Ginger and Chris Ch. 01

"I don't want to crush you baby..."

"You won't...stay there..."

I relaxed a bit, easing the pressure on my arms, my face by her neck, breathing her in.

Those next several minutes were probably the nicest and most intimate we'd share for the next two weeks. As I felt her relax and slide in to sleep beneath me, I couldn't have imagined what a bad weekend was in store for us.

The storm clouds stayed on the horizon for a little while at least. I have mentioned before that Ginger becomes more passionate and loving after her trysts, and it seemed she was even more so after her night with Chris.

She woke me after only a few hours in the hotel, softly kissing me as she knelt beside the bed until I was fully awake, then standing and straddling my head so I could lick her again. She came easily as I worked her clit between my lips, a soft shudder above me. She began to work on me then, but I was too exhausted and just pulled her next to me, falling quickly back to sleep against her.

We both woke late Saturday morning, I called down for a late room-service breakfast, and she pulled me to her so we could make-love before it arrived.

We spent Saturday afternoon and evening at home. I noticed she was on her phone texting a few times, on the drive home from the hotel, now and then at home on the couch, but assumed she was talking to Sarah about her troubles and didn't think much of it. It was really just a distraction between the times when she'd coax me in to more sex of some sort or another, mostly involving my tongue on her slit.

She admitted she was sore from Friday, we had a bit of a laugh over it in fact. A regular card game had been cancelled once and I'd wound up home alone on a Friday as Ginger had gone out with Sarah and some other girls. I called to let her know, she asked what had happened, and I told her "I don't know...Greg's pussy hurts I guess." She didn't get it, so I then explained that it was our typical way of busting balls to a guy who backed out of something.

So, as she pulled me to her on the couch in the early evening Saturday, and I pressed myself between her legs, she'd whined "Ohhhh..my pussy hurts baby...I think you'll just have to kiss it..."

She woke me again Sunday morning, we had a nice soft mutual oral engagement, and then I went down to cook up some breakfast. She was on her phone texting again when I walked in with a tray, and she didn't hear me at first. She'd just sent a message. A small smile crossed her lips as her phone vibrated with a response, and her right hand absently drifted down to brush across her slit on the outside of her panties.

"Breakfast anyone?" I asked, wondering about that absent brush of her hand.

She looked up, not startled at all, just smiling. Her phone vibrated again, she looked at the screen and laughed, then put the phone on the bed table.

"Mmmm...breakfast in bed TWICE in one morning? You ARE amazing, baby."

I smiled, but it felt forced. "Something funny?" I said, nodding toward her phone.

"Oh...it's just Chris...wanting to know when he can see me again." she said as she leaned over to take a plate of eggs and bacon along with a glass of OJ off the tray I held.

She said it so matter-of-factly, like it was nothing at all, that it took me a while to process it.

I set the tray down, took my glass of juice. My hand betrayed a slight tremor.

"Chris...Chris from the other night Chris?" I asked.

"Uh huh." she replied, popping a forkful of eggs in to her mouth, then biting off a slice of bacon.

I settled on to the bed. "He has your number?" I asked. It was 1 of about 137 questions that had sprung to mind.

She looked at me then, and I guess I had a look on my face because she suddenly grew serious.

"Ummmm...yea." was all she offered at first. She'd tried to impart a light tone in it, but failed.

I sat looking at her.

"We exchanged numbers when you went out for the water." she said.

I still just looked at her, not really expecting more information, just trying to process what I'd seen and heard already.

"I've given my number to other guys, too, Thomas. Is it a problem?" She said the last a little defensively.

Well, this was new. I guess I'd never thought to ask. "You talk to the guys you've been with afterward?" I asked.

"Well, no. I mean, a few of them have called or texted me, but I haven't called back and if I text back I sort of blow them off, so I haven't really talked to anyone."

"But you're talking to Chris..." I said.

"I haven't TALKED to him...I've been texting him." she said somewhat lamely.

I must have rolled my eyes, not intentionally. It made the point, but also made her more defensive.

"OK, fine.", she began with a bite in her tone. "I've been TALKING to him." She looked at me with a bit of a challenge in her eyes.

Ginger and I had fought, of course. We are both stubborn people. But I don't think I'd ever been really, truly mad at her before. Now I was, and I knew why. I felt betrayed, and I'd never felt that way with her before.

My mind spun for what to say next. I was mad, and I could think of a dozen nasty things to say right then. I know how to fight dirty, but I knew deep down that I didn't want to do that with her, didn't want to fight with her at all in fact. I took a breath.

"You want to see him again?" was what came out. 2 down, 135 to go. Although her answer might make a lot of those moot.

The question took some of the fight from her eyes. She looked down at her plate, put it aside. We'd both lost our appetites. Her phone buzzed on the night stand. Great timing. She picked it up and turned it off without looking at it. I remember thinking that it was a nice gesture, that this conversation with me was more important than what she had going on with Chris. I felt a glimmer of hope that this wouldn't turn in to a full blown fight.

Then she said, "I've been wanting to talk to you about that..."

I felt my hear sink at the same time I felt my head surge with anger. I also felt my eyes narrow. I said nothing.

She started again. "I know what we agreed to at the beginning...but I've been thinking about it and reading about other people who do this, and so I wanted to talk about maybe trying something with Chris." She said it tentatively, not looking directly at me until she finished.

I tried hard to control my emotions, but I boiled over. "I don't understand what there is to talk about, Ginger. I thought we agreed to something. If you want to change the rules now, and are asking me if I'm OK with it, then I'm not, so there isn't really anything to talk about!"

I finished in a near shout. She sat looking at me, and her eyes were filling, but she wouldn't blink to let a tear slip out. She looked sad and angry, with the latter beginning to build.

Partly to make my point that there was nothing to talk about, and partly to stop myself from letting more venom escape my mouth, I stood, grabbed some clothes from my dresser, and walked out on her. I had a bad habit of walking away from arguments on my first wife, something she told me pissed her off more than anything else I did. I learned from that and had never done it to Ginger, until now.

I heard her from behind me as I stormed toward the door. She said it softly, but I could hear the firmness in her conviction behind the words.

"Don't walk away from me, Thomas."

I pulled the door shut behind me.

The next week was bad, the worst we'd ever had. She tried to call me after I left. I played a round of golf and ignored my phone. By the end of the round, I expected to find 100 missed calls, but it turns out she'd only called twice, very soon after I'd left. She was gone when I got home, and I couldn't help wonder if she'd gone to see him. I sat on the couch drinking with the TV droning, mulling over my response. I was afraid of losing her, plain and simple. But I thought my position was defensible, given that we'd agreed she'd only be with guys once.

She came in a while later, took in the empty bottles standing on the end table and the cold one in my hand. I looked her over, looking for signs that she'd been with him, but there were none. She felt my eyes on her, knew what I was thinking.

Shaking her head, she said simply "I guess now isn't the time to talk about this."

Anger welled up inside me. "If you want to talk about fucking Chris again, then I don't know that there will be a time to talk about it at all." I realized I was slurring my words, felt embarrassed, but my anger overrode it.

She sighed, walked past me and went up the stairs.

She shook me awake with a start sometime later, the room dark except for light from the TV. I'd fallen asleep or passed out on the couch.

"Come to bed, Thomas." she said, then turned and headed back for the stairs.

I pulled a throw pillow behind my head and yanked the blanket from the back of the couch to cover me.

She turned on the bottom step, looking down at me. "Please don't sleep on the couch."

She stood looking at me for a full minute, but I wouldn't meet her gaze.

"I said please, dammit. Dammit." she whispered harshly. I glanced at her, but she'd already turned and began heading up the stairs. I could hear her crying softly as she did.

I felt like a dick, I hated to hurt her, but I couldn't get past my anger. I was hurt too.

She tried the first part of the week to get us talking about it. Each time I batted it away with a similar reply, that there was nothing to talk about if the conversation involved breaking our agreement. She gave up by Wednesday. I stayed on the couch every night.

I rose early Saturday morning, stiff and exhausted. I'd barely slept the entire week. I made coffee, grabbed the paper from out front, and had settled at the table to read it when I felt her standing in the doorway. I looked up to see her leaning against the jam. She wore a short terry cloth robe, tied at the waist. She held the top tightly in both fists. Despite looking as tired as I felt, she looked good. I longed to touch her skin.

"This has to stop, Thomas. Today. Now."

I nodded, stood, turned away from her. I think she meant to say something, thinking I was walking away again, but she stopped when I reached for the cabinet above the coffee maker. I poured a second cup, set it across from mine, and sat back down.

She pulled out the chair, sat, took the mug in both hands.

"Thank you." she said, then took a sip.

I nodded.

"Maybe you think you're the only one who worries when I decide to be with someone else." she started softly, eyes remaining down on the mug.

"Ginger, " I tried to replt, but she held one hand up, raising her head to look in to my eyes.

"I have wanted to talk to you all week about this, but you haven't been interested." Her voice was almost a hiss. I could almost feel the pain and anger in her words. "So now I'm going to talk to you about it. When I'm finished, you can talk if you want, or you can just walk away again. That's up to you.", she finished.

She stared across at me. I nodded to her.

She continued. "You are NOT the only one who worries, Thomas. When it's over...when it's done and the thrill of it is gone, I am more afraid than I've ever been. Afraid that this time you'll change your mind, that you'll see me for what I am and turn me away. Do you know that?" A tear rolled down her cheek, and she swiped at it angrily.

My anger, still simmering, was being tamped down by guilt. I had no idea, of course. I tentatively reached across the table for her hand as I shook my head "no".

She looked at my hand for a moment. I was about to draw it back, ashamed at the gesture, when she took it in both of hers.

I was surprised to hear how she felt. She went on for a bit, talking about her feelings on the lifestyle we'd been living, how she worried about me changing my mind and leaving her, how she felt exposed and that I had all the leverage should I choose to divorce her. There was plenty of evidence of her behavior, of course, but the only evidence of my compliance could easily turn in to he said / she said and be denied if I wanted to.

While I held my words, I interjected that I would never do such a thing to her, the whole time feeling worse and worse about my reaction as she talked.

She moved on, telling me she really had been considering a change before meeting Chris, that she thought repeating with some guys that she particularly liked might be a nice way to ensure we would have a successful night and cut back some of the risk. She'd read about others who had done it, had even exchanged emails with other women who had done similarly, and she thought we could make it work.

Finally, she talked about Chris. While this was the hardest part for me to hear, I think it also convinced me once and for all that I could trust her. She held nothing back, she clearly didn't worry about damaging my ego. She said up front she wasn't trying to be mean or to hurt me, but that she wanted to be completely honest so that I'd know she wasn't hiding anything.

She pulled her phone out of her robe pocket and slid it across to me. Her text conversation with Chris was on the screen. I pushed it back and said I didn't need to see it, but she asked me to please read it before she continued. He had started texting her early last Saturday morning. There was a lot of flirting from him on Saturday and Sunday, along with a few questions from him about when they'd hook up again. Her responses were equally flirty, and she told him she needed to talk to me about hooking up with him again. It stopped Sunday after we fought. She'd ignored a few from him, then on Monday told him to let her be until she contacted him again.

When I was done, she pointed to the first one, from early Saturday. She admitted that it had woken her, and that she'd woken me to lick her because thinking of him had gotten her turned on again. Most of our busy weekend, in fact, had been thanks to the flirting they'd done, she told me. She went on from there, acknowledging that being with Chris had accelerated her plans to talk about the change to begin repeating with some guys. Her eyes made it back to her now empty coffee mug as she talked about this.

She finished by saying "Thomas...baby...I don't ever want to hurt you, but he did things to me that I still can't quite believe. Thinking about being with him excites me. And I want to see him again."

I stood, went to the counter and poured us each more coffee. My feelings were a mixed bag, but I knew above all that I didn't want to leave and I didn't want to fight anymore. Like I always do, I decided to try some humor.

"Hey..." I said, waiting for her to look at me. She did. "I don't suppose...you know...we could try to find another strapping young black guy with a big cock that curves up a the tip...instead of trying this repeat thing you're talking about?" I smiled.

She bit her lip inside, trying to pinch back a smile. We both knew then that she'd won. In the end, Ginger always gets her way with me. But I'm OK with that.

"What if...instead...you agree to let me see him again, which would be really, really nice of you. And in return, I'll do something really, really, REALLY nice for you?"

"Was that an extra "really" in there for me?" I asked.

She nodded. "It was."

I pretended to mull it over. "Well, I hate surprises, so if you tell me what it is, then we have a deal."

"Well, I'm not going to tell you, so you'll have to pull up your big boy pants and wait for it." she responded, then added, "But, you can have you're surprise before I see Chris again. Deal?"

I leaned over the table and kissed her, whispering that I was sorry for acting the way I did before brushing my lips against hers.

I would like to say that was the end of my internal struggles with Ginger and Chris, but it wasn't. Her surprise for me, however, went well beyond anything I ever imagined.

I bugged her about it, I really don't like to wait for surprises, but she rebuffed me at every turn. First she said she had to set something up and if her plan A didn't work out then plan B might take a little while. By Wednesday the following week, she told me that plan A was set and that I wouldn't have to wait long after all. I still bugged her to know how long, but she wouldn't budge.

Friday was another poker night for me, and she told me that Sarah would be at the house to hang out again. She also told me to come home early if I could, which is tough because if I'm winning then I have to be out late. I decided to play aggressively, not my normal style, and initially thought hopes of an early night were waning as I accumulated chips early. Soon after re-buys were finished, however, tables turned and I wound up being the second player knocked out.

I texted Ginger to let her know I was on my way, but got no reply. I was a little disappointed to see Sarah's car in front as I pulled up. I was looking forward to a hot night, since Ginger and I hadn't really cut loose on each other since settling the fight last weekend. I supposed I could wait a bit longer though.

The house was dark inside, which I thought odd. I remembered a way back, we were still only playing at her cuckolding me, when she'd left Sarah's car out front as a tease, then been waiting for me in the bedroom with one of her toy "boyfriends". But I hadn't known it was Sarah's car then, so another night like that was probably just wishful thinking on my part.

I entered the dark foyer, reached for the light switch, but paused as I saw something on the floor in the living room. A pair of strappy high-heels skewed on the carpet, just like that night I'd been thinking of. I stepped toward them, picked them up, thinking maybe I'd strap them back on to Ginger in the bedroom. But something was wrong.

They were too small. I looked for a size, couldn't read it in the darkness, took them to the door to see in the streetlight coming through the window. Size 6...too small for Ginger. My heart thumped. Sarah was smaller than Ginger...not skinnier so much, but a petite woman. Could it be? Of course not, I thought.

Hanging on to the shoes, I walked to the living room and saw a familiar trail of clothing strewn in a path leading to the stairs. The only thing out of place was the quantity. There were two of everything. One blouse crumpled on the floor beyond where I'd found the shoes, another hanging off the back of the couch. One skirt at the foot of the stairs, another about halfway up. Had I seen Sarah wearing that skirt before? I followed the trail. A bra hung on the knob at the top of the railing. I picked it up. Not Ginger's size. I brought it to my nose. Not Ginger's scent, but the perfume was familiar. My cock throbbed. Another pair of shoes lay in the hall, which I recognized as Ginger's.

My heart felt like a lump in my throat as I approached our bedroom door.

Continued in Ginger and Chris Part II...