12 comments/ 48194 views/ 3 favorites Restless Ch. 01 By: spence5969 Note to readers: This is the first chapter in a story which will hopefully be many chapters long. As such, there is very little sex in it. This story (of which this is the first chapter) is meant to stand alone and apart from other pieces I have written. If you don't like stories of sharing, voyeurism, extramarital sex and the like, you really shouldn't read this. Chapter One. The Starting Place. To try and find a starting place. That is hard. Very hard. Was it in my childhood, in some now forgotten episode which forever twisted my perception of relationships? Or was it later, perhaps? In my adolescence, or teenage years. Those years of experimentation wherein we all search for our inner voices, our inner selves. Maybe I was just born like I am, and none of my experiences count for anything, although I seriously doubt that option. All I know is that it happened slowly, over time. The seeds for it were sown long before I met my wife, but those seeds did not blossom until well into our marriage. If she had been a different type of individual... no, I can't go there. If she was different, I wouldn't have been attracted to her in the first place. Other than physically, of course. She was incredibly beautiful, and very sexy. Five foot nine, a hundred and twenty pounds of toned body, her wild dark hair cascaded down around her shoulders. She was the perfect dichotomy for me, she knew she had a great body, but she had no concept of how truly beautiful she was. She was one of those girls who was a late bloomer. She didn't go on a single date throughout high school, not even to her prom, but by her graduation, she was already turning into the beautiful woman I met five years later. Which is precisely what I needed. I knew I was shallow enough that the person I would marry had to be very good looking. If she wasn't, I'd be one of those men who had a roving eye, trying to get into the pants of everything with breasts. All right, perhaps not everything, but near enough so as to not make much of a difference. Yet, I wasn't giving Mel Gibson any sort of a run for his money, if you know what I mean. I relied on whit and charm to get by. Don't get me wrong, I'm not ugly, just not handsome. Average. That's what I am. Average. And we hit it off. She was wild, yet relatively inexperienced. I had the experience. We were married within months of meeting. It was a completely physical thing. No one had ever opened her up to the sensual side of herself, let alone the sexual. She had always professed how inexperienced she was, that she had never had sex. Bridgett told me that she had come close several times, especially with this one guy she went out with for over three years, but she could never bring herself to have sex before marriage. I guess I believed her, especially since we didn't have intercourse before we got married. At least a part of me did, but there was always this little voice in my head telling me that someone who moved like she did, who abandoned herself so during intercourse, couldn't possibly be so inexperienced. It was such a small voice, though, I shoved it into the back of my mind, yet it would feed directly into my problem later on. We were so into each other, as most new couples are, that we didn't see the problems that lay ahead for us. Actually, there were only two problems, one for each of us. Hers was, and still is, to a great extent, her inability to be truthful about her inner feelings, about who she is and what she wants and likes. To a great extent, this stems from her religious beliefs. My problem was with jealousy, which I now know stemmed from my own lack of self-worth and the anger which that generated. Which is why that voice in my head fed right into my fears. So you have a sexy woman, who has been starved for male attention all her life, and a jealous man. Not a great combination. We would go to parties, or out with friends, and she would dress incredibly erotic. Then she would bask in all the attention she was getting from the guys. She would flirt right back with them. She would deny she was flirting, of course, and at the time I was unsure whether she was simply unaware of her flirting, or if she was lying to me. It turned out to be neither, she was simply lying to herself, on the conscious level. Subconsciously, she knew she was flirting, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Not only did I feel that she was flirting with these men, but I felt that she was trying to get them interested in her. Which, she was, let's face it. She was enjoying the attention. But I mean that she was trying to get them interested in her so that she could then act upon their interest. We would fight, and argue, until the point where neither one of us could take it anymore. We decided she would move out. Looking back, I think this may not be THE beginning, but it was A beginning of the road we traveled. We set a date for her to move out, and she began looking for an apartment. But when I would get home, we'd discuss if she would begin dating right away. And she said she was unsure, but she thought so, it wouldn't be good for her to sit at home alone. We would start foreplay and she would tell me what she planned to do when she dated. I think she started out trying to make me jealous, trying to get me to stop her from leaving, but what ended up happening, was that we both got so turned on by her envisioning her dates, that we'd have incredible sex. After several nights of this, as the day was approaching for her to move out, I came to the first of what was to be many realizations. If I wanted us to stay together, and I did, I was going to have to do something about my jealousy. I felt that she needed to be more honest with herself, but if I could overcome the jealousy, than we had a chance. We decided she shouldn't leave. At that point in time, I allowed myself to take all the blame for the problems in the relationship, laying them squarely on my jealousy. I knew that at some point we'd have to address her underlying issues, find the causes, but I also knew that they weren't the immediate problem. We could deal with them later, and we would. In the meantime, other major changes were occurring in our lives. My father had a major heart attack, after which we moved from Los Angeles to New York to be closer to my parents. We both got day jobs to cover our bills, her as a receptionist in an advertising firm on Madison Avenue. Me as a finance guy for a major corporation downtown. But we both continued to pursue our careers in the arts. Bridgett joined an off-Broadway theater company, while I renewed an acquaintance from college who was now into television production. We would go out on the weekend, usually with another couple or a group of friends. We might be invited to a party, or a concert. We were having fun, as young couples are supposed to. And every time we went out, I would work on the jealousy. Every time. I would remember the conversations we had when Bridgett had been thinking of moving out, and I would use that arousal to overcome the jealousy. Little by little, over time, I learned to control it. But it was always there, right below the surface. We went on like that for a couple of years, several times a month, sometimes as many as a dozen, I would have the opportunity to work on my jealousy. Then an interesting thing began to happen. I mean interesting in the purest clinical sense of the term. Earlier, I mentioned that she had joined this theater group, but up until that point she had always worked on monologues, or a scene with another woman. That spring she began working on a scene with this guy, Rick. Rick Morole. A good looking guy, Rick. Tall, dark, ruggedly handsome, he spent three days a week in the gym keeping his body toned and tight. The type of guy girls just seemed to roll over for (or perhaps on top of?). I had seen him, once, when I picked Bridgett up at her theater. They met twice a week in the theater to rehearse and critique each other. Bridgett had joined the company after they had cast their most recent production, which ran for about two years. The company had just cast their next show, and Bridgett was the understudy for the female lead. Rick was the male lead's understudy. The company director thought that in addition to running the lines to the play, they might build up some nice chemistry if they worked on another scene as well. They would stay late on the nights the company met to run the lines from the play, and several times a week Bridgett would head down to his place to work on their scene. I asked her once why they never rehearsed at our place, and she just said that Rick lived alone and their were no distractions there. Plus, his place was larger than ours and it was easier to move the furniture around to set up the scene. They rehearsed for almost three months. I could only smile to myself while I watched her get ready to head over to his place; how carefully she chose her outfits, always sexy, but never too blatant. She would then spend an hour doing her hair and make-up. I could not say a word, for fear that she would only see it as my jealousy re-appearing. Sometimes she would come home hours after she said she would, occasionally smelling of wine, or perhaps a hint of marijuana. After three months, I could no longer hold it in. I had to broach the subject. I knew that I could not just blurt it out, that the matter demanded delicacy. I waited for her one night for her to get home from rehearsing at his place. She was wearing a short denim skirt, and a blue and white tank top, which buttoned down the front. The first two buttons were undone, showing a nice amount of cleavage, without being too overt. As I guided the conversation around to where I wanted it to go, she bristled at first, knowing where the discussion was heading, but then she smiled and took the ball out of my hands, so to speak. She assured me that while she did think that Rick was attractive, all right gorgeous (and that's exactly how she said it), and she was flattered by the attention he was giving her, there was absolutely nothing going on. Then she would gently trace her fingers up the inside of my thigh, till they came to rest on my groin. She'd then talk of what she would do with Rick if she weren't married. The two of us got so turned on that all thoughts of jealousy were quickly forgotten. Occasionally, Rick would drive Bridgett home, instead of her taking a cab from downtown to our apartment in Chelsea. We had an agreement, that she would always call when she was leaving his place, so that I could know when to expect her. That way I wouldn't worry that something had happened to her en route. On the nights he would drive her, I could always wait at the window, waiting for them to pull up. Invariably, they would sit outside in the car for another hour, talking, their heads very close. After our discussion, a change, albeit subtle, came over Bridgett. She would almost lead me on, teasing me with thoughts of her with someone else. Sometimes it would be Rick, sometimes someone else the two of us knew, and other times it would be someone who she said she had met. All the while reassuring me that I was the only one. She would only do it while we were having sex, at first, which would turn both of us on, but as the weeks went by, she would drop hints at other times as well. It was almost as if she were testing me. Seeing how far my new found non-jealous state went. Her flirting when we went out became more blatant, her touching more personal. She would constantly look to see if I was watching her, which would always elicit a smile from her. Maybe she would blow me a kiss. Then go right back to her flirtation. The following month, when their scene was produced at a fund-raiser for the theater group, I went to see it of course. It was a smashing success, the best scene the group did that night, and I could tell that the company's director was well pleased with them. He asked them to immediately start on another scene, to which they both readily agreed. This new, sexier, more flirtatious Bridgett continued on. Sometimes I think she was trying to see how far she could go until I would explode. She wasn't far from getting what she wanted, either. I couldn't give her the satisfaction. I began to rely more and more heavily on the arousal aspect of seeing her flirt with someone else, and still I could barely keep the lid on my jealousy. The defining moment of the next ten years of my life was just around the corner, and I didn't even know it. Restless Ch. 01 I was inside my car on day, sitting in the back, waiting for the day to pass, so the night, cool and soothing, would come about decently. I was on the run you see, from a crime most people now-a-days would call stupid and rather ill thought out for someone like myself, a straight-A student at Jasmine High, the north side school of the city Winchester's Peak. The city was likely named that, because of the high cliffs and mountains that toward the north of the city. Not really a humble settling, but it was home. This man, named Jameson Winchester, founded the city as a gold-mining settlement back in the seventeenth century. Now enough talk about that, let's get back on subject. The crime was committed was rather simple and fast, dangerous yet satisfying. How could a boy, at the age of sixteen, murder oh, so easily. Well, that is a question I needed an answer to, but in time, I shall receive the answer by looking over my past. Let's begin, shall we? * * * It all began two weeks ago, when I was in band class, enjoying myself by playing a song that I had been composing for about a week now, called A Jasmine's Glow. It was a gentle composition on my silver lined, black painted flute with valves of gold that flowed like watery lullaby, in a river, soothing and relaxing. It was a pleasant sound to my ears; a most silvery warmth that radiated gently as the quiet air leaked out of the passage and flowed into my surroundings. Yeah, I know, to most, the flute is only supposed to be played by women, who are kind and gentle, not a man, who is rough and doesn't care about most of the things he does. Well, in my opinion, I love this instrument. It's a beautiful piece of work that gives off essence of majestic melody. The flute I'm playing belonged to my ancestors, going back to the time of the crusades. Engraved on the side of the flute reads In Nomine Patris ET Filii ET Spiritus Sancti: In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It has been well kept and well handled; only the one's whom are willing enough greatness can handle such a beautiful instrument. My ancestors were assassins in the crusades, working for the Church, and apparently severing the word of God. Though I never really thought of the Crusades as correct, I still accepted the gift that my great grandfather had bestowed upon me when I was merely a child. Nevertheless, I thanked and accepted my heritage and took pride into this instrument, learning from the inside out, just as my ancestors did before me. Everyone in my family is a Christian; all of them except me. I never really believed in any of that. I always found it to be completely unrealistic. I have my reasons for not believing in God; it's a long and painful story. I don't feel like telling you about it, not yet at least. I guess with more time given to me I will feel comfortable speaking on it. God was never on my side as you can guess, but nevertheless, that's only part of the reason why I don't believe in such a lie. As I sat there on my red plastic chair, writing the last few notes of the song that I had been composing, I noticed that everyone else had been talking about random things. I assumed was the only one who likes to compose music. The voices of kids were talking about their boyfriends or girlfriends, football games and home problems. There was other talk about the homecoming dance that was to be held next week, but other than that there wasn't really anything else interesting on topic to actually point out in my surroundings. Though it was rather interesting what you can find out from just listening in on what people have to say, there people had always been the boring kind to me; then again, most people are. Well, since we're talking about my interests and me, let me tell you a little more about myself. My name is Adam James Carter, but most people in my family have taken the liberty to call me James. I didn't mind it, because my mother called me that for most of my life, which is fine by me, but lately she's been calling me Adam, which I found rather strange. Most people don't even realize that my name is Adam, but then again no one asks. I never liked it. It sounds too classy to me; then again my family is very classy, although we never had money to show it. My mother had always been the kind to talk about marrying a rich guy with a mansion and many cars so she can live in happiness, but that didn't seem appropriate for 'love'. I mean, how could you just say that you were willing to marry someone for just the money that he has made? It was pretty messed up on some extent. I remember how my mom used to come home late from work to be able to pay off the mortgage payment on her, well, our house. She ran two jobs, having a shift for the morning and night, so I never really got to see her, because she always got home around two o'clock in the morning. I did hate that. I had no one to talk to, so all there was left to do was do my homework or compose music. At least she kept a roof over my head, I had always thought, but sometimes, you need more than the comfort of lonesome and infinite expression to be able to cope with some things. Anyway, as I walked from the band hall, I swept my long hair out of my face that kept being blown over my eyes, due to the wind. I adjusted my hair to my liking, and then fixed it so that it didn't fall over my eyes. I liked to wear my hair long, but the thing I didn't like about it, was that I had to groom it so often. Winchester's Peak had always been a really windy city, but after a while, you get really annoyed with it, especially when you walking about side the band hall due to the way the walls were placed made the wind even more powerful as they passed by. I walked down the halls of Jasmine High's Astronomy Hall shortly after my encounter with the menacing wind, searching for my last period class of Astrophysics. It was a decent class, but not really my thing. Although, it was very fascinating; the pictures of outside material that floated along in space. I really loved the beauty and wonderful scenery that the cosmos had to offer to us. Come to think of it, I guess it was an interesting class, but the only thing that killed it for me was the math portions of it. So as I walked into the room, I glanced at the projected screen and hoped that there was a lecture and not math problems. Turns out that it was a lecture, but we had some problems at the end to solve. My teacher began talking about many things that I hadn't known about. He mentioned something about Sacred Geometry and how it was all proportional to the cosmos. It was all very interesting to learn, but as I sat there watching my teacher explain the planets, I just began to stare at the pictures of the wall, dazing off into thought of why I'm here at school just wondering if any of this matters. Dreams and visions came to me of all of the worthless causes of what people call an education. I really didn't see why I'll need certain skills like algebra and calculus. It's not like it benefit me in my music career. I noticed that I'd only need music and writing for my music career because I was only planning on writing music for a living. I then began to ponder of what my teacher was talking about and how he explained the creation of the universe... A paper ball fell on my desk, distracting my thoughts. I looked, and examined it carefully, knowing who it was from almost instantly. A person by the name Andy Garcia; he was some guy who always picks on me, recently, for some reason. It's like that I'm his favorite of all guys to pick on. "Hey, Adam, why don't you look at me you little prick?" Andy said, cockily, as usual. "Why should I?" I questioned rather upset and sick of the bullying. "Your sight isn't worth my memory." "What did you say, punk." Andy walked over to me and bent over right in front of me. I could smell his bad aftershave that radiated off his horribly shaven neck. His short spiky hair, all messy and completely torn apart from the last time he had tried to pick on me. I had it and attacked him with a pair of scissors, but shockingly, I was caught, but knowing Andy Garcia, he's as stubborn as a donkey getting orders form a new owner. "You heard me," I replied, emotionless in my tone. Where's the teacher, I thought inside my head. I was scared, but not really for the reason that you might think. I was scared because I knew that there would be more to pay if I get involved again with this guy. "I don't have to repeat myself." I hate it when people try to push me around. I'm pretty strong for being five-eight in height. I'm not scared of getting into a fight, it just that Andy Garcia play dirty, most likely has a blade on him. I would've squared him off then and there, but his buddies, Cal and Sam, were behind me; their essence reeking off stupidity and pathetic rage. Knowing them, they'll grab me from behind while Andy starts going at me from the front, like before, too many times to count. They've pushed me around to many times, and I've had it with them. Next time will be the end of them, and I mean it. As I stood up, I kept eye contact with Andy, looking straight into his brown eyes, filled with hate and anger, with my electric, cold green, sapphire eyes, radiating with bloodshed and terror. I was ready for it, and I wasn't going to back down, not anymore. "Hey," a voice, from the right side of us, said in tone of fear and nervousness. "Adam, can you come here, and help me with my assignment?" So happens, the voice was coming from a girl by the name of Elisabeth Marie Patterson, a young lady of high-class standards. Though she was all classy, she did not let her status get in the way of her relationships with people. Elisabeth never took anything for granted and was always grateful for what she had or received. As I replied, "Yes, I'll be there in a second." I remembered who she really was. One of the most popular girls in our school, of course not at the time food chain, as some say now-a-days, was trying to get my attention. I don't mind helping her; it wasn't a problem at all, but the thing was that most people would find this a very strange move for a girl of popularity like Elisabeth. "I'll deal with you later, puck," Andy whispered in my ear, as I passed him. "Agreed," I whispered back. I walked along the back of the rows of desks, heading over to Elisabeth. She waited patiently for me to arrive. She smiled and asked. "How do you do this problem?" Other than me being mesmerized by her beautiful hazel-green eyes, that came with a set of long, well-kept eyelashes, so long they touched the bottom of her eyebrow, I explained how to calculate the trajectory of a meteorite heading towards the Earth at 2900m/s from a 2.68 x10^6 miles away from the planet, to originate with the time it would take for impact. "Wow, how are you so smart if you don't pay attention in class?" Elisabeth asked me after I help her with some more problems that she was having trouble with. "Well, honestly, I'm not that smart; I just have good memory of what the teacher says occasionally." I replied, not as rude sounding. "So why don't you pay attention?" "Well, honestly, I don't care about school that much." "Oh," Elisabeth replied, kind of confused at the response I gave her. "I'm surprised." "Well, you don't have to tell me that," I smiled. "I can tell." "You're very observant." She chuckled. "Sit down, please." I sat in the desk in front of her, facing Elisabeth. I really wasn't sure why she was talking to me so suddenly. I've never even spoken to this girl, who was smiling away as if she hit gold, but yet her grin was warm and sweet. "So what's up with your life?" Elisabeth asked, breaking my thoughts. "Nothing really," I replied, wondering why she asked me that. "Why you ask?" I asked, trying not to sound all that rude. "I'm just trying to keep the conversation going. Can I ask you something?" "Sure, I see why not." Elisabeth looked around, probably to check if anyone was watching. "What's up with that Andy guy, always picking on you?" "Don't know," I replied coolly. "I would've squared him off then and there, but knowing his friends, they would've got me from behind and beaten the crud out of me." I said this low to the point of a whisper. I didn't want to start anymore conflict between us. "Personally, I don't like fights. It scares me when I see some people going at it." Elisabeth's voice was shaky. "I mean, seriously, you haven't done anything to them, so I don't see the reason why they keep on torturing you like that." "Don't know why, but I've had it with them. Next chance I get, I'm not holding back." "Don't be like them, please," Elisabeth said, lowly. "It won't help at all. It's not worth your time to be dealing with them. Just come and talk to me whenever they start trying to pick on you again, OK?" She seems really serious for some reason. Why would a girl like her care about a 'nobody' like me? That last statement did get me thinking. Why does she even care about me? I continued to think on the repeated question. It's not like I'm some guy to die for. I'm just some random guy who is only dust in the wind, driven with and by rage, and jealousy, sorrow, and agony, nothing more, nothing less. Why is this girl so worried about me getting into a fight? I don't even know her. "If you so wish," I replied, sympathetically. "Good," Elisabeth chuckled and tapped my shoulder with her little fist. "Besides, you're not a bad kid, and know where you're coming from. I'd be really upset if someone would pick on me too. Hey, if I were to tell you that I was never this popular, would you believe me?" "Maybe," I replied, thoughtfully. "I don't know why you'd like to me." "Well, it's true. I was never this popular. I was always a shy person before I entered high school." "Oh, wow, why so?" "I don't know honestly. I never really liked talking to people that much, but then again I never liked being alone. I was too busy with my studies, as well, for friends, I guess you can say." "That's interesting. So why are you talking to me if you don't like to talk to people, no offense." "Simple, Adam," Elisabeth chuckled. "I've changed my ways. I'm more outgoing now." "Oh, of course what else can be the reason?" "You speak differently from the others." "Oh, how else would you like me to speak? Does it bother you?" "No. It's just that your way of talking is different than other people. I've never heard anyone talk like you before." "How is that, if you don't mind me asking?" "Well, for example, you just asked 'How so?' instead of just asking how? Do you get what I mean?" "Of course, it's actually quite simple to comprehend what you mean." Elisabeth chuckled. "You sound so smart." "I'm really all that smart. I just have a high form of vocabulary. I was brought up that way." "I wish my parents would've done that with me. I want to be smart now and have a 'high form of vocabulary'." We laughed. It was nice that I was talking to someone like Elisabeth. She seems like a pretty nice girl to talk to. The bell rang for school's release from today's classes. "Well, it's been nice talk to you," I said to Elisabeth. "I need to be getting home, lots of things to do." "Why don't you walk me to my car?" Elisabeth smiled standing and slinging her bag over her shoulder. I noticed the way she moves is like water; so majestic, and free. "Sure," I replied, putting on my backpack, not to fast or slow, but just at the right speed. I didn't want her thinking that I was nervous or anything. As we walked through the crowded halls, filled with students, eager of heading home for dinner or after school activities, it was rather difficult to walk through the hallways; I guess you can refer to it as walking through Jell-O. Elisabeth and I turned left towards the staircases. "So, Elisabeth, what are you doing after school," I asked as we stepped down the student-ocean filled stairway. "Call me Lisa," she replied faintly. The noise had been drowning out her voice out. "I never like Elisabeth. It's too classy if you ask me. Oh yeah, I'm just going home. I need to baby-sit." "Oh, cool," I replied back. "And you?" "I'm just going home as well. I'm most likely just going to stay there in boredom." We exited the building a few minutes later, after weaving and dodging traffic in the hallways. The parking wasn't filled with as much students as I thought it would, having walked through an entire ocean of them. "So, I guess, I'll see you tomorrow," Lisa said, as she entered her car, which I have to give her credit for. It was a Mercedes Benz; not classy at all. I wasn't sure what model it was, but I guess it was some extremely expensive type. "Yeah, I see why not," I replied, smiling. "Cool, that's a date. See you, Adam." Lisa drove off into the sun. I felt pretty good that I was talking to this girl. I didn't feel alone for the first time. Now you may be wondering; don't I have any friends? Well, of course, but only two, maybe three, depending on the third one's mood, but I'll introduce them later when you meet them. Restless Ch. 02 Note: Once again, if you do not like stories about voyeurism, extramarital sex and the like, you should move on to a different story. Second of a series of stories. Chapter Two. Definition. As the months rolled on, Bridgett continued to test me. At least it seemed that way to me. It wasn't until much later that I would discover that it wasn't a test at all, it wasn't something she was doing consciously. However, I could feel the pressure building inside me. Something had to give. It did. At the next fund-raiser for her company, there were no scenes presented. Instead, it was a wine and cheese tasting evening. It took place in a hall adjacent to the small theater where they performed. A DJ played music and people danced and schmoozed. Bridgett looked incredible, wearing a long gown made of thin jersey material, it hugged her every curve. Cut extremely low in the front and back, the V-neck reached to her stomach, framing her breasts perfectly, which managed to barely peek out from underneath the clingy material. It had a long slit up her left leg as well, ending on her upper thigh. Needless to say, she was getting her fair share of attention. And I was dealing with it. Barely, but I was. I don't know what happened, maybe she could sense my boiling point being reached, or maybe a part of her was looking for reassurance herself, but after about an hour of talking and dancing, Bridgett made her way back to me. Not to say that I had spent all that time staring at her. I mingled. I talked. I got to know a few of the members of the company. But I never spent a great deal of time with any one particular person. Neither did Bridgett, for that matter, although she did continually manage to end up next to Rick. As I was saying, she made her way over to me. She had danced with several of the guys there, and had flitted from group to group. Now, as she came up to me, she kissed me, sensuously, on the neck. "Having a good time?" she asked. "Sure. You?" "Uh uhm." She started swaying to the music, her pelvis grinding into my hip. "Wanna dance?" I led her to the dance floor, where we stayed for the next half-hour or so, before making our way over to the bar for something to wet our dry throats. As we were standing there, sipping our drinks, I could tell that her attention kept wandering. I tried to figure out what she was looking at, but not until I repositioned myself did I catch a glimpse of what had her so preoccupied. Rick. Sitting by himself, watching everyone else dance. "He's so shy," she murmured. I spluttered my drink. "Him?" "Of course. Can't you see? Sitting by himself, watching everyone else having a good time." All of a sudden I became very calm. I realized I was trying not to explode, and something inside me put a damper on my anger. I've heard people use the term, "dead calm", and that seems about right for what was going on inside me at that moment. I needed to find out some things. About her, about myself. I nodded and then said in a very non-chalant voice, "Why don't you ask him to dance?" I could see her struggle not to get too excited, although it wasn't too much of a struggle. "You wouldn't mind? Really?" I kissed her. "Really. Go on. I need to rest after that workout you just gave me." And that wasn't far from the truth. Always if we went dancing, she would dance two, perhaps three times as much as I did. She smiled. "Okay. See you in a bit." I watched as she walked over to him, although I tried not to seem like I was watching. He protested at first, then she took his hand and led him to the dance floor. As they got out there, I could see he truly was reticent about dancing. Then I understood why. He didn't know how. Bridgett overcame that by putting one of his hands on her waist, taking his other in hers, and putting her free hand on his shoulder. Then they swayed to the music. As she showed him the beat of the music, they broke apart, moving in time to the rhythym. I moved from vantage point to vantage point, trying to glimpse them through the throng of people on the dance floor. I would lose sight of them for a moment, then pick them up again. The music changed, turning to a slow song. He held out his hands to her, and she came in close, placing her head on his chest, both her arms going around his neck, while his hands went to her lower back. As the music played, I could see his hands caressing her back, the top of her ass, playing along the line of where her gown dipped down. At times, she would raise her head, whispering something into his ear. As I was watching, Sergio, the director of the company approached me and started a conversation. For the life of me I can not tell you what that conversation was about. All I know was that when it was over, Bridgett and Rick were no longer on the dance floor. Casually, I began a circuit of the room, unobtrusively looking in every nook and cranny for the two of them. I couldn't find them. Had they gone outside? It was pretty crowded, maybe I had simply missed them. I started another circuit. As I reached the far side of the room, the door to the kitchen swung open, and there they were. Bridgett was sitting on the stainless steel of the institutional counter, her legs spread slightly. The slit in her dress made it ride high, exposing almost her entire left leg. Rick was standing between her legs, one of his hands on the counter, the other on her left knee. Bridgett had a drink in one hand and her other was on his shoulder. They weren't doing anything, just chatting, her laughter floating out to the dance floor from time to time like the scent of a rose on a spring breeze. It was their proximity. Him between her legs, touching her exposed leg. I didn't know it at the time, but I know it now, that was the moment I snapped. I had a choice to make at that moment: either I let my jealousy get the better of me, which would inevitably lead to a scene, and embarrassment for both Bridgett and I; or I just allowed my growing arousal to take over. I chose the latter. I stood there for I don't know how long, catching glimpses of the two of them as the door opened, closed, was held open for a few moments. I watched his fingers tracing small circles on her thigh, her hand massaging his shoulder. Then the door closed and stayed that way for a short time. I went to the bar and had another drink. I needed to get my thoughts in order. The part of me which was jealous was deeply submerged. What was left in its place? I didn't know at the time. I would spend the next year figuring it out, and the next decade and a half exploring it fully. Looking back, I now know that this was the moment I started down a path from which there was no returning. A path which has led me to where I am today. Whether it is good or bad is not for me to judge. I just know that it is. The night wore on. Elwood P. Dodd once said that that was a beautiful expression, and he was right. In his honor I will say it again: the night wore on. It wasn't long before Bridgett and Rick emerged from the kitchen, and went their separate ways. Bridgett and I danced some more, and she danced with several of the other people there, but not with Rick again. We chatted, together, and with others until the event began to wind down. Then we said our good-byes and exited into the brisk night. Just before we left, I noticed Rick and Bridgett off to one side, out of most people's line of sight. She glanced back to see if I was looking, smiling slightly when she saw I was. As he bent slightly to give her a kiss good-bye on the cheek, she turned her head, kissing him briefly on the lips. They looked at each other for a moment, before smiling, then she quickly briefly clasped his hand in hers and was heading towards me. It was October and after a very warm and humid summer, the nights were beginning to get a bit chilly, so I was unsure as to exactly the cause of her erect nipples. We had to walk up to the avenue in order to hail a cab, but it wasn't long before we were on our way home. Bridgett was incredibly amorous that night, and adventurous as well, me bringing her to orgasm with my fingers in the back of the taxi on our way home. She had several orgasms, the first at about 18th Street and 10th Avenue, right around the corner from our apartment, the last, in the shower about two hours later. I know she saw me after she had kissed Rick, but neither of us brought it up. There didn't seem to be a point. I never mentioned to her that I had seen her and Rick talking in the kitchen, at least I didn't mention it to her for almost fifteen years. By that point in time I had totally forgotten about the incident myself, at least on the conscious level, and only remembered it as I struggled to discover why I was the way I am. From that point on, our sex began to get wilder, more intense. Bridgett began to dress more daring, even to work. Plus, she was making friends, both at work, and in the theater company. It was no longer just us doing things together. Oh, we would, from time to time, but now there was just as frequently other people along with us: to the museum, the park, the zoo. She would also go out with just her friends occasionally, dancing or to the movies. Maybe for dinner or lunch. Not frequently, but sometimes. When she would go with her friends for drinks, or dancing, I would always ask if anything happened, and she would smile and say, "the usual." If I'd press the issue, she'd say, "Spence, come on," and smile, squeezing my hand. That next summer, she even went out to the Hamptons to stay over a friend from work's beach house. I know they went out both Friday and Saturday night, but again, she said that nothing happened. That was the first time I thought she might not be telling me the whole truth, especially after the looks I got from the girls she went with the next time I saw them. Instead of getting upset, I used my imagination to turn me on, picturing in my mind's eye what had happened, and using it to arouse myself. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Restless Ch. 03-04 Note: 3rd & 4th in a series. BTW, some of you have asked why certain comments get deleted... comments which have no critical value but are merely a rant regarding the poster's hangups are summarily deleted. * Chapter Three. Interlude At this point, I'd like to mention that I also loved to take erotic photos of Bridgett. This had started with other girlfriends before her, and we had begun it on our honeymoon in Tahiti. From time to time, we would schedule a "shoot", and spend a few hours taking photos of her in various outfits and poses. I kept several albums of these photos, and some of the more artistic ones I had framed and situated around my desk at home. I used to get many of my ideas for the poses, and the outfits from professional magazines. I didn't care much for the more graphic poses, you know the kind, women with their crotches spread wide enough so you can see their tonsils. I went for the more subtle poses, the artsy touch. Many times Bridgett would go through the magazines with me, helping me pick out the shots she liked as well. Once while I was moving some boxes in the storage area, the bottom of one had become rotten and all the contents fell out onto the floor. It had a lot of items from Bridgett's acting days in L.A.: old head shots, programs, scripts. There was one large manila envelope, clasped shut with the flap taped down. At least the flap had been taped down. It must have been in the bottom of the box, and some moisture got in, for the tape was all coming off. Curious, I undid the clasp and opened the envelope. Inside were photos of Bridgett. And what photos they were. Professionally done, they had her in a series of outfits and poses which could only be classified as erotic. Short skirts, undone blouses, bra and panties. The last sequence of shots had her draped in only a translucent scarf. I asked her about it, and she laughed it off as one of those "mistakes" young actresses make. She hadn't known the scarf was so sheer (which I'm not sure I believed. To be that sheer in the photo, it must have been quite see-through in person), and the guy had turned out to be a real scumbag. He had tried to come on to her, but nothing had happened. After the pictures were taken, she had had to send her brother and a couple of his friends to get all the photos and the negatives, because the photographer wouldn't give them to her. This discovery led to a new way for us to play. From that point on, during one of my photography sessions with her, we would have a "fantasy" that I was someone either she or her husband had hired, and we would end the shoot by having incredible sex. This motif expanded, so that other times, we would have a fantasy while we were outside the house. This all started that summer, when we took a cruise around the Caribbean. We decided that it would be decadent if we pretended not to be married for the cruise. No one knew that we were sharing a cabin. And we spent the whole first day, flirting with one another, while I tried to "pick her up." This, of course, gave her tremendous opportunity to flirt with others as well, and she took great advantage of that opportunity. After that, when we got back home, we would occasionally go out and pretend that I would pick her up, or sometimes that one of us was paying the other as an "escort". These were incredibly erotic, and usually ended in incredible sex. She had elaborate stories made up of prior conquests, and could be quite specific about them, which turned both of us on. It was during one of these fantasies where the next phase of our lives together opened up. Chapter Four. Expansion. We had set up a scenario where Bridgett would go to a local club and hang out for a while. At a certain point I would go in and meet her, as if it were a blind date being set up by a mutual friend. After meeting, we ended up going back to the apartment, of course, and continued the fantasy. She had chosen to be a very close persona of herself: an actress from L.A. staying for a few months at a friend's place in N.Y. while she auditioned for plays. While we were leading up to the sex portion of the evening (really, that's what we called it), the phone rings and she answers it. It's her mother from L.A. They talk for about ten minutes, when her mother tells her that she'll never guess who called her up out of the blue. Jim Murphy. My wife's ex-fiancée. The guy she dated for three years and never slept with. He had just been thinking about her, and was wondering how she was doing, that sort of thing. Bridgett's mother told him that she was married and living in New York, but that she might be coming out to Los Angeles in a month or so. He asked her mom to give her his number, just in case she felt like having lunch, catching up on old times. Bridgett finished the conversation with her mother, and we continued on with the fantasy, never breaking stride. Afterwards, when we were both spent and lying in one another's' arms in bed, I kissed her neck, "Are you going to give him a call?" "Who?" she asked, knowing full well who I meant. "Oh. Maybe." She smiled, then began nibbling on my lower lip. "Would you mind?" "Of course not," I said, running my tongue lightly along the outline of her lips. "I mean, when I'm out there next month." "I know." I let it lay there like that, our mutual oral sparring getting us both aroused enough so that we made love one last time before falling asleep. Bridgett was scheduled to fly out to L.A. for a week to ten days about a month after that. Actually it was closer to two months. Over the next couple of weeks I asked her as unobtrusively as possible as to whether or not she had called Jim. The first time she said she was probably going to, but she was waiting until she got out there. The second time was as I was giving her a massage one evening. She lay naked on the bed before me, my oiled hands running down the long muscles on either side of her spine. My grandfather had been a trainer to several fighters, and he had taught me when I was very young the art of giving a proper massage. I used that as a foundation, then read up on how to turn a massage into one of the most sensual of all experiences (not really a difficult leap). Once I had all that information at my disposal, I did the only thing any red-blooded American male would do: practice, practice, practice. Which naturally came in quite handy during my dating days. Plus my wife loved my hands. Absolutely loved them. If there was anything I wanted her to do, all I had to do was ask her while I was giving her a massage. As I was saying, while I was rubbing her back down, my thumbs and the heels of my palms kneading into her back muscles whenever I discovered a knot, I said, "So, you're definitely going to call him?" She purred a little as my hands found a good spot before answering, "Probably." "You think you two will get together?" I could hear the smile in her voice, "Probably." "Probably?" "Well, almost definitely. Sure you won't mind?" I moved lower on her body, parting her legs slightly so I could concentrate on her hamstrings. "Sure I'm sure." I worked my hands down her legs, paying special attention to the calves I knew were sore from walking the streets of Manhattan. "Can I make one small suggestion, though?" "What's that?" "Well, if you do intend on seeing him, you might want to call him before you leave, you know, to set things up. Who knows, if you wait till you're out there, he might be busy." "He'll make time to see me." "I guess you're right. Lord knows I would." She purred again as I worked on her ankles and feet. "Maybe you're right though. I should give him just the tiniest bit of notice." I left it at that, finishing off the massage. Which led to an incredible evening of sex, of course. Even though we didn't discuss it for the next two weeks or so, I could tell Bridgett was excited by it all. I had decided not to bring it up until a day or two before she left. She took the decision out of my hands during a Sunday brunch in the Village. "I called Jim last night." I tried to play it cool, nonchalant. I don't know if she noticed the tremor in my voice. "Really? What did he have to say?" She paused for a moment, I think expecting a bigger reaction. "Not much. We're going to dinner that first Friday night I'm out there." There. Just like that. It was out there. I knew that I expected something might happen, but I didn't know if she expected it to. I wanted to ask, but I wanted things to happen naturally (well, as naturally as they could given the circumstances), so I let her lead the conversation wherever it was going. "Aren't you going to say something?" I smiled, "What would you like me to say?" She tossed her fork onto the remains of her half-eaten bacon omelet. "I don't know. You're sure you're okay with this?" "Sure, I'm sure." I said, rolling the pancake shrouded piece of sausage into my mouth. Again, I let the subject drop, although I was dying to talk about it. I knew she was too, but both of us were stubborn enough to attempt to wait the other out. It was a question of who would break first. It wasn't me. A few weeks later, perhaps three weeks before she left, we were out having dinner together. Between the entree and the dessert she leans across the table towards me in her low cut dress and smiles, "You really don't mind me having dinner with him, do you?" Weeks had gone by with no mention, but she expected me to know exactly who she meant by "him". And I did. There was probably a momentary pause as I lifted my wine goblet to my lips, but not having an out-of-body experience at the time, I wasn't watching myself so I can't be positive. Anyway, I think I answered without too much hesitation, "Of course not, it's just dinner, isn't it?" I don't know what answer she had been expecting, but that certainly wasn't it. She looked at me oddly, then went back to eating. We finished dinner slowly, with very little conversation. We kept looking at one another. I'm not talking about glancing at each other to see what they're doing, I'm talking about really looking at one another. Seeing how close that small mole is to her left ear, about categorizing the bump on my nose with how far it hooks to the left. Seeing each other. The cab ride home was equally silent, both of us caught in our own thoughts. Both of us trying to figure out what the others' thoughts were. We got ready for bed. Which in my case consisted of brushing my teeth, washing my hands and face, and disrobing to my underwear. For her it was a complete process: first, she went to bathroom; when she came out she was in her nightie; then, she brushed her teeth; her hair was put up following that, and getting out her special bottle, she used cotton balls and tissues to remove her make-up: face, lips, eyes; next she scrubbed her face with soap and water, removing the remainder of the make-up as well as any traces of make-up remover. Having accomplished her mission, she turned and came towards the bed. This night the short nightgown she had chosen was sheer, exposing her breasts and the fact she had also chosen to wear no panties. "What?" was the only completely brilliant opener I could think of. "What do you mean, what?" She said, slightly bending her one leg, to better show off their curves. "You know exactly what I mean, what. You rarely dress that way coming to bed unless you really want something. So, my question remains: What?" "You really think you know me, don't you?" "You haven't denied my assumption, yet." She took a step toward the bed, raising her left knee to lean on its' edge. "You know what you do when you assume, don't you?" I couldn't help but smile, "In most cases, yes. But not in this one. Never say never." "Touché," she said, returning my smile. She crawled onto the bed, straddling my waist. She pressed herself down on that now quickly hardening part of me. A quick inhale of breath passed her beautiful lips as she closed her eyes, feeling me underneath her. "I just want you to know that it's you that I truly want." "I know." "Do you?" "This is about Jim, isn't it?" She started to rock her hips back and forth against me. "I need to be sure you're okay with this." I reached up behind, beginning to massage her lower back, "Does it feel like I'm not okay?" Smiling, "It feels like you're very okay." We started to kiss and fondle one another. She started to nibble on my neck, and I whispered in her ear, "You sure the two of you never...?" "Uh, uh. Never." Bridgett replied, licking my earlobe. "You never wanted to?" "Of course I wanted to. And we came close many times. But I could never go through with it." "Do you regret not having done it?" She stopped her oral ministrations for a moment, thinking. "Not regret, really. I guess I'll always wonder what it would have been like. But I don't think you'd call that regret, really. Curious is a better word." "You think you'll be tempted to satisfy that curiosity in a couple of weeks?" "She went back to kissing my neck, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" "Wouldn't you?" "I don't know. I think it would be too weird." "I just want you to know, that if anything happens, I'll understand." "Right. You'd understand me sleeping with my ex-fiancée." "Absolutely." "How can you say that?" "Because I'm in love with you." The conversation degenerated from that point on into a series of grunts, moans and squeals. But it was in the back of both of our minds over the coming weeks. The Saturday before she was scheduled to fly out (she was leaving on the Wednesday), we were having dinner at a local pub. She looked incredibly sexy in her leggings and sweater. It was a look she had come to adore. The sweater stopped just short of her rear end, and was open down most of it's front, exposing the sheer camisole she wore underneath. With her slightly heeled sandals, it was a very sexy look. She was picking at her cashew chicken salad, and I could tell something was on her mind. "Penny for your thoughts?" She smiled up at me, started to say something, then shrugged and went back to picking at her plate. "What?" She didn't look up. "Nothing." I took her hand holding the fork in mine, gently removing the fork with my other hand and setting it down by her plate. "Something's on your mind. What?" She paused for a moment, but I let the silence go on, afraid that if I said anything it would make her clam up. "Were you serious the other night?" "I don't know, could you be a little more specific than that? Narrow it down a tad for me?" Although I knew exactly what she was talking about. "About Jim...and me...that if anything should happen..." "Do you think something's going to happen?" "I don't know." She pulled her hand away from mine. "It's just that ever since you said that, I've been thinking...wondering, about what it would be like..." "Don't lay blame on me," I smiled, "you know you've been curious about that for a lot longer than the last two weeks." She smiled back. "I know. I wasn't laying blame. But before the curiosity was always in the background. Like noise you don't pay attention to. Occasionally I'd fantasize about it, but very rarely. But since we talked, I don't know, it's like it's very difficult to get it out of my mind now." "Are you saying you want something to happen?" "I don't know what I'm saying. Don't you find this entire conversation a bit bizarre?" "I guess that all depends on your definition of bizarre. Many of the things we do, others would categorize as bizarre. I think this is just one more of those things." "So you really wouldn't mind?" "I'd be lying to you if I told you I'd be a hundred per cent okay with it. I wouldn't. There'd always be a part of me wondering if you'd go back to him. But that's a small part. There's a larger part which is actually turned on by all of this, and a still much larger part which trusts you enough to know that if anything does happen, it'll be simply to relieve that curiosity gnawing away at you. And that you'll be back to me the following week." "You're serious." "Absolutely. I just have one condition." "What's that?" "That you call me when you get in after having dinner with him." She got a mischievous look in her eyes, "What if it's very late?" "I don't care. I want to know what happened." "Even if nothing happens other than two old friends having dinner?" "Yes." "And if something does happen?" "I want to know that too. Do you think it will?" "I don't know. Let's drop the subject for now, okay?" "Okay." But I could tell that it was taking up a large part of her thoughts. She was trying to figure out if I was serious, and if I was, should she take advantage of it. And if she did take advantage of it, did that make her a bad person. Although the verbal discussion was over, I could see all of this mental dialogue going on as we finished our dinners. It was only brought up once more, when she was packing on Tuesday night. I was sitting in the easy chair, ostensibly reading, but in reality watching her move around the room as she picked clothes from her drawers and closet. She was wearing a pair of short shorts and a tank top, and I loved watching her move, her toned muscles sliding underneath her silky skin. I could tell she was having trouble deciding which clothes to bring, which she always did, but as time passed, I realized she was almost finished choosing. She added a couple of pairs of thigh high stockings, one nude, one black, and several pairs of heels of varying heights. The only items she had left to select were those outfits she'd wear when she went out. I knew that as well as her dinner with Jim, she'd probably go dancing with her friends two or three times, and maybe out for drinks once or twice. As she made her final selections, carefully hanging them in a garment bag, she saw me watching her. "What?" "You're just really beautiful, that's all." "Why thank you, sir." "You're welcome." She went back to putting the last item in the garment back. It was a short, tight black dress which snapped all the way up the front. The way Bridgett usually wore it, she had the first several snaps undone to show off her cleavage, while leaving the last several snaps undone as well, to show off her thighs. She ran her hand down the front of the dress, removing any bulges from it so it wouldn't get too creased in the suitcase. Without looking at me, she said quietly, "You're really okay with this?" I realized that the black dress was what she'd be wearing for her dinner with Jim. "If that's what you're going to wear, he doesn't stand a chance." "Well, I want to look good, don't I?" "I think using the word 'good' to describe how you'll look in that dress just might be the understatement of the year." "Oh yeah?" "Yeah." "And you're okay with that?" "I'm in love with you. Of course I'm okay." "I don't understand you." "Good." I smiled, "Usually it's the woman in a relationship who retains a sense of mystery. Just remember my one condition." She turned back to the suitcase, zippering up its front, "I remember." Restless Ch. 05 The 5th Chapter. Originally posted as "The Dare" some years ago, which was the inspiration for the whole sequence. This has been re-worked a bit, hopefully for the better. As usual, comments which are just rants will be summarily deleted, but my question is, if you don't like this subject matter why waste your time? Chapter Five. Our First Experiment. Bridgett had taken a cab to the airport on Wednesday, I having to be at work. We spoke briefly on Thursday, when I got back from work, and before she was heading to her sister's for the weekend. "You're staying at Kendra's?" "I don't think Mom would approve if I stay out too late with Jim." "What will Kendra think?" "She'll keep quiet about it." "You excited?" "A little." There was a slight pause. "You sure you're okay?" "How many times are you going to ask me that?" "Until I'm sure you're okay." "I'm okay. Is he going to pick you up, or are you meeting him somewhere?" "He's picking me up. Six-thirty." "I have this edit session Friday night, so I won't be in until after you leave. So have fun." "I will. Still want me to call you when I get in?" "Of course." "No matter what time?" "No matter what." "I love you." "I love you too." We hung up, and I spent the next two days on pins and needles. Part of me, the vast majority of me, didn't think anything would happen. But a small part of me thought something might, and was excited by that prospect. What did that make me? I wasn't sure. And at that point, to be honest, I didn't care. I was giving my wife a chance to fulfill one of her deepest desires, and I thought I could handle it. How I handled it was a different question altogether. The night arrived. I had tremendous difficulty keeping my mind on the edit session, and probably took an hour longer than I should have. I got back to our apartment at around 12:30, immediately checking messages. The light was blinking one. I nervously reached over and hit the playback button. It had been left at 9:25, then Bridgett's voice came over the speaker, "Well, he just pulled up in his Jag out front. I guess I'm off. Wish me luck. Love you." A Jag. Bridgett's favorite car. I felt a twinge of jealousy, but sublimated it immediately. I wondered where they were at that moment, what they were doing, when she'd call. I poured myself a drink, kicked my shoes off and settled in to wait. I tried to read, but couldn't concentrate. I kept glancing at the clock, which of course only made the time seem to go slower (it didn't of course, time is just time, it doesn't go faster or slower). 1:00, 1:17, 1:30, they had now been out for four hours. Dinner was definitely over. I imagined them parked along the beach somewhere, sliding into the back seat, his hands roaming her body, her mouth devouring his. I couldn't take it anymore. I went into the bedroom and took out one of the albums of photos I had taken of Bridgett. I looked at pictures I had taken of her in the dress I knew she was wearing tonight. Feeling like I was going to explode, I propped the album up on the bed next to me and proceeded to masturbate, thinking of the two of them together. That killed another half hour. Now it was two o'clock. I paced. I tried to read some more. I masturbated again. 2:45. 3:30. 4:00. We had reached the point where if she wasn't home by now, something was definitely happening. Not that something couldn't have already happened, but by one in the morning her time, I figured they had to be finished talking. I don't know how I got through the next few hours. I don't really remember much, except masturbating from time to time. Finally at a few minutes before seven, the phone rang. I let it ring three times before picking it up. "Hello?" I answered, putting on my best sleepy voice. "Spence?" "Yeah. Wow. You just getting home?" "Just walked in the door." "It's pretty late. Did you have a good time?" I asked, knowing the answer. "It was fantastic. I have to thank you for letting it happen." "My pleasure." "No, the pleasure was all mine, trust me." "Anything happen?" "Well..." Now was the moment of truth. Her hesitation said something did, but I didn't know what. I felt a lump growing in my throat, as well as a lump in my shorts. Did I want to hear? Could I not hear? Exactly what had gone on, and was I sure I wanted to know? Fantasy was one thing, but if I asked and she told me that something happened, we were stepping into another realm. Could I handle it? I was trembling. Literally trembling. I was getting an incredible erection at the mere thought that something happened, and I was equally appalled that it turned me on. Up until this moment, I had thought that they would merely go out to dinner, catch up on old times, but that when it came right down to something happening, nothing would. After which we could use the evening for all sorts of interesting fantasy gameplaying. But the hour and her hesitation told me that there was more than "catching up on old times" in what had happened that evening. Still, I thought she would say that they had mostly talked, maybe kissed, but I really didn't think she would go through with it. Yet, on the other hand, I was incredibly aroused. The conflicting emotions were driving me crazy. I had to know. "Tell me all about it." "Now?" "Why not? You going somewhere?" "No." "Tired?" "A little. But I can stay up and talk if you want." "I want. Tell me everything." "Did you get my message earlier?" "About him picking you up in his Jag? Yes." "He was waiting at the door. He took my arm and led me down to the car..." "What were you wearing?" "You know what I was wearing, the black dress." "I know you were wearing the dress. What else." "Sheer black thigh highs and those black spikes you like so much." "What do you have on underneath?" "Now? Or when I left?" "Touché. When you left." "My sheer black panties and my black lace bra. I had the first several buttons of the dress undone..." "Just the way I like it." "Apparently so did Jim. And I left the bottom four open as well, knowing that you like it like that." "He didn't stand a chance." "I didn't know he was supposed to. We got into his car and headed out. It was pretty awkward at first, neither one of us knowing what to say. He told me how gorgeous I looked, how I hadn't changed in the five years since he last saw me. You know, the usual chit chat bullshit." "Except he probably meant every word of it. I can picture how beautiful you must have looked." "Anyway, we went to dinner, for which he had chosen a very romantic Italian place down in the Marina. We chatted and sipped our wine. By the time dinner was over about an hour and a half later, we had finished three bottles. Talk had drifted to old times, how he missed me, and how he always wondered. I told him so did I." She paused, then continued, "That didn't hurt you, did it? Hearing that?" "Not really. But I understand." "It was the moment and all. I don't really miss him, oh, hell, we've had this discussion before. I was just so damned curious." "It's okay. Really. Go on." "All throughout dinner he couldn't take his eyes off me. And I have to admit, I did my fair share of checking him out as well. I knew that if I wanted something to happen, it would." "Were you turned on?" "By the end of dinner, extremely. All that attention, the entire situation was so erotic. He suggested we go for a drive up the coast, so we paid the check and headed out to the parking lot. When we got to his car, he squeezed by me to open my door. As I slid by him, our faces were right next to one another. Before either one of us knew what was happening, I was kissing him. Or he was kissing me. We were kissing. His arms went around me, pulling me tight. I could feel his erection pressed up against my stomach. At that moment I knew I had to feel him inside me." "Not before?" "Up until then I thought I might enjoy it, but at that moment I knew I needed to. I don't think I could have stopped myself if I tried after that. I suggested that we go someplace private. He readily agreed." "So, where did you go?" "Well, we kissed some more once we were in the car, and things really started to heat up. He ran his hand alongside my face, down my neck and then under my dress and bra. As we kissed, he massaged my breast. I was groping with the bulge in his pants, fumbling with his zipper. I broke the kiss and suggested that we start wherever we were headed before we got in trouble. He drove up to the Westwood Marquis and rented a room. As we rode up in the elevator, we could barely keep our hands off one another. Are you sure you don't mind hearing this?" "To be honest, I am a little jealous. But, Honey, you should feel the erection I have." "And me not there to help you with it." "Believe me, at this rate, I won't need any help. Go on." "We got up to the room. I sat on the edge of the bed and crossed my legs, letting him get a good look at them. He got us a bottle of wine out of the mini-bar and poured us some drinks, not that we needed them at that point, but my mouth was awfully dry. He came to sit next to me, but I stopped him in front of me. I undid his belt, then his pants, then lowered his fly. As he sipped his wine, I slid his pants down and he stepped out of them. I massaged his hardness through his underwear for a few minutes, while he had his eyes closed, enjoying the sensation." "I'll bet." "We quickly got him out of his shirt and shoes, and traded places. He looked at me quizzically, but I merely kissed my fingertip and laid it on his lips. I wanted this to be very special for him. Sort of my way of saying that I was sorry for all the frustration I put him through while we were going out." "I'm sure he appreciated it." "I know he did. As sensually as I know how, I undid the dress, snap by snap, slowly revealing my breasts, then my stomach, finally my panties and stockings. I folded the dress and walked across the room to drape it over the back of a chair, letting him take in the view of me walking in heels and my underwear. When I got back to the bed, he pulled me in close, still standing in front of him, he smothered my stomach and pelvis with kisses and nibbles. His hands caressed my lower back . Finally I couldn't take it anymore. I knelt in front of him and released him from his shorts." "Was he big?" "I'd seen him before, remember. Just never had him inside me. Not huge, but not small either. Not as thick as you. Anyway, I kissed the very tip, letting my lips brush its head, before I worked my way down his underside, alternating between kisses and letting my tongue glide along his soft skin. I worked my way back up, then took him in my mouth, sucking while letting my tongue play with his tip. "I could tell I was driving him crazy, and I was afraid he'd come right then, so I stopped. He pulled me up on the bed, his hands stroking my body: my breasts, nipples, stomach, thighs, neck...you get the picture." "Oh yeah." "Our mouths nibbled each other's lips, and then his tongue began to trace the outline of my lips, then linger down my neck, onto my chests, and finally my breasts. My nipples were so incredibly hard." "What were you doing?" "Other than laying back and enjoying it? Well, I had him in my hand. He was rock solid, and I was stroking up and down, playing with the underside and with the tip. After a while, Jim started to work his way down my belly, but I wanted to keep holding him, so he twisted around. As his mouth worked its way between my legs, I began to kiss and lick his pelvis and privates. Finally, he straddled my head, his face buried between my legs as his tongue flicked all over. He alternated licking with sucking. It felt great. I took him in my mouth and sucked, letting my tongue play with his shaft." It was at this point that I had my first orgasm during this conversation with Bridgett. The picture she had drawn in my head was just too erotic. I couldn't hold it in anymore. She knew I was excited, my breathing was so heavy, but she never stopped her narrative. "We kept this up for only a few minutes, by then he was so excited, he swiveled around and knelt between my legs. He used his tip, sliding it up and down, brushing my clitoris, sending bolts of electricity through my body. I needed to feel him in me. I reached down and guided him inside me. He went in so easily I was so wet. Once he was all the way in, we lay there for a moment, both just feeling that which we had denied ourselves for so long. Then he began thrusting, gently at first, but then faster and harder. I wrapped my legs around his waist, as our mouths devoured each other. I was surprised he lasted so long, he was so excited, but he managed to hold back until I could feel my own orgasm rising within me. As it washed over me, I began to scream...well, you know how I get." "Absolutely. Go on." "As I was still on my way up, I could feel all his muscles contract, and then I could feel him spurting inside me. He drove as deep inside me as he could get, trying to stay there as my hips bucked back and forth." I came again at this point. I couldn't believe how turned on I was listening to my wife tell me about her liaison. Part of me still couldn't believe anything had happened, but the part which was talking to her was so positively, absolutely turned on. I realized I had gotten too absorbed in my orgasm (if such a thing is possible) when I heard her saying, "Are you there?" "Sure, Hon. Just trying to let it all soak in." "Hmmm. I bet. So we lay there, him still inside me, and we kissed and caressed one another. I could feel him hardening in me, and he started to ever so slowly move in and out again. When he was completely stiff, he pulled out. I tried to get him to stay inside, but he was quite insistent. He rolled me over, and then positioned himself right against my anus. But you know I don't like that..." "Sensuality's loss." "Whatever. So I asked him not to. He tried to persist, but I told him I was serious. Instead, he slid lower, sliding it between my legs, and drove it inside me once again. I thrust my hips back and forth, trying to match the time of his strokes as he pounded inside me, faster and faster. He didn't last as long this second time before he grunted and ground against my ass." "Did you have another orgasm?" "Not the second time yet. But I wanted to. He slid off and lay beside me. I wriggled my way down to take his now softness in my mouth. I nibbled on it for a few minutes, then began to kiss it and caress it with my tongue and lips. It wasn't long before he was semi-rigid again, and I began to suck him in and out of my mouth. Taking as much of him in me as I could, before sliding him out again. After about ten minutes, he was hard enough to suit my purposes. I took him out of my mouth and straddled his hips. Using my hand, I guided him back inside me. He began to thrust it higher and deeper, as I moved my hips back and forth. "He reached down with one of his hands and began to gently rub my clitoris as he slid in and out of me. I was so turned on, it took only five or so minutes of this before I threw my head back and cried out as the orgasm blew through my body. It didn't build like the first one, rather just coming on me all at once. It was pretty intense." "I bet." I managed to choke out, as my third orgasm took over. "As he felt me coming, he reached behind me and inserted a finger into my ass. I nearly exploded. And as I was coming, so did he, I could feel him spasming inside me." I had nothing to say, having just spent myself so. There were so many conflicting emotions, I didn't want to blow the moment, didn't want any of the negative things I was feeling to come out and spoil things. So I simply waited for her to continue. After a moment, I think she understood that I was waiting for her to go on, and she did. "Afterwards, we lay there for a long time, not really speaking, just kissing and caressing one another. Then he told me he had to get up early for a meeting, and being three o'clock, would I mind if he took me home." "That it?" "That was enough. Believe me." "I thought it was never enough." "For last night, I mean." "Oh. You seeing him again?" "I'm not sure. He asked me to go to Baja with him next weekend." "For the whole weekend?" "We'd leave Friday afternoon and be back Sunday morning. Would you mind?" "Do you want to go?" "Part of me does. I mean, tonight was incredibly erotic. And I know that Baja would probably be just as great. It's just that..." "You're afraid you'll become attached to him." "That's part of it. Although I don't think that would happen within just one more weekend. It would be different if we kept on seeing one another..." "Then why the hesitation?" "Well, the whole point to this was for me to fulfill the unrequited lust of years ago. I've done that. And I had a great time. But there's no future for him and me, and I don't want to use him like that." "I don't think he wouldn't have a good time." "I know he would, it's just I don't feel right about it." "Then don't do it." "Then again, there's a part of me that would love to go with him." "Then go." "You're a big help." "Look, I'm not going to convince you to go away for the weekend with another man." "I thought you said you didn't mind." "Well, this once, I don't. But this is all so new, I think I need time to get used to it." "You're upset." "You see, I didn't want to say anything, 'cause I knew you'd think I was upset. I'm not. I just miss you." "I miss you too." "Well, if you do decide to go, do I get to hear all about it?" "Of course. Listen, I'm starting to get really sleepy. One of us hasn't had any rest tonight." I smiled to myself, you're not the only one. "Okay, Hon, sleep tight. Call me when you get up. Needless to say, I didn't get any sleep that night. And not much more the whole weekend. Bridgett decided not to go to Baja with Jim, and as far as I knew, didn't see him again. She did go dancing the next night with friends, and didn't get in until almost three, and went out a few more times over the next week. She would always call me when she got home, and I would always ask if anything happened. She told me nothing had.