My Affair

I scooted up to lay supine beside her; she rolled over to rest her head on my left shoulder, running her hands through the hair on my chest. After a moment, she whispered, "Wow."

I rubbed her shoulder with my left hand, and said, "Pretty good?"

She nodded mutely. After a few more moments of silence, she said, "That's the best orgasm I've ever had."

"I'll bet you say that to all your lovers," I quipped.

She moved her head back and turned to face me, a blank look on her face. I realized how that must have sounded, and said, "Sophie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I was trying to be humorous..."

She smiled. "It's okay," she said. She got serious again, and continued, "I guess I've sorta given you the wrong impression of me, huh?"

"No, Sophie, no, really," I said. "I just... damn, I was just..."

She stopped me with a finger to my lips. She said, "My Frank never did that for me. He never even gave me a proper orgasm, just little mini-pops. I've only ever had three men total, before you, and only my college lover gave me an orgasm. Bastard dumped me, but then I met Frank..." She trailed off.

She placed her head back on my shoulder, and said, very softly, run your finger around in my pussy?"

Well. I of course complied. She was already a little slick, but after ten seconds or so she really started flowing again.

She must have sensed it, because she climbed on top of me and sank onto my penis in one smooth motion. Her technique was good, but of course I was sex-starved and very aroused. In mere moments I was climaxing, spilling volumes of seed into her warmth. Beyond the roar in my head, I thought I heard her squealing an orgasm as well.

After a moment, after continuing to rock a little on my shrinking self, she fell forward and kissed me, as effortlessly as an act performed a thousand times. I returned the kiss, elated and deflated, drained and energized and happier than I had been in many days.

She rolled off, eventually, trailing our mixed fluids, to resume her position on my shoulder. We breathed in rhythm for a few moments.

A short time later, I said, "Sophie? May I ask you a question?"

She raised her head fractionally. She looked me in the eye, grinning wryly, and said, "Honey, you've had your tongue halfway to my cervix, and your semen is making a mess on my bed. I don't think there's much room for secrets between us."

I chuckled, and continued: "Why me? Why did you choose me as a lover? Am I you lover? Or am I reading way too much into all this?"

She smiled and said, "Jeff, I wanted you because you're a sweet, healthy, giving man who's been deprived, and I'm a healthy woman likewise going without. You have a marriage that isn't feeding you, I had a marriage that didn't fulfill me, and I have the ability to bridge both our gaps."

I looked at her for a time. "I could very easily fall in love with you," I declared simply.

She shook her head. "Don't do that, because I'll disappoint you. I won't fall in love with you. I won't break up a marriage." I stated to protest, but she put a finger to my lips. "No," she said firmly, "I will *not* break up a marriage. I'll be here for you, tend to your sexual needs, let you attend to mine... no, I'll insist you attend to mine," here she grinned, "but I will not interfere with your home life. Think of me as a vitamin supplement."

I pondered her words. I had just been given a wonderful gift; to argue with her might put that gift in jeopardy, something I really did not want to do. At length I just nodded, and said, "I can live with that."

She smiled. "Now, it's getting late. You need to get home before wifey does."

Without comment, I dismounted the bed, threw on my dirty clothes, gave Sophie one last passionate kiss, and left via the patio door. I made it into the house unobserved by any nosy neighbors, freshened up a bit, and dressed in casual clothing.

I started dinner, which was nearing completion when Glennie walked in. She made no move to greet me, and I reciprocated. She disappeared into the bedroom for a bit, then emerged freshened up, and sat in her chair.

After a while, she said, "You didn't go to work today." It was less than an accusation, more than a mere statement.

"Nope," I replied. "I worked my frustrations from last night," I emphasized the words; she bristled, then I continued, "on the yard." I gestured with the spatula I was holding. She arose and looked out the back window.

After a few moments of staring, she said, "Looks good."

I said nothing for ten minutes, then announced, "Dinner's ready."

"I'm not hungry," she replied, still sounding cold.

"Suit yourself," I replied. I laid a pair of place settings, served myself, and ate in solitude; then I tidied my place, put my dishes away, and went to my study.

I slept alone again that night; the next day I was alone again come morning, but I went through my routine, went to work feeling very, very good about myself, and returned home to an evening very much like the previous one.

And so it was for several evenings to follow. Glennie began to leave messages on the home phone (not my cell, I noticed) to the effect she was working a little late, and not to bother with dinner. When "a little late" began to look like "a couple of hours," I called Sophie to see if the offer was genuine.

Oh, it was.

I began to look forward to Glennie's voice messages. It allowed me to slip next door to enjoy an hour of Sophie's charms,and still get back before I absolutely had to.

It took about three weeks before Glennie had the audacity to ask whether it bothered me for her to be gone so much.

"Nope," was my one-word reply.

"You used to complain about not having time together," she observed.

"Didn't accomplish anything."

There was a silence; then, "Is everything okay?"

I looked at her and smiled broadly. "Do what you want, Glennie. I'm cool with it."

She held my gaze, but said nothing more.

And so it went for the next months: Glennie worked late, or was gone on the weekends ("to see my folks," she'd say). I spent the time I could with Sophie. She was a willing recipient of my cunnilingual talents, and while she professed to prefer coitus to fellatio, she developed a taste (!) for the latter.

In short, we were not-in-love lovers of the highest order.

And what a lover she was; not only did she charm me sexually, she satisfied me intellectually, emotionally, and in other, less readily definable ways. I felt so complete when I was with her.

I fought to avoid falling in love, and it was a battle I wasn't sure I was going to win.

The summer months gave way to autumn, and the autumn to early winter. All that led to a decrease in the frequency of my times with Sophie, what with Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's making unobserved trysts more difficult.

Christmas was especially difficult; I wanted to be with the woman with whom I could not be in love, and had to spend it with the woman with whom I could never again be in love.

Finally the New Year settled over us; end-of-year reviews led to promotions and raises and recognition as valued employees. I attended Glennie's promotion party, and she mine, and we sat through each wishing we could be anywhere else.

Several weeks later came the first of two tectonic shifts in our lives.

On St Valentine's day, Glennie called and told me she had to work late, because her company, working as far out in the year as they did, had to meet regarding Memorial Day. Or some such shit: I really didn't care. I used the opportunity to buy a red rose and present it to my fair Sophie.

I knocked lightly on Sophie's patio door, as was my habit. I waited a bit, and knocked again, then a third time. Finally, I saw her moving toward the door, looking tentative, not her chipper self. Well, I thought, it had been two weeks since I'd been over; maybe she'd gotten miffed.

She opened the door and allowed me in, walking before me into the sitting room where she'd first presented herself, topless, to me, those months ago.

She turned, and I saw she'd been crying. At least, it appeared so: her eyes were red.

"Sophie?" I asked softly.

"Let me speak, Jeff," she entreated, "and please don't interrupt."

"Okay," I said.

She nodded, gestured toward a chair; we sat, and she started. "I told you when our... uh, relationship began, not to fall in love with me. Remember?"

I nodded.

"Good advice, baby," she said, "good advice." She snubbed a couple of times, then continued, "I didn't take my own advice."

I waited. No sense rushing what I knew was coming.

"I fell in love with you," she admitted. "You became my best friend, my lover, my focus in life. You're married, and I can't accept breaking up a marriage. I realized, a couple of days ago, I need to ask you to disappear. From my bed, from my life." Fresh tears coursed down her cheeks.

I regarded her for a moment; then I stood, walked where she was sitting. I placed the rose in her lap, bent down to kiss her cheek, and whispered, "I'll always love you."

She bent her head and wept, and I silently exited her patio door, tears on my own face icy in the February night air.

++++++

That could have been the end of it.

Remember I said there were two tectonic shifts? That was only the first.

The second happened, I swear, on the Ides of March.

It was a Sunday, a month after my separation from Sophie. I had gone to visit a friend in an adjacent state, over a long weekend. Glennie was almost always working, with no thought to me. We hadn't spoken more than a couple hundred words to one another since the blow-up the previous April, and those mostly concerning work and weather.

I arrived back home late in the afternoon, about four-thirty or so. I expected to find no one home.

Imagine my surprise when I saw Glennie's car there.

Imagine my surprise when I saw Glennie, sitting on the sofa, obviously weeping, holding papers.

My first thought was, Oh, shit.

My second thought was interrupted by her turning to see me, flushing out fresh tears, saying, "We need to talk."

I sat; she handed me papers. "I'm asking for a divorce," she said quietly.

I looked at the papers. Divorce, irreconcilable differences. I looked at her.

She handed me another paper. As I perused it, she dropped a bomb: "It says I'm four months pregnant. A little more."

That clarified everything.

She wasn't divorcing me because of Sophie. She had cheated on me, for a long time, and was pregnant.

More pregnant than I had ever made her.

I just looked at her.

She shuddered a deep sigh, and said, "It was right after that big fight, last April. Remember?"

I nodded.

She continued, "I hated you. I hated you for loving me, for being right about our... well, lack of sex. For impregnating me with your bad seed." Her face took on an evil cast with that last term; then she continued, "You would have been a HORRIBLE father!" She burst into tears.

I recoiled involuntarily, unprepared for the vituperation she unloaded.

She collected herself; then, "I'm sorry, I just blame you for my lost babies."

I said nothing, again.

"For some reason I can't understand, I began to hate you," she continued. "I began to enjoy depriving you of sex. With each miscarriage, the impulse was harder than ever. It was the only power I had over you, to make you squirm. It's childish and even wicked, I know. I'm just admitting it."

I couldn't even look at her at that point.

"When you blew up at me," she said, "I knew you were right. I just didn't want you touching me anymore." She was silent for a moment, then went on. "Right about then, you stopped trying to... make love with me. I was so upset, because my only power over you was gone. Then I started a friendship with a man named Brad at work. He was divorced. He had two kids whose mother had stolen them from him," she said. "He confided his problems to me, and I told him... well, I lied to him, sort of. I told him you hadn't touched me in months."

After a moment's silence, I said, rather dryly, "Well, that part was certainly true."

"But the damnedest thing, Jeff, was that I wanted him. I wanted him to seduce me. I had the hots for him like I couldn't believe. You were a complete turnoff, and he was all I could think about." She looked ashamed.

"So here we are," I finished.

She nodded, looking wistful.

"So," I continued, "what are you proposing with this..." I gestured with the divorce papers in front me.

"A clean break," she answered. "I'm moving in with Brad, tonight. I'll get the rest of my stuff over the next week or two. I can't really afford to let my half of the house just go..."

"I'll buy you out," I offered, and from the look on her face I knew that was what she had wanted to hear.

She stood and walked into the bedroom. I sat and reflected on my good fortune, the sounds of her packing only accentuating my growing anticipation.

I had to talk to Sophie, the sooner, the better.

After an excruciating half hour, Glennie re-appeared in the den, two suitcases rolling behind her. I stood. She looked at me; she made no move to hug me, but said, "I guess I'll always wish things had been better between us."

She turned to the door, then back to face me. "You want to know the real irony is, here? I didn't want to marry you. Nothing personal, I just wasn't ready to get married. My father pushed and pushed, and finally I gave in. That time you stood up to him, the time you met, remember? That was so impressive to me. It made me want to stand up to him and say, 'No, I don't want to do this,' but I thought you were so wonderful for doing it..." She trailed off.

I choked out a laugh. "You live, you learn," was all I could say.

She opened the door and left. I closed it behind her, and felt a liberation I didn't know I could feel.

I paced nervously for long, long after I heard her car depart. I wanted to run over to Sophie's house, take her in my arms, and proclaim undying love.

I knew the process had to be more carefully planned, though. I forced myself to sit, to take stock of my situation, to consider all options. I could try to reignite with Sophie. I could also forget her (as if), and decamp to another city, pursuing a promotion I knew was available within my firm.

Finally, I decided to sleep on it.

I arose the next morning, having dreamt of scenarios all night, and attacked the day with all my energy, every corner of the day, every aspect of life. I pondered and thought and ruminated, and even spent a half-hour talking to Ben about what was happening. Ben and I were good friends; but there was that boss-underling boundary I had never fully breeched, not until that day.

I arrived home convinced of my course of action. I made dinner, ate slowly, cleaned up, and made my way to Sophie's patio door. I knocked a few times, lightly, as she had come to expect of me.

In a moment, she appeared around the corner. We locked eyes, through the glass and the distance between us, and we both smiled; hers a hurt, reticent smile, mine a grin.

She opened the sliding door, and said, "Hi, Jeff. It's good to see you."

"Could I come in, Sophie?" I asked. "I need to talk to you. It's really important."

She considered for a split-second, and then stood aside. "Sure, come on in." As I entered, I took her in my arms; she reciprocated, not fully, but enough to tell me what I needed to know.

She took my hand and led me into the den, where I had first seen her beautiful breasts. This evening, though, she was wearing more modest attire. We sat; she placed her hands in her lap, expectantly, saying nothing.

"Glennie's pregnant," I stated flatly.

Sophie's eyes misted, and came unfocused. "I see," she said softly, looking away; then her head snapped around, and we locked eyes.

Two tears followed the contours of her face; but she said, in a strong voice, "But you haven't... the two of you..." she trailed off.

I smiled. "That's right. Not for a long time. And here," I pulled out the divorce papers, "is her request for a dissolution of our... well, not marriage, but social contract."

Sophie's eyes lit up; more tears streamed down her cheeks.

I crossed the short distance separating us. I knelt before her,took her hand, looked into her eyes, and said, "You told me you fell in love with me. Remember? Well, I fell in love with you. With us. I want to be your lover. I want to explore our new horizons."

Her eyes overflowed; I was afraid she'd send me away, but after a long moment, she nodded and whispered, "Yes, baby."

She leaned over and hugged me; I stood, bringing her erect with me, and said, "Let's go to my bed. Let's make love in my house."

She smiled, tears still leaking but looking decidedly less healthy. "No," she said. "Tonight, you sleep with me, in my bed, all night. You make love with me all night."

What could I do? I chuckled and nodded.

++++++

The next morning we both awoke, satisfied from a wonderful night's sleep borne of loving sexual intimacy, before dawn ever considered announcing itself. We played a little, a touch here, a suck there, and a couple more orgasms for her -- she was SO orgasmic, my word -- and then retreated to the shower stall.

When I kissed her goodbye for the day, I left, walking on clouds.

And so was born my second marriage.

There is no need to belabor the events of the next few months. I paid Glennie enough to obtain her signature on a quit-claim deed to the house. She moved her personal effects out within two weeks, as promised; Sophie moved into my house, ultimately, because it was larger, better able to accommodate our combined households.

Three days after the divorce decree was final, we married. I opted not to mention to Sophie that I had heard, through a grapevine to which I was still attached, Glennie had lost the baby.

Seems it was not my seed; it was her womb.

I mention it only because, as if to accentuate the fact Sophie, on our wedding night, informed me I was to be a father.

She told me only after some hemming and hawing; she admitted she had stopped taking the Pill on the day after Glennie's divorce request. She had hoped we'd get lucky.

Well, we did.

++++++

It's been fifteen years, now, since that April argument. Sophie and I are parents five times over; our children are loved and beloved, nurtured and educated and consecrated to becoming the best people they can be.

Sophie and I are still lovers; of course, the demands of aging and children have taken a toll, but we still carve out some time to scrape one another off the ceiling.

She still responds to my touch with heartfelt orgasms, I can report with great satisfaction.

And life just keeps getting better.

Epilogue:

Glennie? She lost that first baby, and another as well, before Brad abandoned her.

I take no pleasure in that fact.

She lives with her parents, aging as they are. She lost her job, and the benefits thereof, owing to her mental deterioration. I believe she lost her mind as she came to terms with what she'd discarded; she lives at subsistence level, dealing with increasingly infirm elders.

I almost feel sorry for her.

Almost.