An Innocent Question Ch. 02

"Yes," I replied, still sniffling. "And I'm the one who made it!"

As we talked, my patient sister helped me see that I really had two problems. One was Dan, the pain he was in, and the serious threat to our marriage.

"Beyond a certain point, El, there's not much you can do about that. You can make sure he knows how much you love him, how sorry you are, that you're willing to do just about anything to save the marriage. But what he decides to do is pretty much in his hands.

"But your second problem is Chris. It sounds like you're still in lust with him." She giggled.

"Sorry--I know I shouldn't laugh. But it sounds like the two of you must have really had a wild time of it!"

"It's true, Diane. Thank God I can at least be honest about it with you. I've never had sex like that in my life, and all I can do is babble about it. It was awesome, phenomenal, divine ... I don't know what to say. I was already so hot for him before we even got to the bedroom, and then he knew just what buttons to push. It was the world-record fuck session of all time."

"Fine, Ellen—and I'm jealous, believe me!—but what now?"

"I don't know, Diane. Obviously Dan will never take me back if I ever do it again. I already told Dan that there won't be a next time with Chris.

"Believe me, I know that my husband and my marriage are far more important to me than a fling, even a cosmic fling. But that doesn't mean I'm over my lust. It scares me, but I still want Chris again ... a lot."

There was a long silence. Then Diane said, "well, Ellen, I guess we're getting to the nub of the problem. As I said, you can't do much about whether Dan comes back to you.

"But what you HAVE to do is resolve your feelings for Chris, one way or another. As long as he's in the picture, even just inside your head, you're never going to have your marriage back."

"I know, Di," I said with a sigh. "I wish to hell he'd move to Tanzania—but unfortunately he's in his first year of grad school at OSU, so he's surely going to be around for a couple more years at least."

There was the noise of a scuffle behind Diane, and she said, "sorry, babe, gotta go. My two teenagers are fighting, no doubt about something important like the TV remote! I love you—don't do anything stupid, and call me again soon, OK?"

Even though Diane hadn't helped me resolve my problems, I felt better after talking to her. I always did—that's what big sisters were for, at least mine!

What was the rest of the week like? I went to work. I came home and had lonely dinners. I lay in bed at night, sometimes crying, always feeling sorry for myself. And angry at myself—I knew it was totally my own fault. And I tried hard to remember that what Dan, my completely innocent husband, was feeling was a hundred times worse.

How could he ever forgive me for what I had done to him? Could I have let him back into my heart if he had betrayed me the way I betrayed him?

And what the HELL was I going to do about Chris?

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

Dan called me at home after dinner on Wednesday. It was a short conversation, and pretty bleak. He wanted to give me his number at the Marriott, and let me know that he was OK.

"I've started seeing a therapist," he said, "someone that Ed in the Counseling Center put me in touch with. I've only seen him once so far, but I think it will be helpful. He does a lot of marital counseling, so if he suggests it I may call to ask you if you'll come in sometime with me."

"Dan, I will happily do that. In fact, I will happily do just about whatever you want me to do.

"I'm the one who has caused all this, and I am SO sorry. I want to make sure you know how desperately I want you back—but I know that that decision is up to you."

There was a silence, a long one, and then finally he said, "thank you, Ellen.

"It feels like it's going to be a while before I know what I want to do. I'll probably drop by the house sometime during the day tomorrow and pick up some more clothes."

I felt myself starting to cry. "Do you want to come after work? I could make you dinner, and wash your dirty things for you."

Again a silence, then "no thanks. I know you're there, but I don't think I want to see you right now."

We got off the phone a minute or two later, and I spent the rest of the evening crying.

The rest of my week was pretty much the same, except for one truly horrific moment on Friday. I was at my desk, doing some file-merging, when Emily stopped by to say hello.

"Chris asked me to give you his regards," she said. "He said the two of you had the nicest lunch at Elgin's last week!"

I stared up at her dumbly, feeling my face starting to turn red. Chris had TOLD HER? For a moment I was beside myself with terror.

Then I managed to pull myself together a little. Emily's face didn't have any sort of sly look to it, just innocent friendliness. Thank God! Chris appeared to have told his aunt only about our lunch.

"Oh, sorry, Emily," I said breezily. "My mind was a million miles away for a moment! Yes, Chris and I just ran into one another, and we had a good time. He told me a lot about the anthro department and its political maneuverings. I must say, Chris seems pretty shrewd—for a first-year student he seemed to have a pretty good take on all that infighting."

We chatted a minute more, me gradually regaining my composure, and as she headed off Emily said, "well, Chris told me to be sure to say that he's hoping to see you again soon."

Again I blushed, and said something innocuous like, "absolutely, that would be great!"

When Emily had turned the corner and disappeared, I just put my head down on the desk. That had been one hell of a nasty shock! And I also realized that, once my terror about what Emily might know had passed, simply having an innocent conversation about Chris had gotten me a little damp.

My brain knew with 100% certainty that he and I were done—that our mind-blowing afternoon was a one-time mistake, never to be repeated.

The only trouble was that my body didn't seem to have received the news yet.

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

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

DAN'S STORY

On Thursday at 5 pm I was back in Arthur's office. Both of us remembered that Bridget was to be the first item on our agenda, and I recounted in full detail my months of obsession with Bridget Zuzich.

Bridget had come to Columbus about six years before, the wife of a new hot-shot young Assistant Professor of Economics from Slovakia. Despite her last name she was Irish, and looked it. She was tall and slim, with a pale complexion and fiery green eyes. She was the typical Irish red-head in every way, even down to the dusting of freckles everywhere, except that her hair itself was jet-black. It was brilliantly shiny, and hung just past her shoulders.

I was introduced to Bridget at an early fall party held by the Economics Department, where nearly a hundred people mingled and ate finger food in the lavish modern home of one of the senior faculty. I said hello politely to her husband Istvan, and then narrowly avoided tripping over my tongue when I shook hands with Bridget.

She was stunning. There's no other word. The beauty of her pale skin, her dazzling hair and hypnotic eyes, her perfect figure in a black dress that was perfectly appropriate and yet somehow enticing. And beyond all that, she was a flirt, a tease. I could tell in the first few seconds, from the way she held my hand an extra fraction of a second and said, "so pleased to meet you" in a low, melodious voice that seemed to linger just a trifle on the first word.

I was nearly 40 then and she couldn't have been older than 28. I was certainly no matinee idol. Plus she was the wife of a new faculty member, and I just part of the tech support staff of the department. Yet despite all that, her greeting affected me as strongly as if she'd said, "I want you. Meet me in the back yard in ten minutes and I'll fuck you to death."

For the rest of the party I was in a daze. I managed to circulate and to make vapid conversation with the other guests, most of whom I knew well. But whenever I could, I watched Bridget. I was completely besotted, and it scared the hell out of me. Our ten-second introduction had given me a hard-on, and while it subsided after a few minutes it threatened to rise again whenever I saw her, or even thought about her.

After a couple of hours of wondering what was wrong with me, I decided that Ellen and I should go home. I'd barely talked with her during the party, but I'd seen her happily in conversation with some of our friends. I headed for the bedroom where the coats had been piled up, thinking to get our coats first and then find Ellen.

When I pushed the bedroom door open I froze, as did the two people already in the room. One was Thomas McAllister, Chair of the Economics Department, a tall and good-looking man of about 55. The other was Bridget Zuzich. They had been in each other's arms, kissing. As they swung around to look at me, I saw his hand clutching her left breast tightly through her dress. Her hand was stuck partway into his fly, and she was holding his erect cock which protruded out proudly towards her.

After a brief moment of paralysis I muttered, "sorry," and quickly left, closing the door behind me. My mind reeled with the image of what I had just seen, and what it meant. The department chair with the wife of one of his junior colleagues! And she'd only moved to town a few weeks before—either she or McAllister was certainly a fast worker!

I stepped through the French doors of the living room and out onto the back deck, needing to cool off and pull myself together. In addition to being utterly shocked, I realized that I was totally aroused by what I had seen. Just meeting Bridget had already filled me with a kind of desire I hadn't felt in years. But seeing her holding McAllister's cock in her hand had my own hard-on pulsing in my pants.

I probably stood out there alone for ten minutes. Finally, thinking that the two of them must surely be out of the room by now, I was about to return to the bedroom. But as I straightened up, I was surprised to find Bridget standing beside me, a Mona Lisa smile on her face.

We both spoke at once. I said, "I'm sorry to have barged in on you like that," just as she said, "I'm sorry we embarrassed you."

We both smiled at the simultaneous communications, and then she spoke again.

"I do apologize, Dan." Her face showed not embarrassment, but amusement.

"I guess that was hardly the appropriate place to be doing ... what we were doing."

"I suppose I should have knocked," I said, feeling a blush rising, "but it ... didn't occur to me that anyone would be in there."

She took my arm and squeezed it, turning us both to face away from the house and towards the yard. "No, no, our fault." She laughed lightly—a delightfully sweet sound. Once again I was aware that I was beside myself with desire for her.

Then she looked at me more seriously. "Dan, are you ... can I ..."

I knew what she wanted to ask. "Bridget, I have always believed that people's private business is just that—private. I will certainly not speak to anyone about what I saw."

She relaxed a little, and gave me a big smile. "Thank you, Dan. I thought you were a gentleman when I first met you, and you have confirmed it. Thank you."

I thought she would offer another couple of meaningless pleasantries and move away, but she surprised me.

"I wonder, Dan—whether you imagined what it might have been like if it had been YOU in the room with me? Did you think about that, even just for a moment?"

And, turning her body towards mine, she planted a soft kiss on my ear, while her hand reached down and stroked my rock-hard cock through my pants.

"Oh, I think you HAVE been wondering, haven't you, Dan?" She laughed again, in her wonderfully melodious way, and then she left me and returned to the party in the living room.

I remained another few minutes on the deck, stunned, and also aroused beyond my wildest imaginings. What was the last minute about? Was it an offer? Or just a continuation of her teasing? Or perhaps just a way to sweeten her thank-you for my promise of discretion?

Whatever it was, it left me reeling. At that moment I would have given every penny in my bank-account—and probably in my kids' college funds—for a chance to make love to Bridget Zuzich. There was nothing in my mind but my desire for her, a desire whose intensity swept away any thoughts of propriety, of loyalty to Ellen, or even of good common sense.

After five minutes more on the deck my erection had wilted enough so as not to be unavoidably visible. I went back to the bedroom for the coats, found Ellen, thanked the hosts, and drove us quickly home. Ellen and I chatted about the party, but I barely heard what either of us said. I paid the sitter, then pulled Ellen unceremoniously towards the bedroom.

She looked at me in amused surprise, but I couldn't find an explanation for my behavior. I just said, "I can't explain it, honey. But you are gorgeous, and I'm so eager to have you tonight!"

That seemed to do the trick, and in moments I had thrown off my clothes and she was letting me remove hers, just cautioning me to "slow down! Don't rip my nice green dress!"

I fucked her that night like a man possessed. I couldn't slow down enough for delicate foreplay. As soon as she would let me I was between Ellen's legs, licking her frantically, not tenderly. At first she tried to get me to take my time, but soon she was aroused enough to enjoy my desperate haste. I licked and fingered her to two orgasms, all the while imagining Bridget's pink pussy surrounded by coal-black hair, before leaping on top of Ellen and sliding into her.

I was harder than I had been since we were 22-year-old newlyweds, and even more worked-up. I buried myself deep inside Ellen, over and over, with scalding pleasure. I was half-crazy, and fortunately she loved it. We didn't do it roughly very often, but she'd had some champagne and was more than willing to play along. As I pumped her I licked her neck, kissed her ears, pulled her body tightly to me, and moaned again and again. But it was Bridget I was pumping, Bridget's body I was clasping so forcefully against mine.

After only a couple of minutes I was near climax. I slid my hands under Ellen's buttocks to pull her harder up to me with every stroke, and reveled in her own cries and moans as I came like a stallion. This was fucking, not making love, and it was more intense than anything we'd done in more than a decade.

When we were catching our breath, Ellen just said, "wow! Who is that sex-starved escaped prisoner, and what have you done with my husband?"

"Oh, that guy? He said I could borrow you for a couple of rounds tonight. He's still back at the party, I think."

"A couple of rounds? Maybe he didn't tell you that I'm an old tired married lady, with two kids asleep down the hall."

"Yeah, he mentioned something about that. But he also said that once you got warmed up, you had lots and lots of energy." I grinned at her. By now I was gently stroking around and around her breasts, not yet touching the nipples, and she was beginning to respond.

I kept at her, soon replacing my fingers with my lips and tongue, and Ellen lay back and enjoyed my passionate attention. We were both excited, and only one of us knew that it was Bridget's small firm breasts I was thinking about as I licked and sucked Ellen's large ones.

Suddenly I wanted the room in darkness. I reached for the lamp and turned it off. I wanted Ellen from behind this time, so I turned her on her stomach, then kneeled behind her and licked her again for a few minutes. Then I pulled her up by the hips, let her settle on her knees, and slid slowly back inside her, both of us groaning at the wonderful feeling.

This second time I lasted longer. Inside my head I was again fucking Bridget, but lovingly, the darkness making it easier to believe my fantasy. I caressed all over Ellen's hips and ass, reached up and held her hanging breasts, stroked her clit as I pumped in and out. This was my favorite way to fuck, and I could almost believe it was Bridget's moans I was hearing, louder and louder as we built towards our climax.

Only at the very end did my gentleness leave me. I got so excited that I was pulling Ellen fiercely back onto me by her hips, grunting like crazy. When I finally exploded, my first conscious thought after the pleasure drained away was a fear that I had hurt her.

Fortunately, Ellen had been as into the hard sex as I was. We snuggled together, and she whispered, "thanks, prisoner. When you see my husband Dan, let him know that you're welcome to come back anytime!"

I didn't know whether to feel happy or guilty. I had pleased Ellen and myself, and she certainly didn't know that my sudden wave of desire had been because of another woman. But I knew.

Over the next few months we had more sex, and more hot sex, than we had since before the children were born. I must have fucked Bridget 50 times, in every possible position, as well as eating her pussy and having her suck my cock. Of course, it was only Bridget in my mind—the woman in bed with me doing all those exciting things was Ellen, who had no reason ever to suspect that she was standing in for a young black-haired Irishwoman who was married to someone else!

Ellen asked me several times what was going on, and I never had a good answer for her. The best I could manage was, "I don't know, honey. One day it occurred to me that I'm about to be 40. I don't feel like having one of those 'go buy a red Porsche' mid-life crises. (Not that we could afford it anyway!) But I do want to taste all the pleasure I can in this life.

"And you have been looking so gorgeous, I just want to have you any chance I can. I don't want to wake up one day and be 80, and wish we'd had more sex back when I could still get it up!"

She seemed perfectly happy with this response. And though it omitted the central fact of my ongoing, desperate lust for Bridget, it was otherwise true enough that I could live with myself.

I only saw Bridget herself a few more times, and never had anything like the flirtation of that one time at the party. We'd see each other at Economics Department gatherings, but only to wave and smile across the room. I never heard any gossip, so either she'd cooled it with McAllister or they were very discreet. And at the end of that year, her hot-shot husband got a job at NYU and they moved to New York.

Over a period of months, my obsession with her gradually relaxed its hold on me. I still fantasized, but not so intensely or so often. And, sad to say, the intensity of Ellen's and my sex life gradually declined too. Probably about a year after Bridget had first turned me into a drooling maniac, we were back to where we had been before she turned up in Columbus. Ellen never knew anything of my hidden, crazy lust.

I basically laid out this whole story for Arthur, who listened intently and sympathetically. When I was done, he nodded at me.

"So I'm assuming, Dan, that you see a parallel between your desire for Bridget and Ellen's recent desire for Chris?"

"Yes, of course," I replied. "There's an obvious difference, and it's pretty important. I never acted on my obsession, I never had sex with Bridget, I never betrayed Ellen with her or anyone else.

"But the thing is, Arthur—I've been thinking about this a lot. Maybe I never cheated on Ellen with Bridget just because I never got the chance. What if I'd run into Bridget at a restaurant? Maybe I would have come on to her. And if she had responded, it's hard to imagine I would have turned her down!"

He looked at me. "Did you ever pursue her? Did you ever call her, or propose to her that the two of you get together?"

"No, but it wasn't because I didn't want to. I just never thought for a moment she'd have any interest in me. She was clearly a big tease. But between her husband and the Chair of the Department, I figured she had a pretty full plate.