Let Me Add My Voice

If you are a married white male between 30 and 45 years young, write me a poem, title it "Scent of a Man," and include a respectful photo or two. I'm anxiously awaiting your thoughtful and gentlemanly response. Absolute discretion required and given -- Remember, you must be married!

In order to make the second cut, my prospective suitors had to include a thoughtfully written poem -- one that didn't start with 'Roses are Red...' and they had to include a respectable photo or two. So, if they didn't include a tasteful poem or if they included pictures of their junk -- instant deletion, and they were immediately dropped from consideration. Reading the remaining messages brought up every emotion from nausea to titillating excitement and everything in between. The sorting process was much more challenging than I expected, but over the next several months, I did end up dating five guys.

One was so aggressive he essentially raped me. I guess it's hard to make a case for rape since I met him at a hotel room with every intention of having sex -- but he actually did scare me. And to add insult to injury, he recognized me from TV, and though I adamantly denied it, he knew I was lying, and I knew he knew. I couldn't get out of there fast enough, and as soon as I got back to my laptop, I blocked all further communication with him.

Two others turned out to be absolute dweebs. I can totally understand why their wives wouldn't fuck them, and in fact, it's just plain hard to understand how they were ever married in the first place. One was so lame that he couldn't even get hard -- couldn't get hard for me -- now that was a blow to my self-esteem. I ended up giving his semi-flaccid pecker a hand job -- and that was our date.

The other dweeb only wanted to bad-mouth his wife. I'm sorry, but even on Ashely Madison, there is still a sisterhood among women -- though I admit it is highly modified. And though we did have sex, I think I can honestly say it was probably the worst sex I'd ever had. It certainly disproves the old saying my brother used to have, "The worst sex I ever had was wonderful." I deleted both of these guys' profiles and hoped to never hear from either one of them again. The only nice thing I can say about these two guys was that they were both gentlemen, and neither one claimed to have recognized me.

Then there were my two-star players. I'll call them Rick and Steve. Both were true gentlemen; neither one ever claimed to have recognized me, and just as important, neither one ever discussed their marriages, their families, or details of their private lives outside of our hotel room. When we were together, it was just the two of us, and I really appreciated that. And even more impressive, they both complimented each other so perfectly.

Rick was an absolute gentleman at all times; he was probably the sweetest man I have ever known. Every time we met, he would always have some little gift or trinket for me. Nothing expensive, just something sweet to let me know he was thinking of me.

He wasn't handsome in the usual sense. I silently referred to him as my little Pillsbury Doughboy. Rick wasn't fat -- I don't mean that -- he was just round. He had a round face, round torso, round arms, and legs, but OMG, did he have the most amazing hands. Once behind closed doors, Rick would always give me the most luxurious massage any girl could ever dream of. He must have had some sort of professional training, for he definitely had magical hands. Every time we met, he would spend at least an hour or more massaging every square inch of my body. I would just simply lay nude on the bed, and with his incredible touch, he could open every joint and soothe every muscle like no masseuse I have ever known. Sex with him really was like a day at the spa -- a spa with benefits, that is.

He would even do my feet, my hands, my scalp -- I mean, he left nothing untouched. And eventually, as he would get to that area of my body that Bob had so long ago forgotten, I was simply Jell-O in his hands. Now up unto this point, he would usually keep his shorts on. But when Rick would finally get to the area between my legs that so desperately needed his expert attention, he would finally drop his shorts, so I'd have something to play with while he continued working on me. The first time he dropped his underwear, I almost laughed (but didn't). Even his penis is round. Round like a little boy's -- only much more significant.

Then as I lay on my back and gently stroking him -- he was always hard at this point -- he would gently spread my legs so he could get to the personal area I came to have so masterfully manipulated in the first place. His oil-soaked finger would expertly work every nerve ending to a mind-numbing crescendo. And as I continued to slowly stroke his cock, he would skillfully drive me to my first orgasm of the afternoon, rocking my entire body from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

Then as my initial orgasm subsided, he would lie down between my legs and go down on me for what I called 'making oral love to my pussy.' I don't mean just licking me or 'eating me out.' He actually made love to my entire genitalia with his tongue, his lips and teeth, and even his freshly shaven face. He could quickly bring me to multiple orgasms, and when he figured I couldn't take it any longer -- he'd make love to me. I know that is just a euphemism for fucking, but he really did know how to 'make love.'

It almost always started with him cuddling up to me in the 'spooning position' with me on the inside. He would gently cup my breasts, one in each hand, as he began covering the back of my neck with slurpy-wet kisses. His dick was always rock hard at this point, and I absolutely loved the way it would effortlessly slide back and forth along my well-oiled butt crack as we snuggled. I had never considered anal sex in my life, but as Rick was so sweet and gentle and I was so turned on by laying with him in this position, if he ever asked, I'm pretty sure I would have agreed.

After several minutes of cuddling in this manner, he would lift my upper leg and slowly move his body down so that our genitals were aligned. As his body became perpendicular to mine -- sort of an X-position -- he would slowly and gently enter me before turning my body from laying on my side to laying on my back.

I know this sounds contorted, but really it worked beautifully. As Rick's cock would slowly glide in and out of me (he was never in a hurry), I could massage my breasts and nipples while he would continue to gently massage my clit with his oily fingers. Or better yet, I could play with my clit while his silken rod effortlessly glided in and out of me, and he could massage my breasts and playfully tweak my nipples. Actually, this was my favorite, as what girl doesn't know how to get herself off? But either way, it was simply blissful.

He would generally continue to massage my breasts, neck, or scalp while his penis slowly and tenderly slid in and out of my long-neglected pussy. As a result of this luxurious pampering, I would just drift off to pleasure land without a care or worry in the world. Stress from work, issues with Bob, the kids, all other obligations -- every outside thought and concern would just simply vanish from my mind. And when Rick would finally reach his climax, and his warm essence would flood from his body into mine, just like a storybook ending, he would always move to hug me, and I would, at least for the moment, be lost in his embrace.

Steve, on the other hand, though not rough or aggressive, came for one thing and one thing only -- to fuck! And boy, could that man do it. He had the hardest tally-whacker I have ever seen on a man, and jeez, did he know how to use it. He must be taking Viagra or something because he could fuck me for an hour straight without losing his erection and in dozens of different positions. Positions I didn't even know existed -- positions I didn't think were even humanly possible. All I can figure is that he must have memorized the Kama Sutra, as he was an absolute master in the art of copulation.

And unlike Rick, Steve was actually quite handsome. He looked a lot like a young Omar Sharif, with dark hair, dark brooding eyes, and a dark olive complexion. Steve wasn't very tall, but he was extremely muscular and well-toned. He was even strong enough to fuck me in a standing position with my legs wrapped around his waist.

He wasn't much into oral sex, which I found a little strange. I've never known a man before that didn't at least like receiving it. All Steve wanted to do was fuck, and my God, was he good at that. I guess it supports the old adage, 'Do what you know,' and boy was that man a master at the art of coitus.

And when I just couldn't take it any longer, he would roll me onto my stomach and spread my arms and legs out as far as they would go, so I looked like a giant starfish lying face-down on the bed. He would then slide off the bed and pull me, still face down, to the edge. As he stood next to the bed, he would press my shoulders down with one hand and holding my butt with the other; he would then enter me from behind. It was basically doggie style, except that I was lying face-down flat on the bed. The first time he did this, I thought he was going for my little tight brown hole, but no. To my relief, he went for my soaking wet love hole and drilled me like an oil field roughneck. He called it the 'squashed doggy,' but I could never think of a dog that way, so I just referred to it as the 'squashed bug' or simply the 'starfish.'

Once he entered me in this position, he would ride me hard and fast like the drive-shaft of a steam locomotive at full speed. And I have no idea how or why, but it would bring me to the most amazing and intense orgasms any girl could imagine. I don't know if it was the angle of my vagina spread out like that, or the shape or size of his penis -- but whatever it was -- it was earth-shaking. It generally wouldn't take but a minute or two in this position, and as my rocket ship would take-off for its final flight of the day -- he would finally blast-off on his first -- and what a blast-off it was.

I guess it was understandable that his orgasms would be sizable after an hour or so build-up, but they weren't just big -- they were massive! As he approached his just reward, he would slow his stroke and move both of his hands to the bed, supporting his weight over me. When Steve and I first began our little afternoon trysts, as he approached his final moment of gratification -- he would pull out and unload on my back. It was hot -- literally, it was hot! But somehow, pulling out like that denied me the same final release. I guess he thought I might prefer an external expression of gratitude as to cuming inside me, but I really didn't.

So, after our second rendezvous, I assured him I was on birth control, and he was free to stay fully engaged if he preferred. From then on, as he reached his moment of fulfillment -- his penis would swell, his body would tighten, and after a short pause, he would begin to shake uncontrollably as his release utterly filled me with a flood of hot emulsion that would then leak out of me in spits and spurts with every subsequent stroke of his still rock-hard phallus, soaking the bed beneath our loins and frequently spilling down onto the carpet.

It isn't romantic passion the way Rick tends to be -- it is raw animal sex that leaves me exhausted and utterly satisfied beyond any other experience I can imagine.

I have never tired of my monthly meetings with either Rick or Steve. Over the course of the next several years following our first dates, I would generally meet one or the other on a monthly basis. As far as I knew, they never knew about each other, and I have no idea how many other paramours they may have had besides me. But other than the risk of catching something, I could not have cared less. I wasn't in love with either one -- just simply in lust. I was using them as much as they were using me, and it was clearly a mutually beneficial arrangement all around.

Generally, either Rick or Steve would text me about once a month, or occasionally I would text one of them. We had a little code worked out, and as Rick always used one hotel and Steve always used another, all we really had to agree on was the date, time, and room number. It was as easy as pie -- 'cream pie,' that is.

When the Ashley Madison story broke on the news, of course, we all had understandable anxieties. I didn't hear from either Rick or Steve that first month after the release. I figured I'd give them some room just in case issues developed in their personal lives.

As for me, at first, I was worried -- as you might expect. But as the weeks went by and there were no repercussions, I realized I probably had nothing to fear. My Ashley Madison handle would mean nothing to anyone, and my real name was nowhere on the site. The zip code I used was neither the station's nor my home, and the birthdate I posted was six months off. And as for the pictures, my face was blurred, and you'd have to actually have known it was me to recognize me. And besides, my account had been on 'inactive status' for almost three years, so there were no current messages or other activity.

Now -- do I feel guilty for using Ashely Madison or for cheating on my husband? No, I firmly believe that Ashely Madison saved my marriage. I was seriously sexually frustrated, and in general, mad at the entire world after Bob's accident. Finding Rick and Steve not only solved my sexual problem; it relieved stress from every facet of my life. My career is now back-on-track, and I'm making more money. I'm actually nice to Bob again, which has solved many other issues at home. My son is doing better in school; Bob is actually working part-time from home doing consulting work and editing. He has essentially become the Mr. Mom he initially promised to be, and though we still don't have sex, I think we eventually will. He allows me to snuggle with him at night now, and even though he still can't get an erection -- we're working on it together.

I know millions of users didn't have as happy of an ending to their Ashely Madison experience as I have had. And I still deeply regret the hack and ultimate dissemination of millions of users' personal information. There is no excuse for that. But personally, I want to thank Ashely Madison. They not only saved my marriage; they saved my life as I knew it, and I will forever be grateful for that.

As for Rick and Steve, we missed seeing each other for several months, but we're back in the sack now, and I couldn't be happier. Apparently, neither one suffered any repercussions from the hack, and I'm very pleased about that.

Pete and I are still e-mail pen pals. We have never been able to get back together, but I'm hoping we can soon. He lives in Northern Virginia (the DC area), and maybe, just maybe, I can talk the station into sending me up there for a story or a conference.

And just in case you're wondering -- Angie and I are seeing a lot more of each other these days. Her boyfriend moved out on her, and she needed a friend. We're not sleeping together yet, but I think we probably will be soon. I'm pretty sure she's curious, and I know I am -- I'll keep you posted. 