For Married Eyes Only

I know many of you will think I'm a real asshole, and sadly, you are probably right. The odd thing is, if you met me, you would never guess what dark secrets lie beneath the surface. If you were to tell any of my friends the stories I'm about to relate to you, none would believe you, most of all my wife.

It's disturbing what I've become and in many ways perhaps sharing these stories is my way of cleansing my soul, my feeble attempt at correcting my behavior, a last reckoning. I've tried many times in the past to clean up my act, but I failed each time, it is like an addiction. I'm reminded of Mark Twain's quip concerning cigar smoking -- "It's easy to quit, I've done it thousands of times!" Each time I quit, within a few weeks I'm hankering for more, for a new adventure, a new conquest.

And what is it that makes me so evil? Well, I've never killed any one, I've never ripped anyone off, I've never raped, and I've certainly never had sex with a minor. In fact, I don't think I've ever done anything illegal, per se -- at least not by U.S. laws. However, I have destroyed a few lives along the way, certainly creating hardships for some and in at least two cases was the catalyst for nasty divorces; oddly, never my own, at least not yet. Perhaps once these stories are circulated that will be my fate too, god knows I deserve it.

My addiction is simple, not particularly abnormal, but the degree, the extent, the secretness, and on a few occasions the immorality of it, certainly are not things one would be proud of at the end of their life in a process of self-reckoning. Yes, yes, you are still waiting, what is it that has drawn me down to such a low degree -- women. Well, it isn't women, I certainly don't blame them, but it is my desire to seduce them, to sleep with them, to constantly seek out new conquests, a sort of proverbial Captain Kirk of the S.S. Enterprise, going where no man has gone before! The catch is, in most cases, they are places other men have gone before, such as their husbands. My addiction is not just any woman, but married women, women involved with other guys. Yes, I certainly have had my share of single women too, including a couple of daughters of the women I was having affairs with, not to mention a few sisters too, as well as some prostitutes, but it is married women that drives me, that gives me sustenance.

Though I always fantasized about Mrs. Robinson, there was never one in my sordid past. It would be easy to blame her for my addiction, but one will have to search else where for culpability. In fact, my sex life was quite normal, whatever that may imply, until later in life. I didn't marry until I was 35 so had plenty of opportunities to enjoy bachelorhood. Nothing particularly unusual, a few one-night stands, a couple of wild parties in college, lots of steady girlfriends. Strangely, I never cheated on any of them, despite a few opportunities. Marriage however, changed all sense of fidelity, though I was corrupted a few years before marriage. My first taste of married pussy (is that too crude?) occurred on my 30th birthday. It was one of those unexpected encounters, happening more by chance, or so it seemed, than the outcome of an intentional seduction. But it planted a seed that grew into a full-grown addiction.

Susan was a colleague at work, a few years younger than myself. At the time I was living in Washington, DC, working for some organization that thought it was the savior of the world. Just having completed graduate studies, it was a great opportunity to do policy-oriented research. Susan was also a junior research fellow while completing her graduate studies at the School of International Studies. She worked for a different division than I, so I didn't know her particularly well. We chatted in passing a few times and that was about it.

For my birthday several colleagues took me out for drinks after work on a Friday evening. On our way out we bumped into Susan and someone mentioned to her that she should join us. Susan was very non-committal. But sure enough about an hour later Susan and Kelly, one of the senior secretaries for the organization, met us at the bar.

If there were ever the vision of the perfect Mrs. Robinson, besides Ann Margaret, it would be Kelly. She was statuesque, with perfect posture, perfect curves, perfect hair, perfect clothes, and a perfectly disdainful attitude to all. Her only limitation in making it into the Mrs. Robinson hall of fame was that she wasn't married, and rumor was she was having an affair with the director of the organization, Pamela. So much for Kelly.

It was in fact quite surprising to see Kelly there and even more surprising to get a hug from her when she came around the table to wish me a happy birthday. The feel of her luscious breasts pressed against my chest and my hands on her back along with her smell up so close, are etched in my memory. But that was all Kelly offered. Susan also gave me a quick hug, very casual, nothing memorable.

Susan and Kelly sat across from where I was located, so I didn't get a chance to chat with them, but I did get the opportunity of checking them out. Susan wasn't the type of woman that wowed you with her looks, but upon closer examination one could see her fine features: a long neck, sparkling eyes, and most importantly ample cleavage.

Over the evening the party dwindled and soon there were just four of us left. Along the way we had ordered a few dishes and I found myself sharing the remains of a large order of potato skins with Susan. We swapped a few war stories of our experiences in graduate school and found we shared a healthy skepticism about the organization we worked for; a place many of our colleagues took way too seriously.

Susan talked about her marriage three years ago to a fellow graduate student, who was several years her senior. He worked for an international organization that put him overseas most of the time, including for the past week. For now, she confessed she enjoyed the situation, giving her the space and time to concentrate on her own studies and career path.

She pried into my own relationship status and I explained how I had lived with a fellow graduate student the past several years, however, she pursued her academic career taking up a position in California, while I pursued mine in DC. Neither of us felt attached enough to change career directions but remained close friends, talking regularly, but there was absolutely no expectation or commitment to anything in the future.

I'd been in DC for about six months and hadn't dated since arriving. I did have a short fling with a girl I met online, but the whole encounter was a bit strange and there was no connection between us to sustain any kind of relationship. If I remember correctly her name was Diane. She was a little on the thick side, certainly not fat, which I don't mind at all. I much prefer a little meat to the anorexic look. She worked as a human resource administrator for the Department of Agriculture, not a particularly exciting career path if you ask me, and it reflected in her personality. The one thing she had going for her was her joy of sucking cock.

We had met on Myspace and even though we had little in common, I was intrigued (or was it desperate?) enough to continue chatting with her. She enjoyed hearing my stories of travels from around the world and so we finally agreed to meet one evening after work. She picked a bar she was familiar with, which happened to be conveniently only a few blocks from my apartment in Adams Morgan.

It wasn't the most painful date I had been on, but close. She had little to share, though asked intelligent enough questions to keep me talking about my experiences. After a few drinks I said I should get going and that I would walk her to the closest metro station (which was a ways away in Dupont Circle and it was cold out), or wherever she wanted to go. She then asked where I lived and when I mentioned nearby, she was interested, as she always wanted to live in the neighborhood but found everything to be much too expensive. She resided just across the Potomac, in Vienna, Virginia, easily accessible by the metro.

I'm not sure what came over me, but I invited her over to see my apartment. She loved the small flat and my collection of art objects from around the world. I was being the perfect host and offered her a drink; she opted for another beer (perhaps why she was a few pounds overweight!).

I'm not sure what led to what, but soon enough she was topless on my couch and I was sucking on her tits. For her size they were a too small and pointy, but hey, breasts are breasts. She then pushed me back and stripped off my pants, never saying a word, and dived right on to my cock. She sucked me hard, bobbing up and down in rapid motion, then stopping and licking while she held it. She never said a thing and I just moaned with pleasure as my orgasm built up. She brought me close to orgasm twice, each time stopping her sucking just before I exploded and wrapping her index finger and thumb tightly around the base of my cock to keep me from cumming. Once I recovered, she started right back up with her sucking and licking. Finally she let me cum, and cum I did, squirting several loads into her mouth, all of which she swallowed.

She might not have been the most exciting person to hang out with, but she sure did know how to suck cock. Strangely, after that, she put her bra and blouse back on and left, grabbing a taxi down to Dupont Circle to catch the metro home. She wasn't interested in any reciprocation or in intercourse.

After that night we chatted a few more times on line then about a week later she called me asking if she could come over again. After the previous time, I had no qualms about spending a night with her.

She arrived around 8 pm, drank a beer, sucked my cock with the same pattern of holding me off twice, then swallowing all I had to offer, then leaving. Very strange, but who was I too complain.

Soon after the second time I traveled to Geneva for an international conference and stayed for about a week. Upon returning I dropped her a note on Myspace, but she never replied. I never did call her and she never called again. Such was my time with Diane.

***

Fortunately I discovered several of the Asian massage parlors in the city, and started frequenting a Korean place just off Dupont Circle. I remember the first time I went there I felt a little unsure about the whole thing. I had visited only one other massage parlor in my life, and that was under the guidance of a good friend when I visited San Francisco a few years back. I walked by the entrance a few times before getting the nerve to walk in. I walked up the two flights of stairs, past the psychic reader, past the security cams, and knocked on the door to be let in.

I was met by mamasan who surmised it was my first visit and took me to one of the rooms. Not having been before I asked to see the different girls available and paid her the $60 cover charge. She brought in three girls and as soon as the first one walked in, I knew I wanted her. Her name was May and she was wearing a very, very short skirt that barely covered her shapely ass and a bikini top with the most amazing looking breasts. She also had a very infectious smile, and at least put on the act that she enjoyed what she was doing.

Before discussing price she had me strip down and started fondling my cock as we stood there -- definitely not a very advantageous position to be in to when discussing prices! We settled on $50 for massage and hand job.

May took me into the attached washroom and laid me down on my stomach on a rubber bed where she showered me with warm water and scrubbed my back and legs with a soft sponge. I then flipped over and she washed my front side, where she paid extra attention to my crotch. As she rinsed me off she started fondling me again, lightly playing with my balls. I then stood up and she dried me off with a large bath towel. She worked her way down my body and knelt in front of me, teasingly rubbing her cheek against my cock as she dried off my legs, looking up, staring into my eyes.

After the wash she led me back into the room and sat me on the edge of the bed. She stood in front of me spreading my legs apart and started swaying her hips, rubbing her hands over her luscious curves, down to her hips, then back up to her breasts, cupping them and teasingly displaying them in front of my face. Instinctively I reached out and grabbed her hips as she swayed them back and forth, pulling her even closer into me.

May then reached behind her and unhooked her bikini top pulling it slowly off her breasts and tossing it onto the nearby chair. I slid my hands up the side of her body to her breasts and fondled and teased her nipples. I was disappointed, but not overly surprised to discover that her perfect breasts were man-made, but that didn't stop me from enjoying them. May pushed me back onto the bed and had me roll over on my stomach. While I hated to lose sight of her sexy body, I was all too ready for a relaxing massage.

May straddled my lower back and dug her hands into my shoulders, working her little hands on my back muscles, occasionally rubbing her firm naked breasts over my back. Slowly she slid down, rubbing her own panty-clad pussy over my ass and onto my legs. She repositioned herself to the side and worked my legs, starting from my feet and working her way up. She snaked a hand underneath me as I lifted my ass into the air, feeling my hardening cock.

I then flipped over onto my back, my cock pointing straight up. She straddled me once again, this time with her pussy rubbing right against my cock. While massaging my shoulders and rubbing her hands over my chest, she kept gyrating her hips making me wish I had opted for a full-service massage rather than just a hand job! She slid further down, kneeling between my spread legs, gently rubbing my inner thighs.

May leaned over, giving me a mock blowjob, smiling and staring into my eyes as she clasped my dick and blew kisses on it. With her left hand she cupped my balls and massaged them as she slowly started to stroke up and down my cock with her tiny right hand. After all the teasing and seeing her delicious breasts so near, I didn't last long. My muscles tightened as I started to spew cum over her hand and onto my stomach. She rubbed me gently a little more, milking the last of the cum out of my cock.

May reached around her and grabbed a small towel that she put there earlier and wiped me clean. She then laid down on my side on the bed; we curled up together, relaxing as I recovered from my orgasm. After a few minutes she led me back to the washroom and washed me down again. Seeing her half naked and feeling her hands all over my body made me hard again and she kept teasing me for another round.

I didn't take her up on the offer that night, but did return a week later, and then again a few days after that. For the three months prior to my birthday I'd been there at least every two weeks, sometimes more frequent.

***

For my birthday after the get together with my colleagues, I planned to make a visit to May and splurge for a "full service" massage rather than my usual massage with a happy ending. Of course, I didn't tell Susan about May or about Diane's cock sucking abilities, merely about going out with her twice. Based on the knowledge she had, it had been several months since I'd been with a woman.

Soon our last two colleagues left and we decided to make our exit too. It was only about 10 o'clock when we walked out into the cool spring night; thereupon realizing our respective homes were only a few blocks from one another, in Adams Morgan. I couldn't well explain to her I had other plans and thus we walked the several blocks towards home together. Except for a very friendly conversation and some laughs along the way, there was absolutely nothing to indicate our relationship was anything more than friendly. I did enjoy catching glimpses of her cleavage and light blue lacy bra now and then, but there was no flirting, no teasing touches, no suggestive eye glances. It was just a friendly evening.

I was preparing myself to go home and then go out again and head back to Dupont Circle for an hour with May. Upon reaching my apartment, which was two blocks before hers, I offered to walk her home. No, she insisted, it wasn't necessary. In an effort to be polite I offered her to come in for a nightcap or some coffee. I didn't expect her to accept, in fact, I didn't want her to; I knew May's magical touch was waiting to add a little climax to my birthday. Contrary to expectation, Susan accepted my offer. Oh well, at least the massage parlor stayed open late. Not that being with Susan was torturous, in fact I rather enjoyed her company and found the lack of flirting quite refreshing and the fact that she was married meant there were no little mind games being played out. Besides, it is always pleasant to have such a nice set of breasts to stare at, even though I'd rather be sucking on May's very firm 34C tits.

I offered her a selection of different drinks and somehow we settled on green tea. As I was in the kitchen making the tea, Susan took a seat at the kitchen bar and leaned on her elbows. When I turned around I had a very clear view of her tits dangling in her blouse. Needless to say I stared a moment longer than I should have though even then she didn't give any indication that she noticed. After I made the tea I placed hers on the coffee table and leaned back into one of the corners of the couch. She was walking around my living room, checking out the bookshelves and collection of handicraft items from different parts of the world. Very casually she slipped off her shoes and curled up in the opposite corner of the couch.

After a little small talk about my collection, while sipping her tea, she very casually asked "do you like my breasts?" She wasn't even smiling, teasing me; the question was asked in the same tone and with the same expression as when she asked where I got a piece of pottery.

Needless to say, I was quite taken aback by the question and with widened eyes replied "I beg your pardon?"

Now she finally laughed a little, and apologized, saying she didn't mean to shock me, but had noticed me staring at her breasts most of the evening.

Well, at that point I had three options, play innocent, apologize for my wandering eyes, or put it back on her. I opted for the later.

"I hope I caused no offense, but your breasts are quite beautiful. Yes, I do like them. Do you mind?"

"No," she replied, "as you can imagine, guys stare a lot."

I laughed knowingly. "Can you blame us? Do you like it when guys check you out?"

"Usually, as long as they are cute!" she said laughing.

"Well, they certainly are a beautiful sight. What does your husband think?"

"Think about what? My breasts? Or other guys checking me out?"

"Both."

"As for other guys, I think he is clueless. As for my breasts, he's a guy!" she said with a big smile. "He enjoys them very much."

"He is a lucky man," I offered.

With that she smiled, and shocked me yet again, "As am I!"

"Because he loves your breasts or because...?"

"Because he has a big cock," surprising me yet again with her casual tone of conversation.

"It seems you both are very lucky."

"Yeah, we do pretty well, if he wasn't away so often."

"I guess it makes his homecomings all that more sweet?"

At that she just laughed. "How big are you?"

Once again, a shocked expression crossed my face. I decided to try and keep my wits and play it cool, as she was. "Uhm, I must admit, I think you are the first woman that has ever asked that question. Does size really matter? I've never gotten a straight answer from the women I've dated."