Consequences of Thoughts

"I think about you when I masturbate."

I couldn't believe I had just uttered those words to the married woman sitting in the passenger seat of my car, but there they were, hanging in the tense silence between us. We had been arguing. Her husband had found a note I had written her after we had kissed for the first time. We had decided to overlook right and wrong, gave into our desires, and were now reaping the rewards. Neither of us knew what we wanted, really, besides wanting each other. Did she want a divorce? Did I want to be the cause of it? Those are things we really didn't think about that night of our first kiss. Those thoughts are what kept me quiet when she had said:

"I think about you when I have sex with my husband."

I had fantasized about that but never expected to hear it from her. I had imagined us together countless times. I imagined her in the throes of orgasm, usually with me, but sometimes imagined her giving herself pleasure while thinking about me. That was always a fantasy until this moment and now I didn't know what to do with it. Did she want to leave her husband for me? Was she really that unhappy in her marriage? Am I ready for whatever comes next? These thoughts were all bouncing around my head when I realized she was staring at me.

"You really have nothing to say to that?" She was angry, incredulous. In hindsight I realize how much she had just opened up to me and had every right to be mad. I was a single guy with relatively little to lose. Her marriage was in danger thanks to us. Those are the kinds of things you tend not to think about in the heat of passion, like that night a few months previous.

We had both been invited to mutual friends' beach house on the California coast for the weekend. As a group we had been there many times and it was there that our attraction had taken off. Months of furtive glances and flirtatious conversation eventually fueled full-fledged emotional and physical desire. Her husband was unable to make this particular trip and I think were both excited to have the opportunity to see how far we were willing to go. At dinner the first night, we sat next to each other. While talking to the other couples, I was thrilled when I felt her foot nudge mine. I nudged her back with my foot moments later she slowly slid her foot along my shin. It was electric. As her foot retreated, I slid my foot along the back of her calf and the smile she gave me made me light-headed. This was unknown territory for me, for us, and I wanted more. As it turns out, so did she.

That night after everyone had gone to bed, she came to my room. Sitting on the edge of my bed, we kissed a goodnight kiss. Technically. But we both knew it was more. It was testing the waters. She slipped quietly out of my room and closed the door. My mind was racing as I'm sure hers was. It was a chaste kiss, but it was a lingering kiss on the lips nonetheless, in the intimacy of a bedroom. We spent the next day doing everyday beach things, which of course including lying around half-dressed for the most part, so I had a hard time keeping my thoughts away from kissing. Her light blue bikini did not help. She had worn it in front of me before and it had worked its charms. I had fantasized more than about her in that bikini and now she was sitting in her beach chair reading her magazine and occasionally looking my way. Even though I was wearing sunglasses, I felt like she could tell I was leering at her. I'd smile but look away, feeling like a lech. Of course later I'd find out she was leering right back at me behind her own tinted glass, but that was later.

That night after everyone had gone to bed, I was getting ready to undress for bed when I heard the sound I had been hoping for. Light footsteps down the hallway and then a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," I whispered. It had to be her.

It was. I was sitting on the edge of the bed and she sat down next to me.

"I was thinking about our kiss last night-," she started but broke off. Her eyes were probing, inquisitive. And gorgeous. I probably couldn't have looked away if I had wanted to.

"I know, me too. It was chaste-." I broke off too. I didn't know what to say. Was she feeling guilty? Was I? Were we apologizing?

But then she leaned in to me and we kissed again. This time it was far from chaste. No more testing the waters. Our mouths opened and tongues entwined with a fervor that I think surprised us both. Months of pent-up desire erupted.

"Turn the light off," she said and I happily complied. We lowered ourselves to the bed and resumed. A happy "mmm" escaped from me and she immediately broke off the kiss with a quick "shh!" I had forgotten this wasn't a normal situation where it didn't really matter if anyone heard us. This mattered immensely. Perhaps turning the light off was less about the mood and more about feeling exposed. I didn't have time to think about it much because in no time we were right back to the kissing.

"Can I touch your chest?" she whispered.

"Yes... please."

Her hand moved from her side where she had been propping herself as she leaned over me. In doing so, her whole body was now pressed into mine as her hand ran over my chest.

"Can I touch your breasts?" I asked. I couldn't believe I had just asked that.

"They're small," she replied. I had expected a "maybe we shouldn't" or something to that effect. But a worry that I'd be disappointed? Maybe she didn't know just how enticing she was to me. How much I wanted every inch of her.

"They're beautiful," I said.

With that she opened space between us, removing her hand from my chest, and I began softly caressing her breasts through her t-shirt. She sighed into my mouth but then froze. I was suddenly aware that I could have gone too far. I pulled my hand away.

"I'm sorry," I sputtered.

"No, it's not... I- I almost just grabbed you," she said.

She had just had her hand all over my chest, so it was obvious what she was talking about. What was not so obvious at the time was whether that was an expression of fear of going too far or if she was asking for permission to touch me. In that moment I took it as the former.

"Maybe we shouldn't," I said, while badly wanting her hand on me more than anything. My body, my hormones, wanted to take it farther but there's my brain making my mouth say "maybe we shouldn't." I wanted her to know how much she turned me on and I wanted to touch her right back, but somehow the possibility (or probability) of orgasm seemed like too much of a line to cross despite all we had done so far. I took her hands in mine and we kissed again. After a while we stopped, happy and exhausted. She kissed me on the cheek and got up and left quietly.

A week later her husband found out and the reality of our betrayal set in and turned the desire to anxiety. We still met each other secretly, but instead of what amounted pretty much to dating, our liaisons were no longer full of flirtation but with tears and arguing. Secretive meetings in parking arguing about an uncertain future were the new norm for us.

"I think about you when I masturbate," I said. I didn't know what to expect but was excited to have told her this. It was certainly the truth. I masturbated often while thinking about her, especially after our night at the beach house. Even with the conflicting emotions brought on by the deception involved in our desire for one another, I still wanted her very badly. Now I understood that she felt similarly. The anger flaring in her eyes immediately melted away. I was surprised just how much her expression softened. Either she took my hesitance to respond to her admission as steeling myself for an embarrassing confession or maybe she just liked the idea of me having an orgasm while fantasizing about her. I hoped it was the latter.

But she wasn't finished with the whole being angry thing yet.

"So you've whacked off a couple times. I'm basically lying to my husband while he's fucking me!" She looked out the side window, refusing to meet my gaze.

"Well I don't have a girlfriend right now—" I started.

"Oh, wait, so it's my fault?!"

"That's not what I meant," I said.

"I know, I know. It just, well it seemed like jerking off a couple times wasn't really the same thing," she said, looking out the windshield now.

"Well, more than just a couple times," I said, trying to lighten things up a bit.

She didn't laugh, and now she was looking at me.

"How many times?"

"A lot." That was the truth.

She raised her eyebrows and gave me a look I couldn't quite place. Was she imagining me doing it? Could she tell from my face that I was actually getting excited talking like this with her? Did it gross her out? I knew the answer to that, though. She wasn't acting like it was repulsive. I could see she was trying to come up with a question.

"In bed?" she asked. I liked this a lot more than the anger.

"Most of the time."

"Have you ever done it while we were at the beach house together?"

"Yes. Definitely." Maybe I answered a little too emphatically.

"Why 'definitely'?"

This was uncharted waters for me and I didn't know how much she wanted to hear, but I decided to simply tell her the truth, even if it sounded a little pervy. But I hoped it didn't sound pervy anyway.

"After being around you all day, especially when you wear your light blue bikini, it's hard not to fantasize about you," I said.

"I know," she said, "after being around you all day with nothing on but your swimsuit, your body is on my mind too. Sometimes I imagine running my hands all over you and you're sitting right there. Sometimes my husband was right there too. I couldn't help it. So why the blue bikini?"

This is where I really didn't want to sound pervy.

"Well... the material seemed like it was really thin, and it showed... um."

She laughed. "My nipples?"

I laughed too. "Yeah, nipples definitely. But also, well..."

She raised her eyebrows almost comically.

"Your... vagina." Way to go perv. I almost said "pussy" but my brain screamed "don't say it" right before it came out.

She paused a bit like she was thinking about what to say.

"I knew the padding was thin on those bottoms. I didn't think anyone was really looking, though. She cocked her head slightly. "Apparently you were."

"I'm sorry," I said in a low voice.

"No, don't be sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I don't know what I mean, you know?"

"I know, I'm feeling a little light-headed right now," I said.

She laughed. "So you have a thing for camel toe?"

"No not really, it's just, well... it just felt really intimate to see you... see you someplace I'd never get to see."

"So is that what you think about when you... masturbate?" she asked.

"Sometimes," I admitted, "but more just about you in general."

"But sometimes it's that specific," she continued. "Like when I imagine us doing specific things, like fucking on stairs of the beach house, or you going down on me in front of a fireplace in a snowed-in cabin... although now I'm kinda imagining you jerking off in the outside shower at the beach. You ever do it in the shower?"

Well, this was getting interesting.

"Um, well yeah but not there. I think I'd feel weird—"

"Doing it in someone else's shower? Or doing it in the outside shower where someone might catch you?" she asked.

"Yeah, either?" I said somewhat lamely, although I wanted to add that I wouldn't mind getting caught by her. But I just asked, "why the shower?"

"It just seems sexy, you know. You're all steamy, wet... soapy. Naked."

"Yeah, it does feel good with the hot water and soap," I said.

"When you do it in bed, do you use a sock or something? I've heard guys sometimes do it in a sock. Or a towel?" Now she seemed a little clinical, curious but clinical.

"Um no, I usually just, well, come on myself."

"On your chest..." Did she say that dreamily? I like to imagine she did.

"Yes, stomach, chest... depends how powerful," I said.

"I think about your chest," she said. "I love your chest. I imagine it's you inside me and I'm holding your chest and your arms." She seemed lost in thought. I was imagining her fantasizing about me while having sex so I too was a little lost in the clouds.

"Does thinking about me give you a 'powerful' orgasm?" She was looking so intensely at me I couldn't think of a humorous answer and really, there was no reason to be coy at this point.

"Yes, really strong."

"Good," she said. "Mine are too."

With that, she leaned over and brought my face to hers and we kissed for the first time since the night at the beach house. It was a long, heartfelt kiss, one that I had been longing for since that night. Of course I was hard in no time, tenting the front of my work pants. I was in a similar state the last time we kissed (when she nearly "grabbed me", I liked to remember her saying those words) but that was in the dark. Now there wasn't any disguising it. As she slowly pulled her face away from mine, I watched as her eyes glanced downward and then back to mine.

"It's nice to know just a kiss will do that," she said.

"Kissing you, definitely!" After that came out I hoped that sounded nice, not like I was comparing her to other women. But I shifted a little to try it make it look less obvious. That didn't really work.

She sat back in her seat and took a deep breath.

"Well, you get me really excited too," she said.

That did not help the situation in my pants. I thought maybe it'd subside quickly, but it wasn't going anywhere. Speaking of not going anywhere, was this pause in conversation going on too long? It sure felt like it. I didn't think she was angry anymore but it was tough to read the expression on her face. She was looking out the windshield although she didn't seem to be focused on anything in particular.

"Since you've ogled me in a bikini I may not be wearing in public too much anymore, maybe you could give me something for my spank bank." She raised her eyebrows comically again and smiled. My mouth had gone dry. I didn't laugh, even at "spank bank."

"Uh." Pure eloquence from me.

She leaned closer to me. "I want to see what you look like when you fantasize about me."

"You want me to—" I stopped.

"Yes. Touch yourself."

When we started down this particular avenue of the story together, I had imagined this, but only really expected it to be pure fantasy, a fork in the road we didn't actually take that would live only in my imagination. Now it was happening and I was all nerves. My head was light and my stomach was fluttering like I was looking over the edge of the Hoover Dam. This woman, literally the woman of my latest and greatest fantasies, was giving life to old dreams. Years back in college, I found a copy of Anais Nin's "Delta of Venus" in my girlfriend's nightstand one morning While leafing through the stories, rock hard of course, I came across a story where the narrator, naked in the privacy of his room in the summer heat, notices an older woman watching him from a patio across the street. He relishes her eyes upon his body and a day later repeats his naked show for her and ends up masturbating himself to orgasm as she watches. It really struck a nerve with me. Other stories in the book told of both men and women flashing their genitals at people but that wasn't something I was interested in. It was the consensual nature of their experience, the eagerness and willingness of both the exhibitionist and voyeur that was so arousing to me. Through the years I was lucky enough to have a few experiences that gave me that kind of pleasure, but I couldn't believe it was happening now. Not that she was the last person I'd peg as having any kind of voyeuristic tendencies. I didn't really know what her tendencies were, just as I didn't know what this meeting was going to bring when I got in the car in the morning. I certainly didn't expect to be sitting there with an erection and a directive to begin touching it for her.

But that's what I did. I unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my pants. My shirt untucked easily and she watched as I quickly unbuttoned it too.

"Pull up your undershirt a little," she said. It was half-question, half-command.

I did, exposing my ribcage. I unzipped my pants, up and over the tent I was creating, and they fell open. I was glad I made a good underwear choice that morning. I liked the boxer briefs I had on so maybe she would too. Her gaze was directed at my open pants and my erection was obvious under the thin black material.

Seeming to make a choice of her own, her hand went to the buckle of her thin leather belt and in a few seconds had her own pants undone. I could see the top of her panties, pink with multi-colored stripes. My heart was racing. Are we going to do this together?

Without any more thought, I grabbed the waistband of my briefs and pulled them down.

The car was so still I thought I could hear my heart beating. I dreaded looking over, expecting a look on her face that was going to say "this is too far." But I did look over, I had to. She looked at me with soft eyes and smiled.

"Just like I imagined," she said.

"Really?" I'm not sure why I asked that. She had already said she thought about me sexually so it was logical she'd have a mental picture of me naked.

"Of course, I steal glances at you too. I've peeked at your crotch. You can see things through jeans, not like my bikini I guess, but you can definitely see things. Bulgy things."

I laughed. "Bulgy?"

She turned jokingly defensive. "Yeah, 'bulgy'... like that!" She gestured at my penis. "Well, not standing up like that..." She trailed off, her eyes lingering on my erection.

"That night at the beach when you said you almost grabbed me..."

"You were hard, weren't you," she said. "It was too dark to see, but I hoped I was turning you on. I was really turned and I wanted to feel you, see if you were."

I laughed. "Oh I was turned on all right."

"Like right now?" She was still looking at my erection. I felt like it was pulsing.

"I wouldn't have thought it was possible, but I think I'm even more turned on right now. Do you still want to—" I began.

She nodded. "Yes."

I took a breath and then pulled my waistband down farther with one hand. Holding it aside, I grabbed myself with my other hand. As I did so, she slid her hand into her own pants. The sensations in my body were off the charts, I was almost giddy with pleasure. I knew it wouldn't take long so I only slowly, lightly stroked myself. I left out those specific tried-and-true manipulations and optimal pressures I knew from years of hands-on experience guaranteed a quick orgasm.

It must have been obvious. She stopped her own movements.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I'm just going to come really soon."

"I want you to," she said and then paused, seemingly in thought. "Do you ever say my name when you come?"

"Yes," I admitted, "many times."

With that, her long fingers resumed their maddening motions inside her pants.

"I have to bite my tongue to stop from calling out your name sometimes. That would be... bad," she said. She sighed. Her chest was rising and falling with her quickening breath and her blouse had fallen open enough that I could see the thin strap of her bra sliding along her clavicle with her movements. She saw where I was looking and looked down her own open shirt. She looked back at me.

"You do like my boobs, don't you," she said.

"Yes," I said. I closed my eyes as warms waves of pleasure radiated through my body. "I do." I really did. I had imagined touching them, kissing them countless times.

I could tell she was unbuttoning her shirt and I opened my eyes.

"You don't have to—" I started.

"I know. I want to."

She reached through the now open front of her shirt and unclasped her bra. With a deft wriggle, the cups fell away and I could see the breasts I had fantasized about so many times. Hot pleasure surged in my hand and I let out a long sigh. I was getting close. Her hand returned to her pants, but this time her fingers threaded their way under the waistband of her panties. I could now see her fingers moving rhythmically, insistently beneath the colored stripes and it drove me crazy. It looked like it was driving her crazy, too. I didn't know where to look, there was so much to take in. My eyes darted from her hand to her naked breasts to her face. Her eyes moved from my erection to my face as she felt my eyes on her. Her free hand slid through the open front of her blouse and moved to one of her breasts. Her nipple appeared in the gap between her index and middle finger. It looked like she was giving it a good squeeze.