Long-Term Affair: A Life of Its Own

The first story caused a lot of anger for several readers. I can't say I blame them. I single-handedly killed an otherwise wonderful marriage. It's been several years. The marriage is over, he's gone and I'm alone. There. Satisfied? Good, now let me continue with my story. It's cathartic.

A few days after returning home from my first business trip I wandered outside and sat on a bench in the garden. It was late, the kids were asleep, and my husband was reading a novel in another room. The moon was nearly full and cast a silvery glow onto the plants and flowers I'd worked so hard to nurture over the past two years.

It was a beautiful night, but I was angry. Angry at myself for creating a situation that was so dangerous and unfair, angry that I'd gone back on the promise I'd made to me a year and a half ago following my first sexual encounter with Greg, and angry that I was too weak to tell my husband what I had done.

He didn't deserve this. Selfishly, I thought to myself, neither did I.

As I sat there, I remembered the conversation I had with my best friend before any of this started.

"Don't," she said. "Don't do it."

I had just told her about Greg and how I'd been daydreaming about cheating with him.

"It's just a fantasy," I assured her. "I'd never have the guts to do it anyway."

Then, a few weeks later, I admitted to her that Greg and I had rented a hotel room and had sex one night. I thought she might be angry and disappointed. Instead, she listened, asked questions, and seemed intrigued by my experience.

"Okay," she said, "you got it out of your system. You crossed a big line...a huge line, but now you have to stop. It can't happen again."

I was adamant that it was over. Nothing but a big mistake that I deeply regretted. Then I told her that my husband and I had an honesty policy and I needed to find a way to confess everything that I had done.

"Oh, hell no. You can't do that! Seriously, it was a stupid mistake. People do it all the time. Why would you want to hurt him like that? He doesn't need to know. Besides, he'll divorce you."

She let that sink in for a minute before continuing.

"You fucked up, Stace, but this time, honesty is bad. Don't confess. EVER!"

Now, a year and a half later I realized that, after my recent trip and the sex I'd once again shared with Greg, my life was out of control. No matter how badly I wanted to relieve my guilt with a full confession, it was too late. My only hope of salvation was to never repeat that behavior.

A few days later, while Greg and I sat in a local restaurant eating lunch, I told him about the conversation I'd had with my friend. He agreed with me.

"Don't get me wrong, what we've shared has been unbelievable, but I feel like shit. Seriously, I never thought I'd cheat on my wife, but you know what? I feel even worse about Steven."

Steven was my husband.

"I can't imagine how I'd feel if some guy was sleeping with my wife, and I hate that I've done it to another man. It's even worse because he's a nice guy who doesn't deserve this."

As much as I agreed with what he was saying, it wasn't making me feel any better. I wanted him to stop talking. It was already obvious that we both felt bad, so after his little tirade, I switched directions and returned the conversation to work matters.

For the next six months, we worked and traveled without incident. Sure, we had fun. Our trips were usually to nice cities, and we stayed in beautiful hotels and ate at amazing restaurants and I have to admit, I enjoyed them immensely. That said, we did our best to maintain a professional distance.

I'd be lying if I didn't say there weren't moments where I felt attracted to Greg. He was smart, and we had chemistry with undeniable sexual undertones, but we didn't pursue anything that we would regret later.

Then we went to New York.

Before I tell you about that, let me just say that my home life during this period was pretty normal. Despite that, my husband, who has an incredibly strong sixth sense, had a few questions about Greg that made me uncomfortable. As shitty as it felt, I followed my friend's advice and lied.

I know, it was bad. The man I truly loved, the father of my children, and my best friend for more than 16 years didn't buy a word of it, but I held fast and denied everything.

There was very little he could do.

Besides, at that moment I believed that even though I was going to Hell, lying to him was a good thing. It would save him unbearable pain, and I was sure that it would never happen again. Later I realized how selfish I'd been. It wasn't about saving Steven from experiencing pain, it was about saving me from taking responsibility. I get it. Unfortunately, I can't go back.

Okay, about New York.

The first three days we worked hard and every night we went out to a new restaurant and ate incredible food. On the final night, we both went to our rooms and showered before meeting a larger group of co-workers and clients in the lobby. Since it was a warm night, I put on a short summer dress and open-toed sandals. Casual, but still dressy enough for business.

As usual, someone had the foresight to make dinner reservations, this time at a little Italian place that had just opened a few months earlier. The word on the street was this restaurant was very good but so far hadn't been discovered by the crowds.

We had time to kill before our reservation, so we went into the lobby bar and ordered a drink. All eight of us were somewhat giddy after the long hours we'd put in over the past few days and we celebrated with a second-round before loading ourselves into a couple of taxis and heading for the restaurant.

As fate would have it, by the time we arrived it had been overrun by a thick crowd. A long line snaked out the door and halfway down the block. We fought our way through the hungry mob only to discover that our table was occupied, and it would be a half-hour before they could seat us.

There was only one solution: more cocktails.

Anyone who has ever traveled on business understands that being on the road is a different reality. Time is suspended and there's a sense of detachment from normal life. Sure, a daily phone call to the spouse and kids keeps you somewhat connected but your senses are so overwhelmed that it becomes easy to confuse which life is real, and which is more important.

As I squeezed into my seat at the long table for dinner, I was completely immersed in road life and, thanks largely to the pre-dinner drinks, I had all but forgotten about what truly mattered. Why bother with those problems? I had new friends, wonderful experiences, and the rather twisted belief that my contributions were indispensable to the project and the people around me. After all, our top client, the head of the whole company, was sitting a few feet away and he'd taken several minutes during cocktails to gush about my work and how thankful he was for my effort.

I was no longer just a pretty, suburban mom; I was a superwoman who was being heralded by one of the most powerful men in the industry. Well, I didn't believe that but who doesn't like a compliment?

With Greg by my side, and by this point he was sitting next to me, I could accomplish anything, and had!

Like so many others I've met in business, the accolades, like the alcohol, had infected my soul.

During the next two hours, we laughed and shouted and created superficial bonds that only someone who has been there can understand. In the meantime, the waiters delivered an endless number of trays filled with amazing dishes. I sampled as much as I could including the bruschetta, veal, manicotti, stuffed mushrooms, gnocchi, and salad. And that was only half of what lay before us on the table. The wine flowed too. I lost count of how many times the waiter topped off my glass.

The night ended with several toasts featuring a too-sweet Italian dessert wine. As we all ventured onto the sidewalk it was apparent that everyone was drunk, yet somehow, we managed to get back to the hotel without losing anyone in our party.

Greg and I were staying on different floors, but he always escorted me to my door whenever we stayed out late. We drunkenly bounced off one another as we got off the elevator and made our way to my room. It was late but I invited him to come in for one more drink that neither one of us needed.

"One for the road?" I'd slurred as we steered toward my door.

Inside the room, I headed to the bathroom while Greg cracked the code on my minibar.

The alcohol hit me hard and I decided that I was finished for the night. Without thinking it through, I kicked off my sandals, pulled my summer dress over my head, and tossed it on the floor. Greg laughed at me, as I wobbled out of the bathroom and headed straight for bed wearing nothing but a white thong.

"Do you still want this?" he asked, offering the half bottle of wine he'd freed from the minibar.

"I can't," I slurred. "Gotta sleep."

I pulled the covers down and snuggled under the sheets. Greg set the wine bottle on the dresser and turned to leave but I watched him stumble as he headed for the door. Despite my alcohol-induced fog, I worried that he'd pass out in the elevator or somewhere else before he made it to his room.

"Hey, stay here tonight."

"But we..."

"Not that," I continued. "Just sleep."

Greg hesitated for a moment and I could tell that he was trying to decide what to do but in the end, he stripped to his boxers, turned out the lights, and slid into the opposite side of the king-sized bed. We laid there for a few minutes separated by several feet of mattress and almost complete darkness.

"G'night," I whispered, but I think he was already asleep.

The next morning, I woke up early and after checking to see that Greg was still snoozing, I headed straight for the bathroom. My bladder is always full when I wake up, especially after a night of heavy drinking, so I took care of that first while I contemplated whether to go back to bed or head for the lobby for a cup of Starbucks.

Then I looked in the mirror and saw my reflection. I looked as hung over as I felt so I opted to get into the huge shower and wash the smeared makeup off my face before venturing to the lobby.

Halfway through my shower ritual, I heard Greg.

"Do you mind if I pee?"

I looked at the frosted glass and realized that my privacy was fairly protected. Besides, anyone who has ever lived with a member of the opposite sex understands how normal and non-sexual it is to shower while another person takes a quick piss.

"No, help yourself," I said, catching just a hint of his silhouette as he passed by and headed to the toilet.

"I'm nearly finished anyway. Do you want to get in?" I asked, thinking that I'd step out and leave the water running.

A few unanswered moments went by before the shower door slid open and a still sleepy Greg stepped in sporting what was left of his respectable morning erection.

It's not what I expected but I couldn't help but check out his cock. Seriously, if any naked man had appeared like that, I'd do the same thing. Of course, I'd probably scream too, but I'd already seen him naked while sharing some of the most intimate moments two people can experience.

For better or worse, we also shared a level of trust and comfort that couldn't be denied. After more than two years of working together, I knew without a doubt that he only had my best interests at heart, and I felt the same about him. The problem was that we were married to other people, and, by almost anyone's standards, the adulterous relationship we'd established was unacceptable.

But why should it be?

Quite honestly, I loved Greg. Not the same way as I loved my husband, but there were some serious overlaps. And I can say with just as much honesty that nothing I felt for Greg diminished my love for Steven in any way. Steven was my life partner, my family, and I hoped, my future. Somewhere in there, Greg had taken over another part of my heart. The problem was that both of them ignited my sexual feelings and for whatever reason, someone, somewhere had decided that a respectable woman can't love more than one man at a time.

A man, well, that's always been another matter. They've been getting away with it for eternity. Any time they get a boner the clouds part and God gives them a pass to plant it wherever they find a willing vagina.

You know what? Fuck that.

I pushed Greg under the water, picked up the soap, and started to wash him from head to toe. Tradition aside, my heart felt innocent, and I did what my instincts told me to do; I ignored conventional rules and let my feelings run free.

I went to work on his back. A few moments later, when he turned to face me, I realized to my delight that his cock was rock hard and sticking straight out, stabbing me occasionally as I scrubbed my way down from his neck to his belly and, after a brief pause to stroke his cock, I continued down his legs.

With my morning chores completed, I pushed past him, turned off the water, and stepped out of the shower where I found two amazingly soft body towels that I used to dry us both.

Taking his hand, I led him out of the bathroom and to the bed. He sat upright on the edge with his feet still on the floor and I climbed in his lap, gave him a kiss or two, and without further fanfare, I reached down and guided him into my wet pussy. For the next few minutes, we kissed and fucked until I climaxed with our tongues intertwined and my hard nipples pressed firmly to his hairy chest.

Without warning, Greg wrapped his arms around me and stood up, spun around, and deposited me on the bed. It was a quick move that he'd managed to complete while his cock never left my pussy. Now with him standing and me lying spread eagle on the bed, he used his hands to stretch my legs as wide as they could go while he shoved his thick member into my exposed lady parts over and over until he too mustered a huge orgasm.

We stayed like that for a minute as his cock shrank slowly out of my very satisfied orifice.

He stood there gazing down at me.

"We're screwed," he said.

"No shit," I responded, realizing that, despite all my earlier bravado, what we'd done had just cemented my future.

"Wanna get some coffee?" he asked.

"Sure. But first, let go of my ankles so I can get dressed."

Our flight wasn't until late afternoon so we spent a couple of hours laying out by the pool, mostly talking about business and bragging about our kids' latest accomplishments.

When it was time to go I put some shorts over my bathing suit and Greg elbowed his way back into a t-shirt. The elevator stopped at Greg's floor first and since we were in mid-conversation, I got off and followed him to his room. Once inside, he crossed to the far side of the room and sat in the large easy chair. I dropped my bag on the bed and, like I'd done earlier that morning after our shower, I climbed into his lap, facing him.

We kissed gently a few times and I could feel his hands instinctively rise to cup my breasts. Our kisses grew deeper.

"We have to leave in an hour," Greg said.

I could feel his erection growing and pressing into my crotch.

"I know," I responded while nibbling on his lip.

His hands found the straps on my bathing suit and, pulling them off my shoulders, he lowered my top exposing my small, creamy white breasts that glowed against my otherwise tan body. The cool air made my nipples even harder than normal and he leaned forward to take one and then the other into his mouth. I shuddered when his tongue darted across the sensitive tips.

Freeing my arms from my bathing suit, I sat up higher and reached both hands between us. I used one to push the front of his bathing suit down until I could grab his stiff cock.

With my other hand, I reached into the leg of my loose shorts and pulled the crotch of my bathing suit to the side, and then steered his swollen cock toward my slippery opening.

Confident that we were lined up, I slowly descended on his shaft until our bodies were pressed tightly together. We resumed kissing and for the next few minutes basked in an erotic, oozing warmth that surged between us.

"Your pussy is amazing," he whispered.

I gripped his cock firmly and pressed my lips to his.

"Shhh."

With only the slightest up and down movement, we remained joined, his hard cock embedded in me while my clitoris snuggled tightly against his pelvis. After a few minutes, I felt the heat build-up and, like a gentle wave, an orgasm cascaded through my belly causing me to moan softly into his open mouth. He responded by grabbing my hips and pushing his throbbing cock upward as he erupted into me with his brand of hot semen.

We hugged tightly for a few moments before he released his grip and held me a few inches from his face.

"We better get packed," he said.

For a moment we looked into each other's eyes, knowing that there was much more to discuss but this wasn't the time or place.

I slid off his lap, pulled my clothes back into place, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door.

"Fifteen minutes, in the lobby," I said over my shoulder as I left his room.

Out in the hall, I passed a young couple and for a moment I started to feel a surge of guilt in my chest but quickly I pushed it away. I was good at that. Too good. Denial was a talent I'd use frequently as the lies mounted and my marriage disintegrated, until one day it wasn't there at all.