Saturday 21st October 2017
When he’d walked me downstairs, Daryl gave me the sweetest peck on the cheek and smiled at me. Not the smile of a man who’d just brought me to several orgasms and then shot his man juice all over my chest and face. The smile of a caring and protective elder brother.
“Best if I leave you and Dave to reconnect and talk. You don’t exactly want me around for that conversation,” his grin lightening the mood.
I could hardly disagree, smiled back, and gave him a gentle kiss. “Thanks, Daryl, for being so sensitive and considerate.” My mind suddenly on these qualities, rather than the other qualities he and I had so recently shared.
As Daryl gave me a final hug and disappeared off into another room, I felt myself shivering with nervous anticipation. Suddenly feeling like a girl fraught with nerves. I’d not felt this way, felt this nervous, since before we’d been married. Weird as it might seem, I had the distinct memory of feeling just like this before my very first date with Callan at college. Then I’d had butterflies as I waited for the handsome college quarterback to arrive for our first date. And strange as it was, now I felt the same way, as I waited for my husband of twenty-two years to find me.
My nerves built and built. No longer a mature and in-control mother of three. More like a callow and nerve-wracked eighteen-year-old. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, I saw Dave enter the room. Our eyes connected across the crowd and he looked just as anxious and unsure of himself as I was. He’d looked just like that on our first date. All those years ago.
Time seemed to pass at a snail’s pace as he wove in and out of the crowd which filled the room, until finally his face was inches from mine and our mutual nervousness seemed to reach a peak. We looked at each other, neither knowing what to say. It seemed an eternity until Dave finally reached out and I felt his arms wrapped around me as he pulled me to him and a hug and a kiss gave me what I needed. My nerves slowly in remission from this antidote.
We must have hugged like that for ages. I didn’t want to let go, and Dave’s tight hold let me know he was feeling the same way. Both of us fearful to let the other go.
“I love you, honey.” How many times had he told me this over the years? But tonight, these words had a freshness and precious magic to them, and for the first time since we’d been reunited I felt myself calm enough to smile.
“I love you too, baby,” my lips crushing hiss as I squeezed him tight. Never wanting to let him go again. Aware that with my nerves in remission, all kinds of strange emotions were starting to stir inside me.
I think Dave sensed my inner turmoil, managing to calm the worst of it with a steady and loving look into my eyes. “Shall we head home, honey?”
Yes please, my eyes told him.
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Ten minutes later our front door had been opened and shut behind us, and we were repeating the same hug of reassurance. Only this time it was just the two of us. No party. No group of knowing revelers. Just me and my beloved best friend, lover, and husband.
We held each other close. Two people in a big and empty house. Happy that the world was shut out.
After a time he deemed appropriate, this wonderful man of mine said nothing, but simply picked me up and carried me in his arms upstairs to bed. Dave’s only a couple of inches taller than my five-nine, so it was a bit of a strain for him, but I loved him all the more for his determined efforts as he kicked our bedroom door open and threw me onto our bed. I looked up at him with big doe eyes, willing him to join me.
I wasn’t disappointed and it felt wonderful as his weight descended on the bed and I felt his warm body next to mine. All thoughts of what had happened earlier temporarily forgotten as we kissed and pushed at each other with a passion, designed to meld us back together as a couple.
As our passion built, and I raised my arms to eagerly allow Dave to remove my white mini-dress, I suddenly felt confused. I was feeling longing and desire for my husband, lying next to me, his hardness hard and insistent against my thigh. Yet less than an hour ago, I’d allowed another man to sink his fingers deep into my body and make me cum. Repeatedly, before then allowing him to cum, his own juices all over my face and chest. As Dave revealed my shaking and hungry body to his gaze, this thought, of what I’d so recently done, burst like a thunderous lightning flash across my mind. Confusing and disorienting me in a way I’d never felt before in all my years since puberty and my first interest in boys and men.
How could I be so free with two different men in such a short space of time? My beloved husband, and then a man I’d met for the first time less than three hours ago. Sure, a handsome, charming, and virile man. But, nonetheless, a stranger.
By a feat of strong willpower, I somehow managed to force this thought to the back of my head, and concentrated on the man in front of me. Giving myself to kissing him and enjoying the way he touched and savored my body. Feeling like a stranger looking down on myself in some sort of out of body experience, as I heard myself moaning at his touch on my breasts and between my legs. Feeling strangely self-conscious at his touch on my body, as if he could magically see the fingerprints of the man who had so recently possessed me and pleasured me. I had to push hard a second and a third time to push these thoughts of confusion right the way to the back of my mind.
As Dave’s touch ignited my passions and made me yearn even more strongly to feel him inside me, it got easier to push these thoughts away. Until finally he was as naked as I was and his soft skin kissed mine as he lay between my thighs and sank himself all the way into me. I wrapped my legs around him, feeling like a human lock, completed by the most precious and beloved key. Suddenly whole again, comforted by twenty-three years of ever growing love and memories.
As this wonderful man of mine rode up and down on me, I gave myself over to the sheer bliss of being reunited with the man I loved. I trapped him with my legs, his smile telling me he was happy to be re-claimed by me in this way. I pulled him as close and tight as I could, and I could feel him pushing deeper and more powerfully than he had in many a month. Our love-making had always been good, but there was something more urgent and needy tonight.
All of our earlier nerves were gone. All confusion and thoughts of Daryl gone. There was only Dave and me, doing our best to reconnect, and push away the stains of earlier. A new freshness and excitement to being back together again. In some strange way like we’d reset the dial. Starting out as eager teenagers as we’d done so many years ago. The touch of Dave’s hands on my neck, face, and body somehow fresh and electric. Familiar and comforting, but also exciting and new. Alchemy was the word I kept thinking.
I could feel his excitement building, knowing he was on that downwards slipway, that only had one ending. I didn’t mind as I could feel my own excitement building, smiling to myself, and my man, with the knowledge that we’d cum together. The perfect ending to a perfect reunion. He kissed me hard and I returned the hunger as he made one final, deep lunge that sent us both over the top. His fingers intertwined in mine as he held my arms high and vulnerable above my head, his weight crushing my big boobs flat in a way I knew he loved. Both of us squealing and shaking with passion. Our spiritual overtaken and consumed by physical passion for the moment.
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As we snuggled close in bed, both of us were content not to talk for a time.
At first, the silence gave way to mutual and true professions of love. As if we needed to re-establish this basic fact out loud before feeling brave enough to open the scary box of what had happened earlier that night.
It was my beloved husband who had the courage to take the first scary step. Smiling into my eyes as he reassured me, “Jill, honey, I just want you to know that nothing’s changed for me. And nothing ever will. I’m glad you had fun earlier, and if anything, I love you the same or more than before.”
I took a little cowardly step, ribbing him about ‘loving me more’, teasing this maybe meant he didn’t love me enough to start. But then I kissed him and did the right thing. Telling him the truth and sharing my feelings, not hiding behind humor.
“Darling, I feel the same. Earlier was fun and different, and when we were making love just now, it actually felt more special and exciting than for a long time.”
I suddenly realized this might sound bad, so I rushed to add. “It was like when we first started dating. There was a newness and a freshness to it. Like when we first got together at college.”
Dave smiled at me and I knew he wasn’t hurt, and that he felt the same way I did.
We talked into the early hours, and I found it comforting and reassuring. Dave admitted that he’d actually watched me with Daryl. At first, this freaked me out and worried me. But as I saw the excited look in his face, I relaxed and began to understand his feelings a little better. I blushed as he described how excited he was watching me cumming on Daryl’s fingers and how he was even more excited when he saw Daryl cum his load all over my face and chest.
My wonderful husband calmed me down and helped me to understand that because he loved me so much, he was happy to see me letting go and just being such a sexual person for once. Freed from the bonds of marriage, motherhood, and all the responsibilities of life.
He confessed that he also did feel jealous, experiencing more than a little ‘penis envy’ at the size of Daryl’s huge cock, and this made me smile and laugh. What is it with men and their obsession with penis size?
I quizzed him about who he’d hooked up with and I felt, I guess, the same mix of feelings he had when he told me about making out and then getting a handjob from Gemma. I felt pleased that he’d not been alone while I was having such a good time with Daryl. But, of course, I felt jealous too. I nearly hit him when I saw the way he smiled and enjoyed it when I told him how jealous I felt. Instead, I just gave him a dirty look and then a big hug. We were even.
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It was only when we woke up on Sunday and got into our normal Sunday routines that I started getting the emotional ‘DTs’. Dave was quite busy with work and so I spent much of the afternoon alone with my thoughts. I started worrying and feeling guilty, with all kinds of things going through my head.
Like many women, I’ve always been a bit of worrier, over the years of our marriage Dave being a constant source of stability and comfort to me. But as I lay soaking up the sun by the pool, I began to worry about whether what Dave and I had done would in some way weaken our marriage and love. After twenty-four years as a monogamous couple, we’d broken our vows of being true only to each other. Admittedly, there was no deceit, it was something we’d done together as a couple. But I couldn’t help but start worrying.
With this first little cut to our bonds, however much we’d both enjoyed it, would there be consequences? Would Dave want other women on a regular basis? He’d said that he didn’t want to flirt and use the freedom I’d given him. But, look how that had gone. He was sufficient of a catch to attract the attentions of Gemma, and he’d obviously enjoyed it, despite his earlier pre-party protestations that he wasn’t interested.
And maybe he’d think less of me, now that I’d been with Daryl in the way I had been. We’d not had full, penetrative sex. But we’d done pretty much everything else – and unbeknownst to me Dave had seen it all, and seen how much I’d enjoyed myself with Daryl. And Dave had confessed that as well as being aroused, he’d also been jealous, and more than a little insecure, watching me with Daryl.
Left to my own devices, these worries and thoughts grew and grew all afternoon. Thankfully, at dinner time Dave could see something was up, and we started talking it through. He reassured me that all was totally okay for him. That, like he’d said on Saturday, if anything he felt closer, and even more in love with me, than before we’d opened Pandora’s box on Saturday night. I could tell from the loving and tender look in his eyes that he was being totally straight and honest with me.
On Sunday night, as we made love and spent much of the evening together in bed, Dave was patient with me and I felt my fears and anxiety recede. But several times in the week the fears came back. Dave had to go away on business Monday and Tuesday, and as Charlotte, Callan’s ex-wife, was also at a loose end, I ended up inviting her over to share a bottle of wine.
Charlotte and I have a strange and complicated relationship. At college, she’d stolen my boyfriend of two years away from me, when Callan had dumped me to date her. And for several years I hated her with a passion. But as the years had passed, and motherhood and our family occupied me, I didn’t have the energy, or desire, to hate her or bear a grudge. Life was too short and there were too many other important things. And as Callan and Charlotte had settled in the same community, that Dave and I had also made home after college, we gradually settled into a wary tolerance and acceptance.
What changed this into a genuine friendship was when Callan’s father passed away and his senile and bed-ridden mother came to live with them. I saw the loving way that Charlotte looked after Callan’s mother, it made me re-evaluate Charlotte. That had been fully ten years ago, and since then we’d gradually become good friends. On more than one night Charlotte and I had gotten very drunk, with Charlotte confiding in me about her enduring sadness at not being able to give Callan any children. And then the later heartbreak that came when her marriage to Callan broke up, even though in most ways she was the guilty party as she took up with a younger man, who she’d met through the swinging parties.
On Tuesday night as the first bottle of wine turned into the second bottle of wine, Charlotte smiled knowingly at me.
“A little birdy tells me that sweet and faithful Jill finally had her swinging cherry plucked. And not just plucked by anyone, plucked by the gorgeous and rather superbly hung Daryl.”
I blushed eight shades of red. Charlotte might have become a good friend, but still, I felt deeply embarrassed by her words. I’d been stupid enough to think that in our little suburban community of McMansions that our little secret would remain just that – a secret. But just three days after Dave and I dipped our toes in the swinging scene, word had spread enough that our friend Charlotte was grinning like a baboon at me.
“Cat got your tongue, Jill, honey?”
Eight shades of red went to nine, and it seemed forever before I was able to speak.
“Who told you?”
“Does it matter?” my still grinning friend smirked.
We stared at each other, my mind aghast and lost for words, before Charlotte broke the silence.
“So, tell me, sweet innocent Jill, what was it like? Did you enjoy it? And how are you feeling now?”
Thankfully, Charlotte took pity on me, and she actually proved a good friend, over the next couple of hours as she gave up teasing me and shared with me how she’d felt after the first time she and Callan had shared. I was relieved to find that she’d experienced pretty much the same mixture of feelings as me, after her first time. That heady and confusing mix of emotions and feelings. Enjoyment of a new man. Guilt and worry about what it might mean for her then relationship with Callan. And the refreshment and re-energizing of a love that had maybe grown a little too familiar over many years of marriage and monogamy. Eating the same meals each week.
It felt good to know that I wasn’t alone in my mixed and confused feelings. And as talking to Charlotte helped me to relax, and come to terms with these feelings, as we moved onto the third bottle of wine, we entered a new phase. A giggly conversation about the handsome Daryl and his ‘gentlemanly’ attributes. As Charlotte described the first time she’d taken his big cock into her body, I found myself blushing again and squirming at the thought of what it would feel like. Charlotte was very graphic in her descriptions, and her words and the wine left me feeling horny, and in need of male attention, by the end of the evening. Dave would get a very warm welcome when he came home the next night.
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On Wednesday, with Dave still not back, and without the comforting words of Charlotte, I was again starting to feel confused and worried. Comfort and reassurance came from the most unexpected source. Our nineteen-year-old daughter Abigail, who was back from college for a few days, for an intern interview.
Ever since she was a young girl, unlike her twin sister Sarah or her older brother John, Abigail has always had a sensitivity to people’s feelings. She was barely in the house for an hour than she asked me, “Mum, what’s wrong. You don’t seem your normal self.”
Dave and I have always prided ourselves on having an open and honest dialogue with our three kids, about relationships and sex. The girls have always been able to talk to me about the boys they’ve dated, and as they got older, talking about sex was something that we were comfortable with.
As Abigail looked into my face, she could no doubt see me thinking, and she patiently waited for me to make my mind up, It wasn’t a decision which came quickly or easily. But I found myself thinking of the many times she had trusted me, and opened up to me, about sensitive issues to do with boys, and her love life. And although I was so slow to speak, I knew I’d be breaking some kind of bond with her, if I didn’t reciprocate the honesty and trust she had always shown me. She was a mature and intelligent young woman – no longer a girl.
I didn’t go into all the graphic details, but I gave my daughter the outline of what had happened these last months. And how her Father and I had ‘dipped our toes in the water’. And how I was feeling more than a little confused, and sometimes guilty, as a result of our actions.
I was mighty relieved at Abigail’s reaction. At first, too mature for her tender nineteen years, she ‘thanked me for sharing’, which did sound a little trite, even though I knew she meant it genuinely. But then her face burst into a gentle and enchanting smile.
“Mum! I didn’t know you and Dad had it in you. Way to go!”
This wasn’t exactly the reaction I’d been expecting from my own daughter. Seemingly an enthusiastic cheerleader for her own Mother and Father’s sexual emancipation. I could never in a million years have imagined having the same conversation with my own mother.
What followed was something similar to my previous evening with Charlotte. My liver was taking a bit of a battering as Abigail and I polished off another two bottles of wine as we discussed, not only what I and her Father had got up to at the party, but also what my daughter had been getting up to at college.
As the afternoon progressed, Abigail even managed to find Daryl’s Facebook profile. Telling me in no uncertain terms that Daryl was quite a catch – ‘a keeper’ – and that I’d done well for myself.
The sum effect of the wine and this second conversation was that I was feeling a lot more comfortable and relaxed about the whole situation by Thursday and Friday.
And then as often happened, fate seemed to take a hand in things on Friday. Abigail was meeting friends at the local mall for a meal, and she and I were sharing a coffee before the movie. We were in the coffee shop talking when totally by chance I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around to see all six-foot-seven of Daryl’s handsomeness.
Knowing that my daughter Abigail knew all that had happened between Daryl and me, I felt myself blushing a deep red. I was grateful that Abigail was calm and composed, keen to chat, and get to know a little the man who had ‘half-bedded’ her mother. Strangely this took some of the pressure off me, as I was almost a passive bystander, as my socially outgoing daughter chatted away to Daryl, like an old friend.
But after ten minutes or so, Abigail looked at her watch and made her apologies, explaining that she had to go as the movie was about to start soon.
All of a sudden my chaperone was gone, and I felt awkward, alone in the presence of Daryl. Somehow it felt wrong, to be together like this with Daryl, without Dave there, or at least knowing that I was there with Daryl.
Feeling like this, I told Daryl that I had better get home, as Dave would be home from work soon. Daryl was just as understanding and gracious as he’d been on my first night at the party. Saying it had been lovely to see me, and for me to say hi to Dave from him.
I breathed a sigh of relief as I left the coffee shop and headed to my car. Daryl had been perfectly charming, but once Abigail had gone, and left the two of us alone, it just didn’t feel right.
I felt more at peace as I shut the car door and turned on the ignition. But as I turned the key, the engine didn’t start. I tried it several times, but still no joy. I closed my eyes in frustration, trying to control my anger, and then tried again but still, the car wouldn’t start.
My eyes still closed, I suddenly heard a gentle rap on the windshield. Opening my eyes I saw the comforting figure of Daryl. As I lowered the window I explained the problem. I popped the hood and Daryl had a poke around, but wasn’t able to get the car to start.
Of course, he did the gentlemanly thing, and offered to give me a ride home. Although I knew it was entirely an innocent, and kind offer, part of me felt that given what had happened between us at the party, I should say no. How would it look to my husband, if I was dropped home by a man I’d been so intimate with less than a week ago? But a bigger part of me thought this was silly. Daryl was a nice guy, just being neighborly. And so I accepted his kind offer of a lift home. And twenty minutes later I was ushering Daryl into our family home.
(Thanks to Cbears52 for his kind help in editing and proofing.)
