I Need It Dirty Pt. 01

For as long as I can remember I have been attracted to interesting men particularly if they are intelligent as well. Whenever I hear one explaining a complicated issue in easy-to-understand terms my attraction to them increases. If they then show they can solve complicated problems, metaphorically I feel my knicker elastic loosening and if they can explain the solution so I understand it then, just as metaphorically I feel them sliding down my legs and off.

During my career in advertising, particularly before my marriage, I met numerous men who were both interesting and intelligent and that illustrated to me that my knicker issue was a good deal more than merely metaphorical.

I think it was missing this, the interesting and intelligent people not the loose knicker elastic that I missed most when I gave up work to bring up our two children. That hadn't been much of a problem when they were young but as they tore through their teens and needed me less so it became one. On top of that I had to cope with a workaholic husband who was away from home usually travelling to the US at least a week a month and worked murderous hours and entertained frequently when at home.

As it had been an inheritance of mine that provided him with the funds needed to get his business going so I benefitted from it in many ways; I had more clothes than I knew what to do with, I had fantastic holidays even though Kevin was always on his mobile, iPad or laptop and I got to go to all the top restaurants, clubs and sporting events. When I wanted to, I accompanied him on trips to New York, LA and most European cities, I had a brand-new car every year and we lived in a huge house in an upscale suburb of London and owned holiday homes in Florida and Sorrento.

So, what's the problem many would ask? There's two actually: I am so bloody lonely and I so fucking frustrated I masturbate most days and have the wildest fantasies. And as much as I have tried, Kevin is losing or has lost his sex drive. At first, I thought he was getting it elsewhere but after we talked about it at some length, I doubted that he was though that didn't help me as I was still not getting anywhere near what I needed and had been used to during most of our twenty-five plus years marriage.

This situation was compounded when Kevin informed me that he was opening an office in New York and that he would be working there full time for a few months.

"Don't worry though love, I'll pop home some weekends and you can come out when you want," was his rather weak attempt at pacifying me.

I often contemplated an affair, thought about having flings, considered taking up the invitations from the 'my wife doesn't understand me' brigade at the golf and tennis clubs or guys I met at dinner parties and other soirees. I have even pondered on getting a toyboy many times, but so far, all of these had remained as my masturbatory fantasies.

However, all that changed when I went to work.

I wasn't looking for an affair. I didn't want a guy to be dipping his pen in the company ink and I certainly had no intention whatsoever of doing anything that might ruin my marriage as I still loved Kevin and, apart from sex, we got on great. I hated the lonely and frustrated situation I was in, but was even more scared of being divorced. As it happens, I didn't have an affair but I had a series of rather extreme, intense and quite dangerous liaisons which gave me all the thrills and the sex of an affair without having to make the excuses and tell the lies that affairs demand.

The incongruity of it was the guy with who I had these liaisons and how he got me involved in them. Apart from being interesting in his almost unique way and most certainly frighteningly intelligent, he was not at all my sort. That is if there is such a thing as 'my sort' for since marrying Kevin there hadn't needed to be one as I have been physically totally faithful to him. Emotionally I may have strayed with my fantasies and my thoughts of having a discrete affair or a virile toyboy. Certainly, many men and probably Kevin as well, would have considered my frequent, almost daily, masturbating sessions as me being unfaithful and without doubt he would have thought that my occasional chat room cybersex, sometime accompanied by a phone call as me being a philanderer as well as a slut. In my heart and mind when I let my imagination flow, I knew that deep down he would be correct thinking that. But then he had mostly encouraged me to be the 'lady in the drawing room and the whore in the bedroom.' And on top of that he had for many years now used his hobby to provide both of us with some wonderful sexual experiences by photographing me as I undressed and then played with myself.

*

"At least give us your knickers to sniff then."

As chat up lines go it was certainly different when he suggested that with a mischievous glint in his eyes after I had told him that I wasn't interested in giving him a blow job.

I had been working at the newspaper as a Senior Sub-editor for a month or so and had slowly got to know everybody including Stevie Taylor. He was the IT King at the local newspaper group where we both worked. Amongst the women in the company he was known as the office stud or a bit of a sleezball; I preferred the latter description as it seemed to be more accurate. What was so strange was that although some of his behaviour and language made my flesh creep, he also turned me on in almost equal measures. I put it down largely to him being so different to anyone else I knew. That side of him combined with his intelligence certainly made for an interesting character.

He was rather loud, a little arrogant and assumptive as well as being quite foul mouthed and crude but in a humorous way. That said, he had oodles of charm that he seemed able to turn on and off easily and he was very likeable indeed. He was Irish from Dublin and had a lovely brogue and the cutest twinkle in his stunningly ice, blue eyes. He was tall, around six two and looked fit and trim. He had black, wavy hair that he wore quite long and he was good looking. He was witty and humorous, was noted for his generosity and treated everyone the same whether they be the tea boy or the Managing Director. He was in his late twenties and had a first-class honours degree in computer science from Trinity in Dublin so, he was frighteningly intelligent. At first there was nothing that suggested he would be my 'saviour' and that he might become the man who helped me solve in the most dramatic way my frustration and my sexual dilemma.

We were working together on a short-term project to archive past articles and stories on a new computer system so they could be easily cross referenced. I was being paid a generous bonus for the extra work as it had to be done outside the normal working hours of the newspapers. That meant either, early mornings between five and eight or evenings from six to twelve or both. As the offices were just a ten-minute drive from my home and as I was often alone the anti-social hours didn't bother me.

"Nooooooooo I will not," I sighed, laughing a little as I dismissed his request.

This was on the Monday evening of the second or third week of the project. I had agreed to do most of the early morning work alone for he had said.

"I'm fucking terrible getting up in the morning Jayne; waking up that is not getting it up for I love early morning sex."

I didn't reply and he went on.

"But then I don't usually get to bed to two, well sleep that is if you know what I mean," he'd explained leering at me.

"Yes, I know what you mean," I'd replied.

"What about you and your husband do you do it at night or in the mornings?"

I ignored him.

"Or do you do it both?"

"Leave it Steve."

"Or maybe neither Jayne, are you on a low sex diet?"

We were doing our evening shift and were the only people in the office at that time of night. As usual, he was taking every opportunity to introduce sex into the conversation. Although I'd worked for the newspaper for over a month now this was the first time, I had worked closely with him and it was a little bit unnerving.

"I bet you wear really sexy knickers," he went on. "A thong? A tiny G-string? Open crotch? Yes, that's it," Stevie chuckled when I glared at him, "I bet you're wearing cheap, red tacky open-crotch knickers."

"Fuck off you pervert," I snarled but nevertheless not able to resist grinning.

"Oooo I love it when you talk dirty to me. I bet you love wearing them."

"I am not," I maintained. "Now let's get back to work".

I knew I should ignore him but he just kept going on and on like a yappy terrier. In a strange way, though, I enjoyed it. Maybe that was because nobody nowadays talked to me like that or showed much interest in me. Kevin was away so much and worked such ridiculous hours when he was home that there was little time for sex. It seemed that recently we only had it when he took photos of me and I was beginning to think that he needed to do that to get it up!

In our social life there was nobody anything like Stevie to which many would say, thank goodness. He was incorrigible and all he seemed to do whenever I saw him at lunch or whatever was talk about sex, his conquests at the weekend, his potential conquests, magazines that he'd seen, porn on the internet and girls he wanted to have sex with. Having said all that he was, though, discreet as he never put names to anything he had done so he protected the reputations of the innocent, that is, of course, if it was all true!

"I just adore blondes," he smirked at me looking at my shortish blonde hair.

"Yeah I'm sure."

"Course I do and when the hair is on a MILF, I get hard just looking at her."

"Oh shut up, I bet you say that to all the women."

"No only to blonde MILFs with big knockers and especially if they wear glasses, what a fucking hard-on inducing package that is."

As I look back now it was sexual harassment in the workplace, but Stevie was one of those people that oozed charm and charisma meaning that everyone just laughed along with him and he got away with being outrageous. Just why he seemed to zero in on me I didn't know, possibly because I played along with him, maybe.

"So what type are you wearing then?" he continued verbally trying to beat me down.

"I'm not telling you," I retorted becoming rather flustered but intrigued.

I wondered if it would be simpler just to tell him. This was the third night in a row this week, when we had worked together until midnight. Stevie had finished his part of the job so had spent the last hour or so asking me to go into the toilets for a 'quick shag because his nuts were busting.' He said it in a way that made me wonder if he was really serious or not. Naturally, I consistently refused his lecherous requests which didn't seem to faze him much and certainly didn't deter him.

It wasn't that I was completely repulsed by him for I did find him challenging and slightly exciting which, I suppose is the best way of describing my feelings and, of course, he was both interesting and intelligent! That combination certainly was continually threatening to loosen my knicker elastic but I couldn't, could I? I was married so I was unavailable and I couldn't risk him mouthing off about fucking me. Or could I, I kept asking myself?

'Fuck' I thought as I was driving home in my Rangerover. 'I am making excuses for fancying him and am working out reasons not to give in to his advances. I should just accept I don't want the jerk.' But I knew that wasn't quite true as the elastic seemed to be getting looser by the day and I was beginning to think that if I was certain that I could get away with it then I would be sorely tempted!

"I have always fancied big boobed, older birds like you?" he suddenly blurted out as we were completing a quite complicated part of the online cataloguing process. He was clearly referring to my quite rounded and, if I do say it myself, pretty good figure. At the time I was in my mid-forties. I am five feet six tall, weigh just on ten stones, one hundred and forty pounds, and have thirty-four-inch D cup boobs with the rest in proportion.

"I'm not even your type," I muttered as I kept furiously typing so I didn't have to think about him and what he wanted to do with me.

"So," he grunted sipping his coffee. "What is my type, then?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know, probably common, slutty, trampy, easy women that wear too much make-up and not enough clothes, tarts really" I felt like I'd won a small victory when he finally fell silent for a moment or two.

"I've got to admit," Stevie heaved a sigh as he moved closer to me slowly enunciating every word slowly into my ear, "Actually I have fucked a lot of women like that but I do like a challenge too and I've fucked the arse of a few women just like you as well!"

He was so close to me now I could smell him. It wasn't a bad smell but not a pleasant one either, just his smell. He had dark shaggy hair, hardly ever shaved and dressed very casually which made him stand out in the fairly conservative office. His choice of clothes always looked like someone else did his shopping for him. Nothing ever matched and he liked bright colours which is unusual in a man. He probably thought he looked a bit like Brad Pitt or that singer in Oasis, Noel something because he did.

Conversely, I try to always be smartly turned out dressed in professional business attire; usually from Zara or M&S with a few designer names added for extra effect. I rarely wore my really good stuff for work.

"What do you mean women like me?" I nervously asked wondering what was coming.

He smiled, guessing that he was making progress. It was an easy-going smile. A confident smile. A predator's smile that he held as he went on.

"Women who are married, but bored and are looking for a bit on the side, but are scared because hubby might find out. Married birds who are frustrated and gagging for it. Women who have deep, dark desires that they want fulfilling but don't know how to go about it." His voice had now dropped several octaves and was becoming very husky which could have been the result of him being aroused or the 40 cigarettes a day he smoked.

He was leaning over me with his face close to mine. I got that smell again, his smell! It was cigarettes and strong aftershave.

"They've usually got the looks, the career, the clothes, the house, the big flash car, the holidays abroad but....," he paused as I stopped typing, my fingers frozen to the keyboard. "But deep down they need some passion put back into their lives!"

'My God,' I thought. 'He could be a psychiatrist. He's just described me and my life to a T.'

Up until recently, I had assumed that I would go through life with Kevin and our children living happily ever after, but that wasn't what was happening. Life was not turning out that way. Things were not as I had imagined they would be and the relationship between us was not what it had been or what I wanted and hoped for. Something was missing, something was wrong. Maybe that was me or my fault, who knows? But despite the ever more frequent photo sessions which were becoming more explicit with me now masturbating and using a vibrator as he took shots and videos, the frequency with which he wanted me was getting longer. It was almost as if something would click within him and out would come the camera, video and lights and I would perform for them. Immediately after he finished, he would fuck me and generally it was great. But then he'd pack his toys away and I would get nothing until he got them out again which could be three, four or more weeks later.

As all this was going through my mind, I hadn't noticed that Stevie was now sitting very close to me. His knee was pressing against mine and he put his hand on the back of my chair.

"Seriously Jayne, I have always fancied you," he said in almost a whisper, a husky, sexy one as well.

"Don't be silly," I replied feeling tingles starting all over my body.

"It's true from the moment I saw you the day you started I wanted you. And I want you now."

I felt his fingers on my shoulder.

"Don't," I whispered, enjoying the sensation.

He dropped his hand to my shoulder and squeezed it.

"I somehow don't believe you really mean that," he said sliding one arm round my waist and pulling me against him.

"I do," I muttered without any conviction. He obviously realised knew that and took hold of my chin with his other hand turning my face towards him.

'Oh shit he's going to kiss me,' I thought feeling both excited and worried at the same time.

His mouth closed on mine and he did kiss me. I didn't react at first, I held back, I didn't respond. But then as he squashed my boobs against his chest, his tongue probed at my closed lips and his lips squirmed on mine I found the resistance and strength to push him away and stand up.

"No, no Steve," I groaned as he stood up facing me.

"What's the matter, don't tell me you don't want me to?"

"No."

"What no you do or no you don't?" he asked sliding his arm around my waist. That felt nice, but I knew I should move and went to but he held on.

"Well Jayne?"

"Oh Steve, please don't," I sighed.

He was reading me like a book and seemed to know the conflict going through me.

"No one will ever know Jayne; you haven't heard me ever say anything about any women here."

"That's not the point," I whispered letting him pull me back against his chest as I dropped my head onto his shoulder.

"You feel guilty about is that it?"

"Yes," I whimpered.

"Don't worry they all do, it's all part of being a wife and a MILF," he responded not particularly diplomatically or helpful. "It's how you should feel, that's good, it shows your loyalty, but it shouldn't stop you getting some extra pleasure and enjoyment," he went on making me feel a tiny bit better.

He stroked my back and let his hands run down the grey, silky top and onto the tightness of my bottom in the thin, black, tight pencil skirt. He gripped my cheeks and pulled so that my pubic mound was pressed against him. He was fully erect and that made me gasp with a combination of surprise and excitement. I had this odd sensation of feeling pleased that I had made a guy over fifteen years my junior get an erection; daft really!

He kissed my cheek and pulled my face so it was square onto his. We looked into each other's eyes. He smiled and then moved his face slowly towards mine. I felt my resistance leaving me as his lips found mine and he kissed me again. After a short hesitation, I responded to his kiss. I kissed him back and let his tongue open my lips. It probed inside my mouth and we kissed deep and passionately as almost involuntarily I swear my tongue duelled with his and slid into his mouth. He knew as well as I did that I had given in, that I had capitulated and that I was surrendering to him.

I could feel the heat from his body, the strength of his arms around me and the power of his erection pushing into the soft, slight swell of my tummy. His fingers were on my breast and then quickly inside my blouse and caressing the soft flesh of my boob. He was so gentle I could hardly feel his touch, but it also felt like a thousand watts of electricity surging through my skin as he tried to peel my bra back.

I suddenly jumped up pushed him away and announced,

"Enough! I need a cup of coffee."

I fled out of the main office to the tea room. My hands were shaking as I filled the kettle with water. I felt pleased that I had stopped him. It was wrong. I didn't want him or an affair. I was married and I didn't put it around and if I did, I had other suitors, more my own age and more 'my type' than this flash, lecherous sod who I had just been kissing.

I sensed that he was standing behind me in the doorway as I stared out of the window into the twinkling darkness.