"Circles" Part 1 I’m a horny bastard, and it turns out not too far below the surface a perverted one, too. I do try keep my perversions under control. Most of the time. I was feeling guilty. I, well, to be honest I screwed around last time I was away from home. I was alone at night in Chicago while spending every working moment negotiating the biggest deal I ever had, and the lonliness was more than I could handle. After the second day I met Marsha, a freelance writer who was in Chicago to do a story, and far away from her home in Atlanta. She was lonely too. I could tell you about her smile, but that’s not an excuse. Neither was the way her hand felt when she touched my arm the evening I met her, or the way she looked at me when I asked her to come to my room, or the fireworks in bed for the last two nights of my trip. When I got home and into bed with my wife I felt guilty. I really felt guilty after I looked at her when I was on her, and instead of seeing Jean I remembered how Marsha looked. Then later, I imagined Jean looking up at me and wondering if she ever thought about someone else having sex with her, not me, her husband, and that made me come again. I was feeling guilty and perverse: some combination, huh? “You’re even hornier than usual after a trip, Ed,” she said when we were done. “I missed you, and I like the way you’re showing me you missed me.” Yeah, sure. The next day, Saturday, we went to dinner to celebrate the deal I made, and although I hoped she’d think the necklace in my pocket was part of the celebration it was penance for the guilt I was feeling. Not that I was confessing, oh no, but I’d do penance anyhow. Dinner at Brook House was wonderful, but it always is. Jean almost cried when she opened the gift: “Oh, you’re wonderful,” she said. “You’re just the best husband.” If she only knew. After dessert and a brandy I was ready to go home, feeling a little better about being a cheat when Jean said “Ed honey, I want to talk to you. Can we stay a while longer?” “Why not talk on the way home?” “Well, because I’m afraid, and I’d rather talk to you in a public place.” This could not be good news. “Honey, while you were away. . .” Don’t tell me she had a fling. “What? What happened while I was away?” “Nothing, I mean nothing happened, but, well, it could have.” I sat back down -- when did I stand up? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “I was, well, I was at class (she was taking an adult education writing class Tuesday nights at a local college) and Glen -- remember I told you about him? -- asked me to have a drink with him after it was over.” I remembered about Glen. When they started class everyone had to tell a little about themselves. This Glen guy made an impression on Jean. His wife had an advanced degenerative disease, she was bed ridden and he was taking care of her at home. “So?” “Well, I told him I was married, and he said he knew that from our introductions, but he didn’t care about that, he just wanted to know if I’d like to have a drink with him.” “Did you go?” “No, but you know, I never really appreciated what it must be like for you, you travel all of the time, you’re alone all of those nights. It must be awful. I mean, I was at home, and I want to be honest with you, I was tempted. Really tempted. Glen’s a nice guy, he must be really lonely, too.” I didn’t need my conscience to reminded me I wasn’t so alone this last trip. “Yeah, being alone like that isn’t fun, it’s tough. But what about this Glen? What’s that all about?” “He’s about our age, I guess, I mean, what can I say about him?” “So he asked you for a date. That’s not a big deal. If you were going to have a drink or something with someone, would he be a guy you’d consider?” “Well, yeah, I guess so, he’s considerate, polite, he’s nice.” I knew what happened when I met a nice woman, so I had to ask. “Did you consider going with him for more than a drink?” “I’m not wanting to have an affair, Ed, if that’s what you mean.” “Not an affair, just company for a night, that’s what I mean.” “You mean, a drink, maybe dinner? Yeah, that would have been nice.” “That’s part of it, but I did say company for the night, not just the evening.” “I don’t want to have an affair, Ed.” “Too bad, that sounds like it would have been fun for you.” “I don’t do things like that, it wouldn’t be fair.” Opps. No arguments about being wrong or right, just not being fair. Well, I hadn’t been fair, either, and in my mind a necklace for penance does not come close to matching a couple of nights fucking around. “Hell, Jean, when I’m away I’m so occupied with work I don’t have time to think about anything else.” What’s that old kid’s rhyme -- Liar liar pants on fire? “But you’re here alone, it has to be boring. If you wanted to go out for a drink or something that’d be OK. I guess I’m saying even a fling would be, but not an ongoing thing, not an affair.” “Oh, I couldn’t. I mean, what if someone saw me, what would they think? They might tell you, they might. . .” All of her objections didn’t touch the core issue, the nominally accepted but often ignored “Thou shalt not commit adultery” one. I interrupted her again: “No one would have to tell me, because you would have, right? If you went out and had a fling or something and didn’t tell me, that would tear me apart. But if you told me, so there’d be no surprises, that would be OK.” “Oh?” Her mouth opened, that was a response she didn’t expect. “I thought you’d blow up when I told you about this, you’re handling it different than I expected. You’re a different man than I thought. We can go home now.” She wore only the necklace to bed that night. Sex two nights in a row is uncommon for us, and the sex was uncommonly good that night. During it, during the time my mind was going places it shouldn’t, she said “I used to think I’d be really upset if you had overnight company sometimes when you traveled, Ed, but you said if it happened to me that would be OK, so long as you knew. Maybe I’m too uptight about what you might do when you’re away from home, if it’s like you said, just a fling.” I was thinking about how nice my cock felt in Marsha when she said that. And Jean’s saying that might be OK? Oh, that would be something, to have permission, maybe that would make it better, wait, maybe it wouldn’t be as good, the forbidden fruit part would be gone, maybe. . . Wait a minute! There’s more going on here! Without really letting the thought form I asked the question: “Jean, be honest with me. Are you having an affair?” “No,” she said, moving under me, wrapping her legs around me, “no, I’m not having an affair.” There was something being unspoken. “Something isn’t being said, Jean, what’s going on?” She was quiet for a moment, then she whispered “Don’t be mad, don’t be upset, OK? I didn’t have an affair, or even a fling like you called it, but Ed honey I came close, so close.” Perversions rose in me faster than even I expected, I somehow increased the tempo of our coupling. “Tell me! Tell me everything.” I had a second thought -- “Are we in trouble, are you leaving me?” My erection had begun to weaken with the thought of her going, I was moving with her, but not as much as before. “No, no,” she said, “something did happen, but I don’t want you to get mad, and I don’t want you to leave me.” “You’d better tell me what happened, Jean. Make it good, tell me everything.” I had another thought, my own guilt and perversions taking control. “If you make it good enough, and sexy enough, all will be forgiven.” She looked at me, no longer moving. I explained. “I always liked sexy stories, you remember how I wanted you to tell me about other guys you knew before we hooked up. Like that, tell it like that.” “It wasn’t like that, but when Glen asked me to have a drink with him, I was lonely too, and I accepted. We went to Frank’s. You know class gets over at 9:30, so it was pretty late.” “OK, what happened?” I was getting hard again, and Jean was feeling better, more free, and she was moving with me, it wasn’t just me enjoying this. “We had a couple of Long Island Iced Tees, and it was really late, and Glen asked if you’d mind if I was a little late. I told him you were away, and he said he’d ask me to go to his house, but he couldn’t do that, and he asked if he could come to our house. I told him we couldn’t do that either, but Frank’s was closing, and he said he didn’t want the night to end, so he asked if we could go for a walk along the beach. That sounded OK, so I said yes.” “Where’d you go?” “Oh Ed, this is so hard to tell you.” She said that, but she was just as excited as I was, her hips were pushing into me, pushing my cock into her. “Well, he said I should follow him in his car, and we drove along Sand Meadow Road where those waterfront houses are being built and parked there. He took a blanket and we walked along that access path to the Sand Meadow Beach.” “This is sounding pretty good,” I said, wanting to encourage her. “We walked a while along the beach, it was pretty dark, there was no moon, and the tide was out, so we were walking along the wet sand. After a while he took me above the high tide line, and he spread out the blanket, and. . .” “Did you help him spread the blanket?” “Yeah, I did. And we sat next to each other, listening to the ocean, we could hardly see it was so dark, and he had his arm around me, and it was a little cold, so he pulled me close, and pretty soon he turned my head and he kissed me.” “Kissed you how?” She reached up and pulled my face to hers, our lips met, and after a moment hers opened, and mine did. Oh, I was really hard now. When our lips parted, after our tongues explored each other’s mouth, she said “We kissed like that.” “I’m almost ready to come,” I told her, telling her something she already knew, she could feel that. “That doesn’t make you mad?” “It makes me horny! Tell me what happened.” “We kissed, like that, like I showed you.” “I don’t believe that’s all that happened.” “There’s more, you’re right. After a while we lay back while we were kissing, and he was moaning, he said he hadn’t kissed or held or been touched by a real woman for more than a year.” “His wife is that ill, huh?” “Yeah.” “I don’t want to hear about his wife, I want to hear what happened.” “We were hugging and kissing on the blanket there, and he was rubbing my back, and I was sort of caressing his hips, and, and oh hell, he said a woman hasn’t touched him in a year, and so while I was kissing him we, I guess we, maybe it was just me, I got his pants open, and I reached under them and touched him.” “You mean his cock, you touched his cock?” I could barely hold off coming, when she confirmed that. “Yes, his cock, and he was so hot, and as soon as I touched him he kissed me really hard, and I could feel him throbbing, and he came, just like that, just by my touching him.” “All over your hand?” “Yeah. And, you know what, it felt good, to have that power, to be so sexy someone would come like that, would come like, like, like you’re doing now!” She was right. The image of her with her hand down his pants was too much, and I erupted in her. Her body language told me we had that rare occurrence, where we orgasmed together. Later, after we rested and cuddled for a while her voice came out of the dark. “So you’re not mad?” “Not mad, but you got me excited. You’re a sexy woman, Jean. I like that you made him come just by touching him, that proves how sexy you are. What happened after that?” “He was upset and apologetic. After a while we walked to our cars, and I came home.” “He didn’t call or anything?” “No.” “Well, your next class will be interesting,” I told her. “God, I hadn’t even thought of that, I was so worried about telling you, about how you’d react, I didn’t even think about Tuesday night and seeing him again. Maybe I won’t go.” “Wait a minute. You’re getting a lot out of that class, your writing is really taking shape, and isn’t it your last class? You should go.” “But he might be there.” “All the more reason to go.” My body was giving me a very strong message, my perversions were in full bloom. “I guess that would be all right, seeing him. I’ll bet he says he’s sorry about what happened.” I nodded my head, and prompted her: “If he does, what’ll you say?” “I’ll say I’m sorry too, that we let it go too far, and. . .” “I’m not sure that’s what you should say, Jean. I think you should say you’re not at all sorry.” I felt her roll towards me, she reached over and stoked my face, then in the way she’s done hundreds of times before rested her hand on my side. But this time, her arm was over my groin, and she realized I was erect again. She gripped my shaft, confirming I was hard. “Honey, I thought you just came in me a little while ago.” “I did.” “But you still have an erection.” “That’s a new one, you used up the old one.” “You’re horny again?” “I was thinking about Glen and you touching him, and that made me hard.” “That’s not the reaction I expected, husband. You’re just the greatest guy, sweet and understanding. Thank you.” She rolled towards me, kissed me, and stroked me, and you know what, I was throbbing again. “Are you coming again?” “Shooting blanks, I think, but God you’re a sexy woman. that was a great story! When I think of you holding his cock, I. . .” I dribbled, that’s what happened. I thought I was empty, but I actually ejaculated a little on her hand. “Sweetie, you’re a strange man,” Jean said. and we slept that way, wrapped around each other, holding each other. I awoke before she did, still spooned against her, holding her, feeling her body against mine, and my mind drew pictures of blankets and beaches and kissing and touching, and my penis responded, pushing into her. I had this image of my wife touching this guy, of him touching her, of her -- oh God would she do that, would she expose that cock, would she bend over it, take it -- take him--into her mouth, between those lips I had been kissing? The imagery was so powerful my own cock throbbed against her, and just like that pumped out a little more. I hadn’t done that in years. Jean felt that in her sleep, and pushed a little into me, making those sounds she sometimes does when she sleeps, that purring sound contented cats make. Wait a minute! I realized that the story Jean told may not have been the entire truth. The could have fucked! They should have fucked! “Mmm,” she said, awakening, “Mmm, that feels nice. I’m glad you’re home.” “Jean honey, you really got me excited last night,” I said, pulling her hard against me. “It was a relief to tell you, honey,. I’m glad you’re not mad at me.” “It’s too bad Glen came that way, so fast,” I muttered to her, “it would have been better if you made love to him.” I couldn’t make it easier for her to tell the truth, could I? “I wouldn’t have done that, honey, at least I don’t think I would have. It already went farther than it should have,” she said. “Sorry to disappoint you.” She wiggled her ass against my cock. “If I’m going to make love to anyone, it’ll be to you.” She rolled over, facing me. “Is now a good time?” It was. “Should I have said ‘too bad you didn’t fuck him’, instead of ‘making love to him,’” I asked her, as we coupled, my suspicions and perversions were rising.. I wasn’t sure if what we were doing was fucking or making love. “The answer would have been the same, we didn’t go any farther than I told you, honey,” my wife said. “It sounds like you’re disappointed.” Now I was sure she was telling the truth. Too bad, it would have made my own indiscretions a little easier to live with. Although she did go pretty far, didn’t she? It turns out what we were doing was more love making than fucking, but it was satisfying and good. Sunday mornings are made for lovemaking. We slept away another hour of the morning, and finally began thinking about getting out of bed. “An IHOP morning?” I suggested. “Maybe. That does sound good. But Ed, you said something before that’s stuck with me.” “What was that?” “When I said I thought Glen would say he’s sorry, you said I should tell him I wasn’t?” Did I remember? You bet I did. “Yeah.” “What did you mean?” Here it was, on a bright sunny Sunday morning, and she was asking about what was going on in the deepest and darkest part of my mind. “I thought what you did was really sexy,” I told her. “I figured that out, we had more sex in the last couple of days than we do in two weeks,” she said. “It turns me on, gets me thinking a lot about sex.” “Like I said, I figured that out.” “And,” I was having trouble getting the words out. “And what? Are you mad at me? You said all was forgiven. I’d do anything, well, nearly anything, for you not to be mad at me over that.” There it was, a slow pitch hanging right there in the strike zone. I swung for the fences. “Well, since you put it that way, I think I can forgive you, but you’re going to have to work for it,” I said with a smile. She looked upset, apprehensive. “Oh Ed, don’t tell me you’re going to have an affair or anything, OK? Don’t make that a quid pro quo for what I did.” “That’s not what I had in mind.” “What then?” “I think what you and Glen did a very sexy thing.” “You said that already.” “I want you to go farther, to make it even more sexy for you and for him and for me.” “How?” “On Tuesday, he’s going to talk to you.” “Probably.” “It’s the last class, probably the last time you’ll be seeing him.” “I didn’t think about that, but you’re right, it probably is. He didn't sign up for the next course.” “So, seduce him.” Her mouth opened: “Ss, ss, seduce him?” “Yes. Invite him here, seduce him!” “Here? Seduce him?” “I want to see you bring him here, I want to watch. I want to see you to seduce him. Then I’ll forgive you.” “Watch, like a voyeur? A, what’s the word, a cuckold husband? You want that?” “I can’t get the image of the two of you on that blanket out of my mind, I want to see that happen, to feel what it’s like to see you touch him. I don’t care what you call it, that’s what I want. That’s the price of forgiveness.” “And if I don’t?” “I’ll, I’ll, I guess I’ve forgiven you already, but that’s what I’d like, that’s what I’d like to see.” “Exactly what would you do?” she wanted to know. “I’d look in the den through a gap in the shades if that’s where you were, or through a gap in the bedroom window if that’s where it happened, and after you, uh, fucked him, and sent him home, I’d come in and we’d do it all over again.” “If I did that, you’d have the right to screw around when you’re away, is that the point?” “No. I guess the point is, it affirms you’re a sexy woman, it makes me feel good to know other guys think you’re sexy, you’re so sexy they can’t control themselves when you touch them. I want to see that.” She got out of bed without answering, went into the bathroom. An hour later she emerged, dressed. “You mentioned IHOP. Let’s go.” We were silent until the omelet -- IHOP’s omelets are big enough to share -- came to the table. Finally, from across the table, and the distance was so great it could have been across the country, she looked at me. “So you want me to invite Glen to our house after class and seduce him, is that right?” “That’s right.” “And to do it in a way so you can watch, do I have that right, too?” “That’s right.” We ate in silence: not the comfortable silence so many couples are used to, this one was tense. Past tense, in the sense of more than tense, not what your English teacher means when she uses that phrase. It was the quietest breakfast I’d had in a long time.