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I know, I know… it’s such a cliché. Bored older married woman seduces hot young sexually naive man. It’s been played out before, a million times. There’s even a word for it now… Cougar. Urgh! Just the very connotation of it upsets me. Like I hunted him down like prey for my own amusement. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all.
Firstly, I am not bored. I work full time running my own jewellery making business and I do very well. Several glowing write ups in the high end glossies helped me establish my business years ago and now I have a waiting list of actual bored housewives clamouring for my uniquely decadent handmade pieces. I have enough work to keep me busy 24-7 and enough money to ensure I could easily spend my days doing pretty much whatever I want to. Which I do.
Older… is 33 old? Sure, if you’re 16 I probably seem ancient but 33?! I’m still a young vibrant woman. I work out, mostly running and swimming but I’ve been known to hit the weight room from time to time. My hair is long and glossy chestnut brown. All my own. No greys yet. A hint of a crinkle around my eyes when I laugh. Nothing out of the ordinary. A slight curve to my tummy, full hips and breasts that thanks to my genetics stand full and perky. I can still turn heads, maybe not as frequently as I once did but I still got it.
The married part… that’s difficult to excuse I guess. Sure enough, 11 years ago I stood in Church and vowed to love, honour and obey my husband. And I still do… love him that is. Sleeping with other men whilst he serves as an Army medic thousands of miles away probably negates the honour and obey vows. I used to tell myself that I was just scratching an itch with these guys because yes, I have done this before. Many, many times. That I have needs too, and with Adam being away so much I couldn’t be expected to power down my desires just because my husband wasn’t there to sate me.
Not that I blame him at all. When we met at 17 I knew of his Military dreams and he was already serving when we married. I wasn’t naive enough to think we’d be together all the time, but I never imagined he’d be away so fucking much. Heartbroken and lonely I threw myself into my work which is probably why I’ve become as successful as I have. Adam is so proud of me, of my determination to succeed, my work ethic, my drive. Almost as much as I am proud of him, looking after our heroes as they Serve and Protect.
I adored him, but it didn’t keep me warm at night, or stave off the loneliness I felt when he deployed. A Skype call once a week kept his face clear in my mind and our letters, often full of our desire for each other, well they provided us both with plenty of masturbation material. But my hands were no substitute for his. I wanted to feel him inside of me as he whispered his dirty fantasies in my ear, not read them on regulation blue Army paper.
For 6 years it was enough. I would count the days until he returned to me, filling my days with work and my evenings with writing him long passion filled letters. He’d come home and those short forays into togetherness were perfect. We were never apart, Adam would sit with me in the kitchen as I cooked, I’d go with him to the gym. And we’d make love… in the kitchen, at the gym, anywhere and everywhere. It took barely a look from my husband and I was wet and aching for him, desperate to feel connected to him again. A few weeks of screwing and he’d be off again, leaving me bowlegged and satisfied for a while before the cycle would start again.
Each passing day the memories of his body inside mine would fade a little more and the loneliness would creep in to replace them. Our letters segued from romantic wooing to explicit fantasies and our Skype calls would have taken a very different turn if he hadn’t been in a public place when he called. As it was, I’d always dress as provocatively as I felt I could get away with without embarrassing us both. Adam’s beautiful face would flush as his eyes caressed my cleavage and I ached to touch myself for his pleasure. And soon enough, he’d be home again and he’d touch me exactly as we both desired, filling me, covering me, loving me. Until he had to go away once again.
It first happened when I was 27. I was showing at a small expo in California, thanks to an up and coming actress mentioning me in a red carpet interview. High on adrenaline I’d packed up everything I had made and mingled like crazy, introducing myself to everyone. Buyers, designers, the who’s who in the industry. Three long days of PR and selling and I’d had a slew of business cards and promises to get in touch. As a reward for my efforts, my last night in town I’d dressed up, wearing a simple black sheath and my most dazzling statement necklace and treated myself to a slap up dinner in my hotel.
Looking back, I probably looked like I was trawling but at the time… I just wanted to feel like a woman. Usually clad in yoga pants and one of Adam’s tees, it was glorious to have an excuse to wear gaziantep escort heels and put on makeup. As I sat at the bar, sipping a glass of champagne I toasted my work and said a silent prayer for Adam’s safety, surveying the opulence before me. Art deco elegance , the aroma of wealth in the air, heat from the myriad of candles, dazzling lights reflected off the plethora of diamonds in the room, draped around the gorgeous clientele… A world away from my real life of Lean Cuisines and delicate eye straining metalwork. I’d got flustered and suddenly felt out of my depth and between the adrenaline, the surroundings and the champagne I almost fainted.
His name had been Michael. He told me he was 26, a Cali native and a wine maker in town for business but I’ll never know if any of that was true. He’d caught me as I fell and ordered me a glass of water. Water turned to dinner, dinner to more champagne and the champagne led to sex in his hotel room. I’m not going to lie, the sex was delicious, hot, sweaty, up against the wall dirty back breaking sex. I’d been on my own for months, working so hard that I’d often been too tired to masturbate when I eventually fell into bed. Horny didn’t begin to cover it. Sitting across the table eating crème brûlée and sipping Moet, Michael had told me I was beautiful and that he wanted to kiss me. Shocked, I’d signalled for the cheque, charged it to my room and stood, walking away from him towards the elevator.
And then I did it. Something totally out of character, something I never would have believed I’d have the courage to do. I turned my head and saw Michael still seated, watching me walk away with a sad look of resignation on his face. So like the mask of frustration that I saw weekly on Adam’s face on our computer screen as we talked. Michael’s dark green eyes focused on me, as green as Adam’s became when he thrust inside my weeping body. And Michael’s dark brown hair, it looked almost black in the ambient light of the intimate dining room, almost as dark as Adam’s shorn regulation military haircut.
I’d winked at him, a smile curving on my glossy lips and in a second he was beside me, his hand warm in mine as he led me to the lobby. A perfect gentleman. Inside the elevator, we smiled at the elderly couple as they exited and as the doors closed, Michael took me in his arms and kissed me. Hard. His lips had covered mine and his tongue invaded my mouth, his hands bunching my dress up around my thighs. I’d thought I would spontaneously combust as he pressed me against the elevator wall, his warm body thrust against me, his erection butting against my tummy.
The doors may have opened, people may have got on, I’ll never know. My focus was on his hands urging me into his body, his tongue massaging mine. Somehow we ended up in a room, his room. A door slammed in the distance and I was wrapped around him, my underwear a ripped mess on the floor. He held me tight, his hands mapping my body as his body pinned me to the wall. Michael was everywhere. I recall screaming out as he peeled my dress from my shoulders, his mouth latching to my breast, his teeth clamping down on my nipple. I clutched at his hair, pulling him closer as he suckled and bit into my flesh, drawing out my pleasure.
Time passed, seconds, hours and he set me down, his face almost feral in his desire. A flurry of hands, his, mine, stripped us both to the skin and he suited up, lifting me again, my back pressed to the cool wall of the room. Michael starred at me as I squirmed, and his voice, dark and rumbling filled my ears, “I’m going to fuck you now.”
And he did. One hard thrust and he was seated deep. My body surged against the intrusion, so long bereft of anything larger than my fingers. Clamping, clutching, I writhed against him as his mouth kissed every inch of me he could claim. Again and again, he pumped into me, groaning out. Dark words, dirty words flew from his lips on every pause, his cock pushing me closer to ecstasy. So beautiful, so sexy, so wet. He pounded me so hard, his hands gripped me so tightly that I had bruises for days yet at the time I felt nothing but pleasure. Against that wall, in his arms, I shattered.
Crying out, screaming, begging. And from the wall to his bed. Again and again he entered me. From above, from below, from behind. I lost count of the times he had me howling out my content, my body attuned to him and willing to play out whatever scenario he desired. I pleaded with him, desperate to come again as he fed from my pussy, his mouth a gentle counterpart to his cock. His lips stroked me, his tongue tickling my clit as my hands knotted in his hair. Over and over he drove me up and let me fall until tears flowed from my eyes, sobs wrenched from my lips.
So much physical pleasure. His body owned mine, his strength exactly what I needed and he gave me orgasm after orgasm, my body limp and sated. After hours of fucking, I lay in his arms, prone and satisfied and he stroked my hair, telling me what an amazing lay I was. I’d grinned, wanting to tell him the same but unable to work up the energy to speak. “I’d like to see you again” he whispered sleepily into the night. And I acquiesced, agreeing although I knew we’d never meet again.
As the sweat slowly cooled on my sex drenched skin, I felt awash with guilt and shame. Wanted to run from his arms, away from my infidelity, from the bed I had cuckolded Adam in. Michael’s arms bracketed me, his hands holding me close and even then, in the pit of my despair, my body cried out for him, my thighs wrapped around his, my nipples slick with his saliva.
He dozed and I ran. Bolted into the night, my dress covering my body and my shoes in my hand. I left no note, nothing other than my torn underwear. Within the hour, I had showered, my jewellery was packed and I was in a cab to the airport, shaking and crying so hard my driver asked me if I was okay. I had no words. I was physically sated, having had perhaps the best sex of my life yet my heart was broken, knowing I had cheated on my love. I’d never felt so low. Cabs, planes, finally I was home, falling into my marital bed, feeling lower than hell. What had I done?
Naturally Michael never contacted me. How could he? He didn’t have my full name and I’d never mentioned where I was from. I Googled California wineries but stopped myself after 10 minutes, asking myself what the hell I was thinking. I Skyped my husband, I wrote letters and screwed them up as I realised I was asking him to do what Michael had done to me. I worked, hoping it would block out what I had done. And I prayed. To every deity out there, that Adam would never find out what I’d done.
Eventually he came home, rushing into my arms like I warranted his love. He took me to bed, his gentle love making a balm to my cheating heart yet I couldn’t relax. Adam drove me to the edge again and again and I couldn’t peak, my guilt standing guard over my own pleasure. “It’s okay, ” I told him, “I’m just distracted, take your own pleasure from me baby.” And he did, pumping his semen into my body as he cried out my name, rewarding me with his love and devotion over and over again.
That hiatus was shorter than most and for once I was grateful. I craved the nearness of him but felt Michael’s hands on me every time Adam touched me. Before my sexual misadventure, Adam was the only lover I had ever known, my first everything. He knew my body better than I did and always made me come. Adam treated me Lalique, like some fragile flower which needed coaxing and sweetness and I adored his tenderness. Yet even as he drove into my body, I had flashes of Michael, pounding into my body, taking what he needed with little regard for my comfort, seemingly knowing that was exactly what I craved.
I’d loved it.
And even as Adam cradled my head in his hands, his beautiful eyes focused on mine, his cock sliding rhythmically into my body, sweet love words on his lips, I wanted to plead with him to use me, to pound into me like a jackhammer. I was fucked up. Focused on a man I didn’t know when the love of my life was inside me, working himself hard to give me what I’d always enjoyed. It took every ounce of my concentration to play along and I’m ashamed to say that for the first time in our relationship, I faked it. Crying out with a false pleasure I couldn’t allow myself to feel.
He bought it. Cradling me in his arms and kissing me sweetly as I shivered beneath him. Shivering in disgust at myself, at my actions. I wanted to tell him, to try to explain, yet I knew I’d break his heart. So I stayed silent and held him close, absorbing him warmth into my chilled skin, desperately trying to show him I hadn’t changed when I knew I would never be the same.
After Michael, there was Dylan. 24, total hipster type and like Michael, a green eyed, dark haired mirror of my husband. It took a year for me to get over what I’d done, and in that time, Adam came home to me three times, each reunion better than the last. I was able to forego my liaison and reached my peak in his arms, no longer clutching my guilt to my heart. Things were better, Adam never guessed and I missed him like I always did, yearning for my husband above all else.
I met Dylan in a coffee shop in San Francisco. We had both ordered the same drink, a Venti cappuccino with extra foam and as our hands reached for the cup I knew. One look at his tall slim frame and I just knew I’d have him naked in my arms. The sterile coffee shop faded away and I could visualise him before me, his errantly coiffed hair a mess beneath my fingers as I pulled him deeper between my thighs. Like a vision. As our fingers touched he’d laughed, offering me the drink and I’d thanked him, fluttering my eyelashes as I smiled.
Just like that, we sat together, sipping our coffees and talked a little about his work as a junior architect. I wasn’t really interested in anything other than his own mighty erection but he seemed sweet enough and hours passed as the coffees cooled. He asked where I was from and I told him I was in town for a few days for work and looking for a little fun. Could he recommended anything to pass a few hours? His eyes had sparkled behind his glasses and before I knew it I was naked on his unmade bed, his hair a riot beneath my hands.
Whereas Michael was an expert, Dylan was sweeter, his touch gentler on my body. He wasn’t a virgin by any stretch but he was shy as I stripped my clothes from my body and lay on his bed, my thighs parted. He’d just stood there as my fingers stroked my pussy, my slickness echoing in the silence. I could see the strain of his cock against his tight pants and enjoyed his restraint, my hands wet with my arousal. Holding his gaze, I pulled my fingers from between my thighs and sucked them clean, enjoying his hiss of breath. Dipping back inside, I teased myself before withdrawing again and offering him a taste.
Like a cobra he snapped, uncoiling his frame, releasing his tension and devoured me. His technique was rough at first but he took instruction well, sucking and licking me like I needed him to. Twice I came on his face, rocking my clit against the bristle on his top lip as his tongue probed my wet folds. It should have been enough. My dalliance with Michael and the unfortunate aftermath should have stopped me but as Dylan stood, his tall body rigid as he bared himself to me, his leanly muscled torso, his stiff cock, everything fell away and I reached for him.
“No-one has ever sucked me off like that. That was incredible!” I watched the satisfied grin on his face as I licked the remnants of his orgasm from his flagging erection, my fingers gently massaging his thighs and almost preened. Not bad for a woman with only two other lovers. Everything I did with Dylan was the greatest as far as he was concerned, I was some kind of sexual genius. My pussy was the tightest, my breasts the sweetest, my mouth like heaven. His praise and enthusiasm were like a drug to me, and thanks to his youth, his stamina was my undoing. For two days we stayed in his apartment, screwing ourselves silly and pausing only for takeout.
“If you’re ever in town again, I’d love to see you.” I held my breath, waiting for the familiar nausea to return but this time it was nothing more than a swift roll of my stomach. I kissed a path up his chest, settling my lips over his and stroked my tongue into his mouth, my hands urging his cock to hardness for the umpteenth time. Sheathing him, I straddled him and fed his erection into my body, refusing to say a word as my hands found his shoulders and my hips undulated on him like a belly dancer. He’d surged into me, his hands wild on my breasts as I drove us both over the edge.
As he dozed, I kissed him gently and he hugged me, “Thank you Amy. I’ll never forget you.” This time I walked away calm, happy for the pleasure he’d bought me and proud that I’d not only shown him a good time but confident he’d use that knowledge on his future partners. Paying it forward if you like.
And so continued the cycle. For five years, I’d fluctuate between wild one night stands and romantic reunions with my husband. With the exception of James, a 42 year old teacher in Fresno, all of my lovers were younger, something I found I preferred. Aside from their insatiable libidos, they didn’t expect anything beyond the physical satisfaction we shared. I could mould them, tell them what I wanted and they were more than willing to lick me or stroke me as I wished. And in some weird coincidence of my own making, they all bore a resemblance to Adam, all dark and tan, soulful green eyes that bore into my soul. Even Alice, the college grad I took to bed in Vegas, a young voracious beauty who was more than happy to let me take control in the bedroom.
Adam always took control, preferring gentle lovemaking with me beneath him, and whilst I enjoyed it, I’d discovered a world of sexual diversity beyond it. I loved to sit astride, rocking my pelvis hard as they drove up into me, making me cry out. It took a 22 year old farm hand from Texas to introduce me to the rapturous delights of the reverse cowgirl and I rode him for days, ecstasy dripping from my pores. Even now I shudder as I remember sitting on his face, my hands clenched to his headboard as he ate from me, my orgasm covering his cheeks, sobbing out my pleasure and shrieking as he literally bench pressed me up from his mouth and straight down onto his stiff cock, pumping deep into my still pulsating pussy.
When he asked to see me again, I’d seriously considered it, even going so far as to give him my email. One year on and no contact it’s probably for the best but when I lay in bed at night, my fingers busy on my clit, I think of our time together and shatter wetly as I remember his strength. When Adam returned next, I asked if I could sit on his face and his look of shock was hysterical, I’d told him I’d read about it in Cosmo and wondered if we could try it. He’d been awesome, his tongue wild inside me as I rocked above him but as I gazed down between my spread thighs it had been my cowboy I’d seen.
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