Acts of Infidelity - Mel and Chris

I had expected the stresses to come to an end once my daughter's final exam had taken place and indeed, when Katie came home late one afternoon with a broad smile on her pretty young face, one aspect of the stress did indeed come to an end.

There were no more late-night tears over work.

Unfortunately for my other, more physical problem, with no exams to take or study for, Katie was around the house a great deal more than before. The opportunities available for me to compensate for my husband's absence from my bed with my toys became much less frequent. Consequently, as one source of stress reduced, another grew stronger and Chris would not be back for a few weeks at least to provide what I so badly needed.

Fortunately there was less and less time to think about this because as the Leavers' Ball approached, the stress of exams was rapidly replaced by the new but no less difficult stress all girls suffer in these circumstances; what to wear, how to look and who to go with.

Money could be used to help with the first two issues, but no amount of cash could compensate for either having a date for the Ball or not having one; for deciding which groups of friends you wanted to be part of and whether they would want you to a part of their group.

For several days Katie and I concentrated on the first of these, shopping endlessly for cocktail dresses that would show off her rather immature figure to best effect. Hours on social media helped her ascertain what some of her friends would be wearing -- some ideas sounded very ill-advised -- and in the end we settled on an extremely short sleeveless scarlet number that showed off her long slim legs so well that we hoped no-one would notice she had no boobs at all.

Add to this a pair of dangerously high heels and some good quality costume jewellery and you had a superb ensemble but at a price that, that despite all that has happened, I still haven't had the nerve to tell Chris.

Given all the time we had taken to find something suitable for Katie to wear, there had been no time to seek out anything new for me so my outfit for the evening was to be my trusty Little Black Dress once again. This was very short and close-fitting too to show off my own long legs, but I had to admit that in that department, I was likely to be out-classed by my own daughter.

On the day of the Ball itself, the plan was for three of Katie's friends to come to our large house to put the final touches to their outfits and have a pre-departure cocktail. We would then go to the event in a hired minibus where the other parents and partners would be ready to greet them.

This is when things began to go wrong.

In the first place, there was far too much for one Mum to do to get four teenage girls ready for an event as socially important as this. I was literally running up and down the stairs for two hours fetching different but essentials items; safety pins, hair grips, ribbons and the like.

Secondly, all this was accompanied by the need to serve mojitos to all four prima-donnas as they dressed and talked hysterically about who was partnering who and who hoped to end the evening in whose arms.

What I did not realise was that the premade drinks were being significantly fortified using a half bottle of vodka which was hidden under Katie's bed. The result was that all four girls and their harassed dress-maid were well on the way to being drunk before they had even left the house.

The third problem was that, with all this fuss going on, I had far too little time to get myself ready. Indeed, with only ten minutes to go before the minibus was due to arrive, I was piling my daughter's hair high on her head into the fashionable style she had demanded but which to me looked like an untidy bird's nest.

As a result, my own preparations had to be lightning-fast. Assisted by a third cocktail that unknown to me had also been liberally spiked, I quickly pulled on my tight dress and tried to make myself look nice.

Though it did indeed show off my legs in a way even I found pleasing, I must have put on a few pounds since I had last worn it because to my horror, a very distinct and highly visible panty line showed through the fabric around my upper thighs and waist.

I cursed my lack of foresight liberally, knowing that this dress was the only one I could use. I most certainly could not go to such a glamorous affair committing such a style gaffe but what was the alternative? For a moment, the idea of going without knickers at all occurred to me; I had done so a handful of times in the past with some success but always when wearing tights.

The evening was far too warm even to contemplate hosiery and was likely to get even warmer once the dancing started so fake-tanned, bare legs were the order of the day.

However undesirable an obvious VPL was, my dress was short. A school Ball was not the place for a woman my age to be caught commando. Some form of underwear was essential.

Suddenly I remembered my secret thongs.

Despite their undeniable usefulness, I had never liked wearing thongs for any length of time. Since childbirth and one unfortunate consequence of that, my anus has been extremely sensitive. Having a strap between my buttocks chafes badly after an hour or so. The most I used to do was to wear one as part of the sexy lingerie sets I had acquired to please my husband (and myself) on special occasions. For obvious reasons, they were never on me for long!

There were two thongs -- one scarlet, one black - in my collection which was, like my toys, securely locked in the case in my closet. With no time to buy an alternative, the best I could do was retrieve the most comfortable, scarlet thong and pull it on under my dress.

Fifteen hurried minutes later the minibus pulled up and my preparations had to cease immediately. Descending the stairs I ushered the already-tipsy gaggle of girls into the vehicle, grabbed my evening bag, slipped on my own black heels and joined them on their way to the Ball.

***

The room in which we entered was high ceilinged, lavishly decorated and very noisy. Delighted shrieks of teenage girls filled every corner as they saw, admired, loved, hated and criticised the dresses of their friends and enemies as they arrived.

Those with partners were envied; those without were on the lookout for one.

Katie and the other girls passed through the doors with me in tow, along with a large group which had arrived by bus. Every arriving teen was given a glass of champagne, photographed then quickly absorbed into the melee leaving their parents or other adult escorts to fend for themselves.

I found myself abandoned within twenty minutes of arriving, sipping a second glass of champagne and trying to pretend the seating plan was the most interesting thing I had seen in years.

"Looks like I'm next to you again," a voice behind me said cheerfully. "You never did have much luck Mel."

I turned to find Neil and his wife Alison standing close by, trying to locate their own table on the rather confusing plan. We kissed our hellos then ambled through to the large dining room chatting happily. As we found our table and greeted all the other diners, I found that I had once again been placed next to Neil and alongside another man I recognised as a fellow parent but who I had not met before.

I remember feeling a little unsteady on my heels even this early in the evening, but I want to make it clear here and now that I am not trying to excuse what happened by putting the blame on alcohol. Without the help of booze, it is less likely that I would have succumbed to temptation that night and Neil's cock might not have entered my vagina in the way it did, but no amount of tipsiness at the party can excuse the many weeks of affair that followed.

I accept full responsibility for my part in that.

The preliminaries over, we drank a champagne toast to our school-leaving kids then settled at the table. The atmosphere was warm and friendly, becoming even friendlier as the wine to accompany the starters was passed round. My new neighbour politely filled my glass but after fifteen minutes' chat it soon became apparent that he and I had little in common and that he intended to devote the majority of his efforts that evening to the attempted seduction of the mousy-haired woman on his other side.

I silently and ironically wished him luck. I knew her slightly; a recent and damaged divorcee. I also knew from the gossip that despite expressing a low opinion of men to anyone who would listen, she wasn't entirely unreceptive to their charms and was believed to have woken up in the wrong bed on more than one occasion.

I planned to watch the attempted seduction with amusement, not knowing that the girl in greatest danger that night was me.

Whatever else he might be, in company Neil is a real charmer. Seeing the difficulties I was having conversing with the man to my right, he apologised to his companion and turned his attention almost exclusively to me.

Given the venue, the conversation inevitably started with an exchange of information about what our daughters were going to do next in their lives; University for Katie, travel for his daughter Sophie. From there we moved on to what our respective plans were for the summer; where we would go on holiday, where we had been in the past and had loved.

By now the starters had been cleared away. Freed from table mess, Neil had turned his whole body towards me, much to the irritation of the lady on his left. Naturally I had turned towards him too so his tuxedo covered legs were pressed against my rather over-accessible bare thighs for the entire time it took to serve the main course.

The warmth of his thighs against mine sent a thrill through me. I made no attempt to move away. Naturally our glasses were refilled once the food arrived, this time with the kind of heavy, rich red wine that I loved but cannot handle in large quantities.

After another unsuccessful attempt to engage the man on my right in conversation, I ate my meal in silence for a while before Neil spotted my isolation and came to the rescue again. We chatted throughout the main course, Neil keeping my glass full, this time moving onto the problems teenage girls had with their parents and the difficulty of keeping a romantic relationship going with a spouse when the house was so full of hormones.

This naturally led to us standing up to try and to see how dinner was going for the girls. Once we had located them in the crowd, apart from being even more obviously tipsy than I felt, they looked very happy. When we sat back down for dessert, our thighs were pressed close together again; neither of us made any attempt to move away, indeed Neil's hand strayed casually to my bare knee where it rested.

His eyes sparkled as the slightly risqué subject was pursued between courses. With another top-up of wine, throughout the dessert, I did not notice his hand moving almost imperceptibly up my thigh.

Once coffee had been served and more champagne toasts drunk, the table broke up and the band began to play. For a while I danced in front of the stage with Katie and her friends, several of whom were clearly very much the worse for drink. Then I danced with a group of other Mums I knew well. It was fun; a great way to let off steam. As I danced I exchanged broad smiles with Neil who was with his wife Alison in the corner of the floor.

After an hour of hot, sweaty exertions, the slow dances began. Having no romantic partner, I returned to our table to have a long drink of water and cool down. As I sat in the darkness, I could see Katie on the dance floor in the arms of as young man I immediately recognised as a first-team footballer she had had a crush on for at least two years.

In the past I had found the usual teenage unposted letters hidden in her room, covered in pink hearts. But unlike so many of her crushes, this one had endured into a more mature and more sexual attraction. The boy had seemed to have had the typical teenage predilection for large boobs, so Katie's flat chest had limited her appeal for him and until that night her success had been limited to the occasional snog after a party.

Now, as his arms encircled her body and they kissed openly on the dance floor, it looked like he had finally learned to appreciate a more boyish figure after all. I poured another glass of red wine and watched their two bodies pressed closed together, feeling more and more envious.

"They make a good couple," Neil's voice, once again coming from behind, brought me back from my reverie. "Have they been together long?"

"About two hours," I smiled. "Katie's fancied him for years though."

"Good luck to them both," he said, sitting on the chair facing mine, filling his glass again and topping up mine.

The band was so loud that we had to lean very close together for either of us to hear; so close in fact that Neil's left knee was between mine. His hand fell to my thigh as we talked above the music, stroking my bare skin almost absently but all the time moving upwards.

"You don't fancy doing the same out there with Alison?" I teased, nodding to the young smooching couple.

Neil pulled a face and squeezed my leg.

"Nah! You know what Alison's like. Besides she's otherwise occupied."

"What do you mean?"

"Sophie is being sick in the Ladies' Room," he grunted. "Ali is looking after her."

"I'm so sorry. Should I help?"

"I've been told to butt out and not to let anyone know."

"You've told me," I grinned.

He gripped my hand playfully.

"You don't count, Mel!"

"That's no way to make a girl feel special!" I joked, pretending to turn away.

Neil gripped my leg between his and held my hand tightly to prevent me moving. Then he leaned really close to whisper in my ear.

"I'd like to make you feel very special, Melanie."

There was a long pause as we stared into each other's eyes, neither knowing what to say or do. What might have happened then I will never know because at that moment the music came to an end and, to rapturous applause, the MC announced the imminent commencement of the firework display.

"Fancy watching?" Neil asked.

"What about Alison and Sophie?"

"They'll call when they want me," he said, patting his breast pocket. "Till then I'm to let them get on with it in private. Coming?"

Neil smiled, offering me his hand. I took it, still unsure what if anything had just happened between us then followed him out through the French windows and into the hall's extensive grounds where a large crowd of teenagers were gathered together in a knot in the middle of the viewing area.

There was no room for anyone else.

"I don't fancy being crushed against a crowd of vomiting kids, do you?" Neil pulled another face.

"No," I agreed. "Is there another viewpoint?"

"I saw a few couples going off in that direction," he pointed to a narrow but well-defined path through the ornamental shrubbery. "Shall we see?"

The fireworks had not started so we strolled along the garden paths away from the main building. I slipped my arm through his as friends do and for a while all seemed normal as we walked away from the noisy crowd and into the darker recesses of the garden.

If Neil had seen other couples going this way, they were now well-hidden because once we rounded the corner of the building; there was no-one else to be seen at all. The well-tended bushes were tall and intimidating despite the bright moonlight, efficiently separating us from the main group of excited guests.

Eventually the path came to an end at what appeared to be an old, brick-built stable block with a small patio in front of the doorway. When we reached it, Neil slipped his arm around my waist and turned me towards the direction we had just come, moving close behind me, his body pressed against my back, his hands on my waist.

"Look!"

A moment later the sky was filled with one of the best pyrotechnic displays I had ever seen at a private do. The 'oohs and ahhs' from the spectators were loud and, although completely invisible to us, were clearly close by.

A big fan of fireworks since childhood, my attention was fixed firmly on the brightly coloured, constantly-changing panorama in the sky, so I did not notice that I had started leaning back against Neil's powerful chest or that his hands had fallen from my waist to my sides and had started to stroke my hips and buttocks.

The display was long as well as imaginative. I watched excitedly, barely noticing that Neil had started to nuzzle the back of my head or that his hot breath kept finding the nape of my neck. It was only when his hands slipped from my bottom to my sides then rose to cup my boobs that I realised something was going on.

I turned my head towards him, a look of puzzlement on my face.

He kissed me lightly on the lips. For a second, I recoiled in shock.

Had my friend's husband really just pressed his lips onto mine?

Then he kissed me again, a little harder. This time there could be no mistaking it; Neil had deliberately kissed me on the lips.

"What are you doing?" I asked, turning to face him.

To my surprise, I heard no trace of reprimand in my voice.

"I'm kissing you, Mel," he said softly.

Then his lips touched mine again, this time for much longer and I felt the tip of his tongue sliding between my lips, brushing against my teeth.

"Neil, please don't..." I protested weakly but there was no conviction in my words.

"Don't you like it? I thought you wanted to feel special..."

His lips returned to mine in the darkness. He kissed me slowly and sensitively. I froze, unable to respond but equally unable to move away. He kissed me again, the tip of his tongue dancing over my tightly-closed lips. A warm glow began to grow within me; a glow of excitement I recognised but had not felt for many years.

The feeling of deep unease began to grow but not because of what Neil was doing; rather it was driven by what I began to fear I might do myself.

"Neil please! We'd better go back," I mumbled into his mouth.

"Do you want to go back Mel?"

"N.. Not really!" I replied, astounded by my own words.

"Neither do I," he smiled. "It's just a bit of fun after all."

"Fun?"

"If anyone needs a bit of fun Mel, I reckon it's you!"

And then it all began. Without another word I began to kiss him back. Like two teens outside a school disco, we were in each other's arms, our lips pressed firmly together. Within seconds, Neil's tongue had parted my teeth and had plunged deeply into my mouth, seeking and finding my own.

As our tongues writhed over and around each other, my arms rose instinctively around his neck and I felt the touch of his hands on my body. Apart from my husband's, they were first male hands to touch me sexually since my wedding and they felt... so good!

Though every cell in my brain was screaming at me that this must stop; that it was so, so wrong, for the first time in twenty years I felt exciting; I felt sexy; I felt desirable again. As Neil's confident hands began to explore my back, my sides then my buttocks, I felt decades younger and like a real, wanted, desirable woman again.

I should have had the traditional battle between good and evil going on inside my head but right then, the overwhelming impact on my mind was coming from between my thighs as my hands flew to Neil's body; to his face, his hair and his bulging groin.

In return, Neil's hands were on my waist, on my back and on my buttocks as we kissed frantically, our tongues writhing around each other until a small stream of saliva began to drip down my chin. Then his hands were on my tiny boobs, crushing them cruelly through my dress and bra.

It hurt so much; I loved it even more!

One of my hands fell to his bulge and I massaged it, my other fumbling between our bodies with his belt. I felt my dress being raised and instinctively lifted my right leg, looping it around Neil's left, making room for his probing, exploring fingers.