Forbidden Fruit

Standing at the door with his bookbag he just smiled at her, and made the gesture of zipping his mouth shut. Then he unlocked the door and left the room.

***************

That wasn't the end of it, of course. Kathy alternated between horrified guilt and uncontrollable arousal for the next several days, making ample use of her own hands and Roger's cock to soothe her feelings somewhat. She couldn't believe what she had done, and she was absolutely mortified. But she was also turned-on constantly, and she sometimes had to change her panties two or three times a day.

The following week Kathy's firm resolve to make her tryst with Tom a one-time thing lasted no longer than it took for Tom to embrace her and start to caress her breasts through her bra. They did it again, twice, and to Kathy's amazement her excitement was even greater this time.

By the next week Kathy had acquired a portable "white noise" generator for her office, the kind of thing therapists use to keep confidential conversations from being overheard. She began to use it with all her advisees, explaining that the school walls were not so thick and she wanted to protect everyone's privacy.

That week Kathy also managed to slow Tom down enough—between the first and second fucks—to have a little talk. She made sure he understood that their exposure would not only mean the end of her career, but a scandal that would ruin his hopes of getting into a leading college. To her relief, Tom understood perfectly; what followed was a serious conversation about secrecy and discretion in which they saw completely eye-to-eye. The fact that Tom was also cheating on his girlfriend Diane made him all the more eager to keep their secret.

Kathy persuaded Tom without difficulty that they had to continue the academic work they were supposed to be doing, so that his test scores did not suffer. In the following weeks they worked out a predictable, if thoroughly enjoyable, schedule.

Each hour began with a quick fuck—both were so worked-up that virtually no foreplay was needed. They then took about 30 minutes to study together, relaxed and at least half-undressed; and the hour concluded with a more leisurely second round of sex, followed by a few minutes of making themselves presentable again and opening the window to air out the office.

Handling her guilt, and her absolute terror of discovery, turned out to be far easier than Kathy had feared. She still loved her husband and still enjoyed making love with him, so it was not hard to behave as though those things were still true. She even found that her fling with Tom sometimes led to hotter sex with Roger, though she was careful never to do anything with him that they hadn't previously done.

Since Kathy's work day ended by 3:30 she had ample time to shower, wash her hair, and rinse out her aromatic panties before Roger got home from the University each day. And even her fear that he would notice her looseness if he made love to her the same day she'd had Tom turned out not to be a problem—just a few hours did the trick.

And the guilt? At first it was enormous—crushing. Roger was in nearly every respect the best husband she could imagine. He was a little abstracted, a little distant at times, simply because like many academics he was often working out intellectual problems in his head.

But he was loving, kind, very affectionate, supportive...he was a great partner, and all she'd ever wanted.

So what the hell was she doing with Tom? And why couldn't she stop? As time went by she tried out all the usual rationalizations. Roger will never know, so it can't hurt him. I'm still every bit as loving to him as I've ever been. It's not like I'm really betraying him—I'm not in love with Tom or anything. It's just sex, it doesn't really mean anything.

Kathy was self-aware enough to know how shallow and false each of these statements was. But the fact was that she adored what she was doing. The pure thrill of sex with Tom, his enormous cock, the fact that he was still a student and therefore forbidden fruit, it was more than she could resist. And she assuaged her own guilt by repeating to herself that it would all end in June when Tom graduated. It would all have been a crazy, wild, wrong thing. And it would be over; and no one would ever know; and she could go back to being a faithful, loving, ordinary wife, doing all she could to show Roger how much she loved him.

***************

June arrived, and Kathy began to experience the bittersweet anticipation of the end of her fling with Tom (she couldn't bear to think of it as an affair). She would miss the sex, the wild excitement, the secrecy; and she would miss Tom, who was smart and sweet and a very nice young man (even beyond his marvelous equipment). But she would be so glad to be done with the fear, the nightmarish visions of exposure, divorce, and public humiliation that filled her mind at times. She looked forward to being totally honest with her friend Teresa again, not having to conceal anything from her. And it would be something of a relief to devote herself fully to one man, to the husband she loved.

In retrospect she could hardly believe how easy it had been to keep Roger in the dark about what she was doing. She imagined it must be because her two worlds remained so separate: Tom had her once a week, for an hour, in her locked office at school. They never met any other time, never spoke on the phone. When she was away from work she could be the same loving wife she'd always been, give Roger the same attention and affection as in years past. Her hour with Tom each week was like a good squash game: invigorating, refreshing, pleasurable, relaxing—and nothing more. Or so she tried to tell herself, though she was too honest to completely believe it.

She and Tom were snuggling in her office after sex when he surprised her. "You gonna miss me?"

"You bet!" she replied, smiling, kissing the end of his nose. "But you're going to be fucking those cute Princeton girls next year, you won't have time to think about old me."

"And who are you gonna be fucking next year?"

"My husband," she replied, a little puzzled.

"No one else?" Tom said with a grin. "Not, say, Arturo Sanders? I know you'll be working with him—he's the total genius of the junior class, taking like four AP courses next year. And he's a hunk. Even Diane thinks he's completely hot; and she hasn't seen him in the locker room like I have."

Kathy knew from the look on Tom's face that he was teasing her with that last sentence, waiting for her to ask. She pretended disinterest, but he wasn't fooled.

Finally she said, "okay, Tom, and just what did you see in the locker room?"

Tom was delighted that she'd given in. "Oh, just that he's really hung. Definitely as big as me, and I think a little bigger."

"I'm done with high-school boys, Tom," Kathy said casually. It bothered her that her mind was already racing with thoughts of Arturo Sanders, and wondering whether she might really want a replacement for Tom. She'd have to check Arturo's file to make sure he was 18 years old.

Then a thought struck her. "My God, Tom! You haven't said anything to him, have you?"

"Not a word," he reassured her. "Not a word, not to a single soul." He grinned again. "I just wanted to give you a little heads-up, in case you find you miss me more than you think!" He stroked her breast and gave her another kiss.

***************

That summer was wonderful and relaxing. Kathy felt more free, and closer to her husband, than she had the entire previous year. Tom was a happy memory, now safely in the past. She and Roger took a vacation to Montreal, where they stayed in an elegant old hotel and made love nearly every night. Back at home they worked in the garden, she helped him proofread his latest book, they took walks together—everything was perfect.

While she hadn't forgotten about Arturo Sanders, she had absolutely no intention of doing anything but tutoring him—doing the job she'd been hired to do. When September came she was polite but utterly professional with Arturo. She couldn't help notice what a great body he had, especially the way high school kids dressed in the warm weather, but she pushed her interest as far to the back of her mind as possible.

Imagine her shock, then, when Arturo came in the Tuesday after Homecoming Weekend, closed and locked the door behind him, walked straight up to her and gave her a long, passionate kiss. She pushed him away and glared at him.

"Arturo—what the hell are you doing?" she said in an angry voice.

He smiled, a lazy smile full of pleasure. "Tom Bjornsen told me to pass that along to you. I saw him at the Homecoming football game this weekend."

She was totally at a loss, and started to blush. "But he...but he...you had no right to do that!" she stammered uncertainly. Her nipples were tingling, and the feeling distracted her.

Arturo took her into his arms, pulling her close, sliding his large hands up and down her back, caressing her ass. He was much taller than Kathy—nearly 6'5"—and her face was pressed into his shoulder.

Before she had time to struggle or pull away, he quietly said, "just tell me to stop—tell me you don't like this, tell me you don't want me to do it—and I'll stop. I won't bother you again."

His hands kept moving over her, and as she opened her mouth to say, "stop it—now!", she found her hips starting to push against him.

"Arturo," she said unsteadily, "you really need to...you can't..."

Kathy didn't finish the sentence.

***********************************

***********************************

[AN AFTERNOON IN JUNE:]

Roger rolled away from Melissa, who was cowering on the far side of the bed. He stood, unmindful of his nakedness, and walked towards the door where Kathy was still yelling, her face flushed bright red.

"What is that slut doing in our bed? OUR BED, you son-of-a-bitch!"

When he reached the door Roger said, "Kathy, we need to talk, but this is not a good time. I'll be downstairs in a little while."

Then he calmly shut the door in Kathy's face, locked it, and returned to the bed, where he took Melissa gently in his arms. Over the sounds of Kathy's screaming and pounding on the door with her fist, he quietly soothed his frightened lover.

"It's all right, baby, it's gonna be all right. Let's get dressed and I'll take you home. It's going to be fine, I promise."

Melissa looked at him uncertainly, her face streaked with tears. She trusted Roger, but she had never imagined a scene like this!

***********************************

***********************************

[EIGHT MONTHS EARLIER:]

Who can explain how the human mind works? Who can say why a man goes to sleep one night perfectly happy with his life and his marriage, and wakes up wondering if his wife is cheating on him?

Maybe Roger had a dream he didn't remember; or maybe his unconscious put a few very small pieces of information together, pieces that he couldn't identify, and came up with a disturbing hypothesis.

But however it happened, Roger suddenly had the unsettling feeling that Kathy might have been unfaithful—and it was a feeling he'd never had before.

Roger would have told you, if you'd asked, that he was very happily married. Kathy was loving, intelligent, had a great sense of humor, enjoyed sex, and was a patient companion for a man who from time to time got lost in his own thoughts (usually about his work). She would tease him, saying, "earth to Roger—come in, Roger!", but it was always playful, not harsh.

They each had work that fulfilled and challenged them, and they had a good life together. Their academic schedules gave them a lot of freedom, and they took vacations or worked in the garden or saw friends—or just spent time alone together, talking or reading.

Roger could think of no recent, sudden change in Kathy's behavior or attitude or mood; and in fact there was virtually nothing to explain his new suspicions.

Ah, yes, he thought—"virtually nothing". The one thing was two nights before, when Kathy had turned him down for sex. "I'm just wiped out tonight, baby," she'd said, smiling. "Can I give you a rain-check for tomorrow?"

Roger had of course agreed, and they'd shared a warm kiss before going to sleep. There was nothing unusual about any of it—didn't all married women sometimes refuse sex from time to time? But Roger found himself wondering whether she'd been doing it more recently lately. Was that what had started these unwelcome thoughts?

Roger was a scientist. More specifically, a Professor of Mathematics at Notre Dame and member of the University's Center for Applied Mathematics. He was a leading figure in two areas: Algorithms and Data Structures, and Advanced Techniques of Statistical Analysis.

In short he was a geek—a fact he cheerfully acknowledged. What this also meant, however, is that Roger believed in data. The way some people believe in God, and others perhaps find the key to their lives in Art or Music, Roger viewed data as the central organizing, clarifying force of life.

As a kid he had kept charts of fireflies: how many he saw each night of the summer, correlated with temperature and rainfall on that night. Years later he'd collaborated with a biologist on a paper about fireflies, becoming the only mathematician ever published in the Journal of Applied Entomology.

In college he'd had a roommate who was a work-out freak; Roger had helped him by tracking the weights and reps of all his exercises, and charting his progress. Again, he was a geek. Roger knew that people found this sort of data-gathering compulsive, but that judgment didn't bother him. He enjoyed it; and he was grateful that Kathy only teased him about it a little bit.

So when Roger's worries about his wife bubbled to the surface of his mind, he naturally thought about the problem in terms of data analysis. And, being the kind of person he was, a data set was readily available. Over the years Roger had kept track in his Weekly Planner of all the times he and Kathy had made love. (He'd also kept track of all sorts of other things, from daily high temperature in South Bend to the days the Department Chair pitched a tantrum; but those were not relevant to the matter at hand.)

Over a three-day period, Roger worked intensely at the computer entering data from his Weekly Planners, dating all the way back to the year of his marriage. And the statistical analyses he ran produced a great deal of information—some of it predictable, some of it surprising.

Predictably, the frequency of his and Kathy's lovemaking had declined over the 15 years of their marriage: from 3.6 times a week in their first year to 2.1 times/week in year six, and then ranging between 1.9 and 2.4 times/week in the years since. (Roger produced these averages by excluding the high and low months for each year, since months with vacations in them usually resulted in much more sex, while busy months like December, with Christmas presents to buy and final exams to grade, were typically quite low.)

What Roger had not anticipated, and what worried him, were the seasonal variations. For the past 5½ years, he and Kathy averaged 2.7 times/week in July-September, but only 1.4 times/week in October-June.

At first he attributed this to their academic calendars: they were both busier when school was in session, and had more relaxed schedules in the summer. (Though this didn't explain September, which was the busy first month of school for both of them.)

But the hypothesis didn't hold up—because for the first 9 years of their marriage, the October-June frequency was virtually identical to that for July-September: 2.9 vs. 2.8.

Roger's first conclusion: about 5½ years earlier, something had started happening in their lives to cause them to make love quite a bit less frequently during the academic year (excluding September). And the fact that the month of June, when Roger was done with his school year but Kathy was not, behaved like the other academic-year months suggested that it was something in Kathy's life or schedule, not his own, that accounted for this difference.

What could Roger do with this information? At first, nothing. But Kathy inadvertently provided a clue the very next afternoon.

Usually Roger graded exams and papers in his office on non-teaching days; but that day there was construction work going on nearby, and the jack-hammering was making it hard for him to concentrate. So Roger brought his papers home at noon, and sat in his home office with them all afternoon.

He heard Kathy arrive at around 3:45, and a few minutes later heard the sound of the shower running. She hadn't said hello, since she had no reason to imagine he was in the house. (Roger walked to work most days, so the presence of his car in the garage didn't indicate anything.)

Roger put his pen down. Since when did Kathy shower after work? For fifteen years she'd been showering and washing her hair in the morning...

It did not take a genius to realize that showering was something a person would undoubtedly do to remove any traces of sexual activity, but there could be all sorts of other reasons as well. Still—it was so difficult to imagine Kathy having time for an affair outside of school that Roger had already concluded that her illicit activities (if any) virtually had to be going on there, however crazy that seemed. Afternoon trysts at home were faintly possible, but Roger came home early frequently enough that he couldn't imagine Kathy taking the risk. And on evenings and weekends the two were rarely apart for any length of time.

Now Roger had a new set of data to gather and analyze: Kathy's afternoon showers. He couldn't be home every day to observe them, but he could check the shower for wetness and for a wet towel each day when he came home. Nothing to it!

For the next ten weeks Roger carefully and discreetly kept track, and what he found disturbed him greatly. During the weeks of Christmas break Kathy never showered except in the mornings. But during weeks when school was in session she showered in the afternoon exactly once a week—not always on the same day, but never more nor less than once a week.

With a heavy heart, but outwardly maintaining his affectionate relations with his wife, Roger moved on to the next phase. One night after she'd fallen asleep he took Kathy's datebook from her purse and photocopied all its pages, before carefully returning it.

He didn't want to believe she'd been screwing some teacher or administrator at the school, but the evidence was starting to point that way.

Kathy's work-day was almost always divided into one-hour blocks, and she kept careful track of her appointments. It was the work of only twenty minutes for Roger to examine her appointments for the days she showered after work, and to see a pattern. But it wasn't a pattern he could believe.

Of the eight "shower days", Kathy had met with the Assistant Principal on three of them and with particular students on three, five, and six of them respectively. There was only one name that appeared on all eight days: Alan Sauerman. Roger checked the school's website and learned that Sauerman was a senior, the third-ranked high school tennis player in the state, and a member of the school's Honor Society. He was typical of the kind of student Kathy regularly did academic counseling with.

For the next two days, Roger lived in a kind of fog. He was distant and vague with his students and colleagues, and even a little more preoccupied than Kathy was used to. When she invited him to make love one night, he turned and looked at her in some surprise—as though she'd just suddenly appeared in his bed out of nowhere—and said, "what? oh...no, honey, sorry, I'm feeling a little sick to my stomach."

His refusal was rare enough, and oddly enough expressed, to make Kathy worry a little, but Roger didn't even notice her reaction.