when he was hustling one of his young female students. And this was a really nice one. A young thirty-something mother, probably a public-school English teacher getting credits toward an advanced degree while she was fulfilling her teaching accreditation requirements. A smart one. And cute, pretty, even! Nice body, too, from what I could see. I had seen them often enough after Tuesday and Thursday classes with their heads together at the coffee lounge in the student center. Then, last night at the campus theater, there they were together, dressed up and holding hands like kids on a date. Sure, "it's nothing like that." I can imagine what kind of errand she's coming to your office on a Saturday afternoon for. ------------------------------------------------------------- Carol I'm so glad there's so few people here in Carl's faculty office building. I'm so mortified. I should have changed clothes, I should have made a shopping list. But I was in a hurry to get this done and to put the whole thing behind me. I told John I had some errands to run, and if I could, I would do the grocery shopping, too, while I was out. Vague enough that, if I come home with groceries, he may not ask what I was doing the rest of the time! Oh, how could I have been so stupid last night? So here I am running across campus miles from home and miles from the store, wearing ratty old jeans, tennies, a t-shirt (with no bra!), and my husband's old fatigue jacket. I feel like such a fool. I see a few students and some older man who might be a professor, but mostly the halls of the office building are empty, lit only by the cold blue winter daylight coming in through the high windows over the hallways. The professor or whatever he is looks at me oddly, seemingly scanning me head-to-toe. Do I know him? Should I recognize him? He meets my eyes, and seems to expect some sort of acknowledgement, so I nod slightly, and he smiles before he turns and jogs up the stairs at the end of the hall just beyond Carl's office. Carl's door is open, and the smell of freshly-brewed coffee is wafting out into the chilly hallway, invitingly. I knock on the open door. Across the room, Carl is in his socks, standing on a sofa to reach some of the high bookshleves which line the room, where he is putting away some books. He looks back over his shoulder. "Oh, hi Carol! C'mon in! Give me a second, I'm just cleaning things up a bit, here." "Not just for me, I hope!" Oh, God, could I have said anything more stupid? Embarrassed, I giggle to cover my faux pas, then realize I've only made things worse! "It's really cold today!" I say as I walk in toward his desk in a desperate attempt to change the subject. Carl climbs off the sofa, and walks across the room to the door, pushing it closed. "Sorry, I had the door open to air the place out; the offices in this old building get all overheated in the winter when they're closed up over the weekend. Would you like some coffee?" "Oh, yes, I really would!" As much as I would like to get my wallet and run, I am really chilled through, and the offer of hot coffee sounds fantastic. "Sit down for a second, and I'll get you a cup," Carl says, gesturing to the sofa while he finds cups and pours from the steaming electric pot. "I see what you mean, though," I say as I sit down, "it's nice and cozy in here!" "Too warm? I could open the door again!" he says, feigning a move toward the door. "No, no! It's just right for warming up with a nice hot cup of coffee." I want to just get my wallet and run, but I find myself unzipping my jacket ... John's jacket ... to be more comfortable, as if I plan to stay. Carl sits down beside me. Too close beside me, actually. He places his hand on knee of my blue jeans. "Actually I'm glad you dropped your wallet in my car, Carol, because I think we should talk about last night a little bit, don't you?" "What do you mean?" Nervous, I must look like a rat in a trap. Carl twists in his seat to face me, and takes my chin in his other hand. "I enjoyed being with you last night, Carol. I really enjoyed it, and I think maybe you did, too. Didn't you?" He is staring directly into my eyes, and I find I cannot lie to him as I've been lying to myself. "Yes, I enjoyed it, too, Carl. But ..." "But?" Carl said, then he pulls my face towards his and kisses me, softly. I enjoy the kiss ... it was just warm, moist lips, soft and soothing, not threatening at all. I enjoy the attention, the idea that he is interested in me, that he wants to pay attention to me. But then, I snap out of it. "Carl, I don't think what happened last night can happen again! That was a big mistake! I just need to get my wallet and go!" "Oh, Carol! That's not good enough! You know you're not being honest with yourself. Last night wasn't a mistake! And your coming here today isn't a mistake, either." He leans forward and kisses me again, this time with tongue. I wilt, my own tongue engaging his, sliding around inside his mouth, licking his tongue and his teeth as my breath simply pauses altogether. "Relax, Carol. Let's get more comfortable and talk for a bit. We should talk, don't you think?" Carl says as he pulls my fatigue jacket off my shoulders and down my arms. I help shrug it off and he throws it to the floor. I look down and we both see my nipples standing out tight against my t-shirt. I don't really resist when Carl's hand goes to my left breast, gently massaging my nipple through the thin t-shirt fabric. "Oh, Carl, we really can't do this," I whisper. "I'm a married woman!" "What's that got to do with it? I know you're married; I'm married, too. That's part of the fun of it, isn't it? You know it is! Play with fire a little! Be a little naughty, a little bad!" he whispers, his mouth close to my ear as his hand slides under my thin cotton shirt, and caresses my breast. He cups my breast then grips my nipple between his thumb and his two first fingers while he oh, so gently slides his tongue into my ear and teases me, overloading my senses. I feel myself becoming warm and moist in between my legs, and I wiggle in my seat a little. "Lean back, Carol, relax," Carl whispers as he gently urges me to lean back against the soft leather cushions of the couch. He reaches down with both hands and lifts the hem of my shirt upward, revealing my bosom to his view. Both nipples stand out almost painfully full. Without coaching, I lift my arms above my head, and he slides the shirt up and off me altogether. Carl leans forward and slides his bearded chin against my breasts one after the other, back and forth as I caress his hair and pull him firmly to me. He nods forward a bit and extends his tongue, and now he is licking, then sucking my nipples. I don't say anything, but look into Carl's eyes as he massages my breasts tenderly, moving from one to the other gently, slightly pinching the nipples. I slide closer to him on the leather sofa so that I can move my hand along the growing hardness in his lap. There will be no further pretense that I am just there to pick up my wallet. Carl disengages from me, and stands up alongside the couch. He starts to undress himself, taking off his sweater and shirt, loosening his belt. "Get undressed, Carol. We know what we want. Don't try to pretend any more. Take your clothes off, and let's really enjoy ourselves right here and now." Silently, I follow his lead as if by not talking about it, it's not my responsibility. We take turns discarding articles of clothing, watching each other's body come into view one area at a time. His sweater and shirt, my shoes and socks, his slacks, my slacks, his socks, my unsexy cotton panties, his boxer underwear. And here we stand, gazing at each other totally naked in his now-too-warm office with the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of someone walking by out in the hallway. My crotch is damp with excitement, and his penis stands out in front of him, comical yet sexy and threatening, too. He isn't staring lovingly into my eyes; he's scanning up and down my body, drinking in my sexy nakedness, leering at the flesh of the younger married woman he is about to fuck. Likewise, I admire his cock, thinking it is maybe a little longer than John's, maybe also a bit thicker, wondering if it will seem different from my husband's, if he will be able to push me into an orgasm with it, or even maybe several orgasms? Even while I think this, he reaches out to touch my vaginal lips and I shudder with a little orgasm right away. I grasp his hard cock and pull us together, the length of my naked torso pulling tight against his, my head leaning into the crook of his neck, my breasts pressing against the lower part of his ribcage, his penis sliding up against my tummy near my navel, my legs opening a little to straddle his leg so that my opening slides down along his thigh when I relax from tip-toe down onto to my feet. He pushes his fingers along my moist slit, up and back, up and back, as I slowly slide my grasping fist along his shaft in rhythm. I started to slide down to my knees. "No, no, Carol," Carl says, pulling me back up with his hands under my arms. "Later for all of that. No playing right now. I can feel you don't need it, and I certainly don't!" I feel him twitch his cock again my tummy. "Lie down on the sofa here; we're going to do what we know we want to do. No pressures, no pretending it's love, no 'forgetting' you're married. Let's just fuck hard, and fuck good. We know it's wrong and it's sinful, but it's great and it feels good, and we want to." "I, Carl I didn't bring any 'protection!'" "Good! All the better. Maybe I'll make you pregnant! Let me fuck you right now, quick!" Carl gently pushes me back down onto the sofa, and I sit down with a plop, then I lay myself back onto the soft leather cushions and willingly spread my legs apart. Carl kneels between my legs, and braces himself with one hand on my left breast, squeezing my painfully-erect nipple, while his other hand slides into my slit, a finger slipping up and down along the length then plunging right in to my sopping-wet opening. I gasp. He strokes his finger in me a few times, gathering my moisture, then removes his finger. His reaches over to move my hand with is, and I feel my own wetness there. Then he moves my hand to his erect cock dangling down between us, and forces me to grasp it and move it towards my sex. "Don't pretend, Carol. Be right here, right now, with me. Feel me. Don't think too much. In the moment! We're fucking .. WE are ... not you and your husband. He's at home working on the house maybe or taking a nap. This isn't a story or a movie! It's really you and it's really me. WE're right here, naked, on my sofa, and we're going to fuck now! Pull me into you!" And I do. I move his penis toward my slippery cunt until I felt him sense the opening, then I move my hand away and lift my hips up a little as he leans down into me, lowering his entire weight onto my torso, rubbing his chest against me to feel my tits smash flat and distort against his bare skin as his cock slowly, gently slides up into me. It's the best, most sexual feeling I've ever had. I'm married, but I'm lying here getting fucked by another man than my husband, just for the sinful fun of it, and it's wickedly delightful. I feel every inch of his lumpy penis as it slides into me, and I lift up one leg and bend it around his thigh to pull him deeper, to encourage him, to let him know that I am totally his right now, his to fuck and enjoy, to do with as he pleases! ------------------------------------------------------------- Carl She is totally ready. Her cunt is liquid with excitement and very hot against my rigid cock. I push my hips toward her, hard, and I feel my crotch hair meet hers. I twitch my cock inside her, and she purrs with pleasure. In this position, I look up at her face, and I see her flared nostrils, and as she breathes heavily, her tits, flattened out onto her chest, rise up under me. I have one hand on a breast, and squeeze it, pinching the nipple hard, purposely digging in a little with my fingernail. She yelps, but thrusts up against my prick hard with the jolt of pain and pleasure. I start rocking my hips gently, pulling my cock out of her tunnel just a little bit, then pushing it back in snug and warm. I keep this up for a while as I also manipulate her breasts, moving my hand from one to the other. My weight is on my left leg on the floor and on my right leg folded beside her on the couch, so I have both hands free. I use the other hand to caress her face and brush her hair away from her eyes. I lift up, bracing my hands on my hips with my penis deeply embedded in her vagina, and I say quietly, "Look down, Carol. Look where we are joined. Look! My cock is completely buried in your cunt! Watch!" She is staring down along her body to where our hips touch, and I slowly withdraw my cock, so she can see it emerging from within her, long and stiff, shiny and slimy with her juices. "Oh, my God, Carl! We're really doing it!" Carol sighs, and looks up at me. I smile, then slam my cock back into her, hard, then I bend down, and nip at her erect nipple lightly with my teeth. Now, I am fucking into her fast and hard, and every time I thrust, she slides along the leather seat cushions a little bit until finally, her head is jammed into the corner where the couch arm and back come together. Now, I have the leverage I need to really push hard into her, and she begins to whimper, then moan, then cry out softly, "Oh my God! Fuck me!" That is so Carol ... even in the throes of sexual passion, she is worried about someone out in the hall hearing her. Her breathing is so labored that she has her mouth wide open, and I can't resist licking around and into it. I can feel her start to tense up, and I know her climax is coming. My own is not far away, but I think I can keep it waiting until she has had a good orgasm on my cock. I move my knee on the couch and my foot on the floor for a better purchase, and begin anew to thrust in and out as rapidly as I can, and always with force on the in-stroke. She cries out again, but wordlessly, and I feel her vaginal walls clamp around my cock as she begins her orgasm. I press harder, and tug to force a withdrawal, and I look down and see that her inner pussy lips are pulling out with my cock, distending as I pull back, then tucking in as I thrust forward once more. Then again, and again, and then I, too have reached my climax as I feel the incredible joy and power as jets of semen shoot forcefully out of my cock and into the only space where they can go as I hold my cock tight in her cunt -- right into her unprotected uterus. Her cunt spasms again around my cock as I shoot even more cum up into her. She is licking her lips and rubbing her breasts, with her thumbnails digging into her nipples as her orgasm radiates out through her whole body. I, too tense and feel another jolt of pleasure in the entire area around my hips, up my back and stomach, in my thighs, and down my arms even out to my fingertips.. I moan, "Fuck!" I feel the semen spurts still occurring, but tapering off, and as I relax, I also feel my cock shrink a little. Carol's eyes are open, and looking right into mine. "I love that," she says. "Let's do that lots more!" John It's taking Carol much too long to just pick up her wallet. I had seen her desperately searching for it earlier, but she didn't mention it to me, didn't ask me to help her find it. She seemed distracted and distant, then when I was getting back from the hardware store this morning, I heard then end of a telephone call. Carol said, "As soon as John gets back from the store, I'll hop in the car and come to your place and pick it up." Then, after a pause, "Okay, I guess. John's out with the car right now ... how long will you be there?" Another pause, then "Fine, and thanks so much! If I can't get there before five, I'll call your office number?" When she hung up the phone, I made a noise with the door so she would know I was in the house. Nothing obvious to raise suspicions; she was talking to someone about recovering her lost wallet, clearly. But odd that she wouldn't mention it to me. I knew it was probably her professor, and I guessed that she was feeling guilty about whatever it was that went on Friday night and that ended with them kissing in his car. Then, when she left earlier to meet with him to get her wallet, she said nothing about the wallet, or about going to her professor's office to pick it up. She just said she "had errands," and might do the grocery shopping. But she hadn't made a list, didn't look in the fridge, or ask me what we might need next week, so I doubt she was at the grocery store all this time. I hope they're having a good time. I know her professor is ... Carol's a beautiful girl, and an enthusiastic sex partner. I think a lot of the "magic" just has gone out of our marriage, smothered in the day-to-day details of laundry, our kid's school and dance lessons, work, being sick, and yes, even grocery shopping every week. We just seem to have lost the ability to see each other as a sexy man and woman. And, for my own part, I know I just can't get her excited any more; she doesn't resist me when I want to make love, and she tries to show excitement about it, but I can see that it's not spontaneous. If it were entirely up to her, our sex life would be over. Not that I doubt that she loves me. I'm sure our little family of three is the very most important thing in her life, and I'm a big part of that. I know she cares deeply about me by the loving and generous things she always does for me. And I love her, and show it, and say it often. It's not love that's missing, it's sex. Part of the thrill of sex is that it's a little (or a lot!) naughty, a secret pleasure sharing your most intimate self with another. But we have reached such a level of familiarity that we're almost one person. We see each other nude several times a day. She paints wart treatment on the bottoms of my feet, I paint her toenails. She does my dirty laundry, I clean up after she get sick on her period. You just can't do all that for years and still have that thrill of newness and excitement that was there when you first exposed your sex to one another, when you first touched the other in their most secret place. It's just in the nature of marriage that the deep and prolonged intimacy of living together somehow destroys that thrill of naughtiness, danger, and abandon a couple feels when they first start having sex together. I understand that. And I know that Carol is a young, beautiful woman, and men being what they are, I'm sure she gets offers from time to time. Why now, why this guy, I don't know ... it's not for me to ever know, I guess. But I hope it's good for her. I hope she is having that exquisite sinful joy we used to have together, that I can't give her any more. She deserves it. Time's passing ... she'd better grab it now, I suppose. I'll be okay. I'll fend for myself, somehow. Carl I love that first time; there's nothing better than to look down at a new lover, at a beautiful woman's body, especially if it is the body of another man's wife, spread before me, impaled on my hard prick as I spurt my semen into her cunt. Not Good Enough Sometimes, when I have done this in the past, my new lover is suddenly, conveniently, overcome with remorse and guilt, and breaks down in a crying fit. She wails about how she has made a terrible mistake, how I somehow convinced her to do something that she knew all along that she shouldn't do, and how she could never face me (or her husband) again. What a load of crap. I never lied to a woman or tricked her into sleeping with me (well, maybe I had slipped Carol's wallet out of her purse so she would have to come here to pick it up, but that didn't mean she had to have sex with me if she didn't want to, did it?) There wasn't going to be any weeping and wailing from Carol, I could see that. She's lying here with my wilting cock still stuck up into her, grinning like the cat that ate the canary, and far from crying, what does she say? "I love that," she says. "Let's do that lots more!" Okay by me! There's still lots of time left in the semester.