My Marketing Men Ch. 02

It was easy for me to sit on his lap with his hand under me, under the dress, under my crotch. And easy for him to wet a couple fingers in my box. But we never had the nerve to pull his cock completely out and have me sit on it. Too many people. Unzip. Somebody walks by. Reach into his pants. Another passerby. An audience would have been okay, but not scandal. Too much risk of being arrested for public lewdness or something.

And then there was this incredibly intimate bar, A Quiet Little Table in the Corner, where every cheating swine in New York would take his mistress for drinks and play. Small tables in round booths, dark, all black leather, each booth screened from others by curtains of lighted glass beads, soft music to hide conversation - and moans and gasps. Each booth was a private world where two could play and fondle. Once in the booth, you were completely anonymous to anyone else there (except the waitress). I'm sure that some couples screwed in the booths, but we never did. Again, too risky. But we sure did a lot of handling of organs and hands in the other's underwear. We went there a bunch of times to play and have drinks before going to his apartment.

All this was fun, as I said. Good, clean, dirty fun. A couple days a week to keep from being lonely and horny in the big city before I could see my honey again on the weekend. It went on for almost five months, until . . . . Until Marc started to get possessive. Why do guys do that? Why do they think that a woman is their exclusive property?

I had not told Marc that Danny gave his permission for me to have a lover in the city. (And even encouraged me to have a fuck buddy, as you know. And loved hearing all my dirty stories about what my lover did to my body.) So Marc thought he was getting away with something, sneakily getting a piece of another man's property. I think that illicitness made me even more desirable.

He wanted me to stay in town weekends and not go down to DC to see Danny. Well, I didn't always have to travel to see my honey. Danny and I more or less alternated, and not even every week. If Danny came up to see me, then I got to spend the weekend with my love anyway. (For a long time Marc didn't know that because he was always out in the burbs with his family on weekends.) If neither of us traveled, there was always the city to entertain me. And later, the telephone and vibrator.

Marc was, of course, out in the burbs with his family, so he didn't have to know. But he would ask me Monday if I was super-horny because he hadn't fucked me since Thursday. I lied to him for a while, sort of the storytelling equivalent of faking an orgasm. But eventually he found out and he was really unhappy.

He tried to get me to travel with him on his trips to the Coast - we could spend days together in a hotel in California! But I wouldn't do that. It would have been way too conspicuous for us to be gone at the same times. And I reserved all my vacation time to see my guy, so I couldn't do it anyway.

He started concentrating on different things when we were in bed. Talking more, but jealous talk instead of erotic talk. Was he better than my boyfriend? Was his dick bigger than my boyfriend's? Did he probe me deeper than my boyfriend could? Did I want him to fuck me more during the week? Did he make me come more than my boyfriend did? Did he come in me more than my boyfriend did? Did I like his jism leaking out of my box?

Geezuz, why was he so weird about it? It was really creepy. We were supposed to be just casual sex toys for each other. Today, I suppose you'd say "friends with benefits," but we weren't all that close as friends, so it was mainly just "benefits." And the benefits came with the price of putting up with his increasing claptrap. No thanks. So, it was time to change partners again.

I withdrew slowly, found excuses to skip a weeknight here and there. He was upset. But I had a perfect built-in excuse. People at the office started to act as though they knew we were involved and that was not good. I didn't know if they had direct evidence, like someone had seen us, or were just guessing. Didn't matter. If word got back to his wife, or even if upper management were disturbed by it, it would hurt both our careers. So the affair tapered a little and a little more and then stopped completely.

We stayed friendly, sort of, but we didn't risk drinks or dinner or working late in closed offices. I saw him only at business meetings or happy hour type functions after work. I missed getting laid during the week. I hope he did, too. I think I was really top shelf pussy back then. Tough for him. I went back to my lonely weeknights with my vibrator, and phone sex with my beloved but without new material to excite us both. Had to recycle old adventures. Fortunately, there were lots of them. I had been a right little slut for the previous months, and had many stories to tell.

On to the next chapter of my love life and sex life. Within a couple months, though, I tripped across a new man who became a new lover, my weeknight casual screw. More about him later.

- Ms. Screwloose; edited by Mr. Screwloose