An Innocent Question Ch. 01

"Really," she said again, and then suddenly burst into a gale of tears. She clung to me, sobbing as though her heart would break, while I held her and tried to comfort her. My own mind was full of apprehensions.

Finally her crying subsided a little, enough for me to say, "come on, Ellen. You can talk to me, no matter what it is. I love you."

She looked at me, wide-eyed. "Dan, I don't know if you'll still say that ... once ... once you ...."

She moved away from me on the bench, and put her face in her hands. I waited, and finally she straightened up.

Looking away, she said in a flat voice, "Dan, I slept with Chris Doebe."

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ELLEN'S STORY:

"Honey, have you ever thought about having an affair?"

When Dan dropped that question on me in the kitchen, I thought I would die. I mean I thought my heart would jump out of my chest and my lifeless body would collapse on the floor. It was like being hit in the gut with a shotgun blast.

My mind didn't freeze—it raced off in 30 different directions at once. Why is he asking this? Does he know? Does he suspect? How can he have found out? Is he guilty about something himself? What should I say to act natural? Is it already too late to act natural? Should I confess? Perhaps I could just fake a heart attack?

I could feel the blood rushing to my face, and I was sure Dan was staring at me. I couldn't tell how long it had been since he asked the question—10 seconds, a minute?

I grabbed some groceries and turned away from him towards the cabinet.

"Of course not, Dan," I said. "Don't be ridiculous." My words sounded transparently guilty to me. Dan and I always ask each other questions, about practical, philosophical, hypothetical, and just plain absurd things. It is one of the sweetest things in our marriage, that shared interest in thinking and talking. So why would I be attacking him for a question just like all the other ones we ask each other?

Thank the sweet Lord in Heaven, Dan didn't seem to recognize my response for the desperate, panicked, guilty evasion it really was. He pursued the subject a minute longer, but without all that much interest, and he certainly didn't press me hard. I gradually realized that it had just been a typical random question, not the indirect approach of a suspicious husband.

My heart rate dipped back below 200, and within a few minutes we were talking about other things. But the subject certainly didn't leave my mind. In fact it had been there continuously for more than two days, and nearly all the time for more than a month.

I loved Dan—I loved him a lot. After a couple of unsatisfying romances in college, I met Dan in a class my junior at Ohio State and knew within three dates that he was the one for me.

I've always been a big talker, and actually Dan is too. But what I fell in love with, besides his broad shoulders and his great smile, is what a listener he is. When I spoke, he listened as though I were the wisest and most interesting person he'd ever met. He took my opinions seriously—seriously enough to challenge them and argue with me when he disagreed.

Even my favorite teachers in school had never showed me so much respect. And the point of our intellectual disagreements was never to conquer one another, never to "win the argument", but simply the pleasure of matching wits and sharing ideas.

Our first few dates were lunches or dinners where we talked more than ate. After that, most of our dates had even more sex than talking in them! When we first made love, the same caring and interest that Dan showed in conversation became a huge turn-on. He loved looking at me, touching me, pleasing me. He clearly adored my big breasts, and the fact that I was a little on the voluptuous rather than the skinny side never bothered him a bit.

I have never been all that aggressive in bed; I feel more comfortable letting my lover take the lead, though I certainly enjoy it and I respond to what he's doing. Dan was the first man in my life who took enough time in foreplay to find out what I liked, and to really get me excited. Once we got the hang of it, our love-making was absolutely thrilling for me. I couldn't get enough, and we imitated rabbits for the first few years we were together.

Then came the kids: Dan, Jr., and then Alexis. And the wonderful years of raising them were also years, inevitably, when Dan&Ellen time took second place. Not only our sex life, but all aspects of our relationship got less attention. We didn't argue more, and things didn't go badly. It was just that we had a bit less time and energy for one another—whether to make love, or to talk about the best way to install sod in a back yard!

We made sure to take a vacation every once in a while, just the two of us—and it always recharged our emotional and sexual batteries. Making love was no longer the hot, almost desperate business it had once been, but we were good at it. We knew each other, and we not only knew how to please each other but we wanted to.

Since Alexis went off to college we'd had more time, and lots of privacy, and our time together felt especially sweet. At 45 we were both still pretty young, and some of the sizzle came back into our sex life. It wasn't like being 20 again, but nothing is quite like that!

The day my life began to fall apart was the day my friend Emily had her deck party. I've worked with Emily in the Registrar's Office for years—she's a pleasant widowed lady of about 60, very close to her large extended family. There were lots of friends and colleagues from work, along with their spouses. Dan and I knew nearly everyone there, and we were mingling, just having a good time, when Emily strolled over to us with a tall man in tow.

"Dan, Ellen? Let me introduce you to Chris Doebe, my nephew. Chris is a grad student in anthropology—new this year, and he's living in the house with me."

It was like a cliché, like a bad movie. My knees felt weak, my heart started thumping so loud I was sure everyone on the deck could hear it. I could feel my face turning red. My nipples hardened in my bra. Five seconds in the company of this young man, and I was feeling sexual attraction unlike anything I'd felt in my entire life.

Dan gave Chris a big handshake, and I managed to say hello without embarrassing myself. Chris is about 35 or so. He's tall and good-looking, but certainly not breathtaking—at least not to most women. He has sort of a rangy, outdoorsy attractiveness, but he wouldn't stop traffic. That is, unless I'm driving the car!

To this day I don't know why I reacted, and react, that way to Chris. It's as though he gives off hormones that bypass every other woman in the room and go straight to my brain and my pussy. I felt myself getting damp down below. I caught myself looking at him like he was a baby gazelle and I was a very hungry leopard.

I was nearly out of my mind with lust, and with embarrassment. What's wrong with me, I wondered? A happily married 45-year old woman, standing next to her loving husband. I meet a nice-looking guy, about ten years younger, and I'm ready to tear off my clothes and drag him into the bushes!

The rest of the party was a blur. The four of us chatted idly for a few minutes, asking Chris how he liked his program. I could barely get out a word, but I managed to nod and smile and say, "oh really?" at the appropriate moments, so I don't think I made an idiot of myself.

After that we all drifted apart. I went straight for the bathroom, where I dried my panties, washed my face with cold water, and tried to pull myself together. I felt like I'd been shot with a big hypodermic full of aphrodisiac, and it scared me to death.

Out of terror more than anything else, I stayed close to Dan. Every time I looked around and even saw Chris, I got another jolt of desire. After an hour of this, I really couldn't take it anymore. I whispered to Dan, "honey, I think it's time to go."

He looked at me questioningly, and I smiled, looked around to make sure we were unobserved, and let my hand slide up his thigh and caress his cock for a moment through his pants. "I have something I really need to do at home," I said quietly.

Dan just grinned, and a few moments later we were in the car, headed home. I practically tore my husband apart once we reached the bedroom. I was wild, nuts, out of control. I didn't even want much foreplay—and I didn't need it, since I was soaking wet. I pulled him on top of me and we humped each other like two maniacs. Dan never knew what hit him, but he sure seemed to enjoy it. He came unusually fast for him, but by then I was well past two orgasms and on my way to a third.

"Wow!" he said, catching his breath. "Did you get the license number of the truck that just hit me? Or maybe it was an ambulance. That would be better, I think I'm going to need one!"

I didn't say anything, just smiled and kissed him. I was still hotter than Billy Mike (as my grandfather used to say), and after a few minutes I was eagerly sucking on Dan's cock, getting him up for round 2.

We fucked three times that night, within about two hours. We almost made it to four, but Dan couldn't quite get hard enough to enter me, so I finished him with a blow job. I must have had ten orgasms in all, and the two of us slept like corpses.

Dan did ask me several times, that night and the next day, what had brought on his sudden good fortune. I certainly couldn't tell him that my hot pants were the product of my reaction to Chris Doebe. Instead I gave him the old Mona Lisa smile, and said "sometimes a girl just suddenly realizes what she's got—and feels kinda grateful for it".

It wasn't the truth, or at any event not the whole truth, but it made Dan happy, and it fended off a question I really didn't want to answer.

Dan got the benefit of my reaction to Chris for the next couple of weeks as well. From having sex 2-3 times a week we were suddenly doing it almost every night, and I was more into it than in years. We tried some positions we'd neglected, we spent more time on foreplay, we just excited each other more. Inside my head, of course, I was fucking Chris. Dan may have been wondering what was going on, but we were both so happy with each other that we didn't talk any further about the reasons.

And all the while I thought about Chris, and wondered, and worried. I wondered why on earth I'd reacted so strongly to him—with a heat I'd never felt about any man before. And I worried that it might happen again. After all, he was living in Columbus, with my co-worker Emily. I could run into him any time.

I saw him once, about 50 yards down on the other side of the street, carrying a big box of what might have been books. He was going the other way and didn't see me. I froze, once again overcome by lust, memorizing every detail of his legs in his shorts, and his tanned arms, and the way his hair curled up at the back of his neck. When he'd turned the corner and disappeared, I realized I'd been holding my breath.

That night when I dragged Dan into bed for another fuck session, it was fear as much as desire that drove me. My reaction to Chris was beginning to scare me a lot, and I had no idea what to do about it.

One Friday at about 11:45 I was sitting in Elgin's Restaurant having a sandwich. It was my day off and I was doing some casual window-shopping downtown, with nothing particular in mind. Chris came into the restaurant. I froze, almost in terror. Before I could even think of whether I wanted to hail him or hide behind my book, he spotted me.

Chris came right over with a friendly smile on his face, and shook my hand. "Hi, I'm Chris," he said. "Emily's nephew? We met at the party recently. You're Ellen, aren't you?"

Desperately pulling myself together, I greeted him in a cordial way and invited him to join me at the table.

We had what must have looked to an outsider like a perfectly amiable lunch, chatting away with smiles and laughter. Chris seemed to be an intelligent and thoughtful person, very interested in his anthropology program, quite savvy about the politics of academia and his department in particular.

I say he "seemed to be" because for the life of me I could barely listen to what he was saying. I must have been making acceptable responses, but what I was most of aware of was: first, how gorgeous he was; and second, how hard my nipples and how wet my panties were. It was excruciating, thrilling, and embarrassing.

I flirted shamelessly, I realized later. I did all the subtle things that women do to indicate interest: I mirrored his expressions and body positions, putting my elbow on the table when he did and so on. I showed him my palms, which some scientists say indicates interest and availability. I smiled constantly, and licked my lips from time to time. And I took every chance to lean forward and touch him—on the back of his hand, or his wrist, or to lightly hit his bicep as I pretended to laugh at a funny remark.

The man would have had to be brain-dead not to notice I was coming on to him. In retrospect, he must have had a time of it! First, just being friendly to this nice older woman who works with his aunt. Next, gradually realizing she was flirting with him. Then wondering how far she would go, and whether he was even interested. Finally, deciding he was interested, and beginning to respond in kind.

By the end of lunch, which we lingered over, he was also smiling constantly at me and giving me the little touches. I was thrilled, and terrified beyond belief. I had absolutely no idea what to do next, and no control over myself.

Without planning it for even a moment I found myself saying, "Chris, I've got about six flavors of ice cream at home in my freezer. How about if we head back there for dessert?" I was so obvious I wanted to crawl under the table.

He gave me a long look, and a slowly widening smile. It said 'I know just what you're really asking me, and I'm going to take you up on it!'

What he actually said was merely polite: "Sure, Ellen, that sounds like fun, if you really don't mind?"

I had walked downtown, so Chris drove us to my house. On the way we chatted amiably, staying far away from the subject in both of our minds. We each had some ice cream, still chatting, me growing wetter and wetter between my legs and more and more frightened between my ears. I hadn't forgotten I was married. I remembered Dan, and I remembered our vows. But I couldn't have stopped myself from fucking Chris for anything much less than the house catching on fire.

When the bowls were in the dishwasher I had no idea what to do next, but it didn't matter. Without a word Chris took my hand, and with a smile on his face led me upstairs until he found the master bedroom. He placed me in front of him next to the bed, gently kissed me, and with great gentleness took off my clothes.

I was trembling like a 16-year old virgin. As he took off each item he kissed the skin newly exposed: my neck and shoulders, then my breasts and nipples, then (kneeling down) up my thighs, and finally my exposed pubic hair and pussy. I truly cannot describe how excited I was—it was beyond anything I'd ever experienced. I could feel my own fluids all over my thighs.

I might have been embarrassed, feeling that at 45 and after two kids I don't have a model's figure anymore. I've got the rounded belly and the thick thighs that all women hate. But I was just too turned on to care.

Chris stepped back from me, and said, "let me look at you while I get undressed. You are so beautiful!"

I watched as his body emerged from his shirt and shorts. He was leaner than Dan, and a bit fitter, as one would expect of a man in his 30s. His penis was already erect, pointing up directly at me. It was about the same length as Dan's but thinner; and it was beautiful!

I wanted to fall onto my knees and worship it, devour it, but Dan took me in his arms and laid me down on the bed. He began to kiss and nibble me. First my lips and face, while he stroked and hefted my breasts in his hands, telling me there were beautiful. I was moaning, totally out of control.

Then he slid down a bit and began to kiss and lick all around my breasts. He avoided the nipples for several minutes, even as I twisted around to try to get his mouth on them. Finally he sucked hard on one while pulling the other with his fingers, and an unbelievable orgasm hit me! I groaned aloud, and then just lay back, overwhelmed by the feelings.

Dan didn't stop using his lips on my breasts, but his hands moved downward, sliding up and down my thighs and all around my pussy. He avoided my labia for awhile, then circled in on them, stroking up and back each one over and over.

I was moaning continuously, completely out of my mind. I don't know how long he stroked me there before I felt his head between my thighs and his tongue inside me, but every second was miraculous. When the licking started, another orgasm took me over almost immediately. Dan kept licking and sucking me, flicking my clit with his tongue, and I kept screaming and coming. I thought I'd die with the pleasure, as ridiculous as that sounds. I was afraid my body would explode, as my hips jerked all over the bed.

I tried over and over to pull him up to me, to get his cock inside me. Finally he slid back up over me, and entered me in one incredible, cosmic, smooth stroke.

"You have the hottest pussy I've ever been in!" he said with a smile. I just pulled his mouth down on mine and began to hump him as hard as I could, banging my hips up against him.

It wasn't a subtle fuck. It was forceful and strong and rhythmic, and on my side it was desperate. I felt like my life depended on him fucking me harder and harder. It was absolutely amazing. I came again, and then again, and then again. We were bathed in sweat, both making animal noises, and finally he sped up for about 30 strokes and came into me, roaring as he spasmed and spurted inside me.

We collapsed, lying side by side, holding one another. I was gripped by some different and scary feelings. First, I had never been so thoroughly, so achingly, fucked and satisfied in my life. You know those terrible movies when the girl says, after sex, "I never knew it could be like this?" Well that was me. I just had No Idea it could be like that!

Second, I was guilty and frightened. I'd cheated on Dan, in our marital bed, without giving him much of a thought for the last couple of hours. What kind of whore was I? Was that all he deserved from me, after years of being a loving and faithful husband? Would he catch me? If he did, would it be the end of our marriage?

Third, and at the same time: I wanted more. I wanted Chris again. I was exhausted, and yet I knew we weren't nearly finished. If he didn't have a hard-on again in a few minutes, I'd be sucking him up to one. I knew it, and I knew nothing was going to stop me.

After a few minutes Chris opened his eyes and smiled at me. "You are the hottest woman I've ever met in my life."

I smiled back, and said, "that's because you make me the hottest woman I've ever been in my life. I'm hoping there's going to be some more of that."

In mock seriousness he slowly nodded his head. "You can count on it," he said in a playful deep voice.

At about 3 that afternoon, as we were resting after round two, I recalled that Dan had to work late—he wouldn't be home until after 8 pm. With delicious relief, I realized that I wouldn't have to hurry to get Chris out of the house, the bedroom cleaned up and me showered. We'd have another 3-4 hours together.

In the end, Chris fucked me four times before he left, not counting the time he spent licking me or I spent sucking him. Each fuck was different. After the first, unbelievably intense and physical one, our second time was slow and gentle, exploratory. We lay on our sides, our legs entwined, and as he slowly slid in and out of me we kissed each other on the lips, the face, the neck. I was so wet that the friction was minimal, and the pleasure made both of us sigh. It felt like we did it that way for an hour, though it was probably half that.