Looking Right At It Ch. 03

"Julie, you don't have to . . . "

"Sshh," she interrupted me.

"No, I'm serious," I persisted. She didn't look happy—she looked determined, but a little terrified. "You don't have to prove anything to me, there will be time for this."

She shook her head, and said, "no, I'm proving something to me—or to both of us. I am your wife, and you are my man, and you are the only one I will ever do this for . . "

All of a sudden she couldn't speak—she was sobbing again. I pulled her up into my arms and held her while she cried, holding tight onto me.

Finally her crying subsided, and her breathing returned to normal. Without a word she smiled at me, and slid down the bed to take me in her mouth. I didn't try to stop her.

It wasn't perhaps a supremely skillful blowjob—not that I'd had very many in my life!—but it was loving and slow, and I really enjoyed it. I tried to give Julie hints about what I liked by groaning or sighing when it felt especially good, and I could tell she was listening for cues from me. When I got close, after several minutes, I said, "oh, baby, it's coming!"

She just stayed on me, sliding her head up and down the top two inches of my cock, stroking the rest with her hand, and I spasmed happily into her mouth. It felt terrific. She swallowed and then gazed at me a little anxiously, but I think she could see from my smile that I was pleased. I pulled her up to me and kissed her lips, then all over her face.

After a couple of minutes of enjoying how good I felt, I was eager to eat her out for the first time ever. But I warmed her up with kisses and touches all over her, sliding my fingers over her arms, then her chest and breasts, teasing her nipples, then running my hands up and down her thighs.

Julie loved all this, but she started to tense a bit when I settled myself at the bottom of the bed, my head between her legs. I didn't say anything, just started kissing and licking the tops of her thighs, staying an inch or so from her pussy at first. By the time I actually touched her pussy lips with my own lips, she was more than ready!

I spent ten minutes doing her with lips, tongue, and fingers, responding to her squirms and groans, doing everything I could to build her up to a big orgasm. When she seemed to be very close I pushed hard into her with two fingers and sucked gently on her clit, and her climax made her jerk and grunt and gasp, her hands clasping tight into my hair.

I don't know if she knew it, but pleasing her that way pleased me—and I would certainly make sure she understood that.

As we lay together once more, Julie looked right at me. "Wow. Wow and wow. I can't believe I wouldn't let you do that . . .

"I was an idiot, Alan."

I grinned. "Does that mean I might get a chance to do it again sometime?"

She stuck her tongue out at me. "What do you think?"

Then she grabbed me and pulled me close for another hug. In my ear she whispered, "could we do it once more tonight?"

I said, "sure, but you pick the position. Something you liked from the book."

It was the climax of the evening, if you'll pardon the pun. She got me hard again with her mouth, while I stroked her breasts. Then she arranged herself on the bed on her right side, with her right leg on the bed, her left more or less vertical in the air.

I got between her legs with my knees on either side of her right leg, her left leg draped over my shoulder, and she guided me into her. For me it was almost like missionary position, but I was entering her sideways instead of front-on. Somehow this position let me get deeper—it felt incredible!

As I started to pump gently Julie groaned, a low sound from deep in her throat. "God, baby, it feels like you're going to come out the top of my head. Just go slow, OK?"

We went at it slowly and gently for a long time. My having come twice already gave me plenty of staying power, and it felt so damn good I didn't ever want to finish. I could run a hand over her back and ass, or tease her breasts with my other hand. Sometimes we'd stop for a minute and kiss deeply, then start thrusting again.

After a while Julie said, "make me come, baby. Just get a steady rhythm and don't stop, OK?"

So I did what she asked, and reveled in it as she slowly got more and more worked up, until she was clutching my shoulder with her arm, digging her nails into me. "Yes, yes, closer! closer! oh my God!"

Her orgasm rose up and up, then rushed through her. She cried out, and my steady pace suddenly broke down; I was pumping her frantically, and I came a few seconds after she did.

This time we were finished for the night. We're not teenagers, after all! I managed to get the light out, and we were asleep within minutes.

JULIE'S STORY

After that first night in bed together again, it was like the dam broke; everything got steadily better. I could never have imagined that Alan sleeping with someone else would have been a good thing, but it seemed to be for us.

Not only was he able to make love to me again, but his sense of grievance and anger lessened every day. He never forgot about what I did with Bobby—I know neither of us will ever forget—but he seems able to think about it without falling into a rage anymore.

For me, enduring the pain of thinking about him with another woman has helped me feel a little less guilty. I know he wouldn't have done it if I hadn't cheated with Bobby, but it still does something to balance the scales. We've each hurt the other, and we've survived it.

And I'm just so happy that we're able to be sexual with one another in a way we had never had before. With the kids out of the house we can be spontaneous—once last week he picked me up literally in the middle of breakfast and carried me back up to the bedroom. We were both an hour late for work!

It's not that we've turned into sex-fiends. We are both in our forties, and there are limits. For about two weeks after that first night we were like rabbits—we must have averaged twice a day at least. But inevitably it slowed down a bit. Now we probably make love two or three times a week.

But what I know Alan loves is that I initiate sex as frequently as he does. He knows that I want him, which makes him feel good. And God, I know he wants me! His eagerness is just so flattering and exciting—maybe he feels more free to let it show because he knows I am open to just about anything he wants to try.

At least once a week we have a "Book Night", where we try something in the sex positions book that we haven't done before. It's not even that we like them all; a few are just uncomfortable, or weren't very exciting or pleasurable. But we've also discovered a couple that are terrific, and they are part of our regular menu now.

I try to remind myself that it will be years, if ever, before Alan fully trusts me again. Any time I tell him I'll need to be an hour late coming home from work, I can see that look on his face. He doesn't need to say a word—I know what he's thinking. So I'm going out of my way to tell him where I'll be, and when, and with whom.

He's met all of my new co-workers, so he knows there are no threats there. And I just don't make jokes about hunky guys anymore, however harmless such remarks seemed to be in the old days.

The bottom line is: I feel incredibly lucky. I did something amazingly stupid—and I really, really hurt my husband—and I'm fortunate to still be married to him. That our marriage is as strong as it still is, and that our sex life has become so much more fun and satisfying for us—well, it's like a miracle. I know it's far more than I deserve.