Sweet, Kind, Gentle Adultery

I had wanted her all to myself for years. She was pale, freckled, skinny, slight of build. She was soft-spoken and introverted. She was also quirky and a little on the eccentric side. I once took a picture of her at a church conference and was told by someone else that she was uncomfortable being photographed. I refrained from then on and showed her the picture. She was not upset.

The one time I gave her a platonic hug, rather than simply offering her my outstretched palms, she recoiled in pain. I made a note of that, too.

She was also highly religious, a member of a religious sect that closely resembled the Amish. As part of one of the historic Peace Churches, like the Amish or the Old Order Mennonites, she dressed plainly. But it was her own version of plain: worn blue jeans, hair tied up in a tight bun, thrift store pullover that might have been favored by an elderly woman, not a woman in her early twenties. All solid colors and no fancy adornments to speak of: a plain person in a world of plain people.

When she got married, I could barely conceal my jealousy. This is ironic, because I'm not usually a jealous man. Her naivete was as plain as her clothing. She was somewhat socially stunted, protected by two cautious parents. I suspect she had some sort of unspoken emotional problem, but I have my issues, too and never judged her for it. Because of our shared struggles, I took liberties with her that I wouldn't have with most other women. I told her that I had feelings for her, even after her marriage.

Some women would have taken that the wrong way. Some would have ceased all communication, feeling uncomfortable with that much honesty. Others would have registered discomfort and requested distance for a time. That said, some would have taken it as a compliment. One never knows what avenue such a statement of vulnerability and blind faith may produce. I have experienced all of them.

She lived in a rural area about an hour and half away from where I lived. I made the drive periodically to check in with her. On my way to visit her, I encountered the horse and buggies of the Amish, and their huge families, who sold delicious produce to the outside world. A young mother and father would scamper out to my car, along with four or five barefoot children. They would display the prices for their wares on a chalkboard.

Cash only, of course. Lancaster County soil is some of the richest in the world. Huge potatoes, corn on the cob that tasted pre-buttered, and homemade fruit preserves were found in abundance. I always bought a large supply and took it back home with me. Then it was time to make it to her house, or rather their house, which was nearly a century old. I don't think her husband really knew what to make of me. He had his own issues—severe asthma, which required numerous trips to the Emergency Room. He was quite needy, and she attended to him like a nurse.

I began to dream about her every night. Then the dreams turned highly sexual. In them, I found myself in the dominate role, and her very willingly taking the submissive one. The only scrap of dialogue I remembered after I woke up occurred during our lovemaking, at which point she confided with great pleasure that, in the midst of our intercourse, I was increasing the stimulation by rubbing against her clitoris with the force of my body.

And then, in life as well as in my dreaming state, unseen forces pulled me away from her. Anger and jealousy in tandem, both from her husband and her parents separated us. I awoke, half-aroused, half-scorned. Disappointed.

On my next drive in, I made sure that her husband was otherwise accounted for, and suggested we meet at their house. She was typically quiet, demurring, and passive. With other women and in other circumstances, this might have been a turn-off, but in this context, I was perfectly comfortable. We greeted each other at the door, once again with upturned palms, rather than a hug.

And we chatted for a while on an old sofa. I nudged closer and closer to her, and she pretended not to notice. She brought out a very protective part of me, seeming so fragile and yet simultaneously desirable at the same time. I removed her glasses and she let me, without protest. Then I leaned over to kiss her on her cheek. Averting her eyes from my gaze completely, she reluctantly assented. Feeling emboldened, I kissed her again full on the lips.

She pulled away sharply. "We can't do this. I'm married."

I had a retort prepared well ahead of time. "Well, I'm not. Not in five long years. I'm very lonely and I've wanted you for a long time."

She had an endearing and sometimes infuriating way of going totally mute when faced with making a difficult decision. I had noticed this in our e-mail correspondence. If a point made her uncomfortable, she skirted it completely unless I called her out on it explicitly. I knew I was going to have to be the engine pulling this train.

She was petite and lightweight. Though I am far from the strongest man in the world, it wasn't difficult for me to lift her up and carry her into the bedroom. There I resumed kissing her and felt her tiny breasts underneath her shirt. She took a series of very sharp, short intakes of breath. I could have predicted that she was not going to be especially chatty or vocal during whatever we were both pursuing at the moment. I knew I was probably one of the few men she had ever bedded in the course of her life.

I kissed down her neck, at which point I felt her whole body fall totally limp. Removing her bra, I kissed across each nipple, sucking the teat into my warm mouth. This elicited more soft moans. I paused briefly to remove my own shirt, and she very softly and gently began to rub up and down my hairy chest.

I kissed down her stomach, removing her jeans, revealing a pair of underwear that appeared to have been fashioned herself by hand. This I slid down her thighs and down her legs, leaving her totally naked before me. Her eyes were now closed, anticipating my next move. I hastily removed my own jeans and underwear. Now we were both naked before each other. We'd removed our shoes and socks well beforehand. This was at her request, to keep the carpet clean, she said.

Even her vaginal area and unshaven pubic bush accentuated her tiny size. She had a tiny clit, a small, compact opening, and a minimal distribution of pubic hair. I wanted to make this a pleasing experience for her and I definitely didn't want to crush her with the full weight of my body. It made me a little nervous, to be honest. It reminded me of a past lover, who found vaginal intercourse extremely painful, even having to have an operation to correct it. I worried briefly if the same thing would be true with her.

First, however, I wanted to eat her out. Unsurprisingly, she remained completely silent for this, too, but by now she was sopping wet. My tongue traversed up, down, across, against, over, and around her clit and her vaginal opening. I dipped my tongue as deep as I could into her. I licked each pussy lip individually, suctioning gently one at a time.

Eventually, she let forth a huge exhale of breath at the same time her legs started vibrating and contracting, and I knew I had produced the first orgasm. It spurred me to continue and she involuntarily began to muss up my hair with right hand.

"Take me," she whispered. "Take me all."

"I will," I said. "But what about birth control?"

She smiled. "Don't worry. I'm on the pill."

I took my cock in my hand, and with great deliberation placed it in front of her slick folds. She was a tight fit, but within seconds I found to my profound satisfaction that I was deep inside her. I began quick, sharp thrusting motions in and out, and she began pushing back against my cock. With someone more experienced, I might have been a bit more adventurous, but I didn't want to overwhelm her. There is something to be said for nice, gentle, low key sex.

She contracted around my cock for orgasm number two, closing her eyes once again. I'd made another fantasy come true, and was close to orgasm myself, but tried to delay it as much as I could. It was just as well that she wasn't especially vocal, as that would have increased the eroticism of the act and made my own orgasm much more likely.

I suppose we kept it up for fifteen minutes or so. Had she been some other woman, I might have asked for something nastier and naughtier like ejaculating on her breasts or chest, but that seemed somehow indecent and inappropriate. After confirming it was okay with her, I blew my load deep inside her and collapsed in exhaustion from the exertion, even though this had been decidedly low-impact cardio.

When my orgasm and her orgasm subsided, we lay in silence together for what felt like an eternity. I was sleepy and wanted to take a nap, but decided instead to cuddle with her, holding her close to me. Both of us were reluctant to get up.

She was, as I noted, a highly religious person, and I could see the regret showing plainly on her face as she opened her eyes and, leaving the bed briefly, found her glasses in the other room and put them back on. I was a religious person, too, but chose deliberately and willfully to ignore the commandment about not committing adultery. And she had too. I could almost see the wheels turning in her brain, trying to rationalize and justify what she had just done before God.

She looked me square in the face.

"We simply cannot do this anymore. We just can't. My husband would be so hurt if he found out."

I had my own regrets too, of course, but now was untethered to a partner. Her stance was much more hard line than mine, but I could sense that for the first time, adultery was more than an abstraction. It is true that she had confided in me about what a burden caring for her husband had been. Even with her innocence largely intact, she must have had some understanding of acceptable boundaries. We'd been having a so-called emotional affair long before it became physically consummated.

We made a pact that day. We'd lay aside our religious convictions from time to time to be together. Neither of us were sure whether this was love, lust, or somewhere in between. But maybe it had to be this way. We've kept up fond correspondence ever since then, and when it's safe, we make love again.

It's always gentle, peaceful, and calm. It's never felt quite right to expand our repertoire to kinkier areas and I've respected that silent boundary she's set up as a condition of us being together. We've kept up this secret for a long time. Her husband is unlikely to ever find out. He's just not that kind, and he's too distracted by his own physical limitations to believe in his wife's unfaithful behavior. She has come to justify her contact with me as reward for tending to him as a caretaker. And so long as our agreement holds, she'll always be in my life.