Jayne's Story

I've read that almost 40% of married women have sex outside of their marriages. I didn't do that in my first marriage, and I've been married to a wonderful man for the past five years and wouldn't want to do anything to hurt him or put our marriage at risk – I mean, things couldn't have been better for us. He makes a lot of money, three times what I do, not that I'm doing badly. I'm a full professor with an endowed chair in the biology department at our University– it's a well known school and the biggest employer in town. We're as happy as two 40 some year olds can be, living well in a gated community on a golf course with lots of good friends, we still love doing things together, including loving. Everything is – or at least was – perfect.

I screwed up.

What happened started innocently enough. I had a grant that allowed us to have a visiting scientist from the University of Upusla here for three months to help with my research. Hans was within a few days of the end of his visit and we were spending long days and late nights in the lab. Walter, my husband, understood that kind of devotion of work, sometimes what he was working on consumed all of his interest, too.

Walter had to be in Europe for a couple of weeks in late May and early June. His business travel was one of the prices we paid for our success. Since I was working long hours with Hans it took a little pressure from me. Wally was supposed to come back tomorrow, the day before Hans was leaving, but the acquisition he was working on hit a small snag. He called me about 5 PM – bed time for him – to tell me it would take another day. I missed him so much. Pretty soon he'd be back, my workload would go down and I could act like a human again. Tonight I would work late. I didn't mind working long hours in the lab, but missed not having Wally at home, especially at night. He is so strong and so comforting: my difficulties just disappear when I was in his arms.

Hans and I were trying to cause a reaction we suspected triggered a particular cellular breakdown – future grants depended on it. We were working in vitro (outside the body) where things are really very different than in vivo (inside): you just can't create the same environment. Well, we struggled and struggled, then figured out maybe the substrate pH wasn't quite right – simply because we measured one thing didn't mean that's what was going on where the reaction was occurring. We modified the buffer, and bingo – things went the way we expected. Now we'd be able to get what we needed for an important paper (you probably know that's how we keep score in academia) and my grant would be renewed and expanded. Hans should be able to reproduce the data in his lab when he got back to Sweden; we could co author the paper on the 'net. Things couldn't be better. It was a just-in-time breakthrough. The "Goodbye Hans" party Wally and I – opps, now it would be just me being hostess -- were going to have at our house tomorrow would be more than wishing him Godspeed; it would be a celebration of a major success, too.

Euphoric would have been a good way to describe our mood when we left the lab about 9 that evening. As usual we were so engrossed in what we were doing we lot track of time. Hans knew Wally was away and he suggested we get a bite to eat together and continue our celebration. Hans told me the apartment the university leased for visitors was right near a place that served light late night meals in its cocktail lounge. It sounded like a good way to end a good day.

We had a small meal with a couple of drinks and I was feeling mellow, relaxed, and happy. There was a small dance floor. We used it for a while as well, and yes, it was nice dancing with this Swede who was probably 10 years younger than me and at least as smart. Dancing was more than I expected to be doing – after all, Wally was away.

Hans might have said something, I don't remember, but I pulled away a little to look at him and our lips were just inches apart. I'm a fairly tall woman, had he was about average height for a man, so when he tilted his head and moved it towards me, I mirrored the motion, and we had one of the most tender kisses I'd had in years. It wasn't sexy, there was not tongue stuff, it was just warm and exciting and soft and delicious. It didn't even rise to the level of making me want to say "but I'm married."

But – this is a big but – I was pretty sure as we danced I could feel him get the start of an erection. Now look, this is not conceit talking: I know I'm an attractive woman. I'm tall, slender, fit and was Miss something or another when I was in college years ago but I was a lot older than this man and he knew that. 'Hey, look at that,' I thought, 'I was exciting enough to start turning him on."

Wow! I was turning on someone who not that long ago could have been one of my post-docs. I liked that!

During the next song I let body language tell him what I wanted. This time our lips met and opened, the kiss lasted much longer than the first one, and the hand he had on the small of my back pressed me to him. I allowed us to dance very close together and yes, there was no doubt he was aroused.

Neat! That was fun. Maybe it was the several drinks and the high we were feeling from our success in the lab that permitted all of this to happen, I don't know, but there's no doubt I allowed it, maybe even encouraged it. When the music stopped Hans – maybe it's a European tradition, I wouldn't know – walked back to the table not trying to hide the projection in his trousers that broadcast his sexual excitement. Maybe no one else noticed, but I surely did!

I had been sitting on the long bench on one side of the table, Hans had been on the chair on the opposite side, but now he sat next to me. The proximately should have been a warning, instead it added to the warmth and pleasure of the evening. We had emptied our glasses and the waitress came by asking if we wanted another round. Before I could say I had to go home Hans nodded yes. Maybe I wasn't that anxious to go.

"To today's success, and to future successes," Hans said as he raised his glass.

I drank that toast, and then did some counting. I had four cocktails in two hours. There are a few things the University was firm about, and DUI was high on that list. A child of one of the senior administrators was killed by a DUI faculty member a few years ago, and a bylaw was passed without objection by our union (the driver was a known drunk and up until then the union protected him) that a DUI convection was sufficient to indicate the driver was not fit to retain tenure. "I better stop drinking, I need to sit somewhere for an hour or two before I drive home, Hans," I told him.

"OK," he said. "There's an all night diner across the street – I'll sit with you there you for a while, or my apartment is a block away. Your car is safe in this parking lot. Let's walk there, you can even close your eyes for a few minutes on the sofa, then go home when you're ready."

I had already considered calling a cab, but the sofa option he suggested seemed like the best idea. That's probably what a psychologist would call rationalization.

We walked the block or so, took the elevator to the topmost floor and went to his door.

"Have you brought many women here, Hans?" I asked as he unlocked the door and held it for me. I was remembering how nice his kiss was, and wondered how often other women had enjoyed it. It didn't occur to me that I was his nominal supervisor and that question could be considered sexual harassment.

"Jayne, you know the kinds of hours we've been working. The only people I've met here were grad students and other people in the lab. I haven't dated anyone let alone bring them here. You're the only person I've invited up. Can I say this without embarrassing you? Even if you weren't, you'd have been the most beautiful as well as the smartest."

I smiled at the compliment. By then we were inside and the view through the balcony doors was beautiful. I stood there looking out while Hans locked the door and walked close behind me. Good. I liked him being close, and was pretty sure we'd be sharing another kiss or two. The idea seemed naughty, sexy. I missed not having Wally sleep next to me. I was a married woman in a bachelor's apartment while her husband was away: how cool and wicked was that? Yes, the wiser among you might have warned me, or maybe not. Maybe you like to hear about these kinds of problems, maybe that's why you read stories like this one.

"It's a stunning view," I told him. I didn't object when his arms encircled me, and I could feel his body pressing against my back. I put my hands over his, not to restrain him, just to feel his strength.

He wasn't being aggressive so that made me feel less threatened, or maybe it disappointed me, I'm not sure. But when his hug relaxed and his body language encouraged me to turn around, I did.

That led to a kiss that started soft and got hard fast, and it became one of those kisses where bodies are so close it's, well, sexy.

"I should be sitting quietly," I said, "burning off the drinks I had." It was a pro forma objection because I didn't want to be sitting quietly just then. There was another kiss and there were a thousand things I should have said. It might have been the drinks, the career making discovery, being with a younger man who was attracted to me, I don't know, but I said nothing. It was as though a different part of my personality took over, I stopped being a hard working researcher and a loyal and loving wife devoted to my husband. Maybe it was the thrill, the excitement. After all, we were just kissing, weren't we?

Men and women kiss all of the time, don't they?

"Come," he said, "and sit on the sofa."

He sat beside me. The sofa faced the balcony doors, we spent a few minutes looking at the city's night skyline. I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed that he didn't try to kiss me again.

Was it because I was so much older than him, maybe . . . but who knows. After all, kissing and hugging were in bounds: close to the 'don't go any farther line' but still on the acceptable side of it. Honorable Hans was going to do just what he promised -- providing a place for me to close my eyes for a while. That would be just fine, I wouldn't be regretting anything in the morning. But still, don't you think he'd do something, try something?

I will admit to being a little disappointed. My eyes grew heavy, and he reinforced the idea that I was secure. He had been sitting next to me, but somehow slipped from the sofa and knelt beside it. He took my shoulders and with a hint of a push moved me so I went from sitting to prone. I opened my eyes and smiled a thank you at this most gentlemanly man, but somehow he moved a little closer and somehow I put my hand behind his head, and somehow drew him closer to me. He leaned over and kissed me again. Oh, that was nice, having him do that. I liked it so much I allowed my mouth to open to accept the tongue that touched my lips.

It was a long, long, kiss, and somehow during it he stopped kneeling beside the sofa and moved onto it. By its end he was pressing his groin against mine, he was holding me tightly and it seemed natural to let my upper leg move over his, so he had his thigh between my legs, pressing against my pelvis

Hans at the end of the kiss half rolled away from me: I was mostly on my back, he, on his side. "That was so nice," he said. "May I tell you, now that our work is almost done, that sometimes when we were done working in the lab I'd come here and dream about kissing you like that, like this. . ."

And he showed me in a gentle unforced way the kind of kiss he dreamed about.

I was both enjoying his kiss and thinking about what he said, about his fantasizing that I was in this apartment with him. Can you understand how your mind can be enjoying the physicality of a moment and enjoying the thought that the man in your arms was living out something he had been dreaming about in this apartment?

"That's very flattering, Hans," I told him when that kiss was over. "Sometimes" – it was only a small lie, but this was a time to telling small lies – "sometimes I'd think about you when it was late at night and I was alone." I liked hearing that I made him hot, got him excited, and hoped my small lie would induce him to tell me more. My ego doesn't need a lot of stroking, but this was the nicest kind of sexual feedback an older woman could get, and I wanted as much of that kind of ego boosting as he'd give.

He turned my head to the side so he could kiss me again. Kisses were even a better verification that I excited him and I enjoyed returning them. I wanted to roll on my side and feel his body along mine again, I liked those full body contact kisses we had shared a few minutes earlier, but he had his hand on my hip and held me on my back. That was odd, but the kiss was so nice I was not going to complain.

Then he used the hand on my hip to begin stroking my side, from my waist over my hip to my knee, and back again. It was the most gentle touch, but it left me feeling as though I was on fire: I may have whimpered a little. We were still dressed in "casual lab work" clothes – slacks, blouse or in his case a pull over golf shirt, and sandals, so it wasn't as if there was skin on skin contact or anything, but the fire that followed his fingertips made it seem that way. Those fingers moved back to my waist, then onto my belly, over my groin, and down over the front of my thigh – oh my, that was close!

And up again, along the inside of my leg. I held his wrist when he got too close to that part of me reserved for my husband and Hans accepted the limitation. His hand found its way over my thigh to my belly again. His fingers were just stroking me, touching me as softly as his lips were, and my holding his wrist didn't interfere with that at all.

But those fingers of his seemed to have a mind of their own. They were on my blouse over my belly, and began walking my blouse out of my waistband. It was the strangest sensation, feeling that movement as that sort of vee of material moved up, until – those fingers were on my skin now!

He moved them lower – his fingertips were under my waistband. I tightened my grip on his wrist. He responded by moving more on me, and the kiss, soft and gentle, became harder and passionate. His fingers were pressing down into my belly, toying with my navel. It was such a wrong thing to do, I know, but it was so exciting. . . "Oh Hans," I somehow said through the kiss, and he pulled away a little. I opened my eyes to find him looking at me, into my eyes, into my soul.

I could feel increasing force on his hand as those fingers moved an inch below my naval. I was holding his wrist as tightly as I could. I was ready to say "stop!" but he knew better.

Oh, he knew.

My words didn't get uttered, his did. He said "Jayne, I want to touch you. I know you want me to. Let go of my arm when you're ready for that."

Before I could frame a protest he closed his eyes and our lips met and our mouths opened and our tongues touched. A moment later somehow my hand stopped restraining his wrist because it had a more important thing to do, to hold him close.

How can I describe this? How could you begin to understand? It was as though it was a circuit, I could feel the intensity of the kiss, the exoticness of another man's tongue touching mine and mine touching his, and there was that other part, that finger tip part, on my belly. That's where my attention was focused, it was focused on those fingers. Those fingers were stroking me, moving without any urgency, but confidently, moving lower. Their tips found the elastic on my panties and slipped under it. Then they caressed my pubic hair.

They moved another fractional inch.

I knew he must be feeling my heat, my moisture, and I remember breaking the kiss, and pulling away, and finding him staring at me again. I had to say something. I had to do something.

He moved his finger tip lower to my lips, he touched my clit and my resistance evaporated.

What I said was "Hans, no one must ever know."

What I did was lifted my upper knee a little, making myself more available to him.

I wish I could describe the expression on his face. I wish I could have seen the expression on mine when he touched me!

He never broke eye contact. It was an intensely male look, a commanding confident look as he moved his hand a last inch. His fingers played with me – no, they played me. -- I closed my eyes and lifted my head to meet his lips. The next kiss started. During it I remembered thinking what I had read about soft sex, about touching and kissing and bringing someone to orgasm or ejaculation without actual intercourse, and somehow I decided that would be all right.

I'd do that, I'd go that far. I'd let him touch me, I'd let him go down on me if he wanted to.

I'd touch him, stroke him, I'd touch his cock and play with it and masturbate him the way I sometimes did to my husband.

My next thought made me open my mouth wide, press into the kiss and roll my hips up to allow him more complete access and I pushed against his fingers, because that next thought was, if I had to go down on him to make him ejaculate, if I had to take his penis in my mouth, I'd do that too.

"No" my alter personality insisted, "No, that's saying it too passively. Be honest." It wasn't that I'd just consent to go down on him -- it was more than that. I wanted to go down on him, to feel my lips around his shaft, to feel his penis in my mouth! I was using his mouth against mine to send that message, I was tasting his lips the way I wanted to taste his penis!

"Soft sex" some inner voice said "is not having an affair, is not adultery. It's close, but the boundary isn't crossed. Let yourself go, enjoy yourself, enjoy Hans."

Kissing him, feeling him touch me, finger me, and somehow I was stroking his groin thru his slacks – all of that was overwhelming.

My body shuddered and I had an orgasm. Just like that!

I sagged back on the sofa, and looked at the man next to me. He knew what happened.

He smiled and kissed my forehead, it was almost friendly, not at all what I expected – I thought this was foreplay!

Then he explained: "Ever since I was thirty, the greatest erotic pleasure for me is giving pleasure to my partner. You were so easy to please, you make me feel powerful. Thank you for letting yourself go like that for me."

He was done, and he's thanking me? He was stroking my face, comforting me, relaxing me

That all worked, and in what had to be in only a minute or two my eyes closed.

It must have been about an hour later: my eyes almost snapped open -- I had fallen asleep on the sofa!

There was enough light in the room for me to see Hans had put a sheet over me, I was still fully clothed. Oh, Hans, honorable Hans, he was a man who did not take advantage this woman who should have known better. I checked the time- just midnight. I looked down the street and could see people walking in the neighborhood, and I could see my car. I'd just go get it after I said goodbye to Hans.

Where was he, anyhow?

I remembered that the bedroom door opened off the kitchen. I got up – oh, he took my sandals off – went into the kitchen and saw the bedroom door was slightly open. That room seemed to be lit, too. I quietly pushed the door more open, and there was Hans on his side in bed, asleep. The light was coming from the bathroom. He was bare chested, the sheet was draped over his waist. His body, that part I could see, was so smooth, so, well, young. He looked like a boy sleeping there.

I smiled at myself for wishing the sheet wasn't draped the way it was so I could see all of him. It was a shameless thought, but he must have been mind-reading in his sleep because he rolled onto his back and the sheet slipped to below his knees.