Blurred Lines Pt. 02

I awake in bed, in my favorite nightgown. I yawn, and start to get up to go the bathroom, when the memory of what happened last night hits me. Oh, god, did I really have sex with a stranger by accident at the bar last night, just as I'm ovulating? Recalling the sex made me want to throw up, despite my recollection that in the moment it was mind blowing. Of course, I thought it was my husband, so I shouldn't feel bad about that. But honestly, I don't know what I'm supposed to feel, but I know that I felt guilty and sick about it now.

I feel around on the night table for my glasses, and find my usual pair right where they're supposed to be. I put them on, and got myself up to hit the bathroom. It looked like my husband Greg was up already. I piddled, wiped myself, and resolved to get this over with as soon as possible. I splashed some water on my face, grabbed a bathrobe, and headed downstairs.

Greg was cooking pancakes, our usual Saturday morning indulgence. "Morning, honey. Hungry?"

"No, not right now." I grabbed a glass from the cabinet, and poured myself a glass of water. He was just finishing the first batch of cakes. As he pulled them off the griddle, I turned off the burners.

"Come, dear, sit down. I need to talk to you."

"What's up? I'm cooking here."

"Leave it. Sit, please."

"OK." Greg puts down the cooking implements, wipes his hands on a dish towel, comes over to the dining table, and sits across from me. We have these really comfortable swivel kitchen chairs around the table, and this is one of our favorite places to sit in the house.

"I have to tell you something, this is very hard. You might get upset with me, but I need you to hear me out."

"OK. What is it."

"Last night, at the bar, well, I think I might have accidentally had sex with a stranger." Greg's eyebrows went up. "I mean, I couldn't see anyone because my glasses broke and when I came back from the bathroom you were gone and I walked around looking and I thought it was you, really, the guy was wearing the same clothes and glasses, and even drinking scotch and ..."

"Stop," Greg said, loudly but calmly. He swiveled around in his chair so he was facing away from me. "That's pretty serious."

"It was an honest mistake, I didn't know, really, and I'm so so sorry, and could you please turn around and look at me."

"No. I can't look at you right now."

"Oh god, I'm so so sorry Greg, how can I make this better?"

"Well, first, I need you to tell me exactly what happened. Every single detail. From the moment you left the bathroom the first time until I found you. Leave nothing out. Tell me exactly how you felt and what you said and what he said."

"He never spoke to me. He must have figured out I thought he was someone else, and took advantage of that. I think he knew that if he spoke, I might know he wasn't you, well, whomever I thought he was. I swear, Greg, I didn't know, I was so sure it was you, it wasn't my fault, ..."

"That remains to be seen. Start from the beginning, please."

"Fine." And I do. I describe how I left the bathroom and wandered in the bar, half blind, and couldn't find him for a while, and then saw someone who had the right clothes on. How I tapped him on the shoulder, was sure that it was Greg, but apparently it was some stranger who looked enough like Greg so that I couldn't tell the difference without my glasses. How I gave him a peck on the cheek, and then he looked at me, and kissed me back on the lips, and I was sure the stranger was Greg when I tasted the flavor of the scotch he had been drinking. How he led me by the hand to the performance area, and started caressing and arousing me, how I complained it was too public, and how this stranger practically dragged me to the bathrooms, kissed me, groped me, and eventually screwed me.

"Was it good?"

"It was, but I thought it was you. If I had known it was someone else, I would never have done it, and it would have felt horrible if I was forced."

"Did you come?"

"Umm. Yes. Yes I did."

"Did he use a condom?"

"No, if he had I would have known it wasn't you."

"So he came inside you?"

"Yes. So we need to go to a pharmacy and get a morning after pill, I don't want to have his baby, and I, ..."

"Never mind that for now. What happened after that?"

"He wiped himself clean, and slipped out without saying a word. It took me a while longer to get myself cleaned up, my clothes were all askew, and then I left the washroom and you found me. You asked me where I had been for the last half hour, and I suddenly realized it wasn't you I had just been screwed by, and felt sick. That's why you had to take me home. I blacked out in the car, and woke up just now in bed. And that's all of it."

"I don't think so."

"What do you mean?"

"Did you, or did you not, tell this stranger that it was the best sex you had ever had?"

"I, ... I did. I'm sorry."

"And was it?"

"I thought so at the time. But I didn't know it wasn't you."

"How does who it was change how you felt about it? Either it was the best, or it wasn't. Well, was it?"

"Yes," I replied, meekly.

"So this stranger rocks your world once, and it's better than I've ever done?"

"But I thought it was you, I'll never do it again, I swear. I'm plenty satisfied with you, really, and I love you so much. I didn't mention that because I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"And that's all of it?"

"Yes."

"I don't think so."

"What now?"

"Just before he penetrated you, you said he rubbed your vagina with the head of his penis."

"Yes."

"And what did you say to this stranger then?"

"Erm, I don't remember exactly."

"Was it something like, 'Oh god, put it in me, right now. I've never wanted you more in my life,'?"

"Yes, I think, ... Wait, how did you know ... It WAS you! You bastard, how could you let me get this upset, ..." I get up and storm around the table with a mind to slap him, but as I get there, he stands up too, glares at me, and my resolve falters. He comes over to me, opens my bathrobe, takes it off, and lays it down over his chair. He takes my hand, and walks over to our liquor cabinet, where he pulls out a bottle of scotch, opens the lid, takes a small swig, and swishes it around in his mouth while he seals up the bottle and returns it to the cabinet.

Then he walks me into the hallway, stands with his back against the wall and holds me in front of him, my back to his chest, with his hands clasped against my waist. Almost immediately, he starts to kiss my neck, and his hands roam around my belly, hips, and waist. I try to shrug him off, but he's persistent, and my arousal is building again. I can smell the scotch on his breath, and it reminds me of last night. He reaches up towards my side boob, and I try to sluff him off.

He backs off, takes my wrist, and leads me into the powder room on the first floor. He closes and locks the door, and then he's kissing me hard, just like last night, and I'm tasting the scotch in his mouth, and responding the same way, remembering how intense and sordid it was, getting incredibly aroused. He pulls my nightgown up until it's over my boobs, and starts mauling them again as he kisses me deeply and strongly. I know every move he's going to make before he does it, because this is a nearly perfect reenactment of last night, but knowing what's coming doesn't make it any less powerful or arousing, quite the opposite, actually. I'm almost ready to come before he even starts on my pussy. Finally, he starts rubbing the head of his prick on my pussy lips, and I deliver my line, but I can barely get it out.

"Oh, god put it in me, right now. I've, ooooh, I've ... never wanted you more in my life."

He thrusts in, and I come immediately, loudly and forcefully. But that doesn't slow him down. He starts pounding away, and I can barely lift my legs to wrap them around his torso. But I do manage it, and I feel another orgasm coming on. I start to come, moaning, and that puts him over the top as well, so he groans, and starts pounding into me even harder. Eventually, our orgasms taper off, he slows down the thrusting, and he kisses me, gently and lovingly. I put my feet back on the floor, supporting my own weight, and whisper in his ear, "Thanks for the best sex I've ever had, and that includes last night." He smiles, kisses me again, and leaves the bathroom without saying a word.

Moments after the door closes, Greg says, "Now get out here, lie down on the couch, and get your legs up so my swimmers don't all drip out of you." I chuckle, and do as he suggests. He puts a large pillow under my derriere to keep my hips elevated. Then he walks back into the kitchen, and fires up the griddle. "Hungry? I'll make a fresh batch of pancakes for you."

"Just a couple. My stomach isn't that settled yet." I relax on the couch, coming down from another intense screwing. Some minutes later, Greg brings over two pancakes, syrup, and a cup of mint tea, to soothe my stomach. He sets it up on the coffee table so I can eat while keeping my legs up. He retreats to the kitchen and returns momentarily with a bigger stack and coffee for himself.

"By the way, that was the coolest game ever, pretending that our shag last night was a stranger."

"What do you mean pretending? I thought it was, I was sick about it."

"Wait, so you seriously didn't think it was me?"

"Well, I did when it happened, but then when you said you'd been looking for me for almost a half hour, I believed you and was sure it was a stranger that had just screwed me."

Greg put down his plate, and kneeled on the floor next to the couch, right by my head. "Baby, I'm so sorry. That must have been awful for you." He held my cheek as he looked in my eyes, and continued, "I thought you knew I was just goofing around, saying that I couldn't find you. And I thought you were continuing the game this morning with your 'confession'. My god, was that hot, by the way."

"If you would have looked at me just once during my confession, you could have seen it in my face, how upset I was. Why didn't you look at me?"

"Honestly, the whole time I had this massive shit-eating grin. Couldn't hide it. I was so aroused and happy that you were playing this clever sexy game with me that I was afraid it would make you break character and screw it up, so I turned around. I'm really sorry you weren't on the same page with me."

"Really sorry doesn't cut it. I mean, I was terrified that I had destroyed the most important thing in my life, no, the only really important thing in my life, really, our relationship, our marriage. No game, no joke is worth that kind of anxiety and stress."

"I was certain you knew it was me. I mean, what are the chances that there are two guys, same height, same hair color and style, same glasses, same skin tone, same shirt, same pants, drinking the same scotch, in the same bar on the one night you can't see well. And this stranger knows exactly how to push your buttons, just how far to go in public to get you aroused enough to consider sordid copulation in a bar restroom. The odds are astronomical."

"When you put it that way, it sounds unlikely. But I was a bit drunk, and couldn't see straight."

"But it's OK now, we've sorted it out, everything is fine, we're fine, and we had some really great sex, twice so far."

"So far?"

"Yes. Let's rewind to last night. Last night, I get back with the drinks, and you told me about the guy who hit on you. I was kind of jealous."

"You had nothing to be jealous of."

"True. He didn't do anything bad, hitting on a single woman in a bar. And you handled it perfectly, just like I would have wanted you to. You were polite, but made it clear you weren't interested. Just after I ordered the drinks, I looked back at you and saw him talking to you. He was pretty good looking, by the way. I was jealous then, not strongly so, but I felt it. And I was wondering if you would even mention it to me. Of course, you did, and I was so proud and happy, that you'd be so honest and candid with me, and would still pick me over someone else."

"Of course I would. I love you."

"I know. But being told it and seeing it in action are different. Well, think about it like this. Remember our wedding? How you felt when we took our vows, and I publicly promised to forsake all others for you?"

"Yes, of course." I smiled at the memory.

"Well, this made me feel like that, well, like you promising me that, all over again. So, first I was a little jealous, and then I was super proud and so happy, completely full of love for you, and all those feelings came together and sort of morphed into lust. I got so hot for you then, I would have taken you right there on the floor if I could have. And with all of that going on in my head, you start playing that game about which woman I would pick up. Of course I only had eyes for you."

"Then you spill your drink on your skirt, and head off to the washroom to clean up. Ten seconds after you're gone I'm sure you're going to take it off and wash it, so you'll be a bit. So I leave half my drink on the table, and quickly hit the bathroom myself, hoping to be done before you get out. I find those individual toilets, and realize they would be perfect for a quickie, and my desire goes through the roof. Honestly, I could hardly pee I was so hard. That's when I had the idea to try and seduce you without saying a single word; it was a little game I was playing with myself."

"I head back out, and find our table has been cleared and three middle aged women, maybe housewives or divorcees, are there. I'm sure you're not out yet, so I stroll around for a bit, check out the stage, and think about getting another drink, but decide I really want both hands for what I have in mind. Then I start looking for you, and worry that you're lost in the bar and can't see. So I just stroll around looking for you, but you end up finding me first. And you know what happened after that."

"So after I leave the bathroom, I was totally sure you knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, it was me. And when I found you afterwards, on the spur of the moment, I made what I thought was a little joke about looking for you the whole time. When you fell, I thought you were really under the weather, I had no clue you seriously thought it might have really been a stranger."

"Well, I did. That's why I felt sick, why I almost fell down, and why I've been a wreck when I woke up."

"And then we get home, you're out of it, I guide you upstairs, and get you undressed for bed. It was pretty obvious that you'd just been ravaged, and if I didn't know about it before then, I certainly would have figured it out at that point. Of course, I knew what had happened; I didn't give it a second thought."

"Right. I hadn't considered that. Of course you'd notice the physical evidence."

"Further, you didn't need to be worried so much. Understand this. If, God forbid, you are ever raped, I will still love you just as much. If you are ever drugged and taken advantage of, I will still love you just as much. What happened wouldn't be your fault. I will be supportive, loving, and work with you to help you recover. And if you accidentally have sex with someone else, honestly thinking it's me, I will still love you. I'd rather that didn't happen. It would upset me. All of these things would upset me. But don't feel that any of them would jeopardize my love for you."

"Thank you. I mean, I kind of knew that, but hearing you say it helps."

"Part of the problem is that we've never really played games like this before. We just sort of stumbled into them, and we're figuring it all out. Sorry you got misled. And I'm really sorry it had you so upset." He kissed me, softly and gently. "Going forward, we'll set rules and boundaries. We can figure all that out. But most importantly, we're fine. Just relax."

"I'm not fine. I still have all this unchanneled anger, anxiety, and stress."

"Baby, none of this was intentional on my part. I'd never do that to you on purpose, just like you wouldn't screw a stranger in the bathroom of a bar on purpose. Also, remember what I said about last night, how my jealousy morphed into pride and happiness and then lust? I think this morning some of your anger morphed into passion. That last romp, in our bathroom, had something more than our usual mojo powering it. Screwing while standing up is usually not so stimulating, but you came twice. And it was amazing for me too."

"Well, maybe, I suppose. That could be true."

"And now, think about what this morning was like for me. You wake up, and want to dive right into this game where you're pretending that our screwing last night was mistakenly with a stranger because of your broken glasses. I thought it was brilliant, and super sexy. You're describing how awesome it was to me, feigning upset because you 'thought' it was someone else, when all the time I know you're talking about me. That got me super hot, and is what led to what happened right after we finished talking."

"Hmmm. I suppose that would be a turn on for you."

"Super freaky arousing. And now, it turns out you weren't playing a game. You really thought you had made a mistake and screwed another guy by accident. You didn't hide it. You immediately told me how sorry you were, how it was an accident, how upset you were, and how you wanted to work through it so we were OK. If your telling me about a guy flirting with you and you rebuffing him made me so hot I had to have you that night in the bar, how do you think I feel now?"

"Really upset that I was so miserable?"

"There's a little of that. What else?"

"Love, lust, passion, happiness, pride, maybe?"

"All of those, in spades. There's this little undercurrent of thought in my head, I can't seem to turn it off, not that I want to. It goes like this: 'Best wife ever. Best marriage ever,' over and over. And now I'm feeling all of that positive emotion channeling itself into desire and lust. I think we're going to be pretty busy this weekend, get nothing at all done, and be really sore afterwards."

"Really, best wife ever?"

"Absolutely. I mean, I totally wasn't testing you or anything, but if I were, you would have gotten a perfect score. I just hope that, as much as I love you, that it's enough to come close to balancing how much you love me."

After he said that there weren't many more words spoken. Well, four, to be exact, from me. "First get the lube."

---

Three weeks later, on Friday night, we're back in the same bar where the 'stranger' had his way with me, to hear the same band play. I drove, this time. We get into the bar, settle in at a table, and then I reach up and take Greg's glasses off, fold them up, put them in their case, and toss them in the oversized bag I brought.

"You know I can't see anything beyond my nose without those."

"Yes, yes I do. Stay here. I'll get us drinks. What scotch do you prefer here?"

"The Balvenie is pretty good and not too pricey. Or if you want to splurge, the Macallen twelve is quite nice."

"Gotcha. Might be a bit, the bar looks pretty crowded." It wasn't, but he couldn't see that.

I stride off, and then look around the room. I see three attractive young women sitting alone, and I walk over to them. They look a little put out as I approach the table.

"Evening, ladies." They mutter responses.

"I'd like to propose a little wager, if I may. See that guy over there?" I point out Greg. They nod.

"He's my husband. If any of you can convince him to let you buy him a drink, and he drinks it, I'll give you this hundred dollar bill." I reach into my pocket and pull out the bill. "Each of you only gets one shot, one at a time. And it has to be booze, no water or soft drinks." The three of them squirm a bit, but seem intrigued.

"What's your game?"