The Butterfly Effect

I had arrived late from work, as usual, and hungry, as usual. Throwing myself on the bed with my shoes on, I asked her to make a popcorn, but she said no, was tired too. To me that was what was missing to crown about a week of monosyllabic conversations and hostile looks — what was missing for me to start yelling and get out slamming the door.

Half an hour later I was in a singles bar, checking out a blonde in a black dress who was walking in alone. The hottie looked around the place as if searching for someone, glanced at her phone and then came squeezing her nice hips between the tables until passing mine.

"Did you see how she looked at me?" I asked my bud Fred, who I had almost dragged out of home that night.

"Yeah. She looked at you as if looking at a post," he muttered, still a bit upset.

Ignoring the comment, I looked over my shoulder. The blonde was now talking with two waiters, who soon began joining tables for what seemed like an improvised gathering. I put my glass on the table, got up and casually walked towards the restroom, passing close enough to overhear them.

"Twelve, right?" asked one of the waiters. "Then there are only two chairs missing."

"We have two unoccupied," I offered promptly.

"Thank you," she said suddenly turning around, only then seeing me there. "That was nice."

"...Victor."

"Oh?"

"My name. And yours?"

She laughed at my opportunistic introduction.

"Monica."

"Glad to meet you, Monica. Can I keep you company until your friends get here?"

"All right, but they probably won't take long," she said, and at the same moment I pulled myself a chair.

They really didn't, but we had time to get to know ourselves at least a little. I told her I was an obstetrician and gynecologist, lived in the neighborhood and worked at a clinic not very far from there. She was finishing law school and lived near too. We exchanged cell numbers. The next day I called, we talked some more and decided to meet for a beer Saturday night, when I was supposed to be at work. Perfect. Neither one would suspect anything.

As expected, I headed to our date without arousing suspicion. When I got to the bar Monica was already there, in dark jeans and white blouse, her long straight hair in a ponytail. Always on time. We drank, ate and chatted with all the parsimony of the first encounters, but it didn't take long for the kissing and the touching and the urge to get out of there straight to a room start. Thinking about saving the money of the motel, I asked if she lived by herself, but she said no, with her mother. She then returned the question and, as I couldn't mention my wife, I made up a roommate. So we chose the most obvious solution. I knew a reasonably comfortable and not too expensive place, to where we went by cab, making out in the backseat. We entered the suite at the same pace, her hands on the back of my head and mine on her waist, but she suddenly stopped as if realizing something important.

"What?" I asked.

"Do you have condoms?"

"I'll ask the attendant now."

I did, and while we waited, I emptied my trousers pockets, taking time to check my phone. A call from my wife would worry me more than one from the clinic, but Monica didn't know that.

"Afraid of being late for work?" she asked.

"Actually, I should be already at the clinic. But usually there isn't much to do there, so I kind of check in whenever I want." I smiled opening my shirt. "Technically, they're paying me to be here, in this motel."

She gave me a somewhat sly smile, put her hand on my bare chest and gently kissed me until the attendant arrived with the condoms. After he left, I finished taking my shirt off and threw myself back into bed. Show time!

I stripped Monica off her jeans leaving only her blouse on, like an outrageously short white dress, snuggled between her legs and with my index finger traced the division of her pussy lips over and under her panties. Everything there was wet. She pulled the cloth aside, sighing, and I put my mouth in action, gently and at the right spots (modesty aside, no-one knows the female body like me). For a good ten minutes, I teased her in every way; with my lips, with my tongue, outside, inside, slowly, fast, until she started moaning softly and pushing her hips more to my mouth, back and forth. When there was a louder groan, I stuck two fingers inside and sucked her clit with a little bit more pressure. I wouldn't stop before she came in my mouth — and she did, hard and loud. Only after that I took her panties off.

Now it seemed like she was wearing nothing but a very short dress, and I was stroking her inner thigh while she was running her fingers through my hair and looking at the outline of my hard cock on my trousers, wanting it too. Eventually she glided along the bed and took it out. She began with by balls, sucking them into her mouth one at a time, then licked all the way up the shaft, went around the tip and down the other side, staring at me. Very slowly, savoring, she was rubbing my dick on her tongue, lips, cheeks, all that giving me that saucy gaze of someone who likes and knows what they're doing. Then suddenly covered half of it with her mouth and started going up and down, sucking with pressure, moving her tongue underneath the glans and stroking the shaft with the same rhythm. From that moment on she had her eyes closed, just tripping, as I watched her head go down and up and further down. In less than a minute my whole dick was in her soft mouth. I was even getting afraid to come, but before that would happen she stopped and lay by my side. As if I wasn't horny enough from that nice and tight blowjob, she held me by the hair, gave me a deep and wet kiss, looked at me and in a firm voice said "fuck me". Of course I obeyed right away.

I got on top of her and started simulating a fucking motion, just rubbing the tip of my cock on the outside. Sometimes it would get the right angle and half of the head would go in. On the third or fourth thrust, she stirred and prohibitively clapped a hand to my thigh, giving me a serious look.

"Get the condom," she said.

I had agreed to ask for a packet, but the truth is I hate condoms. I never use them at home. I'm accustomed this way.

"In a bit," I promised without stopping what I was doing. The thrusts got more frequent and deeper, until she complained again:

"Hey. The condom."

"Let's just be still like this for a minute, then. It feels so good."

But I wasn't still. I was moving almost imperceptibly, hoping she wouldn't protest anymore. It could take forever, but I didn't want to risk ruining everything, and to be honest I was even enjoying the suspense. Every inch of me sinking in that hot, wet flesh was like a conquest and a shot of adrenaline. When it was all inside and I started moving slowly, the feeling was almost like euphoria.

"You're crazy," she murmured in a hoarse voice.

"Don't worry, I won't come inside."

I kept moving slowly for a while and she, too, let nature take its course. Soon her breathing was heavy again, her legs were wrapped around my ass and her gaze was fixed on the ceiling mirror. She watched me move from up there for a long time until throwing her head back with an ecstatic "aaaaah" that drove me wild. I grabbed her hips and went as deep as I could, and she began to rub her clit. Her other hand was making my neck tingle, but by then any part of me that she touched would give me pleasure. My body was increasingly sensitive and my reasoning increasingly slow. I was lost in lust, in that state where anything sexy the other person does makes you lose control... And what made me lose control was she moaning, grabbing me, tensing everything up in a second orgasm. When it hit me, the juices were rising inside me and it was too late to hold off.

I came inside her. I came inside, now what?

We stayed there paralyzed for what seemed like several minutes, and then I quietly slid to my side of the bed while taking a peek at Monica out of the corner of my eye. The expression on her face suggested a fear equal to or greater than mine.

"You said you wouldn't..." she started.

"I know. It was an accident. Sorry."

"Oh my God."

"We can go to a drugstore and buy a morning-after pill," I suggested. For a change, we do the mess and it's them who manage to get things back in order.

"I was told this pill is a pain," she grimaced. "My brother's girlfriend took it once and spent the whole day feeling sick."

"Sometimes it is... But we can't take risks. Another kid would be just too expensive for me right now."

"Another? So you're divorced?"

"Not yet..."

She nearly jumped out of bed. As if in a rehearsed movement, we reached any cloths at hand and covered ourselves at the same time.

"Oh my God. Married? Why didn't you tell me?"

"You didn't ask."

"You should have told me anyway, shouldn't you? Besides, you're not wearing a ring! You were alone in a singles bar! And you said you lived with a friend!"

All that was true, but in such situations we always try to justify ourselves. I tossed excuse 001, "marriage-not-going-too-well," taking the opportunity to tell her of our last fight and complain a little about Kate. I probably talked for about ten minutes.

"See? Just a popcorn, and she refused," I said in the end. "That wouldn't be any trouble at all."

"If it wouldn't be any trouble at all, then why couldn't you do it yourself?"

Shock. She was defending the woman, and the worst part was that I could find no counter-argument.

"I'd never see this coming. You're great. If I wasn't married, I would ask you to be my girlfriend."

"And of course I would accept right away, coming from such a nice guy."

Saying this she went to the shower, and I got dressed and called the reception asking for the check. While waiting, came to my attention a brochure about the risks of the various STDs, which I spent the time reading as if I didn't already know all that by heart. Me, a gynecologist, risking bringing my wife a venereal disease.

The attendant came and went, I gave the room one last look to check if I hadn't forgotten anything and Monica forever in the shower. In addition to mad at her I was getting quite worried about the situation, because the effectiveness of the pill (which is not 100%, to begin with) decreases if not taken soon.

"Are you ready... er... what's your name again?" I yelled to the bathroom. "Sorry, it's just that there are so many..."

She came out wrapped in a towel and went straight to the other side of the bed, where her clothes were.

"There's no need to apologize. Your confusion makes sense, after all, you get paid to touch the private parts of a line of women and stay in motel rooms."

She got dressed, combed her hair and finished getting ready, and only then looked at me.

"Okay. Let's go."

It still took us time to find a drugstore open, and then we went to eat something to stave off hunger and help the pill down. When everything was finally taken care of, it was almost midnight, but I wasn't feeling like going to work anyway. I called Fred and we arranged to meet at a pub, where I told him what that Thursday night had turned into. As the beer bottles were emptied and my speech went through a couple hours, I was losing coordination and the rest of my serenity.

"The slut who has casual sex thinks she can judge me," I remember mumbling during the monologue, but Fred just kept listening without responding. I insisted: "How absurd is this?"

"Look..." he finally began in a modulated tone. "Even if casual sex was wrong, at the very least you did the same, so you can't call her names. In addition, she wasn't cheating or lying to anyone, and you were."

"Damn it, Fred. Whose side are you?"

"Man, I'm just trying to be realistic. I'm saying what's on my mind, because that's what friends do."

But that wasn't what I wanted to hear. After we finished our beer nearly in silence, I went wandering alone on the sidewalk. What a week. In three days, I had had a disagreement with my wife, a woman who wasn't even my lover and my best bud — who, I would later admit, was right. Not to mention the fear of an illegitimate child to get me out of sleep.

And time would prove that I hadn't lost sleep for nothing. My fears were confirmed about a month later with the news of Monica's pregnancy. I'd ask for DNA test anyway, just in case, but a part of me just knew the child was really mine. And of course my wife one day found out and filed for divorce.

From there on, not even monosyllabic conversations and hostile looks we exchanged anymore. The housemaid refused to wash my clothes, so most of my shirts were tucked in the hamper (maybe I was lucky all of them hadn't turned into mop), and even my four-year-old son sometimes seemed not to give me much attention. I felt like a ghost wandering through the rooms of my own house. Things went on like this until I got an apartment, and the next four months I spent trying to convince Kate to take me back — with flowers, gifts, letters and lots of emotional blackmail —, until one day my effort was rewarded. "I'll come back," she said, "but you better know things aren't going to be like they were before." To me that sounded like typical female drama, so without paying it too much attention I responded everything I thought she wanted to hear (and, to tell the truth, I could see myself making the same mistakes of the past all over again).

But I would soon discover the real meaning of "things aren't going to be like they were before." Getting home from work on a Saturday when our son was at his grandparents', I found the surprise in our bed: six foot tall, chiseled body, and a cock that even at rest seemed pretty big and thick. It was Tyler, our computer technician. To his left rested my wife, naked as well and not even a little shaken to see my dumbfounded face there in the doorway.

"Honey, you're early," Kate smiled patting his chest with her left hand, no ring on. "Get us a beer, will you?"