Carol’s Trinity 3

by Kirsten McCurran

  That confessional subreddit has been a godsend. It’s moderated by all women and it’s private, so there’s no slut shaming. It’s a mix of women with secrets. A lot of the women are cheating—physically or emotionally—some are hotwives and swingers, and some just wish they were doing something other than being bored in dead-bedroom marriages.

  The women in the group know me now and I post freely, but I held my breath after I made my first post about that night with Conner, Noah and Mateo. I hadn’t seen anyone post about anything that extreme. To my surprise I got a lot of go girl! comments, a few concerned comments that struggled to be nonjudgmental, and a flood of questions. The questions were great, because they made me really think through how I felt about what I’d done. The support of my ladies gives me the confidence to move forward with whatever it is John and I are doing. This is my latest post:

  I think I’m losing it. I had maybe two minutes alone in my ex’s house and I used it to take a topless pic to send to my lovers. I almost got caught and I thought I was going to die! The risk was such a huge turn on! My heart was pounding, and I was so wet! The ex came home and I know he knew I was up to something and the strangest part is that I loved he suspected something. It was like we had a moment with his current wife standing right there. It’s not like I want him or would even consider going there, but the tease felt incredible. This is all on the heels of sneaking off during work to take pics for my husband. I’ve got to get a grip. I can’t let this stuff spill over into my real life.

  The responses to my post were great, as always. I appreciated the women who said that yes, I need to take a step back before I do something I regret. A couple women commented that I should just do what I feel, and I should be proud that I was able to stick it to Don. But it’s the women who relate who make me feel better. A sampling:

  “Perfect. Love it when I can make the ex eat his heart out. I say go further!”

  “You’re living your best life. Be bold. No regrets!”

  “I used to love flirting with my ex when I dropped off the kids. Turned into sleeping with him again. We’re both married to other people now, but we still sneak off and screw each other. We get along better than ever. Sure you don’t want to go there again?”

  “The new wife probably hates you. Nothing wrong with getting a little payback.”

  My favorite response is from Swingteach77:

  “Totally get what you’re feeling. When hubby and I started swinging I couldn’t get enough. I loved all of it. Loved taking photos for our profile and got off on thinking about the guys who’d see them. And I wanted to go back to the club every weekend. Enjoy every bit of it while it’s all fun but be careful because pushing the envelope can get addictive. Try to think before you act, even when it’s not easy. Or go wild and figure it out later! :) If you ever want to chat pm me.”

  Swingteach77 makes me feel it’s okay to lose myself a little bit and enjoy it all. I can tell she gets it, and I’m tempted to send her a private message. I really should just have my fun and not worry so much. John is encouraging me. My guys would love it. After 40 years of being the daughter and wife and mother, maybe I deserve to be irresponsible and have my fun for once.

  My reddit time today leaves me feeling energized when I go for a run. Some days I have to push myself to work out—it just keeps getting harder with time—but today I bounce out of the house. Fitness has always been part of my life, but knowing I’ll be naked for guys more than a decade younger than me is great motivation to push myself hard on my run. The cardio lets me keep drinking wine and beer, while yoga keeps me flexible and tight. My guys do love to test my flexibility.

  My guys come to mind in the shower, as I think about how much they want to see me again. It’s been a couple days since John encouraged me to stop teasing them, but I haven’t made a move to see them again yet. I’ve flirted back and forth with Noah and Mateo by text, promising I’ll see them soon. The possibilities of that potential date flash in my mind, and the temptation becomes too much.

  The tile is cool against my back as I hold the shower massage wand in my hand and twist the ring to the pulse setting. Eyes closed, I imagine their hands all over me. That first night they took charge and there was no turning back. Noah and Mateo undressed me together, sat me down and presented their cocks to me. That was only the appetizer. As soon as they had me on the bed, I had one of them in my mouth, the other in my pussy. I direct the warm jets of the shower massage at my mound, just above my slit. I jump and gasp as vibrations proceed down through my sex. The shower massage is powerful, which is why I don’t use it too often. A girl could get addicted. I rub my slit as I direct the water jets in a tight circle, moving lower. I’m steadily moaning, imagining strong hands holding onto my hips and my head. Mateo’s dirty encouragement rings through my mind: Look up at me, baby. So beautiful. That’s it, Carol, suck it like that!

  My fingers act as a shield from the water jets, but their power transmits down, sending those good vibrations right down to my clit. My sharp cry sounds so loud in the echoey bathroom, even with the water running. I climax hard and fast, yelping like a surprised animal. My clit throbs so hard it’s almost painful and I have to direct the water away, letting the shower massage wand dangle on its hose, crazily spraying water around the shower. I don’t stop rubbing my clit, but I redouble my assault on the little nub. I roll a thick, pink nipple between my fingers and double over forward on shaky legs as I climax a second time. I kneel, crushing my hand between my thighs. The humid shower air seems too thick to breathe, and for a second it feels like I might pass out. That would be an embarrassing way to be found, passed out in the shower from masturbation. It wouldn’t do at all.

  I slowly catch my breath, wondering how I’ve become such a sex fiend. It seems that all I do is think about sex anymore. If I’m not teasing my guys or making love to my husband, I’m messing around on reddit. I think about Swingteach77’s warning that this could all become addictive. Perhaps she’s right. But if she is, there are worse ways to go.

  Work is a blur. I don’t stop moving from the time I arrive until well after the dinner break. Some of my co-workers gripe, but I like to keep busy. It makes the time pass faster. I genuinely like interacting with the patients as well and doing what I can to make their stay more comfortable. Some people are a pain, but I don’t let them get me down. The nastier someone gets, the more I smile, but not necessarily to do them a favor. They don’t know what to do when you kill them with kindness. I get backed up sometimes when I spend too much time in a patient’s room, but there’s always time to catch up. I miss that busyness on the late shifts. Time just drags after 9 or so. Every tick of the clock is an eternity.

  I pass the time-sharing flirty texts with my boys. Mateo works hard to convince me to change my weekend plans so we can all meet up, and I tell him I can’t, but promise once again that it’ll be worth the wait. Noah pushes for more sexy pictures, or even better, he wants me to sneak away to a quiet corner of the hospital for a dirty video call. God, it’s tempting, and a thrill shoots right down my spine to my pussy when I consider doing it. I’m finally accepting my new self and I’m not as shocked to be considering it as I should be. I text my husband on the side, asking: Should I do it?

  [John] will you get caught?

  John’s concern for my safety was nice, but that wasn’t the reaction I was looking for. I wanted to know if he wanted me to do this!

  [Me] yes. U know there are lots of spaces in a hospital. Should i?

  [John] go for it

  I wanted him to show more enthusiasm, make me feel sexy, but John has trouble with that. I think he’s still afraid to show too much excitement around me being with other men—except when we’re in bed fantasizing about it. But I don’t need my husband’s permission to do this. It scares me how much I want to, which makes me want to say no. I really need to draw a line between my normal life and my burgeoning kinky life, and the episode at Sue and Don’s proves that. Before I can give him my ans
wer, another text chimes through on my phone.

  [Conner] I’m downstairs. Can u sneak away?

  I stare at my phone. Conner isn’t in this text group, so he couldn’t know what Noah was proposing, unless they’re backchanneling me. It’s like the world is conspiring against me. Fate doesn’t want me to behave and be the good girl. Clearly the universe wants me to be the kind of irresponsible slut who sneaks away from work to fuck her hot, younger lover.

  [Me] I don’t know. Probably not a good idea

  [Conner] u must get breaks

  [Me] they aren’t long enough for that!

  [Conner] I promise to be quick

  That’s the last thing I want! Conner means long, sweaty, leisurely afternoons in bed, not a quickie in a backseat or a utility closet. His frame is so big I don’t even know if he’d fit in a utility closet, although… I was just telling John about all the places to sneak away to in the hospital. Real life isn’t quite Grey’s Anatomy, but there is plenty of hanky panky going on between the doctors and us nurses—and the techs…and everyone else.

  I usually struggle with the temptation to play with my guys over a video call from work. There is no struggle when it comes to Conner. I dampen just thinking about him. I turn to the other two women working the floor with me.

  “Do you guys mind if I sneak off and take my next break early?”

  “Just keep your phone on,” Dolores says. We’ve worked together for years, and nothing fazes her. I wouldn’t say we’re friends—not outside of work anyway—but we always get along. The key to Dolores is knowing she doesn’t tolerate bullshit.

  “Sure. Nothing’s going on here,” Inez adds. I don’t know her as well as Dolores, but she’s always nice. When she’s not working, her head is buried in her phone. That used to bother me, but now I’m just the same.

  “Thanks, girls.”

  I slip around the corner and text Conner that I’ll be right down. He can’t just walk into the hospital at this hour without a justification, so I have to meet him at security. Technically they shouldn’t let him in without a very good reason, but I’ve been bribing Andre downstairs with baked goods for years. He hasn’t batted an eye in the past when I snuck John in for “coffee.” Conner isn’t my husband, but Andre won’t give me a problem. But before I go downstairs, I make a pitstop in the locker room and dig my make-up out of my purse. I only wear minimal make-up to work, and while Conner has seen me right after yoga—sweaty and depleted—I want to present him with a certain image, so the make-up gets re-done and I take my hair out of its twist and brush it out. It just goes to show that men have no idea how much effort we put into preparing for them when they think they can just show up whenever.

  Conner waits at the security desk and I pause just to drink him in. This is what guys do with us, isn’t it? His blue plaid shirt is tight enough to show off how muscular he is, and the bulge in his jeans promises the toe-curling orgasm I’ve been craving since the last time I was with him. His dark eyes—so dark they look black from a distance—dart around as he impatiently waits for me.

  I feel heat rise to my cheeks when I arrive at the security desk to collect my lover, as if Andre knows why Conner is there. This is a problem for me. I love this new side of myself I’ve discovered, but I don’t know how to own it seamlessly yet.

  “Hey, Andre. How’s it going tonight?” I ask.

  “Quiet. Not much ever happens here.” The guard looks from me to Conner and I swear he’s judging me.

  “This is my cousin, Conner. He’s in town visiting for a while.”

  Conner gives him a nod.

  “Nice to meet you,” Andre says. He’s not a small man himself, but he’s got to look up to Conner while sitting in his chair.

  “We’re just going to grab a cup of coffee in the cafeteria while I’m on break. Can I grab you anything while we’re down there?”

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  I’m relieved Andre doesn’t want anything, as we won’t be going anywhere near the cafeteria. I snag Conner’s arm and pull him past the security desk before Andre makes him sign in. Luckily Andre isn’t always strict about procedure.

  “We’ll see you later then,” I say, already leading Conner away.

  “Tell John I said hey. I haven’t seen him around in a long time,” Andre calls after us.

  “Will do,” I reply, my heart in my throat.

  He knows! Andre thinks I’m cheating on my husband! Ohmygod! What if he gossips? I should take Conner to the cafeteria, just have coffee, and send him home. Someone would see us, even at this hour. It would look like an innocent coffee date—nothing to gossip over. But I don’t do that. With many glances over my shoulder to be sure we’re not being watched and probably looking guilty as hell, I lead Conner in the opposite direction, toward Radiology/Imaging. The hallway is dim and deserted at this time of night. Unless the ER sends someone up for a scan, the department is mostly empty at night. The most likely destinations for ER patients are X-ray and CT, so I know we’ll have some privacy down in the ultrasound suite at the end of the hallway.

  I lead him through the small waiting room and back into one of the scanning rooms, clicking the door closed behind us. It’s a small room, dominated by equipment and a padded exam table next to the scanner. A big, comfy chair sits off to the side. The only light is the glow of dormant machines with their blank, faint screens and indicator LEDs, and it’s silent except for the hum of exhaust fans. The room has an eerie, still feeling I’ve never felt while there for official business. I turn and slide right into his thick, muscular arms.

  “You really shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, barely louder than the sleeping machines.

  “You could have sent me away.” His answer is matter-of-fact.

  “I know. I didn’t want to.”

  Conner is ruggedly handsome, with imperfect features—a crooked nose, surely broken in a fight, a small scar on his wide, stubbled chin—that add up to perfection for me. I can appreciate the male model type too, but I prefer men like Conner who just ooze masculinity.

  “I hoped you wouldn’t want to.” He gives me a small, lop-sided grin, which makes my heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wings. He’s not the smiley type, so when he does favor you with a smile, it melts you.

  “This can’t become a thing,” I warn him. The words sound impotent even to me.

  “Anything you want, babe. I’ll take you any way I can, Carol.”

  “You’re going to be the death of me,” I sigh, pulling his lips down to mine.

  My body comes alive when our lips meet, like an electric charge running through me. His big hands massage my back before drifting down to grab my butt and pull me tighter against him, nearly lifting me off my feet to make our kiss easier. He’s a big man—a foot taller than I am. I’ve said I was never the hard-to-get type, but it’s almost embarrassing how easily Conner affects me. My nipples stiffen in my bra and my pussy dampens just from being in his arms and kissing him. He kneads my curvy butt, and it makes me wish he’d rip my scrub pants right off.

  Conner backs me toward the exam table, and the stool skitters across the floor when I bang into it. He lifts me onto the table, crinkling the paper cover, and I pull at his shirt, rewarded by the little clicks of its snaps coming loose. My fingers trace the lines of his tattoos, forming sleeves on both arms. They are vivid and colorful, mostly Marine-themed images, but they blend together in the semi-darkness of the ultrasound suite. Bold tattoos like that aren’t my thing at all, but they’re one of the things that draw me to Conner. I love that he’s so different from any man I’ve ever been with. It’s like I’ve been waiting my whole life for my chance with a stud built like him.

  I discard my glasses onto the bed and kiss Conner’s nearly-hairless chest, my lips following the curves of his hard pecs and six-pack. His body is incredible. Being pressed against him is like being held against granite. I kiss his pecs and he shudders when my tongue flicks across his nipples. He hisses and gently
holds my head, thumbs delicately stroking my cheeks. His moan is like a purr when I suckle his nipples, and he gasps when I give one a nibble.

  “Carol…babe…”

  I learned during our previous afternoon together how much Conner loves his nipples teased, and I’m eager to please him. While my lips tease, I reach low and rub him through his jeans. His big member feels like it’s ready to tear itself free. I open his belt and jeans like an expert—maybe I’ve been doing this too much lately—and reach inside his tight boxer-briefs to grab his hot cock. He fills my hand and then some. Conner grunts when I stroke him and pushes his jeans down to give his snake some breathing room. It springs free and I stroke it, unable to close my fingers around it. Both of my hands don’t cover it. I don’t need a ruler to tell me he’s huge—bigger than any other guy I’ve been with—and I love every inch of it. For the first time in my life I understand size queens. I don’t need someone as big as Conner to be satisfied, but he gets it done in a way like no other.

  “Damn…Carol…damn…” His voice is a low moan. He gets the need to be quiet. I hope I can be as disciplined when the time comes.

  “I want you, baby. I want you, Conner,” I breathe, pressing my face to his chest.

  “Come here, babe.”

  He bends down. We kiss. He pulls my scrub top over my head, breaking our kiss for an agonizing moment. Conner palms my breasts through my bra and I still feel his strength, even through the padding. I push at his hands, once again trying to will away the clothes that keep my skin from his. He steps closer and his cock presses up along my stomach, almost reaching between my cleavage. Conner frees my breasts and pulls at my pants, as impatient as I am, making my phone drop onto the exam table from where it’s tucked into my waistband. I lift myself off the bed and he yanks them down my legs, dragging my panties halfway off my butt. I pull them off the rest of the way. I’m glad the underwear I picked for work is as cute as it’s functional. We both laugh when my pants and panties hang up on my sneakers. Conner holds my legs up and rips my sneakers off, tossing them over his shoulder to thud against the door. I shouldn’t be stripping down like this in the hospital. I’ll never be able to cover up if we’re interrupted, but I need him and I’m not thinking clearly.