CLOSET AFFAIR

God, I remember the first time I lay eyes on you; I was actually responsible for
hiring you!  Well, I made my decision instantly to recommend your immediate
employment.  Normally, I don't go for short women, since I associate that body
stature with the bitchy South Carolinians that I attended school with for seven
long years.  (Something in the water there?  Note I wasn't surprised when you
told me you were from Charleston.)  Okay, back to when I first saw you... you
were tan, and so tight.  And, as I have mentioned so many times, it was your
damn forearms that really got me!  That combination of your brown, smooth skin,
your silver bracelets, and musculature had me riveted.

As the months passed, I would occasionally dream about you, startling myself
awake thinking... no, I cannot go through with this again, especially with a
happily married woman.  It was three years since my last affair, and amazingly I
was just getting over that one.  It is all due to this tendency I have to obsess
over women in their absence, regardless of how they treat me in real life (if at
all, in this case).  But anyway, I did not allow myself to even consider the
possibility with you, even though later you admitted it had always been on your
mind.

Yeah, I realized even then that your husband kept a pretty tight rein on you,
but mostly I just dismissed it as your normal lifestyle (which it is) that took
precedence over you pursuing close female friends on your own.  But, I would
call you every couple of months anyway, especially after we both moved on from
that job that first brought us together, just to keep in touch, have lunch,
whatever.  The fact that you always seemed to welcome the idea of us getting
together strung me along for a couple of years.  Amazingly, it never seemed
awkward being with you for those short periods, like we didn't see enough of
each other to make it worthwhile.  It was sort of like we could take up where we
left off, with no mention of the length of time that had elapsed between those
meetings.  So, imagine my astonishment when you invited me on that weekend trip,
just the two of us!  I was amazed that your husband would let you go, but you
explained that he had no interest, and viewed me as a harmless traveling
companion to keep you occupied over the long driving distance.  After all, I'm a
married woman, too!

It rained like hell all the way there, but I didn't care (except your worn
windshield wipers, probably the same ones that emerged from the factory with the
car, were driving me crazy).  Being in that car alone with you, drinking up your
distinct spicy smell, was like heaven.

We finally arrived and commenced drinking immediately.  A before-dinner drink
(some yet-forgotten mixed drink), several beers at dinner with your family, then
on to some family friends' house where you had scotch and I probably had another
beer. Finally, we arrived back at the house.  It was still raining, and we were
alone at last. A little bit drunk, you kept hinting that you wanted to go to
bed, and I kept thinking of excuses to keep you up.  Finally, we ended up in
your bedroom, where we played this piano (could only remember the first few
measures of our respective limited repertoires).  Then, you pulled out a bottle
of "top shelf" tequila that your husband had lovingly packed for you.  Several
shots later, you were happily gabbing away about something, something to do with
lesbians, when I asked if you had ever had a lesbian affair.  You feigned
surprise, and replied, "Well, that's a loaded question."  Then, "Yes."  At that
point, I knew where this was leading, and did not have to worry anymore about
appearances.  We both exchanged abbreviated versions of our little affairs, then
I asked if I could kiss you.

The next few hours are a blur.  How can so many hours go by so quickly?  When I
first put my mouth on yours, I was surprised at how small yours was.  I was
immediately lost in your spicy aroma and taste.  My hands dropped to your sexy
thighs and began caressing them, and I seem to recall that you began removing my
clothes.  Pretty convenient, I thought, since we were both already on a bed.
Suddenly I realized that I was nearly naked, and you were still clothed.  I
begged you to take them off... I didn't want to waste time trying to do it
myself.

I was totally overwhelmed at how beautiful your naked body is.  Years of
dedicated swimming and working out have definitely done you good.  I felt really
out of practice when I dropped down between your legs, and I couldn't even make
you come (we were both too drunk)... but I guess I made up for that later.  Your
labia were so swollen and you were so wet;  I was amazed, actually, over the
size of your genitalia compared to mine.   I just wanted to bury my face in you
for hours (which I guess I did).  Mostly, I wanted to kiss you all over, to
totally explore your gorgeous body,  to touch you, to smell you, to lose myself
in you.

Over the next few months, we made love countless times.  We became very adept at
devising unique locations and times to make out: outdoors, in cars, in
bathrooms, at our own houses, and the expected hotel scenes.  I never got enough
of you, as you kissed me in elevators, fondled my clit in the car, stroked my
inner thigh under tables, and ate me while splayed across some hay bale.  When
you made me come, which normally distances me from my lovers, I never felt
closer to you.  
Afterwards, I relished kissing you with my come still heavy on your lips.

Basically, I fell in love with you.  Seeing you want me was such a turn-on, such
that I had never felt before.

I suppose it all had to come to an end.  You became too ambitious in your
grappling of me under restaurant tables, with your husband sitting inches away.
I looked at you too amorously in his presence.  I suspect he probably saw us
kiss at one point while he had left the room under the pretense of doing
something else.  And of course that time he caught us naked together in the tent
didn't help matters much, either.  He ended up putting the mind-fuck on you
(damned psych major).

When you lured me to your house on our usual day of the month, then used that as
an opportunity to tell me it was over, of course I was devastated.  For, as
usual, I was the one that had gotten sucked in the deepest. However, this is the
encounter that I dwell on the most.  I was determined to at least kiss you one
last time, and that is one kiss that I'll never forget.  After drinking in the
sweet smell of your skin on your cheeks, neck and forehead, I brushed my lips
across yours.  No resistance.  Ever so lightly I touched the tip of my tongue
against yours, for what seemed like at least a minute.  I felt myself get
instantly wet, and my clit throbbed... nothing like an instantaneous response.
(Gyrrl, you do it to me.)  

Then you said, "Why don't we go to the guestroom?"  Well, why not?  I admit I
was a little surprised, seeing how you had been so adamant about ending it just
a few moments before.

We both stripped unceremoniously, after laying on the bed and kissing for a few
more minutes.  The whole thing felt so bittersweet, like I was already
committing it consciously to memory.  I sucked and nibbled on your tits, which I
know you like so much... knowing you are getting turned on drives me wild.  We
laid on our sides facing each other while I felt for your sweet, tight ass...
this is what really gets me going.  I reached through behind you and touched
your wet labia, then inserted my middle finger up your warm, soft vagina.  You
were acting kind of passive, so I took the initiative and dropped down, kissing
your taut torso along the way.  Reaching that critical juncture, I delighted in
finding your pubic hair dripping wet.  I separated the wet hair, and buried my
face in your swollen labia.  Damn, you tasted good.  I decided to take my time.
Feeling your labia reach that certain firmness, and seeing you heave your
gorgeous breasts toward the ultimate orgasm, I slowed the pace of my tongue.
Your moans indicated that I certainly hadn't lost your attention.  Finally, I
let you come, mostly because the phone kept ringing  (it was your husband, of
course... psychs are psychic, apparently).  

Ces't la vie.  It was sure nice while it lasted. As part of my healing
experience, I am commemorating the whole experience through this story which I'm
sure you'll never get a chance to read.