February Sucks - the Details Matter

Marc, looked down at what I was doing, and for the first time that night, he wasn't in control. He was on fire. He effortlessly scooped me up and carried me up the stairs to his bedroom. I grabbed a hold of him and buried my face into that space between his collar, neck and shoulder. He smelled so good, a mixture of man sweat and faint hints of soap. I was still in my dress. He was in his dress shirt but naked from the waist down. My heels were dangling from my feet as we bounded up the stairs. Damn he was so strong and powerful.

The bedroom was dimly lit with a lot of windows and some moonlight shining in. He gently set me down upright and began kissing my neck and then moved to my shoulders. As his lips encountered the sleeves of my dress, he turned me around and slowly unzipped me, allowing my dress to fall to the floor and puddle around my heels. It was a scene right out of the movies. He cradled the small of my back, carefully lifted me back up and laid me gently on the bed. Then, as I accurately told Jim, he slowly, reverently, and urgently started undressing me, unclasping my pretty bra and relieving me of my heels and panties.

Linda looked up at her phone. Wow, it's already 11:00 am, she noted. The morning had flown by. Like yesterday, she was a little tingly and so she decided to take a break. She needed to clean the kitchen and take a shower. Maybe a cold shower, she giggled. Reliving her fellatio and the trip to Marc's bed had had an effect on her. She was flushed and breathing a little heavier. She'd decided to get ready and then return to the journal after lunch.

Coincidently, Jim was also taking his lunch. He was by himself in the client's cafeteria. The morning with the client was good, but his mood wasn't. The client was happy with the work they were doing and hinted of wanting more. It would be a welcomed relief if he could come home with a project extension. But the ever present bile in his stomach was there. He wondered, bitterly, if he could ever 'go home' again. If there would ever be a sanctuary that was truly "home."

He did have a little clarity this morning. He had decided he needed to confront Linda about the gaps in her story, and he had no doubt it was going to be a confrontation. Not knowing, he had decided was far worse than knowing. He was certain she was not going to want to talk about it. He acknowledged that she was trying to put in the past and move on. But, screw her, he thought dismissively. I need to hear the details, even if it pisses her off and breaks my heart and fucks me up forever. He just wasn't sure how or when to go about it. He ultimately decided to confront her tonight on the phone.

"Fuck it," he said. Knowing can't be any worse than my fucked-up imagination, he thought. His plan gave him no comfort, but it did give him some resolve.

Linda returned to the journal around 1:00 pm.

Dear Journal:

Now that I was naked he began...

In my letter to Jim, I likened Marc's prowess to that of a skilled musician. I said it was like I was the instrument and he was performing on me. That was true in general terms but the analogy was never quite right, it fell short of the truth. When we got upstairs it was apparent that I was more than an instrument. I was the object of his lust. It carried up from the living room and into the bedroom. He wasn't performing on me; it was more like he was devouring me. I don't mean to imply that he was rushed or sloppy. It was none of that. It also wasn't self absorbed. But his intensity was something to behold.

The things he did to my breasts I cannot describe in words. The gentle blowing, touching, squeezing, sucking, licking, biting, teasing, are beyond my ability to transcribe for this journal. Most times with Jim he will make a little detour to my breasts after kissing me for a while, but he never lingers. He is always moving forward to the main event. But Marc, more than lingered, he stopped to worship them. Oh God did he worship them. I have never, until that night, been brought to an orgasm from just the stimulation of my breasts. And sadly, I may never encounter another man that can do it.

If the night had ended here I would be content, I remember naively thinking. He doesn't have to do anything else and I will be fine. Little did I know what else lay in store.

Marc gave my body very little time to recover before he started kissing between my breasts and moving lower. Oh God, I remember excitedly thinking. He's going down on me. With his head between my legs he kissed the inside of my thighs where his hand had rested earlier in the car. His stubble rubbed against my sensitive skin and shot waves of pleasure throughout my entire body. While his mouth was moving ever closer, his hands were exploring - my ankles, my calves, behind my knees, my upper thighs. I had no idea that I had so many sensitive spots, but he seemed to know them all and was an expert at stimulating me through them. When he finally got to my smooth, bare vagina I was on fire, squirming, moaning and completely lost in the pleasure this man's tongue was giving me. At one point he had two fingers inside me, moving back and forth, while his tongue continued its assault. I lost track of how many times I came.

He finally relented and moved his body up between my widespread legs. He paused right at my opening. I knew instinctively that he didn't want to push in. He wanted my consent and to make sure I was a willing accomplice. This was the moment of truth. It was a decision I would never be able to undo. We locked eyes. As aroused as he was, it was clear to me he would stop if I asked. But I didn't stop. His eyes reassured me it was my choice, but they also mesmerized me. I was his tonight. There as no turning back. So I reached down, again with my left hand, grabbed his erection and pulled him into me.

Depending on your perspective, it was either the ultimate betrayal of my marriage or the ultimate act of submission for my fairytale. The symbolism was not lost on either one of us. There was no turning back and no undoing what I had just done.

Once Marc was fully inside of me, he did what all men do, he started rhythmically moving back and forth. It felt so fucking good. He filled me completely. I was soaking wet but the friction was still exquisite. His forearms were ramrod straight outside my shoulders like two steel posts. His shoulders were broad and strong and his torso tapered to his waist. His chest was bare and his abs were ripped. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held onto his forearms for dear life. He looked at me so intensely with eyes wide open as he vigorously fucked me missionary style. I tried to match his gaze, but what he was doing felt so damn good that my eyes kept rolling back into my head.

I don't know how long he fucked me, but it wasn't short. I honestly lost all sense of time. As before, when he went down on me, I came multiple times. Eventually my orgasms ran together into one continuous sublime moment. But like when I had him in my mouth, I could sense his impending orgasm. I encouraged him on and his pace increased. His final thrust was forceful and deep as he ejaculated in my vagina for the first time. I could feel the power of his orgasm as he coated me completely with stream after stream. The sensation was amazing. It was done. I, a happily married woman and mother of two, had just had unprotected, raw sex with another man that I had just met hours earlier and had gladly let him cum inside me. No matter what happened from here on out, that unassailable fact would never change.

Before going on, I need to explore this moment a little. When I got home Jim asked me indirectly if I made Marc wear a condom. My answer let Jim know that I had not. Ostensibly Jim was making a point about not wanting to catch a STD. However, I think his real point at the time was to validate his feelings of disgust and rationalize me as untouchable and damaged goods. His motives aside, his question is a good one. Why didn't I want Marc to wear a condom? I'm on the pill but everyone knows that method isn't 100% effective. I also assumed that Marc had been with countless women so Jim's concerns about STDs were valid. Clearly there were real risks so why didn't I insist?

The truth is I didn't want him to wear a condom. I wanted to feel him. It was part of my submission to him as the proverbial alpha male. So not only did I not ask him to wear a condom, when his orgasm started, I wrapped my legs as tightly as I could around his waist, trapping him inside me as deep as possible. When he came he was in me to the hilt, pressing tightly against my cervix bathing it with his semen. It was a moment and a sensation I will never forget. It is an undeniable fact that my time with Marc, and the memories I have, would be severely diminished, and somehow incomplete, had I not experienced the feel of his uncovered penis and the pleasure of his powerful ejaculations. From some unexplainable, deep, ancient, human evolution, caveman place in my psyche, it pleases me that he wanted me, took me and was willing to deposit his seed in me. I realize that carnal comment runs counter to all things feminist and, for me, is uncomfortable and full of dangerous implications, but it is accurate.

Okay. Back to the fairytale.

We laid in a heap of arms, legs, and sheets both gasping for air.

"Damn," he quietly muttered.

I silently agreed as I was too worked up to speak. As I regained my breath and composure, a euphoria that I had never experienced before enveloped me. I can't describe it, but suffice to say I was just so happy. I flipped over onto his massive chest, grasped his face with both my hands and furiously started kissing him over and over again. I kissed his forehead, his nose, his cheek, and his mouth. I finally pulled back just long enough to say,

"That was amazing! We've got to do that again!" I said. I was sure he was going to be too tired and would want to rollover and sleep. In fairness he had just cum twice in the last hour. But he surprised me.

"Sure." He said with a broad smile. "I'm game. The question is are you? Because after what we just did, I'm going to need some help from you to get ready for round three." He playfully taunted.

We both laughed and I immediately took up his challenge and started kissing him all over again.

A quick commentary on Marc's technique and his inherent sexiness. He, of course, starts from a much higher level than most men. He's tall. He has great hair and a great body. He's also charming and confident. Like I've said, he is gorgeous. Not from a pretty boy standpoint, but from a rugged, weathered-cowboy, genuine standpoint if that makes sense. There are no airs and no need to remind people who he is. In bed his greatest skill is his focused intensity and the fact that he is unhurried. When he is kissing, all his attention is on kissing. When he was fondling my breasts, he was taking his time, he was enthralled and concentrating on them, as I've said, in ways that I never knew was possible. It makes a woman feel wonderful when she senses that the man she is with enjoys kissing her as much as she loves being kissed. Or that he appreciates her body and beauty in real, not superficial, self-gratification only ways. Marc has learned the power of that skill, unfortunately most men haven't.

As I said, when we were kissing it was intense, wonderful and fun (I vaguely remember weirdly thinking that he obviously doesn't seem to mind putting his tongue back in my mouth after what happened downstairs). He is a good kisser and he tastes amazing. I loved it.

It seemed like we kissed for hours, but eventually, my hands started to roam, as did his. He began playing with my ass for the first time, grabbing and squeezing it. His fingers flickered around my ass but never penetrated me. Like everything he did, it felt great and very sexy, not cheap and tawdry. As time went on, I could feel him getting hard again. Damn this man has some stamina, I remember thinking. I encouraged him with my hands and was so inwardly pleased that I was 'doing my job.' Little boring me, a married woman from the suburbs, was able to coax a third rock-hard erection from this gorgeous man.

This time I took control and hoped on top. I guided him into me for the second time. I must admit I was not thinking about his pleasure at this point. I love being on top. I can control the movement and make sure the places I need touched and stimulated, are. This position also had the added benefit of being able to rest my hands on his impressive chest and just stare at him as I energetically ground myself into him. The friction inside my vagina wasn't as great as the first time as there was still copious amounts of him inside me, but still, within a few minutes I was close to coming again. Soon thereafter, my orgasm washed over me in waves and I almost passed out.

While my body was coming down, he lifted me like a rag doll and spun me around so I was now facing his feet. I think it's called reverse cowgirl. I'm sure Jim and I have tried it, but its not part of our regular routine. Although it was not as fun looking at his feet as it was his chest and face, I did experience new sensations. I kept bouncing on his penis trying to find the perfect stimulation of my clit while resting my hands on his massive thighs. While I don't think I came in this position, I could tell I was having an effect on him. His body was tenser and his breathing heavier.

Without warning he suddenly sat up, grabbed me by the hips and pushed me forward on all fours facing away from him. My soaking wet, and by this time dripping pussy and ass were up in the air for all the world to see, well, at least for Marc to see. He jumped to his knees, scooted up between my legs and reinserted himself. Once back inside of me he reached down and grabbed both my hips in his hands and then began moving in and out of me. His actions were slow at first and then began increasing slowly, but purposefully. I matched his rhythm and pushed back on penis. His imposing size, his extreme arousal, and his physicality overwhelmed me. I was being consumed by this man's desire and sexuality. I was completely his and I loved It. Within minutes of switching us to doggy style, he was at the brink. He shot load after load into me for the second time, and brought me to my own earth shattering orgasm.

I collapsed as did my NFL tight end. We were spent. Like most men, he was out in no time - still naked, but undoubtedly content.

I stayed awake beside him for a while. I was a bit of a mess down below and could only imagine what my makeup and hair looked liked. Oh well. He wasn't looking and I was surprisingly very happy and fulfilled. Actually, fulfilled was not the half of it. Marc had ejaculated into me three times since I arrived at his house. He had come once in my mouth (that I could still faintly taste) and twice in my vagina. It's interesting, but rather than being mortified at my behavior, I was wickedly delighted at what I had done.

And what I had done was so far removed from anything else I had done. I had never had a one night stand...not even close. I had never let a man I had just met, slide his hand up my thigh and explore me, put his penis in my mouth or guide it into my vagina. I had never laid naked by a complete stranger while he slept. He had seen, touched and tasted every inch of me and rather than being self-conscious, modest and anxious to leave, I was completely comfortable being naked in this stranger's bed while my husband slept alone somewhere else. Although it wasn't, at that moment, it felt natural and okay.

At some point I became aware that he was beginning to drip out of me. It was kind of a surreal out-of-body experience. As it was happening, it didn't strike me as 'ick' and I never once considered shifting on the bed to avoid it. It's funny in hindsight, but I also never looked for a box of tissues to clean up or for a toothbrush to rinse out his taste from my mouth. I was satisfied to stay just where I was, in his bed, by his side.

I continued to lay there mesmerized by the semen from our two different sex sessions that was oozing out of me, across my thigh and onto the sheets. I did briefly think about Jim, and how he must be worried sick. I thought about calling him, but just didn't have the energy to go downstairs to find my clutch and my phone. He'll be okay, I rationalized. Dee would have made sure to tell him I would be alright. Minutes later I fell soundly and blissfully asleep in our mutually created wet spot.

I had no idea what time it was or how long I was asleep. It was lighter outside, but I don't think the sun was fully up. I was on my side and Marc was behind me with his arm over me caressing my breasts and nibbling on my neck.

"No Marc," I purred. "I'm gross and need a shower."

It was quickly apparent that he did not agree with my assessment of my lack of attractiveness as he pressed into me and I could feel his erection. Damn, I swooned as I felt myself responding and getting damp. One half of my brain was saying not again, I need to freshen up, but the other half was starting to lose itself to this man again. His kisses increased in frequency, his hand roamed more freely, including sliding down to tease my clit and finger me. I was still sticky with remnants of him from last night, but he didn't seem to care. Apparently neither did I as I felt myself responding anew to his touch. It didn't take long before I was completely past caring what I looked like or how I smelled.

He pushed into me from behind as we spooned and he vigorously fucked me to another wonderful orgasm.

What a way to wakeup I dreamily thought as I came down from my orgasm. Marc was still moving back and forth, but something was different. His pace was slower and his kisses were more gentle. I could sense him breathing me in. He was kissing my neck and running his hand through my hair, pulling it behind my ear, and tracing the nape of my neck. Where I described last night as him devouring me, this morning it was as if he was savoring me. It was almost like he wanted to memorize every curve and feel of my body. His actions were less about sexual gratification and more about expressing feelings. It was also a very real turn on.

Marc came but he didn't pull out immediately. He stayed molded to my back and just kept kissing my neck and nibbling my ear while his penis went soft inside of me.

I was now at the point where not even a 6' 4', 205 lbs, NFL, All Pro Tight End was going to keep me from a shower. He led me to the bathroom, made sure I had a towel, but made no attempt to join me. I think he rightly sensed that I needed to be alone to soak and scrub. The shower was heavenly, however, the available products were sparse. There was some Dove for Men body wash, some shampoo and conditioner. Clearly just the basics that a bachelor needs with no evidence that a women stayed here on a regular basis.

When I got out I wrapped my hair up in a towel and went to the mirror to face reality. A little tired, but not too bad. I did notice some tiny red spots on my neck and breasts, from his gentle bites last night. I'll need to cover those up with some makeup before Jim notices, I remember thinking. Rummaging through his bathroom drawers I found an unused toothbrush.

"That's a good start," I said out loud to nobody but myself.

I used his deodorant, some lotion I found, and also his brush and blow dryer. I had some mascara and lip gloss in my purse and that, as they say, will have to do. My next task was to find some clothes. I had no desire to put my dress back on, at least not until I had to leave. I looked in his closet and found one of his jerseys, so I slipped that on. It smelled great and once again reminded me of his sheer size. It made me feel small and oh so feminine. I located my thong, but quickly concluded that I was not about to put that thing back on. Commando it is, I thought to myself as I headed downstairs to the smell of coffee and frying bacon.