by Ben Boswell
I tried to explain to him that I loved him, that I was sorry for being so weak. He asked me if I wanted a divorce. I was shocked. The thought had never crossed my mind. There was so much I wanted to explain, so much I wanted to say. This was all about my insecurities, my regrets, my weaknesses, but I didn't want to go there. Not now. I'd been self-indulgent enough for one night, for a lifetime really. I just wanted to reassure him. I told Dave he was still the best lover I'd ever had. Weird as it seems, I even made him feel my vagina so he could see I wasn't "stretched out" permanently.
By the end of our talk, I thought I'd reached him. We'd be able to work it out, and from my perspective we were now at the point where instead of resenting Dave for keeping me from satisfying my crush, I could be nurturing him and working to meet his needs. He would need time to heal, of course, but he came to bed with me.
We cuddled together. I was, well, happy. Very happy. I'd landed my Bobby Battle, and the experience had exceeded all expectation, and here I was in bed with my husband whom I loved dearly. I felt well fucked, tired, and loved. I fell asleep.
***
I woke up the next morning refreshed and still happy. I let Dave sleep and went for a run. I just felt great. There is something about having your cake and eating it too.
But when I got home, the whole thing began to unravel. As it turns out, having your cake and eating it too violates the law of the conservation of matter.
When I got back, Dave was in a shower, which was a good thing because Greg called.
I've never been particularly empathetic, I guess. It isn't so much that I am selfish as much as I expect everyone to behave like me, practical and analytical. I know, I know, falling in lust with a co-worker isn't practical, but my point is, I guess I sort of expected everyone to play the roles I'd assigned them in my head. Dave would be the loving husband who sacrificed to allow me to indulge a mindless passion. And Greg would be a sex toy with a pulse. My interest in Greg was purely physical, or at most he was a stand-in for my repressed desires. But I had no interest in Greg, per se. I never fantasized about being married to him or even, honestly, having a conversation with the guy. When I thought about Greg, my fantasies went right to what had happened last night.
And certainly now that I had largely sated my lust, I thought I had no desire to further challenge my marriage with more encounters. And I always assumed that Greg would see me as nothing more than just another notch on his bedpost.
"Hey Red, sorry about calling you at home. I tried your cell and you didn't pick up. I've been thinking about you."
Alarm bells went off in my head. I checked my cell. Three calls from him. One message. Six texts, the first one at 3:30am.
I admitted I'd been thinking about him as well, but I also lowered the boom.
"Listen, Greg, we can't see each other again. It was a one-time thing. Let's just leave it at that."
"Really?" He asked, genuinely surprised.
"Yeah, look, I'm happily married."
"You don't mean that. You felt it last night. I felt it. We belong together."
That knocked me for a loop. "We can't," I muttered.
"At least admit it was something special," he insisted.
"It was special," I replied, somewhat shaken. I managed to end the conversation.
I sat back heavily on the sofa, suddenly drained. It occurred to me, for the first time really, that I had opened up a big can of worms, not just with Dave, but apparently with Greg as well.
It didn't help that when Dave got out of the shower, he seemed to have regressed emotionally. He was now just as dejected as when I'd first spoken to him after Greg left.
The day got worse and worse. Dave was a mess. And Greg kept texting. I found myself trying to balance the emotional needs of both men, doing a frankly lousy job all around.
***
By late afternoon, I'd had enough. Greg kept insisting I should meet him to talk it over, so I agreed to come into the office, planning to end it once and for all. I made some excuse to Dave about the proposal and headed in.
Greg was in his office working on some papers.
I cleared my throat. "Look, I'm sorry if I mislead you. You're a great guy and all, but I'm married. I love my husband."
He looked up and gave me an earnest look.
"Sit with me," he said softly.
He took my hand and led me over to his sofa.
I sat next to him, pulling my hands back primly into my lap, practicing in my head the lines that would communicate to Greg that it was over, indeed had never been.
But, God, he was a handsome devil. Every hair in place, fingernails manicured, shoes shined to perfection. Just sitting beside him weakened my resolve to end it. He looked me in the eyes, holding my gaze confidently.
"I can't stop thinking of you. Haven't been able to for weeks," he said earnestly. "You haunt my dreams."
That took my breath away. I gasped, speechless.
"I need you," he rasped, taking my hands in his.
"Don't say that," I muttered, almost pleading. "You barely know me."
With a hurt expression, he replied, "That's not true. We've been working together for months. I think about you all the time."
I thought of Elena. Of Peggy. Of Tina. I felt a wave of jealousy. He'd probably told them the same things when he was trying to bed them. "Oh please, Greg, you've been cutting quite a swathe."
He shook his head sadly, then gave me a small smile. "Do you think you're just another notch of my bedpost?"
"Well, aren't I," I replied.
"Oh Red, no! No. No!" he insisted forcefully. Then he softened. "Yes, I've dated other girls, but that was only because I thought you were taken, unavailable." He was now gently caressing my soft hands with his strong, manly fingers.
"I am," I replied, but I could feel my resolve slipping as I started to imagine those hands running over my body.
"That's why I am so sad about all of this. You're so beautiful, smart, and funny. And we have the most amazing sexual chemistry."
I could feel myself flush hotly, my heart pounding in excitement. It was now or never. I took a deep breath and forced myself to my feet.
"I'm sorry," I choked out hoarsely.
"Don't go," he breathed as he caught my hand with his fingertips.
My resolve melted. I wanted him so badly at that moment. It was almost a gravitational pull.
"We can't," I moaned, but I was already coming back toward him.
"Just a kiss," he pleaded.
My legs gave out. I fell into his lap. He gave me a feathery little kiss on the lips. It was almost chaste, and yet at the same time, I could feel him hardening beneath me, his big, beautiful cock straining to get at me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and we kissed wetly.
And suddenly, I was the aggressor, pressing my tongue deep into his mouth. I suddenly wanted him again, so much that I couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t think at all. It was like I was on fire, and all that could satisfy me was his hard cock inside me.
He grabbed my ass, pulled the cheeks apart, and the sudden feeling of his finger on my wet labia made my stomach do a flip. I reached down and torn open his trousers, clawing at his boxers until his fat cock popped out. I rose up on my knees, and felt him slide my panties to the side. With a desperate growl, I lunged back into his lap, impaling myself roughly on him.
I fucked him. There is no other word for it. I was in his lap, grinding my pussy against his pubic bone, relishing the amazing feeling of him inside me. He was moaning loudly, and his excitement fed mine. I rode him harder, my clit now almost painfully swollen, sliding up and down his thick cock. He pulled my dress off my shoulders, and freed my breasts. My nipples were dark red, fully engorged. He took one in his mouth. I grunted ecstatically.
And then it happened. I felt a plume of heat rising and spreading from between my legs then across my belly. My heart hammered so hard it seemed ready to burst through my chest. I got dizzy. There was a flash of light. And then no
thing.
The French have a term for it, La Petite Mort, the little death, for an orgasm so strong you black out. I'd always imagined it was a metaphor, a lovely, little, poetic license. But it was real. For a while – I have no idea how long, whether a minute or a hour – I floated on waves of pleasure, swirls of color, a soft buzzing in my ear, and the amazing feeling of being penetrated, over and over, fully and completely possessed, helpless to prevent it, but desperate for it to continue forever.
I came to slowly, my vision blurry, to find myself on Greg's desk, naked, on my back, my legs wedged over his broad shoulders as he relentlessly drove his thick cock into me.
"Oh God," I moaned, "come inside me. I love it when you come inside me."
He pulled almost completely out, just the head of his cock between my swollen lips. Then with a rough thrust, he filled me. He did it again. And again. And then he shuddered. I felt his prick swell and then pulse, over and over.
"Oh God, I love that," I cooed.
We slowly disentangled and dropped to the floor, sitting side by side. I reached into his lap to caress his lovely member. He playfully tweaked my nipples. We kissed, softly, sharing our contentment, basking in the afterglow.
"I think I love you," I said suddenly, impulsively, staring off in the distance.
I looked up to see his handsome, smiling face. And when I did, it hit me, like a punch to the chest. I gasped. I couldn't breath. And then after a few moments when I thought I'd never be able to breath again, I fell apart.
First came the heaving sobs, then the tears, flowing hot and fast down my cheeks.
"I'm a bad, bad, bad person," I wailed, banging my head against Greg's desk.
"No, you're not," he reassured me. He took me in his strong arms. "You're beautiful and strong. You've done nothing wrong. There is nothing wrong with following your heart."
I shoved him away.
"Yes there is! I'm married! I love Dave! And I've hurt him! And betrayed him!" I shouted.
"It's not that simple," he insisted.
"Yes, it is!" I sobbed. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"
"It's not that simple," he repeated. "Loving a person is not mutually exclusive with loving another."
"No, but betrayal is."
"It's also a betrayal to deny pleasure to a loved one," he replied cryptically.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means, if Dave really loves you he'll wants you be happy. To find joy wherever you can find it."
"Could you do that? I mean, let your wife or girlfriend find happiness with another man?"
He regarded me thoughtfully. "I don't know. I am not sure I've ever loved someone enough for me to place her happiness above mine. But I think Dave does love you that much. He didn't stop us last night."
"All the more reason, I shouldn't betray him," I whined back, tears now starting down my face again.
"It's okay, Red, it's okay," he said softly. He leaned forward and kissed a tear off each of my cheeks.
He slid his arms beneath me and effortlessly lifted me off the ground. I wrapped my arms around his muscular neck. I needed his strength.
He carried me over to the sofa and laid me down. Then he slid up onto the cushions beside me. We laid there, side-by-side, naked, for a long while. He was kind, and gentle, and reassuring. Intellectually, I think I knew what he was saying was bullshit. Pure sophistry. But he was smooth, and most of all, I wanted to believe. I wanted to believe I was a good person, that I deserved this, that Dave would want me to be happy, and that if he didn't, it was him being selfish not me.
Greg caressed me gently, his hands assiduously avoiding my nipples or between my legs. Instead, he softly ran his fingertips everywhere else. He caressed my belly, traced the outline of my jaw, lightly brushed my sides. I could feel my desire for him growing again. He was smiling broadly, infectiously, obviously happy to be with me, to have my naked body beside his. And it made me happy too.
"Please make love to me," I asked finally.
"Are you sure?"
I swallowed and nodded.
Gently, he rolled on top of me, and cautiously he entered me. For the first time, we really made love. It was slow and tender. We kissed continuously. He was patient. So patient. Never rushing. Just those long, deep, slow thrusts. After a while, I reached a plateau, right on the verge of a crashing orgasm, but somehow better for not going over the edge. He kept me there for what seemed like an eternity, a beautiful, delightful eternity. And then when I thought I might burst from anticipation, he shifted his position slightly, pressing into me fully, and the wave toppled over, leaving me gasping and panting as I came again.
"Now it's your turn," I managed to choke out when I caught my breath.
But instead, he pulled out. "No, that was just about you, Red."
He lay back down beside me. I rested my head on his powerful chest, and suddenly exhausted, I dozed off.
***
When I awoke, it was dark outside. I glanced at the clock to see it was past 8:00. Greg roused when I did.
"You're so beautiful when you're sleeping," he offered.
I couldn't help but smile. I dressed quickly.
"Can I see you tomorrow?" He asked.
I wanted to say yes. But I knew I needed to fix things with Dave first.
"I don't know. We'll see," I muttered as I left.
In the car home, I rehearsed what I would say to Dave. There was so much I wanted to explain. Greg's argument about love not being mutually exclusive was the key one. I wanted so much to have it all. To have Dave and Greg. It felt so right. Surely Dave would understand that Greg made me happy, and making me happy would make Dave happy. If we could all just be grown up about it, it could all work out.
Rationalization is a powerful drug. I swear, all of this made sense to me at the time. I was sure it was just a matter of talking it out.
My little fantasy ran into a buzzsaw the moment I got home. Dave confronted me angrily, demanding to know where I'd been, waving the briefcase I'd left behind as evidence that I wasn't really working.
"I know you were with him," he hissed.
There was a weird certainty in his voice. He wasn't making an accusation. He was reporting a statement of fact.
"Were you following me? Are you spying on me?" I spit out.
I was genuinely angry. And embarrassed. Well, mostly, I guess I was angry because I was embarrassed, because Dave had blown up my planned effort to convince him to let me continue to see Greg.
My outburst left him speechless. I'm guessing he too had a carefully worked out script he was planning to follow, and my reaction threw him for a loop as well.
Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach.
"I can't talk about this now," I snapped and ran upstairs.
I locked myself in the bathroom and turned on the shower and then puked my guts out in the toilet. Then came the tears. Again. I must have sat under the shower for an hour just crying hysterically.
In twenty-four hours I had turned into a complete ninny, my days spent either fucking or crying. I'd always been in control. My whole fucking life was about self-control. I've never tried drugs. I barely drink. I was raised to be stoic, a sort of Vulcan or something, and now suddenly my whole life was being consumed by lust, remorse, anger, jealousy, and a half-dozen other emotions I could barely categorize.
I hated Greg. Hated Dave too, for making me feel this way. And then more tears. It wasn't their fault. I was the one being selfish and stupid. But, fuck, being with Greg was just amazing. He was a great lover, a wonderful prize. But I couldn't imagine being without Dave either. I was like a three year old having a tantrum: I want, I want, I want.
That moment of clarity did little to resolve my dilemma. Of course, I knew what I should do, what the right thing to do was. Stop seeing Greg. But what if it was too late? What if I had already destroyed things with Dave? Why should I throw away the one thing I still had that made me happy? And anyway, why couldn't I have it all? If Da
ve found a woman who excited him the way Greg excited me, wouldn't I let him explore it? No! I knew, I wouldn't, couldn't accept it. So how could Dave? But hadn't he already? If this was so fucking important, why didn't he put his foot down beforehand? It was his fault for letting it happen. More tears. Of course, it wasn't his fault. I was blaming the victim.
I dragged myself out of the shower when the hot water ran out, and buried myself under the covers. Dave checked in on me at one point, and I pretended to be asleep. He must have decided to sleep downstairs. I barely slept.
Indeed, the only reason I know I slept at all is that I had a dream about Greg at one point. We were making love outside. It was amazing, in that weird surreal way. Then I suddenly realized we were in our back yard, and that Dave was watching us through a window. He was obviously angry, banging on the glass, yelling – like Ben at the end of The Graduate. I mentioned it to Greg, and he just laughed. I tried to get Greg to stop fucking me, but he wouldn't, and then he pointed back at the window, and Dave was gone. Except he wasn't, and now Greg was Dave, and he was inside me, but not even looking at me, just screwing me without acknowledging me.
CHAPTER FIVE
I woke up, excited, disturbed, and disoriented. I slowly recognized my surroundings and played out the events of the past few days. God, I was an awful person. I mean, intellectually, I knew that. And yet, I couldn't shake the pull of the affair. I felt like an addict. For the moment, I just wanted to stay under the covers and hide from the situation I had created.
It was late when I finally roused myself from bed. I went downstairs to find Dave sitting sullenly alone in the living room. I went to him, and bless him, the first thing he asked me was "Are you okay?"