My Date

I was surprised because our marriage was good. We had sex. We had nice things. Good jobs. Everything was fine. Late thirties. It was, as they say, living the dream. But without the usual negative undertones associated with that phrase.

"Have you ever thought about like, an open relationship?" It wasn't what a woman in my situation wanted to hear. God, I thought, He's bored. Bored of me. Bored of our life. This is his way of proposing a sort of soft divorce. I told him I had heard of it, but had never really thought about it. We were happy, right? "Right. I mean, it wouldn't even really be for me. Maybe you?" I didn't know what to say.

I did research. Cuckold. Hotwife. Swinging. Polyamory. None of it outwardly appealed to me. I read, and read, and though, but I really couldn't see my husband's angle in it, either. Aren't you supposed to want your wife to be faithful?

Over the next few weeks we talked more. It wasn't about cuckolding or humiliating him. Sex was good. he was happy. He just had read something on the internet, and it had peaked his erotic curiosiuty. He had processed it, and, after much thought, had proposed it to me. According to him, I wouldn't have to have sex. He just wanted me to go on a date. Alone. With another man. I had to think about it.

It had been my experience that sometimes men didn't know what they wanted. Things sounded appealing to them. Maybe in the heat of it, they thought it was a good idea. I suspected that's how my husband felt. This was a new idea for him. Something in his psychology was now finding the idea of me, sitting alone sipping coffee or wine with another man to be "hot." It was doing it for him. For now.

More talking. He was sincere. And mellow, and, even when I pushed it, and asked him, well, what if something happened? What if, I don't know, I gave a blowjob? Have you thought about that? I'm human. The guy could be hot. My husband didn't back down. "You know, I've thought about it, and, I'm ok with it." Fine, I had told him. Fine. I didn't know where to begin.

It was funny how much my view of the world changed in the next couple of weeks. I began to see men differently. My co-workers, men I interacted with. Would he be a good date? Would it be worth it to flirt with him? Do I even know how to flirt anymore? Should I tell them I'm married? That my husband is ok with this?

When it finally happened, I guess I didn't even realize it. Did I want to get coffee? Sure. I said yes. It was a guy I knew through work. I didn't work with him. And, nothing he did, or I did, had any bearing on anything the other had going careerwise. It was safe. He was my age, cute. I thought he was married, but then I had never seen a ring. He just seemed like a married guy.

We met on a weekday, mid-morning. I was dressed for work, so business casual. Entering the shop, I felt a twinge of anxiety when I saw him. There was my date. I ordered, felt like his eyes were on me the entire time, and then sat down across from him. We drank coffee, and talked about anything but work. Hobbies. Interests. Family. I found myself mentioning my husband. It didn't seem to throw him off. Towards the end, I was flirty. I laughed maybe too hard at his jokes. I playfully insulted him. All of the things people do.

But he wasn't the one who really did it for me. Sure, we had coffee a couple times more. It tapered off. We stopped talking. ust before that happened, I met the one that, in a few months, I would be pulling my thong down for.

He was at the gym. I normally didn't notice guys at the gym, but he caught my attention. Immediately, it was like my breasts were magnets and he was iron. They were hardening, pulling towards him. And then I felt the attraction lower, in my stomach. I watched him. I had thoughts.

Every night I went to the gym, which wasn't every night, I would hope to see him. I wanted to know his routine. I had to position myself. I did. I noticed that he came in, a few days after work, and usually about the same time. He was big on the treadmill. Not so much on the weights. Stamina, I thought. Did he notice me? Was I stalking him?

One evening I was walking past him, and, with courage, I looked at him and said "hi." He greeted me back. It was funny how quickly it developed from there. We began to greet each other. And then we started to talk. Had picking men up always been this easy? My 20-something past self didn't recall it being so simple.

In completely different fields, and working in generally different areas, there was no chance for overlap. Our first "date" was lunch. A dull lunch, notable only for the fact that we flirted, shamelessly. We both felt it. And, at the end of the lunch, we kissed. It was only on the cheek. I had felt his thin stubble on my face, and smelt his cologne closely. I had kissed another man. Sort of.

When I saw my husband again, he was curious, but respectful. He didn't ask a lot of questions. "How was it?" Good, I'd said. Good. "Did anything..." Nothing worth noting. "Are you going to again?" I didn't know. Probably. I'd had fun.

My second date was similar to the first, but with more tension at the end. After an hour, an hour and a half, I started to feel him wondering if he had cleared the hurdle. After a couple drinks, and some laughs, was I giving him the signal that we could maybe try something more? Be alone together? I didn't know myself what message I was sending. And that seemed to be just enough to keep him from proposing that we take any further.

That happened on the third date, after my third glass of wine. Did I want to "get out of here?" The implication being that we would get out of here together, and go somewhere else. Somewhere private. Alone. Together. I had some many things I wanted to ask him. What did he want? What was he expecting of me? I didn't ask anything, though, but instead, when he asked me a second time, said "ok."

Following this man from the gym in my car, I texted my husband. "Going to be later than expected." How much later? I didn't know. He never responded though. I didn't have to answer the hard questions. I didn't have to text and drive. Instead, I could focus on following this man somewhere private. My pussy was wet.

Once we were alone, there was no mystery about what was going to happen next. We started kissing on his couch, but that didn't last long before he had my shirt down, my bra off and my nipples in his mouth. I remember running my hands through his hair as his tongue worked first my right nipple, and then my left.

"Do you want to have sex?" I didn't expect the question. I really didn't expect to answer it so quickly, either. Yes. He kissed me, and then his hands went to my waist. He unbuttoned my jeans, as I sort of leaned back onto the couch. In a couple more movements, I was naked, my legs spreading in front of a man I wasn't married to.I watched as his eyes went up and down my naked body, and felt vulnerable, until I saw that his pants were off, and his cock was standing erect.

Next was the pressure of his body on mine. We were both naked, and kissing as he lay on me. I felt him, hard and hot, between my legs, searching for me. A few seconds, and he found me. His tongue was in my mouth when I finally felt his penis against my bare skin. But it never goes in that easily, does it? I reached down, put my hand around it, and put it against my wet slit.

My breath left as he slid all the way in. I quickly felt full. And then he slid it out, and pushed it back. It took me a second to wrap my mind around it, but I was being fucked. On a couch. By someone I wasn't married to.

'Fuck," He said. I was first worried that he wasn't going to last. "You're so tight." Whew, I thought. And then I moaned. He settled into a steady movement, and I ran my fingertips over his sides, his toned arms. His body was as hard as his cock. he was fully aroused, aching to be inside of my body. My fingertips were in his back when a thrust sent me over the edge, and I came.

When it was over he looked at me. "Did you come?" It was obvious, but I thought it was nice he asked. I nodded. And then it was almost like I could feel the way he was fucking me change. He seemed relieved to have accomplished that, and I sensed his mind focus to his own please. I looked down my body, saw his touch me, watched and could just see his cock disappear between my legs.

"Are you on the pill?" I just nodded. "Do you want me to pull out?" I told him, if he wanted to. Otherwise, he could finish. Had guys always been this polite? Not long after his questions, he did. Inside of me. I felt him tense, push, and hold. He fell onto me after, kissed my neck, and then we kissed.

I went to the bathroom naked after. I peed, and then used a piece of toilet paper to wipe the little bit of semen that was immediately present between my legs. I smiled as I walked towards the couch. "That was fun," I said, reaching for my clothes.I pulled my panties up, put on my bra and then finished dressing quickly. "I should go."

He didn't have much to say. We kissed. And then kissed some more. And I left his apartment.