Hot Sand: Hilton Head

"Want me to tell the girls all about your cock?" Joan asked, getting wound up as I fucked her. "Huh? Want me to tell them how big and hard it is? Huh Brian? Want me to?"

The thought of her doing it put me over the top. My cum was spewing when she got her mouth on it, my cock throbbing with intense pulses as she sucked it all in, swallowing it, licking the ooze from my cock's tip, her squeezing, stroking hand forcing it all out. I could barely breathe. "God, Joan," I said, my voice huffing. "You're...amazing."

"So are you, Mister Redfeld," she said, squeezing and tonguing the last dribble. "I could get used to this thing."

I felt half hard and lumped as we walked to the beach, me with my towel around my neck to give my middle-aged chest some modesty, Joan with her kimono cover-up tied closed with a sash. We went out a side entry, avoiding the crowd at the pool and outside bar. I wondered if Tina would be out on the beach, but I didn't see her. It's just as well. It would have been awkward.

Joan and I lounged on chairs, ate hotdogs and french fries, and made it back just in time to get dressed for the big 2pm seminar, the final one for us.

After a quiet and, dare I say, romantic dinner, we went out on the town again to another dive bar, this one with a rock band. I thought such a thing would make me feel old, but instead I felt like a teenager; partly because the band played classic rock songs from my youth, and partly because I fingered Joan to an orgasm in the backseat of the cab on the way back to the hotel. With another horny cab driver watching in the mirror, Joan seemed to enjoy having her pussy on display, legs spread wide, giving him an eye-popping show, thanks in no small part to the fact that she wore no panties under her shortish skirt. I'd discovered it when we were watching the band, me standing close behind her, my hard lump prompting her to reach behind herself to guide my hand between the backs of her thighs, right up to her wet pussy.

We fucked like animals that night. I must have been getting the hang of things, because I felt more wild and free than I ever had before, experiencing sex in a whole new way. Both days had been that way, a new and enlightening freedom that felt amazing. Joan and I had done everything the night before, so this was more like a confirmation that it all, in fact, was awesome. We both had less energy, so we found ourselves quietly sixty-nining for long periods, and I'll tell you, that's alright with me. Sure, there was some beautifully hard fucking and wild orgasms, but those quiet sixty-nines are what haunt me, using the word 'haunt' in a very good, positive way, of course. At the finish of one such round in that wonderful position, after Joan orgasmed for the umpteenth time with me, she lay there on top of me, completely relaxed, her head on my hip, my hard cock loosely gripped in her hand. "God I love what your mouth does to me," she said, moaning softly. "When we get back to the office, if you catch me staring at it, you'll know why."

I smiled. I kissed her pussy a few times, the warmth, the wet, and the flavor all so addicting. I wondered something, so I asked her. "Do you ever wear sexy lingerie under your work dresses?"

"Oh, yeah, all the time. Life's too short for boring underwear."

"Really? Every day?"

"Yup," she said. "I'm crazy about garter-belt sets, lately. I probably have a dozen of them."

"You mean...a set where all the pieces match?"

"Yeah. Bra, panties and garter-belt. Most of them are sort of see-through. A couple of them are crotchless."

"Really? Under those...work dresses?"

"You can say it. They're boring, right? I told you why."

"Oh, right. Yeah, I get it. I just think it's kind of wonderful that you're wearing a protest vote down underneath. I love it."

"I'm not the only one," Joan said. "You'd be surprised at who amongst our coworkers is wearing sexy lingerie. I won't say which woman it is, but there's one on our floor who doesn't wear panties under her dresses at all. Ever. We kid her about it, but I think it's kind of great. I do it, too, sometimes."

"What does your husband think?"

"He doesn't know I go that far, but he likes the lingerie. He's happy that I feel sexy."

—

The day of our flight home was interesting. We had breakfast in one of the hotel's restaurants, surrounded by a hundred conventioneers, some of whom we know. It felt odd to sit there and act businesslike, dressed in our conservative going-home clothes.

On the plane we sat next to each other, of course, flirty and mischievous at first, her with her hand on my thigh more than once. But then, as we got closer and closer to home, subtle changes pulled her back to the Joan I'd known for years, the Joan who talks business with bold and interesting ideas, the Joan who talks lovingly of her husband, the Joan who's thought of by her daughter as the World's Best Mom.

In the lobby of our home airport, after claiming our bags, she shook my hand and, with a sparkly-eyed smile, said, "See you at the office in the morning. We'll probably have a meeting with Jack to tell him about that new software."

I nodded and smiled. Joan smiled, too.

The day after I returned home I went to my house to talk to my wife. She said I seemed different, and then I kissed her and she kissed me, the kind of passionate kiss we hadn't shared in so many years. Soon we were fucking, on our very own bed, on top of the covers, naked to the room, something we'd never done. I felt the animal in me, and it rose up in her, as well. She said I seemed like a new man. It's what she wanted, I think, a new man, even if it's me. Maybe she had one on her own, too. It didn't worry me. If anything, it excited me, made me want to perform, to be better than whoever it might have been.

My wife has never been adventurous in the bedroom, but that night, for a long hour or two, she let me have my way with her. That may sound like some sort of 'male supremacy' on my part, but I'll tell you this — on that night, it's what she wanted. She told me so, with her words and with her actions — a thrill in her eyes when I pinned her wrists to the bed and fucked her; a happy squeal when I rolled her and pulled her ass up for doggy style; a deep moan when I put my cock in her that way, a position we hadn't tried in ten years or more. She even giggled and slowly became a hungry cock-sucker when I presented my cock, wet with her juices, to her horny, happy mouth. It was the first time she'd ever had a cock in her mouth, unless she'd been with someone else during our separation. She's no Joan when it comes to cock sucking, but just seeing her smile as she got used to it was a thrill.

So maybe Joan is right. Maybe a wild, once-a-year fling of adultery really is good for a marriage. It's a crazy idea, but maybe she's on to something. And maybe, after the next convention, after Joan and I convene a wild four-way, maybe our marriages will be even stronger. That's one way to look at it, right?