tagErotic CouplingsSabrina On Her Own

Sabrina On Her Own

bySojournalist©

Like many couples who attempt to cultivate an open relationship, my husband and I have all our adventures together. We feel there is something ugly about secret infidelities, and we have always had difficulty understanding when they happen among our "vanilla" friends. It is especially discomforting when it happens within couples who would excellent candidates for alternative lifestyles, but they refuse to admit to themselves that they would like to open their relationships a little bit. For fear they would have to be honest with themselves and their partners about their desires, they end up doing something stupid that destroys their relationship.

We have also acknowledged that there may be temptation out there for both of us. My husband is a very successful man. His great looks, warm personality and sense of humor, not to mention his yacht, and his Mercedes convertible, and the way he wears his success like a favorite comfortable jacket, mean there is no shortage of attention from attractive women of every age, even if it's for the wrong reason.

Even though I have recently crossed over the border into my early forties, I have been blessed by excellent genetics and a lifestyle that keeps me fit. Most people believe that I'm in my late thirties and assume that my husband robbed the cradle. I'm five-foot seven, weigh 130 pounds, have very long slender legs and wear a 34G bra to support the gift my dear Italian mother ever gave me. I work to keep myself fit, and feel blessed (and somewhat embarrassed at times) at the amount of attention I receive from men of every age. Men are, by and large, helpless victims of curiosity when it comes to an attractive well-dressed businesswoman with large breasts.

To makes matters more interesting, I operate as a sales executive in one of the most male-dominated markets that exists anywhere in the U.S. Of the hundreds of executives in my industry, one can count the female executives with the position of vice-president or above on one hand nationwide.

The problem with most of that attention is that it comes from men in whom I would never have any interest. Executive engineers, self-appointed entrepreneurial playboys, a few married men who are very unhappy at home and foolish enough to risk everything for just one night of sexual release is the norm. None of those qualify as my type and I simply act like I don't understand their silly-ass double entendre innuendos.

There are a few very attractive men in the business, and most of them are either happily married to women who understand what they have, or too young and ridiculous to be considered of any real interest. In fact there are about three who border on male model material, but their youth makes them far too unpredictable, perhaps even scary. They are not the kind of people who I would trust with my reputation. So, for me, business trips and national convention attendance is devoted to business, and some pleasant after-hours socializing.

I was enjoying some of that after-hours socializing, sitting with a small group of associates, when I heard my text message signal. I grabbed my cell phone from my purse. It was about that time of the evening when my honey likes to text message me to see if I'm busy, or whether it's a good time to call and tell me he loves me and "Goodnight." I opened the phone expecting one of his cute, imaginative messages. Contrary to my expectations I read the text message from a number shown as "private" which read, "Are u busy? Do u think we could go somewhere talk private?"

I stared at the message, really confused, and more than a little bit pissed. How dare someone ask for a "private talk" and not even let me know who was sending me the message. I quickly responded, "I don't do privates, only colonels and above." Take that, you jerk. "Who is this?"

I waited for a reply, it didn't come. I mumbled "asshole" under my breath and slipped my cell back into my purse. I resumed my conversation with the men at my table, and in about five minutes heard my text message signal. Reaching into my purse I flipped open my cell phone and hit the inbox key.

The text message read, "Please turn your attention to the bar for a moment." The sender was still marked as private. I was starting to get angry, and that is not pretty. I spun around a little in my chair and looked toward the bar. There were about 14 people at the bar all with their backs to me, except one.

It was one of the male model candidates I mentioned earlier. I had known him for about three years, and we had worked together on a number of projects. Carson had just turned thirty, I remembered his birthday party. He was about six-foot-three. He had one of those bodies that was just muscular enough to indicate he worked out regularly, but trim enough to still look very stylish in a double-breasted suit. I had frequently noticed his very strong arms and hands, his perfect chiseled face, his dark slightly curly hair, and his Newman-blue eyes. I had felt drawn to him physically many times before, and he had always been very sweet and very attentive, but I had always dismissed it as ass kissing on his part. As my eyes met his he smiled broadly, and gave me one of those inane chest-high waves. At the very moment he waved I felt a slight tingle between my legs. "That's ridiculous," I thought to myself. "Maybe I need to shave or something."

Another text message followed immediately. "Can you break away?" I simply threw the phone back in my purse. After about five my minutes of conversation, I heard the signal again. One of the men I was sitting with said, "My, aren't we popular tonight?" I smiled, opened the phone to read, "When could you break away?"

I quickly typed, "I'm busy, not now," hit the send button and put it back in my purse. The conversation continued for about 45 minutes, and I caught myself looking over toward the bar several times. The last time I looked that way, Carson was gone. "Good!" I thought to myself, that's over."

As I continued to converse with my associates, I caught myself thinking about that gorgeous young man, picturing his blue suit, his sharply pressed white shirt, and the absolutely charismatic way he smiled. While overtly nodding my head in agreement to a salient point brought up by one of the small group seated around the table, for a split second I had a picture pop through my head of bobbing my head up and down on a hard young cock. I mentally slapped myself back to reality and the situation I was currently trying to participate in. I got caught back up to the conversation surrounding me, everything stayed normal for a moment until my mind drifted off mid-sentence and I could actually smell clean young skin and almost feel my tongue flicking across a nipple on a tan muscled chest. "Stop it!" I thought. I reminded myself that the opportunity had passed and I had missed it. But, it began to distract me to the point that I was losing track of the conversation around me. Rather than be impolite, I said good-night and excused myself.

As I heard the echo of my own high heels clicking across the spacious lobby toward the elevators I thought to myself, "At least I didn't have to make the phone call." See, Mark and I have a remarkable and unbreakable agreement, and it has worked very well during the years we have been married. While we are in the lifestyle and do enjoy being with a few select others sexual partners, as I said before, we never play alone. We agreed many years ago that if either one of us was tempted while we were apart, we would pick up a phone and call the other, while in the company of the tempter or temptress, so that everyone involved understood exactly what was going on, before we actually allowed ourselves to proceed with another person. It has worked very well. I know it has kept me from allowing casual flirtation and a little alcohol allow something to go too far. When confronted with a possible liaison, I have frequently asked myself whether what I was contemplating was worth having to make that phone call. On every previous occasion I decided it was not, and stopped wasting my time with someone I clearly didn't want badly enough. Mark has agreed that it has kept him from doing a few simple casual things as well. However, we have both agreed that if one of us makes the phone call, if confronted with that serious of an attraction, the other will give our blessings.

I can't even express my gratitude for that level of trust, and the brilliance of that idea. And I honestly admitted to myself, that given a little time to explore, another drink or two, a little flirtation, an elegant suite with a champagne bottle in the corner, tonight may have been the night I had to be the first to make the call.

While riding the elevator of to my room on the twenty-third floor, my text signal rang again. I didn't know what to expect this time, reached in my purse, pulled out the phone and flipped it open angrily. The text message surprised me, "I hope you are having a wonderful time in Dallas, miss your sweet kiss goodnight, try not to drive them crazy, all my love, Mark."

A flush of calm and well-being overtook my entire body. The man I love does that to me. He makes me feel warm and cared for. As I smiled at nothing, the text bell rang again.

Expecting a follow-up message from my honey, I pushed the inbox button. The text read, "I have suspected for a long time that you and Mark have an open relationship. Is that true? Is there a chance you and I could talk? Room 2135."

My calm was replaced by a sense of rage. In my mind I shouted, "You impudent little bastard. I am going to take your fucking head off! How dare you?!" The elevator stopped on the 23rd floor. I pushed the button for floor 21 about 22 times. I pushed the "close door" button about ten times, then pushed the "21" button about four more times and kicked the base of the control panel for good measure. Finally the door closed, the elevator dropped two floors, the door opened and I stormed out into the hallway toward 2135. I wasn't certain what I was going to do, but I knew it was not going to be pleasant.

I walked up to the hotel room door, double checked the room sign, "2135", and pounded on the door. I heard a muffled voice reply, "Just a minute. I'll be right there!" As I waited for the door to open I mentally ran through all the ultimatums I was about to deliver to Carson. I don't remember being that angry, ever. The longer I stood at the door, the angrier I got.

I could hear some fumbling with the lock. As the door opened, about 90% of my built-up rage flushed from my body. Standing at the door were six-plus feet of the most seductive looking young man I have ever had the privilege of seeing. The white towel wrapped around his hips contrasted with the dark tan six-pack of his abdomen and the highly defined musculature of his legs. His pectoral muscles, his arms and his shoulders were larger and much more defined than I had remembered. I finally managed to look up at his broad, white, perfect smile. God, this man was beautiful! "Hi, come on in!" he said as he moved out of the way and invited me inside.

I stormed into the room, taking a deep breath to power my imminent outburst. As I turned to deliver my first word, he was gone. He had slipped back into the bathroom. "I'll be right out! Just give me a minute or two to put something on," came through the closed door. I was conflicted to say the least. I still wanted to tear his head off, but was touched that he was showing some respect by not continuing to prance around in a towel. I concluded it was worth the wait since I was already aware that the towel was a serious distraction.

With nothing better to do, my eyes scanned his hotel room. Everything in his large suite was neatly in its place; items on the desk were arranged in perfect geometry. Unusual for a man his age, I thought. My eyes continued around the elegantly appointed room until they reached the corner between the bed and the desk, where a dewy ice bucket sat holding a bottle of champagne surrounded by a tray of white-chocolate-covered strawberries. My choler started to rise again. I thought, "You presumptuous little worm. Are you that self-assured that you ordered a bottle of champagne after sending me four text messages? Well, let's see where the neck of that bottle ends up when I'm finished with you!"

At the very moment I was picturing where I would put that bottle; Carson stepped out of the bathroom back into the suite's living area. Before he even had a chance to speak, I blasted him, "You ordered champagne? You assumed I would just wander up to your room because you sent me a text message? Where do you get off? I thought you were better than that, Carson! You arrogant little cut-out doll! I ought to kick your ass!"

Carson got that surprised look on his face; a little startled actually, held both his hands up like a referee. "Sabrina, I'm sorry. I know it looks really bad, but if you'll allow me, I'll be glad to explain." He paused for my permission.

"Go ahead, give it a try."

He pulled a chair very close and directly in front of me, sat down in it and leaned very close, and looked directly into my eyes. "First, I didn't assume anything. I was hoping, however. I have been hoping for a very long time. I've been giving all of this a lot of thought. I have been attracted to you for a very long time. However, the differences between our positions in the company, our ages, that fact that you could have me fired from a job I love in an instant, the fact that you're married to a man who could probably have a professional hit out on me in an hour, these things caused me to really think this through for a long time. But Sabrina, I have not been able to get the thought of the possibility of being with you off my mind for a very long time."

Without saying a word, I thought, "Good start, young man; really good start."

He continued, "So I decided, here in Dallas, encouraged by a completely unsubstantiated rumor that you and Mark had an open, or at least "liberal" relationship, I would let you know how I felt."

My body began betraying me. I could feel my left nipple agree, "Yup, good start."

"Now Sabrina, I know that I could really be in trouble here, but I had to try. I didn't buy the champagne because I assumed anything. I felt the price of a bottle of champagne was inconsequential compared to the possibility that you might want to be with me. And the strawberries; I remember you saying about three years ago at a company party that you wished someone had brought white-chocolate-covered strawberries because they were your favorite. I've never forgotten that. I looked all over Dallas to find them. If you hadn't come up to my room, I would have sent them down to your room tomorrow morning."

The insides of my thighs were trembling and beyond my control.

"If that rumor about you and Mark is not true, I'm really sorry. If I offended you, I'm sorry for that too. I just felt like this trip was my last shot to let you know. I'm leaving our company to go work for an internet start-up in less than thirty days. So, as you can see, it was now or never for me."

As I tried to think about my reply he leaned forward and placed the softest gentlest kiss on my lips, his lips opened slightly and his tongue just barely touched mine. Though it only lasted a few seconds that kiss ran all the way from my mouth to my core and kindled a fire I had not felt in a very long time. Surprising both of us, I reached around, slipped my fingers through a handful of his hair and pulled him forward for another kiss. This was not the kiss he had given me. It was a ravenous kiss; a product of all my emotions of this evening and perhaps even a warning of what he was about to encounter. Because, I was seriously considering his offer, and I wanted him to understand I was not another little twenty-something kiss-me-fuck-me-hug-me-to-sleep little honey he had picked up at a dance club.

Carson sat back in his chair, looking completely confused. "What was that?" he said.

"A kiss."

"Oh, okay. It felt like lip sex! Do you always kiss like that?"

"My trademark"

"Damn, lady! I feel like I need a nap after that one! Do you have any more like that?"

"Not until we get a few things straight between you and me and some other folks."

"Some other folks?"

I took a deep a breath, and contemplated whether I wanted to commit to this long, drawn-out explanation, realizing at once that I was required to either explain or get up and leave. I decided to explain, "This may take this wonderful, romantic edge off all of this Carson, but here we go. Mark and I do have a somewhat open relationship, but that doesn't mean we just run around screwing anyone who grabs our attention. We started exploring an alternative lifestyle so that I could explore some bisexual curiosities I had denied all my life." I paused, and Carson earned two extra points for not saying, "You do chicks too? That's hot!!" I continued, "Everything Mark and do, we do together, as a couple, and although we experiment with a few select couples, our activities are probably not quite as wild as some people would like to think. We are very careful."

He sunk down in his chair a little, "So there's no chance for us, right? I can live with that, but I must admit I'm really disappointed."

This was my opportunity. I could say, "That's right." I could get up and walk out of this room, say no more, and be done with it. But staring at this man, and listening to what my body was telling me, I knew that wasn't going to happen. "No I'm not saying that there's no chance. I'm saying there are some conditions."

After a rather long pause while I gathered my thoughts, Carson said, "Conditions, I'm listening."

"Before we go any further, I have to call Mark. I have to let him know that I've found someone I'm interested in, who I am considering having sex with, where I am, who I'm with, and that I am safe from harm and sober enough to know what I'm about to do."

Carson's eyes opened wide, he mouthed a couple of words silently, unable to speak. Then he finally got a word or two out, "You....um ....you, you're not serious. You're jerking my chain, right?"

"No, not at all."

I saw the same look of disbelief on his face. When he finally spoke, he blurted out, "Well, there's a mood killer if I ever heard one!"

I laughed, "It's meant to be."

"Good God, Sabrina. Who would make a call like that?"

"I never have before, neither has Mark. But, I believe I'm about to make the first one."

"Really?"

"Yes, I am."

"I guess I should take that as a compliment!"

"Yes, I believe you should."

Carson's mind was running at about two-hundred miles-per-hour. "Are you going to tell Mark it's me?"

"What, you want me to tell him I'm getting ready to jump Bruce Springsteen?"

He rubbed his chin, "But he knows me. He's met me. We played golf once. I've been out on his boat. He even let me drive it. I don't know if I can do this!"

"Well, I guess it's up to you. I'm ready to make the call."

"You really mean it?"

I reached in my purse, pulled out my cell phone and flipped it open. "Whether I dial this phone right now or get up and go to my room is entirely up to you. Think fast, I'm losing the moment here."

He got up out of his chair, paced back and forth once, and said, "Okay, just one question, and okay? Before you do this, I need you to answer one question, okay?"

"What's that?"

I was expecting any number of crazy questions at this point, but the question he popped was truly unexpected. "This is going to sound crazy, Sabrina, but I need to know the answer before you make that call."

"Shoot."

"Okay, I don't know how to put this, but I need to know. I'm a little large. It's a problem for some people. Is it going to be a problem for you?"

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