The Athlete

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ukresearcher
ukresearcher
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My wife looked up, her face flushed with happiness. "I think so. I really do think so - I'm certainly going to try."

When we returned upstairs Paul looked very uncomfortable but when I had chatted to him quite normally for a while he relaxed. When we were in bed that night I was eager to put it to the test but had sense not to give her sausage to chew as the first dish on the menu. I just fondled for a time and then slowly kissed down my wife's body. As I approached the target area Beth quickly parted her thighs to give me access and a moment later my eager tongue tasted her innermost delights. She lay enjoying my attentions for less than a minute before urgently edging round into the sixty-nine position but in doing so signalled that she wanted to be on top. As soon as she was in a satisfactory position, I was able to savour the sensation that I had craved for so long as she sucked me with obvious relish. Beth had almost the biggest orgasm that I could remember, her throws of passion almost crushing my head between her thighs. When I had ejaculated, she forced me to leave my limp prick in her mouth, continuing to gently suck and tickle it with her tongue while holding me tight with her face buried in my groin. I found time to consider the peculiarity of fate because Beth had lived nineteen years then sucked three pricks in one day, allowed the next quarter century as intermission and then sucked two more - again on the same day.

When we were once more right way round and lying in each other's arms Beth said regretfully, "What a fool I've been - to think of all those wasted years when we could have been doing that."

How could I resent her having given head to Paul when it had opened this forbidden area of delight to me - but I still wanted an undertaking from her. "You can give hand relief to our lodger a dozen times a day for all I care," I said. "But please don't suck him off again."

"I won't darling, I promise," she said. "I also promise that you are going to get lots, lots more of it in the future." After the events of the day I fell asleep, a foolishly contented man.

The Olympics started two days later and from then on we watched the television coverage whenever it was on. Serena was quickly seized on a glamour girl and given more media coverage for her looks than for her superb performances. She seemed to run away with her early sprint heats and also figured well in the long jump elimination rounds. Once when the camera was lingering on Serena limbering up at the end of the long jump runway, the commentator forgot himself enough to say dreamily, "Just...look.... at.....those....thighs."

Whenever the girl was featured, I got a semi hard on but this was more from memories of the garden than her image on screen. In the long jump final, she got a marginal red flag on visibly the longest jump of the competition and eventually finished fourth.

Paul was naturally disappointed for her but told us, "Wait for the sprint final - that's her real event."

His confidence was well based because after a very close race, she finished second. "See," Paul said triumphantly, "Doesn't that validate her trainers philosophy about restricted sex?"

Both Beth and I nodded in agreement but uncharitably I wonder if a bit of illicit sex might not have cost her the gold. I brought up some wine and we had an impromptu party to celebrate his girl friend's success. The alcohol may have dulled my perception but as the evening progressed, I had a feeling that the young man's gaiety had an increasingly brittle edge.

Ever since the day that Beth described her ordeal as a teenager, my sex life had been the best for years. To be honest the frequency began to strain my capabilities and I have to admit there were nights when I dreaded her snuggling enticingly against me. When the Olympics were over, I began to be allowed nights off. Life was now perfect with everything in equilibrium - I was living life to the limit but not beyond.

The day after winning her silver medal, Serena rang Paul, (it amazed me that she had not found time to ring him before). She had called him to impart news that was both good and bad - specifically that she was going on a invitational tour of the USA and would not be returning to England for at least another three months. Paul took this surprisingly well - but then she would be earning many thousands for them in appearance money.

Seven or eight days later that I woke in the middle of the night to find Beth missing and her place beside me quite cold. Hardly had I made the discovery when I heard the WC flush and Beth appeared by the bed wearing her dressing gown. Seeing that I was awake she quickly asked, "Is your stomach OK - I wondered because we have only eaten the same food?" Is it a lie to deliberately give the wrong impression while only speaking words of truth?

A week later I woke again to again find my wife absent. When she had not returned after ten minutes, I got up and went in search of her. The bathroom door stood open and downstairs the kitchen was empty. I was at a loss where to look next so I was on my way back to bed when Beth appeared beside me having come from the direction of the stairs which led to the upstairs flat. We were each equally surprised to see the other but she recovered faster and said, "I thought that I heard Paul cry out."

"Did he?" I asked still a bit bemused.

"Well he's asleep now," she said. I accepted this explanation and followed her back to our bed.

A matter of days later I once more found myself sleeping solo in the middle of the night. Repeating the previous search again drew a blank but this time I made a coffee and took that together with an ashtray and down to wait on the bottom step of Paul's stairs. I wondered what was taking her so long. You may wonder why I had not gone up to the flat and the answer is that did not know what I might find - even though I was sure that there would be nothing to 'find'. This may seem naïve but at that point I still thought it inconceivable that Beth might have gone up there for an immoral purpose, (to use an old fashioned phrase.) My wife's persuasive tongue had brainwashed me to such an extent that I no longer regarded her unusual hand therapy as a sexual act. I did imagine what she might be 'up to' with Paul with a feeling of titillation rather than distress. It is possible to pleasurable theorise a situation that you hope will never occur in reality - as a woman can fantasise being raped by a tall handsome stranger when the real act by a deranged psychopath, who might as easily kill her, is a terrifying degrading experience.

I had just finished my third smoke when I head my wife coming down. She did not seem either shocked or upset to find me waiting for her and the very calmness of her demeanour reassured me. Pointing to my empty mug she said, "Can you make me a coffee love? I've got to go to the bathroom - I'll be down in a couple of minutes."

When she arrived I had just made the two coffees and we sat at the kitchen table facing each other. Unusually Beth took one of my cigarettes and only when it was lit did she look up at me. "Did Paul cry out again?" I prompted.

"No - I just went up to him - it is the sixth time that I have done it. I go to give him sex," she said softly. "To be specific, I go to let him fuck me - or more accurately for me to fuck him because Paul has to lie on his back."

The moment that she told me this, instead of rage, my emotions went onto automatic pilot and I reacted in a remote, detached way, as if this news was merely academic. "I never, ever thought that you would be unfaithful to me," was all I said.

"I know what I've done but I don't feel like an unfaithful wife," she said simply.

"You screw a fucking black and don't think it's cheating?" I asked incredulously. This was the only time that I let anger break through but the apparent racism of my remark shocked me.

Beth's eyes widened on hearing me but she shrugged her shoulders and said, I know that it is illogical but it's not at all how I imagined infidelity would be. Throughout our marriage I have wondered about going with other men without ever wanting to try. I thought there were only two kinds of infidelity - either exciting sex with someone you did not care for or building a relationship with another man and gradually transferring your love to him. This is not either because I love you as much as I have ever done and you can't have exciting sex with a man who can hardly move. I know that I have done wrong in a way but on balance I believe that I have done Paul more good than I have done you harm."

"I suppose that you are going to make me understand, the same way you did about giving him a blow-job. Come on - this is going to be interesting," I said scathingly.

My wife shook her head helplessly. "I don't think that I can because I do not really understand it myself."

"Try."

"I care for Paul deeply but I care as a parent would - exactly as I care for our girls. In fact, since his real parents went home I have felt as if I was his mother and at times wished that I really was."

"Yes - fine. We know that mothers are screwing their sons all the time."

"I imagine that a lot of mothers do have incestuous feelings towards their sons - more than fathers and daughters. The difference is that for men sex is a taking thing where for a woman it is more giving. I'm certain that if sex was the only way to relieve severe distress in their sons, most mothers would ignore the taboo and do what I did."

The look of love in Beth's eyes and the pained expression on her face told me that she desperately wanted to explain and was not just a woman, caught with her pants down and tying to talk her way out of the hole. With a lot more sympathy in my voice I said, "Perhaps you ought to start at the beginning."

My wife stubbed out her cigarette and lit another. "The night of the Olympic woman's sprint final I suspected that Paul was not as happy as he was trying to pretend and after Serena rang him the next day he looked terrible. He put on a brave face when anyone was looking but I could tell that he was suffering. I was so worried that I could not get to sleep that night and just lay thinking about him. Suddenly there was a cry of torment from his flat. You were still asleep so I slipped on my dressing gown and went up to see what was wrong. Paul did not realise that I was in his bedroom so I was able to stand by the bed and look at him. He was crying and shaking violently all over. When I spoke he told me that he felt his life was over. For the last ten years all his plans and energies had been devoted to athletics, with Serena added to his thoughts for the past three. He knows that he will never run again, he has poor career prospects and he thinks that he is bound to lose Serena. Paul was telling me this for a long time, it was a cool night so I slipped under the covers beside him while he continued. My presence, and perhaps the fact that I had my hand on his forehead, stopped the trembling but when poor Paul finished talking, he began to sob uncontrollably."

As she related that last bit, tears sprang spontaneously into my wife's eyes, triggered by the memory. "I had no choice but to snuggle up close and put my arms around him," she went on. "For a long time I had felt that he was making very slow progress and I knew that he was battling severe depression. After listening to him I seriously thought that he might be suicidal. Gently stroking his chest made him less emotional but he started bending his good leg up as far as it would go. Knowing that something was still bothering him physically I put my hand down to see what it was. His cock was burning hot and very stiff like the time I had to use my mouth on him and he was trying to keep the bedclothes off it. I knew that he needed me to do what I did before but I had promised you that I wouldn't. There was only one thing that I could do - so I managed to straddle him and put his penis inside me. It hurt him a lot till I got it in but I could see from his face that it was worth it. Paul couldn't move and I didn't - I just stayed still and squeezed with my vaginal muscles until eventually I felt him cum. His eyes closed and he fell asleep with a serene look on his face. I just lightly kissed his forehead and came back downstairs. I cleaned myself up in the bathroom and then flushed the toilet in case you had missed me. It was in my mind to tell you but I didn't think that it would happen again and it seemed silly to upset you over something that was really nothing."

Beth lit her third cigarette and took several hard drags while ordering in her mind what she still had to tell. "The next day he was happy and relaxed and also the day after but on the third day I knew he was getting edgy again. When you were fast asleep that night I went up. Paul was awake, not crying or distressed but just staring up at the ceiling. I slipped off my dressing gown and got into bed with him naked. He started talking about Serena. When she stops training she gets an insatiable appetite for sex so he knows that she is screwing lots of men. Paul said that he can't stop tormenting himself with mental images of her doing it. I said that I thought she loved him but Paul said that it had nothing to do with love - just something that she needed to do. He said all that quite calmly but when he had finished I got on top of him again. During all the things that I have done with Paul he has never touched me, including the first time I was in bed with him but this time he reached up and held my breasts. I also moved myself up and down a bit. After he had climaxed, I left him asleep and went back downstairs. You were awake when I got back into our bed and I was very glad that I had thought to flush the toilet."

"After that you just continued going up when you knew I was asleep?"

Not every night. When we both say goodnight to Paul before coming downstairs, he looks at me - wondering. I shake my head slightly but every third night I can't resist the appeal in his eyes and nod to say that he can expect me. The thing is that it's done him so much good and that encouraged me to continue. Before he lacked motivation and I could tell that he was not making anything like the progress that he should have been. Since I have been visiting him he is far happier and relaxed, - and you must have noticed how much better is can move around on his crutches. Just now in bed he was able to thrust back at me for the first time, so that just proves that he is improving."

That was a progress report detail that I didn't want to hear. "I almost caught you out earlier?" I said.

"Red handed. I would have told you then if you had asked any questions. It was actually rather awkward because I had to go straight back to bed and I leaked onto our sheets. Just now I could feel his spunk trickling down my leg which was why I had to dash straight to the bathroom. We don't use a condom - I haven't got any and I didn't ask him. I doubt if I can get pregnant now and if I do I won't keep it - it's not medically recommended anyway at my age."

"Would you ever have told me if I hadn't caught you?"

"I wanted to and almost started a few times but the longer it went on the harder it got. I think I just hoped that it would stop before you found out."

"So you did intend to stop?"

"If course I did Tom - just as soon as he was better and no longer needed my support. To carry on longer would make it into an affair."

"And you say that Paul is a great deal better now than he was?"

"Yes," she conceded reluctantly.

"Then it stops now." I said. That was all. There was no jealousy, no bitter recriminations and even I wondered why. Part of the reason I think was that I held Paul in high regard myself. Unlike Beth, I had not come to regard him as an honorary son but I was not that far off. In addition, I felt great pity at the way his glittering dreams had been irrevocably crushed through no fault of his own. Part of me was actually glad that she had been able to help him.

Beth's face showed her puzzlement at my mild reaction. "You don't mind?"

"I do mind but I can accept the reason that you did it and believe that there was no connection with your love for me. As far as I am concerned, it never happened."

Beth threw herself into my arms and smothered me with kisses. When I was able to free my mouth, I slipped a hand past the dressing gown on to her bare flesh. "Let's go to bed and you can prove that it is still me that you love."

She hesitated. "Are you sure after...." she said glancing upwards.

"I just said - it never happened," I told her.

Despite the equanimity with which I had accepted hearing about my wife's sexual expeditions away from my bed, a delayed reaction materialised the following afternoon. I was sitting watching television with Paul while my wife was in our part of the house preparing an evening meal. When he was distracted by events on the screen, I studied him and found that I was harbouring a growing resentment. I could not understand how anyone could enjoy hospitality, screw the man's wife behind his back and then chat to him in a perfectly normal manner. There was not a hint of either guilt or unease on the young man's face. Perhaps I just wanted to wipe the complacency off his face or maybe the cruelty was my way of taking revenge. "So Serena is opening her legs to all and sundry by all accounts," I said unkindly.

Paul didn't turn a hair. "It's only to be expected," he said calmly turning to face me. "She is always very aroused after a big competition. There has to be something to replace the intensity of training and Serena likes sex. If I was out there as I should be, everything would be fine but as I am stuck here she is bound to screw other people."

My killer shaft had failed to strike home so I upped the stakes. "She was humping the javelin thrower even before you had your accident."

"I know about Bruce," he said with the same placid acceptance. "You don't understand do you - you think that sex is always tied to love. Serena and I love each other deeply and when we are in bed we make love - not just have sex. I told you that Serena's trainer is against dissipation of energy - well according to her it is emotional energy that he means and making love is emotional. You see, if you are contented then it saps the motivation to force yourself through the pain barrier. On the other hand straight sex is good because it acts like the valve on a pressure cooker. Serena uses Bruce for that, she told me quite openly that they fuck like dogs. She doesn't really like him though - says that he is too arrogant and conceited but they just happen to have the perfect sexual chemistry."

Suppressing a smile I asked, "What does your trainer say on the subject."

Paul hesitated. "Actually he doesn't agree. My coach follows a completely different philosophy but it's what her trainer says that counts - and he has her results to prove it."

He believed it - the poor sap really believed it. I could see plainly that his girlfriend was playing him for a fool. For the first time I realised that the girl had deliberately brought me to the boil in the garden, Serena undoubtedly used her beauty to toy with men - she was nothing but a harlot only concerned with own pleasure. I thought, 'How can any self-respecting man knowingly do nothing while his wife goes off to fuck someone else?"

I thought that that my mouth had fired two blanks, (as my prick had been doing for many years). But, like the man in the movies who does not fall the moment he falls, my words had an insidious effect on Paul, making him question the reasoning behind his defence of Serena.

I am perhaps my worst enemy. That evening, claiming a headache he excused himself early and the next day, while not depressed he had a definite tendency to seeming morose and introspected.

ukresearcher
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