Jayne's Story

Damn! He wasn't nude after all, he was wearing some kind of white bikini briefs. I wanted him to be naked, that's what I wanted to see. That was a wicked wish, wasn't it?

That sight enhanced the little boy image. I could see the shape of his penis, it was sort of pointing toward his hip. I'd never tell him this, but it was almost cute – as though the little boy sleeping there hid one of those little Italian sausages in his shorts -- do you know the kind I mean, they are maybe four inches long and a little thicker than a man's thumb?

I found myself smiling at that sweet innocent man boy. Honorable Hans, I thought again. The erotic thoughts I had earlier were gone, I guess I was drinking in visual pleasures and being a little voyeuristic.

Hans was moving a little, the way many of us do when we're dreaming. It was charming and I decided to wait a little before waking him and telling him I was leaving.

Oh, wait a minute!

He was making small motions with his hip, and his penis shape was changing, thickening, lengthening. I could see it pulsing, surging a little with each heartbeat. He was getting an erection! He was dreaming – could he be dreaming of me?

After some seconds his penis tented those briefs, lifted the elastic from his waist enough so I could see hair and a hint of his shaft. The little boy was gone, this was a vital sexy man I was watching now. I had never actually watched someone go from flaccid to erect like that, it was amazing and sexy and erotic. "This is the thrill Peeping Toms get," I concluded.

I heard a soft "Jayne." He was awake!

"Uh, I came in to tell you I was going to go," I said.

"Jayne, I was thinking of you, and I hoped you'd come in here. I love that you're watching me get hard – it's your fault, I was thinking of you in out there on the sofa."

"I, ah, I'm going to get my car and go home. I guess I slept long enough, I think it's safe for me to drive now."

He sat up effortlessly, reached over and took my hand. "Come here, sit by me," he said.

But that sitting morphed into lying down. "I really should go," I started to say, but a kiss got in the way.

This was so wrong, so dangerous, so erotic, so sexy. . .

And once again he pulled away, and once again I opened my eyes to find him staring into them.

My wrist was in his grip, and he put my hand on his belly, his smooth hot belly.

"Go on, do what you want to," he said.

Until that moment the only penis I had touched in the last half dozen years had been my husband's.

"Soft sex", that inner voice said. "It's only soft sex."

I suppose I could write about the differences, but really my limited experience is most erections are pretty much the same in terms of size and so on, but it's the idea that it wasn't attached to my husband's body that made all the difference. You could say most electrical wires are pretty much the same too but when you touch them some have different voltages.

His had a much different emotional voltage – its smoothness, its heat were charged with it. Damn it, I am married, I have no business touching another man like that!

But oh, how I liked that feeling, the sensation of touching him, of sliding my fingers, then my closed fist, along that rod and feeling him respond to my touch.

Soft sex. It's only soft sex.

Hans bridged a little bit, pushed those underpants down, kicked them off, and now he was naked. That other part of my mind reminded me a few minutes ago I thought he looked like a young boy. He was far from that now.

I stopped kissing his lips, moved to his throat.

"Yes, do that," he said, as my lips traced down to his chest.

"Soft sex," I told myself as I let my tongue move down his center and then up along his shaft, and "soft sex" I repeated when I kissed at the head of his penis and felt his heartbeat pulsing there.

I opened my mouth and took him in.

I licked and sucked and fingered him and stroked him while sucking on that warm shaft, I did all of the things I knew about satisfying a man with my mouth. I wanted him to cum, to ejaculate.

He didn't. This was a man who claimed he wasn't sexual with a woman for three months, and I couldn't make him cum!

"What more can I do to satisfy you?" I asked him after performing far longer than I ever had before.

"What you're doing is wonderful," he told me. "I made myself cum after I left you sleeping on the sofa, and I'm glad I did because I don't want this to end. I want to do things to you, too."

He pulled away and began unbuttoning my blouse.

I helped: breasts were part of soft sex, after all.

But somehow I didn't expect to feel the way I did when he pulled my blouse off then reached behind me and unfastened my bra. I felt so exposed, so at risk, so excited as he looked at me, my breasts, when I slid the straps from my shoulders, and I looked down at myself to see my nipples as hard as they had ever been.

His mouth covered one of them.

I lay back on the bed and let him suckle my nipples. It was heavenly.

Soft sex? I was close to another orgasm with this soft sex.

He moved so he was at my feet, my breasts wanted more attention, they missed – I missed – feeling him nibble at them, suck them, softly bite them.

How did he get my slacks undone so quickly?

"Lift up your hips," he said, and I did, and he pulled them and my panties down,

"Now your legs."

I did that too. When he was done I was naked on the bed with him, and without much preamble his mouth covered my groin, his tongue touched and probed and penetrated me, he moved so his cock was within reach, and I pulled at him so he was on me, his cock suspended above me, and I reached up and pulled him onto me, and his hips began moving as he fucked my mouth, and my pelvis was moving in time with his tongue fucking me!

I had one fist wrapped around his penis, I used my other hand to move around him and stroke between his buttocks and my finger found his anus and played with it. I remembered my husband liked me to do that – he liked me to do more.

Would Hans?

I pushed that finger into him, and yes, he liked it. He liked it a lot!

So did I, I came right then.

Hans rolled off of me after another minute: his body was so hot now, it glistened with perspiration. I was hot, too, and glowing. This was so sexy, so erotic, so – everything.

"What will you tell Wally?" my inner voice asked. "Soft sex doesn't count?"

"Hans, no one must ever know," is what I said.

"No one will know this happened from me," he told me. "If anyone knows, it will be because you told them."

He said that while he was reaching into a drawer. What was he doing?

He pulled out an unopened box of condoms!

"Soft sex" that inner voice said when he opened the box and took out an envelope, and "soft sex" it repeated as he tore it open and handed the condom to me, then rolled on his back.

That inner voice went silent when I sat up, and took the condom, and took his cock, already wet with my saliva, and rolled the condom over it.

That voice stayed silent when he pushed me onto my back and moved over me. He lifted one of his legs so I could move one leg to the side, then we did the same thing on the other side, and I was spread open wide for him.

"Adultery!" that voice said when I felt the end of his penis press against my groin and I reached down there and guided it to where it should be.

Some women reading this probably can identify with the feelings I had as this man's penis, his cock, went into me for the first time. It was wrong, it was a betrayal, but even knowing that I tilted my pelvis to accept Hans into me.

I wasn't the moral and ethical woman I thought I was and at the moment I didn't care, I wanted sex. I wanted to be fucked.

And I was.

We slept in each others arms for an hour or two after that then woke up together. I should have felt embarrassed, I should have gone home, but did none of those things. Instead I reached for that box of condoms and took out another one.

We used a third at 6 AM.

I was home by 7:30, showered and dressed and at work by 9:30. I got the same welcoming smiles from my grad students as I always did and the same happy wave greeting from Hans as I always did. Didn't they know? Didn't it show?

Can't the world tell things are different, things have changed?

Well, no. They couldn't.

Hans and I repeated the experiment we did the evening before – the one with adjusting the pH, not the sexual one – and got the same result. We told our co workers about our success, and Hans bathed in their praise. I was having trouble celebrating, what I did last night was very heavy on my mind. I had betrayed my husband and myself. I felt awful. How could I face him? And then there was the party with thirty people at my house, and I'd be doing it all alone. Well, not really, it was being catered, but still. . .

Wally called the lab the middle of the day: he closed the deal and was on standby for an early flight tomorrow. He wanted to know would I mind if he called in the middle of the night to tell me he was coming home. Get serious, I needed that man at home! If it went well, he'd be getting home in the early afternoon tomorrow. That would be great!

"I'll miss being at that party you're having for Hans tonight, I'm sorry about that. I guess you'll have to celebrate without me," he said. "But we can celebrate again, just you and me. I can't wait to hold you again."

The longest workday I ever experienced finally came to a close. I was leaving the lab at 5, the earliest I had done that in months. I had finished logging in all of the data, and had been rereading Hans' temporary working papers to be sure everything was in order for him.

Hans left at the same time I did. The party was going to start at 8, but I needed to talk with him now. "Hans, no one must ever know."

"You have my word, Jayne," he said. "And I really appreciate you having the party at your house for me tonight. I was afraid you'd cancel it because you had a good excuse with Walter not being there, even if the real reason is what happened lat night."

"That was my responsibility, not yours," I told him. "I'll see you tonight."

The caterer made everything easy for me. I changed into a simple black dress, made sure the people at the security gate had a complete list of people coming, and sat back and waited.

My department parties by the clock. If it's an 8 o'clock party everyone arrives between 8 and 8:15, and it the invitation says until 10, the last leaves a few minutes later than that.

It was a good party. We had a lot to celebrate, and did. Hans in a private moment asked if he could be the last to leave. He couldn't, of course. People would talk.

The caterer had the place cleaned just a few minutes after the last guest left, and then I was alone, more along than I thought I could ever feel.

I'm too weak. After a few minutes I called Hans' cell phone. "Hello Jayne," he answered, proving caller ID works. "I hoped you'd call. Can I come back?"

"I'll tell the people at the security gate to let you back in," I told him.

"Jayne, I never left the community, I'm parked at the club house. I can be there in two minutes."

He was in my arms in less than two minutes, and in another two we were in the guest bedroom, and we, like teenagers I guess, somehow managed to undress each other while kissing and hugging and caressing at the same time.

When we lay on the bed while I was kissing him Hans somehow reached into the bundled up slacks he had been wearing and pulled out a condom. He tore the package open before I noticed what he was doing, and then – oh Wally, forgive me – I put my hand over his. "Hans, I had to sign off on all of the papers today for you to go home tomorrow."

"I know."

"I forgot about the health exams everyone has to take if they are coming to United States and especially to our university if they want to work here."

"I know, I'm the man they tested."

"Hans, I know you don't have any sexually transmitted diseases."

"I know I don't."

"Hans, I don't want you to wear that. I want you in me the way you are right now."

Last night Hans had all kinds of control: I read sometimes condoms decrease sensitivity, but that's not why he lost control this time: he was that excited. So was I, for that matter. This time I looked into his eyes as he moved in me, I watched as he got more excited, as the blue of his eyes almost vanished as his pupils expanded with his pleasure, and watched the expression on his face when he pressed his pelvis into mine and I could feel him throbbing, feel him getting that final little bit bigger, and his motions broadcast what happening, there was that push, then a quick relaxation and another long push, and again, and again.

I'll never forget that – what I was doing was so wrong, it was the last time in my life I'd ever do something like this, but it felt so good, even if my own orgasm didn't quite come.

"Do you remember," Hans asked me, " that I said giving my partner pleasure is one of the greatest pleasures I get from making love?"

"I remember," I said, holding this wonderful man close to me, feeling his warmth against me.

"But you did not have a climax," He said.

"That's not important to me," I assured him. But it turns out it was to him. "One of my girlfriends was like you, she said it wasn't important," he told me, as he kissed my neck. "But I was able to give myself pleasure, and her, too. He was kissing my cleavage now, May I show you what I did?"

In a way it was good he was talking about another woman because that put our fling, our two night stand, into a good perspective.

"Show me."

"Do what I tell you to do, you'll like it, I promise," he said, and nibbled at my breast.

"Hold my head with your hands." I did that, and used the opportunity to move his wonderful mouth from one breast to the other, and he's right, I did enjoy it.

Then he was kissing my belly. We just had sex, and he was kissing my belly!

And he moved down to my pubic hair, and used his hands to spread my legs under him. Oh God, that was thrilling, I could feel his chin brushing me there.

Then came the ultimate moment. He took my hands and positioned them on either side of my, of my, of my cunt! He put my fingertips just on the edges, and looked at me and issued a command. "Spread yourself wide!"

His cock was just there in me. His penis, with no condom on, was just there. He came in me, I know he did, and he wants me to spread myself, he couldn't possibly be thinking about. . .

He was.

I could feel his tongue caress me, stroke me, probe deep in me, and .. .

and

He was right. It was so erotic, so trashy, it worked. The big O, the biggest in a long time, washed over me.

Then we slept, and somehow awoke in the middle of the night: it was 3:30 and Hans had recovered his erection. We were comfortable with each other's body now, moving together, if we had been lovers it could have been the sweetest love making, but we weren't lovers, we were two strangers, meeting and coupling, and it was still sweet.

The phone rang!!!!

It had to be Wally! I had to answer. I did, while Hans quietly kept moving. "I'm on the flight that leaves in 20 minutes," Wally said. "Meet me in seven hours. I'm so horny I could bust, I need you so bad. . ."

I tried not to pant as I told him I needed him, too, and hoped the bed's slight noise wouldn't be picked up by the phone. Talking to one's husband while fucking someone else is not fun, not erotic, not sexy. It's sick.

It wasn't too much later that Hans left. "I must finish packing, and then be at the airport. Will you be there to say goodbye?"

"This is goodbye, Hans," I told him.

A minute after he left I was in a hot shower, and a half hour after that in it again, trying to scrub away the scent of sex.

I stripped the bed, and washed the sheets and pillow cases in very hot water, twice, and myself again, and again.

I thought I could do a secondary cleansing thing and went for a 5 mile jog and came back hot and dusty and sweaty and took another shower, and still another one.

My wonderful husband came into the baggage claim area and into my arms. For a while I considered confessing to him, but what would be the point? I might feel better, at least if he didn't divorce me, but he wouldn't feel better at all. He might not even touch me for a while. No, this burden would not be lightened by sharing it. I'd do anything he asked to make him happy, and would say nothing that would cause him sadness or worse.

We had a wonderful reunion and celebration, and made love that night for what seemed like hours. I did all I could to excite him, and succeeded. Oh, I didn't let him do oral on me, not for a while anyway, but I did on him. I wept once or twice while I held him, I was so happy to see him home.

He doesn't often find himself hard three times in one night. I was feeling some relief. Maybe this mistake of mine would not be costly to both of us.

I was the middle part of the following morning that I had a huge fright. I went into the freshly made up guest room realizing the man I shared that space with was thousands of miles away. But there, partly under the bed, was something red. It was half the envelope the condom was in. And there, a little further away, was the unused condom. I flushed both away as soon as I could, but then felt real panic. I could only remember seeing half the condom envelope. Where was the rest?

I couldn't find it anywhere. Maybe Hans had it, maybe it was trapped in his clothing, maybe. . .

Oh God, maybe Walter found it.

Now what? What would he think if he found a condom wrapper in the house? If he found it, he must have seen the pieces I just threw away!

I didn't even stop to think about the consequences of Wally bringing that up to me. I had to be proactive.

"Wally, something odd happened last night."

"Oh? What was that, Jayne?"

"For about an hour I couldn't see Hans, and Betty Smith, my post doc, was missing too. After everyone left I went checking through the house, and it looked like someone made love in the front guest room, the bed was sort of straightened out, but not made up the way I do it. I think Hans and Betty had sex there. I stripped the bed and washed everything, and then today I found a condom on the floor. I'm sure that's what happened, and now I'm worried, because Hans was supervising Betty, and this could be a sexual suit against the university and me. What should I do?"

"You know, I found part of a condom wrapper on the front steps," Wally told me. "I couldn't figure out how it got there. I think you provided the answer. To answer the other question, I would not do anything, I'd let everything alone. Just assume it was two consenting adults, it could have been any two people at the party. Don't worry about it."

He found the wrapper, and I dodged a big bullet.

"I love you, Wally," I told him, "and I'd do anything for you."

"And I love you," he said.

But there was something in his tone. Could he have had an affair when he was away? How would I ever know? Would I want to know?

The technical word for all of that speculation is projection, of course. Any psychologist would tell you that. But knowing the word didn't make it any easier to control my emotions.

Did I ruin my life? Our lives?

What would happen next?

But nothing did happen. I had a loving husband who claimed the distraction he was feeling was because of the pressures of work, it was nothing to worry about. It would go away as soon as he figured some things out.

It couldn't go away fast enough for me. I wanted my life back.

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There's more to this story and you'll read about it next time. There's a related tale called John's Story that was posted a few weeks ago. Some of you will try to figure out where this is going. If so, I'd like to hear your theories. Others will have to wait.