Suspicious Minds

So here I am, wallowing in a combination of guilt and embarrassment, sleeping alone, desperately trying to do everything I'm supposed to do at home while avoiding doing anything that might upset Marsha further, and without a soul I can confide in. Like I said, a living hell.

Marsha

The temperature in our house for the next couple of weeks was icy. I was so angry at Marshall and I found I just couldn't get past it. Of course, he was doing everything in his power to get back in my good graces, but you don't make up for something like that by doing a few chores and bringing home a bouquet of flowers. I knew I'd get over it eventually, but when your husband shows that he doesn't trust you, you don't forgive and forget quickly. The fact that he had embarrassed me in front of my best friend just added salt to the wound.

As the days went by, my hurt and anger would begin to subside, but every time I thought I could move on, something would happen to reopen the wound. For example, I came home from work one evening and went into our bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes. As I walked through the door, I was startled to find Marshall on his knees, holding a putty knife, trying to patch the hole the door handle had made in the drywall. Instantly, all of the pain of that horrible afternoon came flooding back and I burst into tears. At least Marshall was sensitive enough to realize what was happening and get out of there. I knew he was hurting too, but, dammit, he'd brought it on himself.

Several days later, Lydia called me. She'd been great throughout the whole ordeal, checking in with me frequently, giving me a sympathetic ear whenever I needed it. This time, however, she was calling with another purpose. She and Bill were having a cookout and open house for a bunch of people in our neighborhood, and she wanted to make sure we were coming.

I told her we weren't planning to go; I didn't know if I could face other people after what had happened. But this time she took a different approach. "Come on, Marsha," she said, "you can't hide away from the world. Frankly, the longer you avoid other people, the more they'll assume that something bad has happened."

I hadn't thought about it that way, and I realized that she was right. My husband might have made a fool of himself and hurt my feelings, but that's not exactly unheard of among married couples. I hadn't done anything wrong and there was no reason to punish myself. So I decided to go, and I thanked her for the encouragement.

Marshall

When Marsha told me we were going to Bill and Lydia's party, I had mixed emotions. On the one hand, I was glad we were going to get out and do something "normal." We'd been hiding from other people ever since "black Saturday" took place. I was also glad that we were going together. My secret fear had been that Marsha would continue to avoid me, even at social gatherings. If she'd opted to go without me, that would have been very hard to take.

On the other hand, I was extremely apprehensive about the reception I was likely to get from our friends. I had no idea how to handle the subject if somebody asked me about it, and I was especially leery of confronting Bill. But finally I decided it was time to man up and face him. If he was angry with me, I'd let him have his say and I'd apologize. If he wanted to ridicule me, I'd just have to take it. Either way, I wasn't going to be a coward.

I also hoped that the evening might mark the start of a thaw in my relationship with Marsha. I was no longer receiving regular tongue-lashings from her; in fact we were able to have normal, civil conversations about the routine of our lives. There was no further discussion about the elephant in the room, but I didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. At the same time, there were no displays of affection, and certainly no invitations to me to return to the master bedroom. We were pretty much living like roommates rather than husband and wife, and I knew the decision to change that was up to her. I just hoped it was going to be soon -- I was getting horny.

The evening of the party, we drove over to Bill and Lydia's house in silence. It wasn't an angry silence, but it let me know that things had not yet returned to normal. The truth was we were probably both a little apprehensive about what might happen at the party.

When we walked up to the front door, Lydia opened it and beckoned us in. I figured she must have been keeping an eye out for Marsha to give her moral support. Lydia gave Marsha a big hug and smiled at me, which made me feel a little better. Then she led Marsha away, leaving me to make my own way into the party.

I walked through the house and out onto the patio, where a makeshift bar had been set up. As I was waiting to grab myself something to drink, who should walk up but Bill himself. I braced myself for whatever confrontation awaited me, but when I started to apologize, he held up his hand to stop me. "Hey, man," he said, "no harm, no foul." Then he clapped me on the shoulder and thrust a glass of wine into my hand. "I've got to find Lydia -- I'll catch up with you later." With that he wandered off, leaving me feeling greatly relieved.

In fact, the whole party went on rather like that. I wandered around and chatted with a number of friends and neighbors. If any of them had heard about my blunder, they were kind enough not to mention it. I certainly saw nothing to be gained by bringing up the subject, so we kept the talk on socially acceptable topics like sports, the weather, and the economy. In short, it was a normal get-together, and it felt really good.

Periodically I would catch sight of Marsha. She too was circulating, and from the expression on her face, she was having a good time. I noticed her talking and laughing with Bill for a while, and wished I'd been close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation. "Oh my gawd," I thought, "I'm doing it again! Haven't you learned your lesson?" I asked myself. I made a determined effort to turn away and go talk with someone else.

When it was time to go, Marsha and I piled into the car and headed home. The atmosphere was lighter in the car, and we chatted a bit about the friends we'd seen and what they'd had to say. Between the tone of the conversation and the slight buzz I had from the wine I'd drunk, I began to get optimistic about my chances when we got home. But after I'd parked and we'd gotten inside the house, Marsha turned to me and said, "That was fun, but I'm beat. I'm going to head on to bed -- I'll see you in the morning." Her meaning was clear: I'd have to be patient a while longer.

Marsha

I'd been apprehensive when Lydia talked me into going to their party. My feelings were still pretty raw, and I didn't want to have to face any catty remarks or deal with insincere expressions of sympathy. Women can be vicious when someone in their circle is wounded. I don't know why that is, but I've seen it happen on a number of occasions.

But Lydia, bless her heart, must not have said anything to anyone about what had happened because everyone was nice and the conversation had no unpleasant undertones. Once I realized that, I was able to relax and enjoy myself for the first time in a long time. It felt good to feel normal.

I had separated from Marshall the minute we got to the party. That wasn't unusual; we normally went in different directions in search of friends. But I made a point of getting away from him tonight because I didn't want any unpleasant discussions to arise. And I was still upset with him enough that I wanted to enjoy myself without him around to remind me of what had happened.

After I had made my rounds and spoken to a number of neighbors, I looked up to see Bill Matthews standing by the barbecue grill, watching me. When he realized that I had seen him, he waved me over. As I came up to him, he pressed another glass of white wine in my hand. I'd already downed several and had reached my limit, but then I thought "What the hell," and accepted his offer.

"Hey," he said with a laugh, "I understand you and I are having an affair."

I must have flinched, because he spoke up again quickly. "Don't worry, I haven't said a word to anyone about it, and neither has Lydia."

I relaxed and took another sip of wine. "I really appreciate the two of you watching out for me. I'm still pretty upset about it, to be honest."

"I can sure understand that," he replied. "Sometimes men can be complete idiots when it comes to women."

Then his face broke into a broad grin. "But you have to admit, it must have been pretty funny to see Marshall come bursting through that door and fall flat on his face. It must have looked like a scene straight out of the Marx Brothers!"

At that, a vision of Marshall with a Groucho mustache and wild hair came to me, and suddenly I couldn't stop laughing. He had looked so foolish sprawled out on the floor -- what a great oaf he'd made of himself!

As the two of us finally stopped laughing and caught our breath, Bill went on, "What I don't understand is why the big goof decided that I was the one you were cheating with."

"Oh, that's easy," I said without thinking, "he knows I've had a crush on you for years."

The instant I said that, my face turned a bright red and my hand flew, too late, to my mouth. "Why in the world did I say that?" I asked myself. "It must have been the wine."

As I stood there in obvious embarrassment, Bill just looked at me with interest. When I couldn't think of anything to say, he smiled and patted me on the arm. "I'd better go check on the other guests. We'll talk later." Then he walked off, smiling at me as he left.

"You idiot," I thought, "why did you have to say that?" The fact was that it was true: I'd always thought Bill was a hunk and that Lydia was a lucky girl. She certainly bragged on him enough, especially his skills between the sheets. But I never meant to let my thoughts take word, especially not to Bill. I decided I had better get out of there before my mouth got me in any more trouble, so I went to find Marshall.

The next morning, I slept so late that Marshall had already left for his regular Saturday golf game by the time I awoke. I gingerly made my way down the stairs and found the pot of coffee that Marshall had thoughtfully brewed for me. "He's still trying to buy my forgiveness," I thought unkindly.

After a couple of cups, I felt slightly more human, so I decided to get a shower. Last night when I got home, I'd just stripped off my clothes and fallen straight into bed.

The shower completed the task of bringing me back to wakefulness. As I stepped out of the bathroom, I began to pick up my clothes from last night, which were scattered about the room. As I picked up my dress, a thought suddenly struck me: "Where's my good cardigan sweater?" I knew I'd taken it with me to the party because the temperature had started dropping once the sun went down and my sleeveless dress just wasn't enough to keep me warm. The sweater was nowhere to be found, either in my room or downstairs. "Damn, I must have left it at Bill and Lydia's house," I thought.

I picked up the phone and called the Matthews, hoping to reach Lydia, but Bill answered and told me that Lydia was out shopping. I explained the reason for my call and asked if they had found my sweater. "I haven't seen it," Bill said, "but I'll bet it's here somewhere. Why don't you swing by and we'll look for it." I didn't have any other plans for the day and I did want my sweater back so I decided to do just that.

When I pulled into their driveway and got out of the car, I heard Bill yelling for me to come around back. He'd been lying out by their pool in his swim trunks getting some sun. As I walked toward him, I noticed that his skinned was oiled and gleaming. "Damn," I thought, "he is a good-looking man." Then I blushed a little as I remembered my slip of the night before.

If Bill noticed my momentary discomfort, he didn't show it. "Hey, Marsha, I've looked all over the house and couldn't find your sweater. Are you sure you left it here?"

"Where else could I have left it?" I asked myself, but couldn't come up with any answers. As I was mentally scratching my head, Bill suddenly piped up: "Could you have left it in the pool house? I haven't looked there."

I couldn't remember having gone in there last night, but it was worth a try. "I'll have to unlock it for you," Bill said. He went inside and immediately emerged holding a key on a short chain. As we walked back to the pool house, he explained, "We had to start locking it up at night after I found a couple of neighborhood teenagers making out in there one time."

He unlocked the door and held it open for me. There were no lights on, but when I went inside I saw my sweater draped over the back of their small loveseat. "How odd," I said, "I don't remember leaving it there."

When I picked it up and turned around, Bill was standing right in front of me. "I have a confession to make," he said, staring at me intently, "I put your sweater in here. I was hoping you'd come looking for it."

I was startled, but before I could speak, he went on. "You know last night when you said you'd had a crush on me? Well, I've felt the same way about you ever since I met you. You're a very desirable woman, Marsha."

"Oh!" I gasped. I felt a rush of emotions: I was embarrassed once again by my slip of the night before, but I was flattered by Bill's compliments. I was nervous to find him standing so close to me wearing so little, but it was a real boost to my ego having this well-muscled man come on to me.

I still didn't know what to say, so I looked down to avoid his eyes. As I did, I caught sight of Bill's swim trunks, which were now showing a sizeable bulge. "Oh, wow," I thought, "he wasn't kidding about being attracted to me." That thought sent a little twinge between my own legs, and I realized, "It's been a long time since I've had sex."

That thought sounded an alarm in my head, but before I could do anything, I felt Bill's hands take me by my arms, and I looked up at him. He looked deeply into my eyes. "You're a very beautiful woman, Marsha. Any man would want you."

Every woman wants to feel attractive and desirable, and his words combined with his obvious erection made it clear that he was serious. I knew that I needed to get out of there; I was a married woman who shouldn't be alone this way with another man. But my husband's insult had left me feeling uncertain about myself, and the strength of his obvious desire only served to stoke my own. I could neither move nor speak.

He must have felt my indecision gave him an opening because he crushed me to him and kissed me with passionate intensity. His arms wrapped around me and I could feel the strength of his muscles. One of his hands slipped lower to grasp my bottom and pull me against his erection. I found myself panting and gasping for breath as my body temperature rose.

In a last effort to save myself, I pushed against his chest. "We can't do this, Bill, we mustn't."

But he ignored me and kissed me again. His tongue began to probe my lips, and something inside of me seemed to give way and I let him in my mouth.

His other hand slid around to grasp my breast, and I felt my nipples stiffen in anticipation. Then both his hands were at my blouse, frantically unbuttoning it. I couldn't make myself resist him, and he quickly had it completely undone. Next I felt my bra clasp loosen and his fingers pull the straps off my shoulders to let it slide off completely.

Again he crushed my body to him, and now I felt my bare nipples rubbing against his hairy chest. The delicious friction sent electric shocks through my body, sparking an intense sensation in my pussy. Involuntarily I parted my legs and let his thigh rub against me. That only served to increase my desire.

Suddenly he pushed me down on the loveseat behind me and reached for the button on my shorts. A sense of helplessness and surrender washed over me, and I lowered my hands, surrendering myself to whatever he wanted to do to me. His hands grabbed the waistline of both my shorts and my panties, and he pulled them off together. As he did so, I realized in wonder that I was soaking wet down there. Usually it takes a lot of foreplay to get me ready, but now I found myself fully aroused, as hot as I'd ever been.

Next Bill pushed my knees apart and knelt between them. My hips began to rise as though they were reaching up to meet his body, and when I felt his cock rub my labia and run up over my clitoris, I gasped. Helplessly I yielded to his assault, and I groaned out loud as his cock slid into me. It filled me perfectly and felt so good that all thoughts of resistance vanished to be replaced by raw lust. At first I lay there passively, but then I felt an uncontrollable urge to move, to create more friction, more pressure. My hips began to roll and buck, and he must have felt the same urge because he began to drive into me over and over again.

There were moans and gasps filling the room, and I suddenly realized they were coming from me. Then I was whimpering, "Oh, oh, oh, oh!" I felt the pressure building within me and lost all control, pulling him to me and trying to drive him deeper and faster into me to relieve the need that was overwhelming me until I came with a huge, shuddering contraction and collapsed back on the cushions. He pushed into me for a few more strokes until he too reached his climax and began to pump his seed into my vagina. With a groan he collapsed on top of me, and the two of us clung together, hot and sweaty.

Slowly I regained awareness of my body and my surroundings. I had never experienced sexual desire like that before. It was like being caught in a flash flood, so sudden and powerful that it swept me off my feet completely and all I could do was go with the current.

Bill lifted his head and looked at me. "That was absolutely incredible," he said. He touched my face gently, then lightly ran his fingers down my neck and onto my breast, rolling the nipple between his finger and his thumb. I felt his cock begin to harden again.

Suddenly, the voice of reason sounded in my mind and I sat up on my elbows. "What time will Lydia be home?" I asked urgently. Bill looked at me in momentary confusion, and then said, "I don't really know -- any time, I guess."

"We've got to get dressed and I've got to get out of here," I said frantically.

Reluctantly, Bill arose and helped me to my feet. He used my panties to try to wipe off the semen that was dripping from my pussy. Then the two of us quickly pulled on our clothes and I turned to head for the door. "Don't forget your sweater," Bill said with a smile. I gave him a sheepish grin, grabbed my sweater and began walking rapidly toward my car. Bill followed me, and as I pulled out, he gave me a little wave.

I drove home in a daze. On the one hand, I felt the relaxation of sexual satisfaction, and my ego was still riding high to think that my body could drive a man wild with desire for me. But as I walked into my home, all those positive feelings began to leak out like air from an old tire, to be replaced by deep guilt. "What have I done?" I berated myself. "How could I have cheated on Marshall?"

Saying his name caused me to panic. "I've got to get another shower before Marshall gets home," I thought urgently. "My panties and shorts must be soaked through, and I bet I smell like a whorehouse."

Quickly I ran up to the master bathroom and stripped. I rinsed my panties and shorts out in the sink as best I could, squeezed some of the water out of them and then stuffed them down in the bottom of the clothes hamper. I climbed into the shower to clean myself off and wash away any fluids or smells. As I scrubbed myself, I was surprised to see how swollen my nipples and vaginal lips were. "Damn," I thought, "I can't let Marshall see me in the nude."