Swimming in the Rubicon

"Oh, did they laugh at him?"

"Well, he was pretty shamefaced, and he had to scoop up the bike while the driver waited patiently, eyebrows raised. The girls just kind of ignored him, really, which might have actually hurt more, like he was so dumb he didn't exist. What definitely won't have helped, though, is how hard I was laughing, out loud. Because, I swear, that boy was me, back in the day."

He finished with a big smile, self-depreciation all over him. And if his aim in telling the story was to ensure that Alex didn't see him as threatening, he had succeeded. She could sit with him all afternoon, if that's what they felt like doing, and Alex remembered the same comfortable feeling she'd had from him the other time they'd met.

"I've never done this before," she said suddenly.

"What? Drunk cappuccino?"

This time the joke missed, but Martin didn't mind.

"You've thought it through?" he said.

"Yes."

They were silent for a moment.

"A long time ago I was single," said Martin, "and I was single for a long time. Felt like years, though it was only months. Then I met a woman, and before we went to bed it felt like my life would never be the same again. But it was. She wasn't the one. I did have a smile on my face for a few days, though."

"I haven't had a smile on my face for a while now."

"And maybe you deserve to have one. I bet you look cute when you're happy."

"Martin?" Alex began tentatively, and he nodded for her to continue, "you wouldn't mind if we didn't do this?"

"Of course not! There's no pressure," His tone was almost apologetic.

"Oh, I know," she said.

Everything about his reaction confirmed to her that he was absolutely safe, discreet, even -- and she knew this might require some subsequent reflection on her part -- a tool for her to use. Or not, at her discretion.

"But you want to?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, open and warm again, "I think you're pretty hot, and I'd like to see what's under that elegant sundress you're wearing."

Which was nicely direct, and reminded her that this wasn't one of those dates where you try to make a deep connection.

"Ok, then, I've got a question for you," said Alex, feeling bolder now, "this PhD candidate you're supervising, are you doing anything else with her?"

"I'm shocked," Martin said, clearly not, "that would be against every ethic of academia. A university is not a knocking shop."

"A what?"

"Oh, sorry, British slang. A knocking shop is a house of ill-repute, a bordello."

"Well, I beg to differ. Most of the students I see around campus can barely keep their hands off each other. Especially in this weather. Sometimes I think that if it began raining the steam would start to billow off them."

"A fun thought. Maybe I'll chat up the groundskeeper and have him turn on the sprinklers one sunny day, catch all of them lounging on the lawns and feeling each other up," said Martin, a glint in his eye.

"You wouldn't!" Alex chuckled. Martin merely shrugged noncommittally.

"You didn't answer my question," said Alex after a pause, and this time she was the one with the glint in her eye.

"I don't fuck and tell," said Martin, "except to Ellen."

"Does she mind?"

"I shouldn't say this, but... she asked if she could watch."

"You two are rotten, aren't you?" Alex said, but she was smiling and there was humor in her voice.

"We do our best," said Martin, finishing off his coffee, "and talking of my PhD candidate, she's on a research trip at the minute, and I promised to water her plants for her. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

Alex shook her head and finished her own coffee, then followed Martin out of the coffee shop. It occurred to her that she'd never once considered where they might go to consummate their sinful endeavor, but perhaps once Martin had finished in this nearby apartment he would take her to a hotel. There had to be something in that part of town and the thought of such an assignation had a delicious edge to it.

It turned out that the apartment truly was close by, Martin escorting her to a brick townhouse just across the street. It was initially dark once they were in the lobby, but it brightened as they climbed the stairs to the second-floor apartment.

The unnamed PhD candidate certainly had taste, Alex decided once they were in her apartment, even if she didn't have much money. The furniture looked reclaimed and repurposed, but well cared for, and there were plants everywhere, a veritable jungle obscuring the Mediterranean style objects d'art. Martin headed for the kitchen with that typical male purpose -- have job, must complete job -- leaving Alex to wander to the window and look down into the street. The younger millennials and older Gen Z-ers were going about their business, looking hyper-cool and mostly carrying it off, though a closer look might reveal some insecurities even amongst the most confident.

Alex could hear Martin behind her, refilling the art deco watering can and busying himself amongst the plants. She smiled to herself as she heard him talk to them -- so he was one of those people. Which wasn't a bad thing, just a bit unexpected for a working-class Londoner.

He went to the kitchen again and she heard the faucet running, and she turned back to her inspection of the street scene below. But a moment later she felt Martin, behind her, reaching around her to water the plant on the window ledge. It was sudden, and the smell of him, the heat of him, his presence had its effect on her. A horny longing that had been bubbling away beneath the surface, suppressed during their sunny conversation in the coffee shop, blossomed.

"Oh, sorry," he said, such a British 'excuse me', as he reached for the philodendron.

Alex half-turned to face him, her expression unmistakable. Martin carefully put the watering can down on the ledge without breaking the eye-contact.

"Can I..?" he began, but she just nodded impatiently.

He leant in and they kissed. She hadn't been kissed in too long, but you never forget. He was firm without being too strong, and she pressed herself into him, an electric excitement taking over her as she responded eagerly.

She was greedy, wanting everything at once, with moments that lingered forever. Her hands took that as a simple instruction to head to his ass, and in a moment she was grasping him with both hands, marvelling at how firm he was for a man his age. It occurred to her, briefly, that he had brought her up to this apartment with ulterior motives, but so what? She was a neglected wife and she approved of his transparent plan.

She approved even more when he began to kiss her neck, the sensations migrating down to her nipples as she let her head fall back. He was good. Oh, he was good.

She wanted to see him, properly, and abruptly she was fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, pulling them open as he continued his marvelous attentions to her neck. She had his shirt open and began to push it off his shoulders, at which he helped, breaking contact with her and pulling it off, grunting with mild irritation at some momentary resistance on his shoulder.

Alex looked at his torso and felt a primal urge to lick. He wasn't the body beautiful, but he was smooth, and she liked that, and there was enough muscle tone to suggest that he was a man, not a lazy slob. She moved in to him again, and began to kiss his chest, enjoying his little grunt. Which was matched by her own gasp as he returned to her neck, his lips exploring her and now there was a definite feeling between her legs.

It was his turn to undress her, and he pushed her dress down off her shoulders. The next moments were ungraceful but urgent as she helped him, freeing her arms and pushing it further down around her waist and wiggling it over her hips until it fell. She had an instant, a fear as he saw her that he would think her old, ugly, but his actions betrayed that. He was on her again, immediately, his hands on her legs and she closed her eyes in anticipation as they moved up.

She loved that sensation, a man's hands on her buttocks, and when he reached them she melted a little. So far it had been a dance, each of them responding to the other's step, but now he took a little more control, and she surrendered it willingly. His hands were moving over her, one up to her breast and the other tarrying on her ass, but now he was moving her and she went with it until the back of her legs bumped up against the couch.

He lowered her without breaking contact until she was half-sitting, half-lying with her shoulder blades in the angle between seat and couch back. He caught her eye and grinned infectiously, and she giggled at it all. And then he was reaching for her panties and she was serious, focussed, intent on savoring whatever it was he was going to do.

He pulled off her panties as she lifted up her hips, feeling twenty years younger. A little smile crossed his face as he looked at her mound, her hair trimmed (the thought of shaving conflicted her), and then she gasped aloud as he took hold of her legs and spread them. It had been so long since a man had expressed his desire for her like that, wanting her pussy and just having to get her legs out of the way.

And then he surprised her, simply ducking his face down between her legs and kissing the soft skin on her inner thighs. She fought back an urge for flight and forced herself to relax -- let him do this, give him control, accept this, you deserve this.

Alex's experiences with cunnilingus had left her quietly wondering what all the fuss was about. When Thierry could be bothered, he was so distinctly below exciting that she had never pressed him to do it, and the two boyfriends she'd had in the prehistoric years before Thierry had just been inexperienced young men who barely knew what they were doing with anything sexual, whilst with her one night stand it just hadn't happened. So, though she'd heard enough to know it could, should, be mind-blowing, earth-shattering, she suspected it was all exaggeration. Until the six minutes that followed in that apartment.

Almost as soon as Martin touched her she knew it was different. There was a confidence, and an understanding of her body. He was firm and gentle, fast but not too fast, as he circled inwards, using his fingers to open her. He tasted her, and his relish was enough to have her whimpering, before he moved up and caressed her clit with the tip of his tongue. A sheen of perspiration broke out across her, warm and cold sensations racing across her skin and a peace descending on her. She went with the flow.

She didn't know how he did it, but he spent just the right time touching her, switching at precisely the right moment, circling his tongue over her clit, then slipping into her vagina, tasting her, then back to her clit. And as she gasped and heaved, her diaphragm starting to work overtime, he added a finger, then a second, stroking her as her gasps turned to soft moans.

She reached for her breasts, forgetting she was still wearing her bra. She briefly broke the mood to divest herself of it, then let him spend a minute building her back up until she moved her hand up, took her nipple between her fingers and flicked it, letting sensation build upon sensation as she drifted further.

He was so fucking good at this, so... there weren't words, and all she could do was put her other hand on the top of his head and hold him there as she suddenly moaned aloud, at the top of her voice, the fingers he'd just pushed into her touching just the right places and his tongue firmer, faster as she pushed herself up against him and it couldn't be happening but it was, and from far away she felt it, a slow contraction on his fingers and then her asshole was tightening even as he pushed the tip of his thumb against it, and her moan rose an octave and she had to fight it but she couldn't and she didn't want to, and hot and cold and everything went rigid and then she was open, everything was open and the sun rose inside her as she gripped on to the couch, fearful she might fall harder than she already had.

She pulled herself up and she felt another spasm, and another, and she was speechless, brittle, until the wave finally broke and she gulped down huge lungfuls of air. Collapsed on the couch, she felt like she must be a mess, but right then she couldn't care, wondering at what had just happened.

She had come. And the thing was, in her life so far, that was the first time she had come with a man. She thought maybe she had before, but now she knew. And even when she made herself come, privately in the night, it was different, good but not like what she'd just felt. She opened her eyes, finally, still trembling a little, and she looked at Martin. She couldn't read him, and suddenly she didn't want to.

She jumped up and grabbed her bra, only barely aware of a look of concern growing on his face as she cast about for her panties, and reached down for her dress. She threw it on and pushed her hair into something approaching acceptable.

"Is everything...?" Martin started to speak.

"I can't..." she said, "it's not..."

And she ran for the door, purse and underwear in hand, scooping up her flats from the mat. In an instant she was on the landing, pulling the door closed behind her, trying to control her breathing before she went downstairs, stuffing her underwear into her purse as best she could, and then triangulating as she hit the street, homing back to her car where she'd left it, assiduously avoiding any eye-contact with anyone in the neighborhood.

She drove for nearly an hour, a thousand thoughts rushing through her mind. Finally she was out of the city, into the rolling countryside and through the small sleeper towns, into horse country. She turned down a narrow road that led to a farm her aunt had once owned, and once past that there was the dirt road that led a mile to the creek. She hadn't been there since she was a teen, but now she needed space to think and it was the place that had burst upon her mind.

It had a reputation as something of a make out spot for the locals, but not in the middle of the afternoon. She parked in solitude, beneath a mature river birch that kept the sun off her car, and looked down at the lazy creek thirty feet away, the insects dancing above it.

What had just happened? She let herself breathe at last as she tried to recapture those moments in that apartment, Martin making her come. She'd let him, she'd opened herself up to it rather than fight it down, and it was a question: had she been pushing it away before, all those years, or were none of them able to take her there? She closed her eyes and remembered the sensation of the air on her flesh, and as she did so she reached down to the hem of her dress, teasing it up an inch or two.

He'd done things she didn't know possible, and her hem rose an inch or two more, her breathing deepening as she let herself revel in the memory. Her phone buzzed but she ignored it, finally pulling her dress up around her hips. She moved her fingertips over her thighs, letting the gossamer touch excite her, and then she parted her legs. He'd touched her there, and there, she moved her fingers, and then there and oh, there. She used both hands, one to spread herself and the other to explore, to regain every sensation that had led her to the promised land.

Her phone buzzed again and, irritated, she slung it in the glove box then turned her attention back to herself. She touched herself, everywhere, slowing pulling her dress completely off, leaving her nude in the driver's seat, finger-fucking herself. She pulled her fingers out and brought them to her mouth, tasting herself, the rudest, nastiest gesture she could think of, making herself into something decadent. And then she finger-fucked herself again, pushing through all the way until she moaned aloud and came again, pushing up and out of the seat as she shook violently then subsided.

It was another five minutes before she collected herself and looked out at the world again. She glanced in the mirror to make sure she was alone, and then she grinned and opened her door, stepping out naked into the world, and there was a metaphor in that. She wandered down to the creek and looked at the water floating by, one ear out for any approaching interlopers. The country buzzed and rustled gently and she felt both a peace and a turmoil to come, because that afternoon had made it crystal clear: staying with Thierry was just plain wrong.

Finally, she had admitted it to herself.

She turned and walked back to the car, aware that, like every dream, this one had to end. She pulled her underwear from her purse and dressed, though the thought of nudity in the countryside was one that would creep back on her, and then she retrieved her cell from the glove box. It was Ellen who'd been trying to get her, and she had three voicemails, increasingly urgent, and four texts. As she looked Ellen called again, and Alex felt happy that her friend cared so much.

"Hey, darling, what's up?" she said, answering.

"I've been trying to get hold of you. Are you ok? Martin said you just ran off."

"Yeah, fine. Better than fine."

"Sure? He'd better not have upset you..." Ellen's tone carried a hint of aggression.

"Oh, no! Not at all. He was perfect. A gentleman when he needed to be and, not, when I didn't need him to be."

"Ok." And the relief was clear in just those two syllables.

"Look, I just can't talk right now. I've got stuff. Give me a day or two?"

"Ok. If you're sure."

"Sure, I'm sure"

The call having ended, Alex sat with her thoughts for a final few moments. Her decision made, the rest was just logistics, though she knew it wouldn't be easy. The first step was a visit to a divorce lawyer, just to talk about options. But she knew where it would go from there.

There was another thought though, and this one was more intimate. What, physically, emotionally, now that she had opened the door? Swing with Ellen and Martin? She couldn't imagine it, but perhaps she should meet up with Martin again, finish what he'd started. And perhaps she could go to a club, once, to see what it was really like. Perhaps. And what else? Online dating, or the single dads in the PTA? She took a deep breath and decided: Martin first, and then she'd weigh anchor and sail out on a sea of possibility.

She turned the key in the ignition, and put the car in gear...