It Started in Garden City

Note to the readers: this story uses flashbacks, to enjoy it you'll have to be aware of where the story is in time. I hope you enjoy the story nearly as much as we did living it.

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We shared a goodbye kiss and then I smiled at him as I pulled the door closed.

My husband and I might have actually stayed on this floor of the Garden City Hotel six weeks ago. That's when this all started -- it was just pillow talk, ordinary pre-foreplay whispers in the dark.

"That woman really was sexy, wasn't she?" Fred asked back then. It was that innocent question that led to me walking down this hallway now. We had taken his daughter to dinner and dropped her off at her Hofstra University dorm, had a couple of drinks in the richly done lounge at the Garden City Hotel and finally came up to our room. The next day we were going to fly out of LGA to our home in . . . well, you don't have to know where we live, do you?

If you're a careful reader you would have concluded the man I was with had been divorced at least once, that I might be his wife, we were probably in our late 40s, and doing well enough financially. Those would have been astute and correct assumptions.

And the sexy woman? Fred said most likely she was interested in recreational sex that night. The Garden City Hotel is probably the finest hotel on Long Island. It's an upscale property that attracts upscale and sophisticated guests. My husband, an ex Naval Aviator, said if a woman wanted to play pickup games for casual sex this hotel's lounge was a target rich environment.

Fred did talk with her for a few minutes. He told her he wasn't a candidate for the games she wanted to play, and when he pointed out that his wife – that's me – was returning from the lady's room. I trust Fred and absolutely believed even if I wasn't there and he knew I would never find out, he still would have sent her away. There may not be honor among thieves, but there is among some of those who lived with the Code at Annapolis.

"But you're a sexy woman too," he said that night six weeks ago, touching those places he knew would make me feel that way. We were moving to the next level, into foreplay. "I wonder what it would be like, to do what that woman was doing," I wondered aloud. I was feeling sexy. My comment wasn't intended to add to the stimulation, it was just curiosity.

Fred got more turned on than usual: I hadn't fondled him for more than half a minute when he rolled onto me and began pressing his groin and its attachments against me. I didn't think I was ready but that pressure and his urgency worked its magic. Within a moment he was comfortably in me and we were along the way to another mutually satisfying sexual encounter.

"The Garden City Hotel worked its magic on us again," I told him as I snuggled against him an hour later, satiated and wet with my own juices and his contribution. "You were really in a hurry, not that I minded. I like when you can't control yourself like that."

"It was your fault, you sexy thing," he told me.

"If what just happened was my punishment I'll try to make it my fault more often. Or, I will if you tell me I did that got you so excited."

"When you said you wondered what it would be like to do what that woman was doing, the one who was trying to pick me up, that got me excited."

"Oh? You mean, because you thought I picked you up? Freddy baby, you're my husband, I have exclusive pick up rights."

"No, not because you picked me up. I was thinking about you finding out what it was like to do what she was doing."

"You're being silly: don't you remember, I just did find out. We just shared wild sex, and that was what you thought she was looking for."

"Well, that's not exactly what I was thinking about," he said. "What I was thinking about and fantasizing about while we were fucking is what it would be like for you to do that, to be in a place like this and act like that."

I was naïve I guess, because I still hadn't gotten his point. I said "OK, next time we're here I'll pretend to pick you up for what you called recreational sex." I rolled over and kissed him, and continued by saying "but I was pretty successful tonight, wasn't I?"

My little flashback ended. That was then, and this was now. I took the few steps from the room I was just in to the elevator banks, pressed the down button, and waited. My face felt a little abraded: beard burn, I guess. It was a small price to pay for feeling so sexually alive. I had to be careful to maintain the appearance of the woman Bill thought I was. The man behind the door I just closed might be watching me through the door's peephole. When I stepped into the elevator and the door closed I could stop pretending to be someone I wasn't. I was ready to be with the man I loved so I could . . . the bell sounded and the elevator door opened.

I looked along the hall a last time. I was one kind of woman when I walked away from this elevator with Bill to that room a little while ago. I was different now. Bill was in his room, probably he would soon be in the bed where our sex scents still lingered. I was sure he'd sleep there and dream of me, and not in the other bed in the room. I stepped into the elevator, pressed 7, and waited for the door to close and the descent to start.

I really did it! Just two hours ago I went into the lounge downstairs. Fred had already established himself on the bar, after having, as he described it by a cell phone conversation a few minutes earlier, acted as a bird dog and reconnitored for me. "Come down," he said, "there are possibilities everywhere." I sat half dozen positions away from my husband and was pleased that we had not gone here last night. I wouldn't have wanted the barkeep or servers to know we were a couple.

Not ten minutes later I was talking to a gentleman who sat a barstool away from me and who introduced himself as William Blanding. I told him I stopped by for a drink after dropping my daughter off at college because I didn't want to go home to an empty house. William – after a few minutes he became Bill – moved next to me and told me he was leaving for home in Chicago tomorrow afternoon, he had only a few more hours of meetings at Computer Associates in the morning.

He was not one of those phony guys who had a white ring around his finger where his wedding ring had been an hour earlier. He wore his: "Home to Chicago and my wife and two daughters," he said. I told him I lived on the eastern end of Long Island, and would be going home in a little while, but not too soon. I didn't tell him the man a little distance away was my husband and he was enjoying seeing me talk to a stranger as much as I was talking to one.

Bill was about ten years older than me, and a bright funny man. I liked talking to him. A few minutes later we decided the bar stools were uncomfortable and moved to a little table. "It'll be easier to talk here," we agreed as we sat down. A while longer we found ourselves laughing. Somehow it seemed natural for him to put his hand over mine: it was a casual gesture, but intimate too.

The next time we brought each other to laughter I put my hand on his arm, then let it slide down until it was on the top of his thigh. He put his hand over mine, and looked seriously at me. "Are you teasing a man who's far from home?" he asked.

"Maybe you should define teasing," I told him.

"You'd be teasing if you're flirting and hinting at things that will never happen," he said.

"You won't know what I might or might not deliver while we sit here and talk," I told him. "I'm enjoying this time with you, and I'm not anxious for it to end too soon. Is my talking to you out of bounds? Would you rather I left?"

"It's not anything I've done before, this flirting thing," he said, "but I'm liking it. No, I don't want you to leave."

"Good." I moved my hand a little bit, letting the tips of my fingers stroke his thigh. I could feel him getting warmer. Even though my fingers were far from where he might have wanted them they were close enough to be sending a very clear message. It was a message my husband and I had been talking about for six weeks. He wanted me to send a message like that to someone like Bill here at the Garden City Hotel. He finally convinced me, and I did agree it would be fun to do, and sexy, too.

It was more fun and sexy in real life than when Fred and I planned on doing it.

A moment or two passed. When a waitress came by to take another drink order I put my hand back on the table, and he put his over mine. We talked a little more, and then he cleared his throat in a nervous way. "Uh, I don't know how to say this without taking the chance that you're going to be insulted but I liked the way you were touching me before, and. . ."

I filled in the space by saying "I liked doing that too."

". . . and, you know, I'd like to invite you to dinner or something, but I'm going to be going home tomorrow, and it's late, and, uh, don't be insulted, but would you, uh, like to, aaah, maybe go someplace else instead of sitting here?" He was so shy it was almost cute. "Where?" I asked him, and his face got red and he said, "Uh, I don't know, maybe outside, we could walk around the grounds, they're all lit up and pretty at night, or maybe go sit for a while near the lobby, that's nice too, or. . ."

"Maybe go to your room?" I completed what he was trying to say.

"I've never met a woman like you, so beautiful, so warm . . . yes, I'd like to invite you to come to my room."

Fred and I had arranged a signal if I thought things were going in this far. I was wearing a simple black dress and had a red scarf loosely knotted around my neck. If I thought I was with a man I might want to, well, to be intimate with, I'd take off the scarf. If Fred objected he could call my cell phone or come by and rescue me. If he didn't so anything it meant I could go wherever and as far as I wanted the encounter to go.

I looked around the lounge and saw Fred over Bill's shoulder. I continued to glance around a little more, not wanting Bill to think I was looking at any one person and then reached up, and pulled at the scarf, folded it and put it in my purse. I could see Fred looking at me, his mouth seemed to fall open! Good!

"I'd love to go to your room, Bill, I need to touch someone tonight, and I want to be touched." Bill was looking at the modest neckline my scarf covered. "And Bill, I'm not teasing when I say that."

"I, I guess I should go to a drug store or something, just in case we, ah. . .," he said.

"Bill, I'm healthy, I don't have anything you're going to catch. And I think you're healthy too. Are you?"

His face had gotten red, but he nodded a yes. "Then I don't want you to going off to buy condoms, Bill. I want you to take me to your room right now."

He waved at the waitress, asked for a bill, glanced at it, added a large tip, scrawled his name and room number on it and stood up.

He took my hand, I stood and we walked out together. We walked right by Fred! Bill didn't try to hide, not that he could, the fact that his pants were distorted by his erection.

I'm sure Fred noticed, and I'm sure Fred was thinking about where that erect penis was going to be in a little while. I wondered at that instant if Fred was hard too, because he should be thinking that it was going to be in his wife and after all, he claimed he got excited thinking about that.

Stopping me was NOT what he wanted!

Yes, I was excited too, but women are lucky: our arousal isn't often as obvious.

I was in the elevator now, going back down to my husband. It was the same elevator I took with Bill when it took us to the 9th floor. I hoped it was transporting me back to my safe life. I was leaving that part of me that became an erotic and sexy woman who lived on Long Island on the 9th floor, at least for now.

I let my mind drift back that month and a half, when Fred told me it wasn't me picking him up, but what it would be like if I acted like that woman and chose someone in a place like this to seduce. Or maybe, or allowing myself to be seduced.

"Sure. You'd go nuts," I told him.

"Well, in a manner of speaking, maybe. I was thinking about it, and it would be the most exquisite and erotic agony, thinking about another man kissing you, and you kissing him back, and going to his room, and being seductive. I was thinking about what it would be like waiting – I'd never want you to spend the night, I'd want you in my arms right away – while you were there with him, thinking about how you would look, how he would look, how you'd both – hell, all three of us, not just the two of you, would remember that night for the rest of our lives."

"Are you serious?" I asked him.

He was and held me tightly all those weeks ago. "I'm thinking right now how totally sexy it would be to hold you like this if, just a little while ago, you let yourself be seduced. If a few minutes ago you allowed another man in you: it would be incredible!"

I couldn't believe what he was saying: it was outrageous!

Well, we talked about it for six weeks, and slowly I began to accept the very erotic idea Fred had. We talked, we role played, and I began to think it would be really something to flirt with someone, and maybe to actually seduce him. The more we played with the idea the more Fred pushed on actual seduction as the goal, and the more exciting it sounded to me, too. After all, it wasn't as though I was going to be sneaking around my husband's back: I'd be doing it with his encouragement.

Then it was time to return to Long Island to visit his daughter.

The elevator bell sounded and the door opened. This was the 7th floor, the floor our room was on for this stay at the Garden City Hotel.

I stepped out of the elevator and paused a moment or two, remembering what just happened, how Bill and I stood stiffly side by side until the elevator came, and stood still just holding hands as it moved us up to the 9th floor.

It was almost funny watching Bill trying to work the card key in the lock. He was nervous and distracted. Well, so was I!

We got into his room and I turned to watch Bill as the door closed and he set the inside lock. That done, he turned to face me, uncertain about what to do next. I wasn't at all uncertain; Fred and I had been role playing for weeks! "Hold me, Bill, and kiss me. I need to be held and kissed . . . and desired."

He did all of those things, and he felt so good, so warm. "Are you teasing me now, Bill?" I asked when that kiss ended.

"I, I, uh . . . my own wife isn't like you, she's very heavy, she isn't much interested in intimacy and you're so warm, so beautiful. . ." I never expected him to talk about his wife!

"I guess I shouldn't be talking about her. . ."

"You should kiss me again, that's what you should do," I told him, and helped him do that, and kissed him back.

When that kiss ended I told him that I wanted to remember every second of what was going to happen, and hoped that years from now he'd remember, too.

I wear my hair a little longer than shoulder length, and did something I practiced with Fred. I turned my back to Bill and pulled my hair to the side. "Bill, will you get the clasp back there, please?"

I felt fingers, they seemed to be shaking a little, work on the clasp and then after a moment felt the tension in the dress relax as he moved the zipper down.

"Thank you," I said, turning back into his arms, feeling his hands on my back. Oh, I liked that! He was pressing into me, he liked it too. I pushed him away, back, until he was sitting on the bed. "Let me get my dress off, then I want to kiss you again."

I pulled my dress over my head and enjoyed watching him as he watched me. I never felt sexier! His wife may be fat – I wasn't. I was fit and proud of my body.

I had on a small slip, and took that off too: I was just wearing a black strapless bra and pantyhose now. He took me in his arms again, and his hands were moving on my back, caressing me from neck to bottom, and side to side, sliding over my bra strap. He may have never done this before, but his instincts were working. My own fingers were under his suit coat -- he was still fully dressed. It took only a moment of body language to convince him to get that off and his tie off. I was in his arms again, he felt like he was going to explode. Premature ejaculation was not something Fred or I had considered, but at that instant in real time it looked as a possibility. I remembered most men, in my limited experience, had poor control the first time they had sexual contact with me. That would not do today!

I pushed him a little away, unbuttoned his shirt, and helped him take it off. "Things like this don't happen to me," he said as I pushed him so he was sitting on the bed again, and then knelt in front of him to take off his shoes and socks. "It's never happened to me, either, Bill," I told him. "We're making a special memory together." I pushed him back and pulled at his belt, got it opened, and he helped open his slacks. He helped me pull and push both slacks and boxer shorts down, and off. I never thought whoever I chose tonight would be nude before I was, but there he was, naked on the bed.

I lay next to him and we embraced again, body against body, and he was groaning a little as he held me, pushing against me. It was a delicious feeling, feeling his urgency, his desire, his need.

"This is like a dream," he whispered as his lips moved from my lips to my ears: oh, he was good at that, his tongue teased me and excited me even more.

Then his lips moved to my neck: that was so sweet. He moved to my throat: ah, that was nice.

His lips moved a little lower. I rolled onto my back, making it easier for him to nuzzle into my modest cleavage. I reached under his chin to the clasp on the front of my bra and released it. "Oh, God, you're so perfect," he said as he kissed the cup away and found my left nipple erect and waiting for him. "Oh, oh my god" he said again after nursing on it then moving over to suck in the other one. I found myself holding the underside of my breast, lifting it: I'm just not that large but what he was doing felt so good, I wanted more!

"I need you," he said, "I want you."

"I want you too, I want you on me and I want you in me!" I told him, and I was telling him the truth. I bridged just a little and pushed at my pantyhose, and he helped me pull them off. Now I was naked, too, and he moved on me, his penis pressing into my legs, his legs were outside of mine. He was groaning as he moved his hips, rubbing his penis against my legs, his legs pressing against mine, almost holding them together.

I put my hands on his hips and pushed up a little on his left one. He rolled a little to the side so I could move my leg out from under him. Then he rolled the other way and I moved that leg too, and when he rolled back he was between my legs, his cock was pressing against my groin.

I bent my legs and cradled him between them.

"This is what I want, Billy. Lift up, let me help you," I told him. He did, and he gasped as I touched his erect penis for the first time. I moved it – him – and guided its head to my own opening. Then I tilted my pelvis up a little. "Just like that, Billy, just like that. I'm ready for you. Come in me now, I want to feel you against me, I want to feel you spreading me, and . . . oh yes, like that." He pushed a little; his penis's head pressed against me, parted my lips just a little. He found me warm and moist, and then he just started moving his penis into me.

Billy, so sweetly, so gently, ever so slowly, slower than I could have imagined, entered my body.

One part of my mind reminded me I crossed a line, I was having sex with a man who was not my husband. I looked at the man who was in me, mounting me. I looked between us as he moved his cock into me, as his pelvis pressed against me. It was exquisite, beautiful, glistening, as it was exposed while he withdrew, then his pelvis would meet mine again. He was deep inside that place that had been reserved for my husband for so many years. I was more than a wife, I was a sexy woman, a woman other men wanted!