New England Triad Ch. 02

Chapter 02

Ann meets her new colleague, Beth; Stephen confesses to an affair; wife and lover have lunch; and nobody is sure what they want to happen next.

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Author's note: Everybody says so. Nonetheless, it's true: it's best to begin reading this narrative at Chapter 1. Chapter 2 picks up where Chapter 1 leaves off.

If you're starting at Chapter 2 anyway... well, welcome, and thanks for taking a look. Here are some essentials you need to know. Stephen and Ann are thirty-somethings and more or less happily married. This afternoon Stephen and Beth met each other while biking, were "swept off their feet," had great sex, and began an affair. Now what?

************

That evening, Tuesday, I did not tell my wife about the extramarital sex. She had worked late at the office and had arrived home stressed and grumpy. Ann was a technical writer, and it was time for her to start preparing Edson-Kelly's annual product catalogue for publication. But R&D was being coy about when, exactly, several new projects would actually have a product on the assembly line.

Then to make matters worse, there was Robin--the freelance graphic designer with whom Ann had worked closely for the past three years, including on the catalogue. For some reason Robin was not available right now. The company had found another graphic designer--a talented person, management assured Ann--but inevitably there would be a learning curve on what Edson-Kelly actually wanted, how the company actually worked, what you could change in the catalogue and what you couldn't. And guess who would have to get the new girl quickly up to speed on everything. Ann would meet her tomorrow.

I tried hard not to wince when I heard the phrase "graphic designer" followed closely by the "her" and "girl." There must be scores of freelance graphic designers in the state, right? Most of then female, most likely.

I had phoned one of them myself around 5:30. Beth had made it home safe and sound today after our alfresco tryst in Andover. On the way, she had wrangled the old 10-speed bike almost to the top of the killer hill on Wall Street. Given her injured back, somewhat heavy bike, and somewhat sore private parts, she was pleased with her climbing.

I was impressed too. Even with my Trek's very low gears I had failed to make it up that hill the one time I had tried.

Beth said she had already told her housemate Dev about her wild and wonderful afternoon. Dev thought it was both the sexiest and the funniest story she had heard in years. I quite agreed with the "sexiest" part. I hadn't noticed "funny" at the time. Come to think of it, our eight minute, "everything-but" first kiss did end with both of us laughing. I admit that.

Beth and I made firm plans to hop into bed again--this time a real bed, clean sheets and everything, not a patch of weeds in a clearing--the next morning, at her house. Tomorrow she had to visit a new client in the afternoon and probably work all evening.

But tonight I had a cranky wife to soothe. Dinner helped. Fortunately, I had made whole-grain penne with meat sauce and a green salad. All of that was comfort food to Ann. A glass of California zinfandel helped too. By the time she had gotten halfway through the meal she had mellowed enough to ask how my day had gone. I omitted a few details. I would fill them in later.

"I biked over to the food co-op and got some things we needed," I said. "Peanut butter, oat bran, tamari-roasted almonds, some spices."

"Great. Did you have a good ride?"

"Beautiful. The weather was perfect. The rail trail was gorgeous today. I did a good deed too. A lady on the trail had fixed a flat but didn't have enough CO2 to inflate her tire. I helped out with my hand pump. A nice person. We may go out for a ride sometime."

"That's nice," Ann said. "I know you've been without a riding buddy since Larry moved to... Where did he go?"

"New Hampshire."

"New Hampshire," she said. "'Live free or die.'"

"Pretty good motto, yes. Though I think it should be 'and,' not 'or'--acknowledging our common fate."

Ann winced. "Next time I look for a professor to marry, I think I'll bypass English and try the Math Department."

"You can forget the Philosophy Department. They would have said the same thing I did."

Ann's mood had improved. When she starts joking about the mistakes she won't make in her next marriage, that means she's feeling good. But by now it was too late in the evening to get back to the lady with the flat tire and how we had fucked in a field just north of Route 6. True Confessions could wait until tomorrow evening--at which time there should be twice as many transgressions to report.

For different reasons, neither Ann nor I was in the mood for sex that night. For my part, I had had a 50-mile bike ride; an hour of the most intense, mind-blowing, consciousness-expanding sex of my life; and two orgasms. All that might have slowed even Casanova down a little. Ann had had a tiring day at the office. I win.

Ann and I undressed and snuggled in bed. For twelve years I have loved the sight and feel of her naked body--the honey-blonde hair both above and below, her long legs, her sweet pink nipples, and especially those lovely breasts--just a tad smaller than average, with absolutely perfect shape and perfect degree of firmness. Ann's breasts would probably still be gorgeous when she was 60. On our right sides, snuggled like spoons, her back to my front, my left hand reaching over and cupping her right breast, we drifted towards sleep.

************

Beth's house in Hebron was a lovely small "Cape"--Cape-Cod-style house. Square; steep roof; two small bedrooms upstairs, each with a dormer window, one with a half-bath. On the ground floor, a kitchen, bath, plus three other rooms: in this case a living room, Beth's office, and some multi-purpose room that both Beth and Dev used. The house was old enough to have hardwood floors and sturdy doors--though probably not enough closet space for two women. It was all charming, as was the quiet, tree-lined street.

I arrived Wednesday morning at nine. "You drove here in a car!" Beth had exclaimed, greeting me at the door.

"It's a beautiful bike ride from my house to here," I said. "I was tempted. But just for fun I thought you'd like to see the other side of me. You know: not sweaty, not dusty, hair combed, wearing long pants like the big boys do and a shirt with a pocket in the front, of all places. Something different."

She chuckled. This was the first we had seen each other in dry civilian clothes, not damp bicycling garb--or naked. Beth herself looked lovely: freshly showered, dressed in sandals and a lightweight little summer print dress. I came inside, and then we helped ourselves to a long, tender kiss. My roving hands confirmed that she was braless.

We sat at the kitchen table. Beth poured two cups of coffee.

"Anything interesting happen last night?" she asked.

"Afraid not. Ann came home from work stressed out and grumpy. By the time she mellowed out, it was too late to begin a difficult conversation."

"Sounds wise."

"I did tell her that I had met this nice lady on the trail and helped her pump up her tire. And that maybe the two of us might go out for a bike ride sometime."

"To which her reaction was..."

"Fine. No problem."

"I'd like to do that too, Stephen. Though I have other plans for today."

"Let me not keep you from them."

"All right." She stood, took my hand, and led me upstairs.

We stood, facing each other, next to her bed. I stepped out of my loafers, and Beth took off her sandals. Then, with a quick motion of both arms, she pulled her dress over her head and off, dropping it onto the floor by her feet. Now wearing only low-rise white cotton panties, she looked simultaneously innocent and extremely sexy. Her skilled fingers unbuttoned my oxford shirt and caressed my chest. Her breasts swayed charmingly as she moved her arms. My mind must have strayed for a moment. Next thing I knew, my trousers and undershorts were around my ankles and Beth was hugging me. I slipped a hand onto her bottom, inside her panties, and hugged back.

Remind me to add yet another item to my list of skills Beth had mastered: rapidly undressing a man. God, I love an experienced partner. Who in his right mind would prefer a blushing virgin to an accomplished lover like Beth? Ann was no slouch either, but she couldn't approach Beth when it came to taking my clothes off me without fuss or delay. Okay, I did the socks.

I was now naked. Beth was wearing panties. "One of us is over-dressed," she said. She was asking if I would enjoy pulling them down.

"Would you do the honors?" I requested. She would--pulling her panties down and off slowly enough to be very enticing, quickly enough that I wouldn't get impatient.

We climbed onto the bed, kissing and fondling and quite enjoying ourselves. In a couple of minutes I found Beth on top of me, our bodies in a 69. Her pussy had come to my mouth at about the perfect moment: maybe a half-hour, 45 minutes after her shower. She smelled and tasted fresh but also like a lovely, living woman, not a bar of perfumed soap. Her taste and smell modulated as her lubrication increased, and that also was lovely.

From time to time I would move my head back and admire the view. I couldn't say that Beth's pussy was prettier than Ann's, but it seemed wildly sexy because it was different: outer labia just a tad plumper, inner labia a little less prominent, and of course all trimmed in brown fur rather than dark gold.

But 69 is not my favorite position: my attention is split between two separate places some distance apart. I like either to focus on one place at a time or else have everything in contact all at once. Let's try one-at-a-time for awhile. After a few minutes of mutual oral, I rolled Beth onto her back, moved around, placed my head between her legs, and gave her pussy some undivided attention. That worked for Beth too, and she soon came to a nice, medium-sized orgasm. Afterwards I licked her gently for another minute or so, mostly because I was enjoying licking her.

Then, without saying a word, she sat and turned and swallowed my half-erect penis. With her highly skilled lips and cheek muscles and tongue she quickly brought me to full erection. Then she turned again and knelt on the bed, facing away from me, her right cheek against the sheet, her bottom up in the air. The loveliest submissive pose a woman could get herself into, I thought. As though she were saying, "All my most private parts are available to you; help yourself to whatever you like." It was indeed a "pose": Beth was actually the least submissive woman I had ever had sex with. But I was glad to play this charming, very arousing game with her. I knelt behind her, and my cock glided into her very moist vagina.

I leaned forwards. As I moved my cock in and out of her I reached my left hand under her and fondled those lovely brown-tipped breasts. My right hand went between her legs to fondle her clitoris. A couple minutes later Beth climaxed again--a big one this time. My penis couldn't withstand the repeated clenching of those well-toned vaginal muscles, and I too had a strong orgasm.

Our second sexual encounter had been rather shorter than our first. And of course it lacked my psychedelic spiritual communion with the entire universe--that was unlikely to happen again anytime soon, if ever. But neither Beth nor I had any complaints about this morning. One thing was obvious: we both felt wonderful. We collapsed onto the bed.

************

We lay there in bed, enjoying the glow. "Progress report on your feelings?" Beth eventually inquired. "Yesterday you were 70 percent 'all's right with the world' and 30 percent 'get me out of here!'"

"95-5, Beth, just as you predicted."

"I predicted that for our third time, not our second."

"I'm a fast learner. So you win that spare inner tube we bet. Do you want Schrader valve for the 10-speed or Presta for your next sport bike? Or can your Bianchi be saved?"

"I still don't know about the Bianchi," she said, running her hand over my thigh. "It's not looking good. The shop stripped it and sent the frame and fork off to a specialist. My mechanic isn't optimistic. The carbon fiber is broken at what would be the seat tube and also the head tube--I don't think there are any actual tubes there. I can salvage the wheels, plus several components if I want them. Bummer."

"I'm sorry, Beth."

"It did bring us together. Sort of."

"Your crappy CO2 inflator helped too," I teased. "Didn't your father ever tell you never to buy cheap tools?"

"More times than I can remember." She slowly twirled my penis around in a circle. "Also, my mother advised me never to fool around with other people's husbands. But did I listen? Noooo...."

I kissed her forehead. "Thank you for that."

She was getting serious now. "I know we're on the same wavelength, Stephen. Neither of us knows what the hell we are doing or what we want, but we both can see that this is not just a one-off roll in the hay. And anyone who sees us together, anyone with at least half a brain--that includes all women and a large handful of men--will immediately pick up all the little signals that something is going on here."

"Yes. She needs to hear about it from me, not from a colleague at work or the lady next door."

"If I thought that would be the end of us, I'd want to keep this a secret for as long as possible. We talked about this yesterday. There's no mad rush, but I wouldn't wait until September. As of this moment, your list of sins doesn't include deception."

She glanced at the clock on her bureau. "Christ, I need to get going. I've got to prepare some more for my client and then go meet with them. I should probably take another shower, too. Care to join? I'll let you play with my body."

"No man would say no to that, Beth."

In the porn stories the couple in the shower would have eight types of sex while running through 900 gallons of water. In reality, neither Beth nor I nor her septic tank was up for that. But we probably did emerge from the shower with the cleanest breasts, labia, anuses, cock, chest, and balls in all of Hebron.

************

Ann returned home Wednesday night in a much better mood than the day before. She told me about her day over dinner.

R&D was being at least a little more forthcoming than before about what was nearly ready to roll and what wasn't even close. And the new freelance graphic designer looked like a winner. She was sharp, very perceptive, easy to get along with. Her preliminary layouts for the product catalogue looked good. Very professional looking; nice use of spot color; and the page design gave Ann a little more flexibility with the text she could write for each item. The design fit in well with the company's current graphic style, too. The girl had done her homework. Ann was sure the girl would get up to speed quickly. A burden had been eased.

In fact, Ann said, her own and the new girl's personalities had just "clicked." The girl even spoke in real English, not the gawddawful management jargon both management and freelancers tend to throw around. You could actually have a real converstion with her. She even had a sense of humor.

I tried my best to look pleased at the news. This can't be happening, I thought. Please don't tell me her name.

We shared the dishwashing. Let's do it, I thought. I also thought: as Gary Gilmore said to the firing squad.

"Ann, something important has come up. Can we sit down in the living room and talk for a bit?"

"Of course, Stephen. Just let me pee first. I'll be right in."

I brought two half-glasses of white wine into the living room, put them on the coffee table, and sat on the sofa. Ann sat in an armchair. Good: we would be close and have good eye contact. I realized I had failed to think through exactly what I would say. Well, no sense beating around the bush.

"Ann, there's no way I can make a whole lot of sense of this. I've gotten into a relationship with a woman."

Ann looked upset, to say the least, but she spoke carefully and as calmly as she could. "For how long, Stephen?"

"A couple of days. Less than two days."

Ann resolutely tried to stay calm. Thank you for that, I thought. "How did it happen?" she asked.

I found myself practically reciting the script Beth had ad-libbed yesterday. "The lady on the trail with the flat tire. We got her bike ready to roll again. She gave me a hug, then she gave me a kiss, and something went BING! The next thing I knew we were heavy petting. The next thing I knew we were fucking. I couldn't begin to tell you why."

"You had sex with her on the rail trail?"

"Just the heavy petting part. The actual sex came a few miles further on. In a clearing in a small patch of woods. Off of Route 6 in Andover. We stopped at the auto garage to get some more air into her tire."

Ann looked like she was about to laugh and cry at the same time and was trying very hard not to do either. Tears were in her eyes. I felt sorry for her.

"I don't suppose anyone had a condom."

"I'm sorry, Ann. If it helps even a little, she's been celibate for nearly a year. And on the pill."

"So she says."

"Yes. So she said."

Ann reached for her wine and downed it all at once. She took a deep breath, paused, and then said, "What does this mean for us, Stephen?"

This part I had mentally rehearsed a little. "You are the woman I love deeply and forever, Ann. I very much want you to be my wife forever, and I your husband. Nothing can change that."

"This is not a good way to bring about that happy outcome."

"I know that, Ann, believe me. As I said, none of this makes any sense, and I know it. All three of us know it. And it happened nonetheless. If you're wondering, no, I'm not feeling dissatisfied with you in any way. You haven't fallen short as a wife at all. You are a wonderful wife and human being. You didn't do anything wrong. I love you deeply."

By now Ann was silently crying, blotting her cheeks with a Kleenex. She had another question--or possibly the same question in different words. "What are your plans?"

"There were never any plans, Ann. There still aren't. I don't know what the hell hit us--the woman and I. I feel like some force I don't begin to understand has taken over. I have no idea what is happening or why or when I'll get my life under control. Plans are too rational and reasonable. I wish I could be more helpful to you, but I'm kind of in over my head here. The one thing I do know is that I want to be married to you and not to anyone else."

Maybe Beth was right. The look on Ann's face might mean that she had some inkling of what I was talking about.

"Stephen, I realize I do not hold the moral high ground in this discussion."

"There's no need to bring in the past, Ann."

"Thank you for saying that. But we both know it's not true.... Since you have no plans, that includes, you have no plans to stop seeing her, I take it. Did you see her again today?"

"Yes. Do you want to know her name?"

"No, I don't.... No: yes, I do. What is her name?"

"Beth. Do you want her last name?"

"No. Beth. Everyone you run into is named Beth these days. A couple years ago, every girl you met was named Adrian. This year it's Beth."

"Funny how it works. Ann, I need to ask a favor of you."

"It couldn't hurt to ask," she said, a little drily.

I didn't ask the question she was expecting: will you give me some time to sort things out? Instead I asked, "You and I both sleep in our bed tonight?"

Now she was on the absolute brink of laughing and crying at the same time.

"Yes, Stephen. Yes, we share the same bed, tonight and tomorrow night too. In fact, I'm going to make a demand, and I want from you a solemn promise. You spend every night in the same bed as me--provided I'll have you. You do not spend any night, all night, in the bed and arms of any other person so long as we are married to each other. Promise me that now."