The Dare of the Siren

It was wrong. Very wrong. I knew it. I tried to resist it. I tried to walk away, look away, turn my thoughts away... anything away. No luck. The magnetic force was too great. The gravitational pull was more than I had bargained for.

This was the tipping point, although I was just-this-side of realizing that. I had secretly danced this dance too many times. I had privately fueled the flames of this fantasy too often. The fire had been burning for a long time. Like the fool I was, I believed I had it contained, even as I was becoming consumed by it.

Forbidden or not, it was an appetite I could not deny. True, I had kept it hidden. Not a clue for anyone to pick up on. My own self-denial was convincing enough that I could almost shock myself at my own craving, even though it seemed to be ever-present.

I pretended to be unfettered from any illicit desires for her. I pretended to be ambivalent when those "within the privacy of my own home" views of her danced before my eyes. Sometimes in a tee and shorts just before bedtime or perhaps walking from the bathroom to her bedroom after a shower, veiled in just a two-tiered level of towels, one wrapped around her luscious body and the other delicately twisted like a turban on her head.

It was nearly a daily ritual. See the temptation, but pretend it was no temptation at all. It just made things simpler, at least outwardly. At least with the wife.

Yet, there I stood. Unmoved. Riveted. Wavering not even an inch. I should have bailed like a batter avoiding a bean ball. I should have flinched like a fighter dodging a left jab. I should have ducked the moment like a celebrity searching the backdoor to avoid the crush of the paparazzi.

But, there I stood. Aroused. Throbbing. Growing an erection inch by inch. Like a man mere feet from the drop of dangerous falls just ahead, yet reaching over the edge of the canoe and scooping a refreshing drink of water from the threatening current. A rogue deckhand ignoring the pleas of Odysseus as I fell under the trance of the sirens.

Correction, siren.

Initially, I sincerely believed that I had spied my siren in a moment of privacy, my presence unknown to her. I thought I had managed to secret myself away in the shadows of the moment, daringly yet effectively positioning myself where I could enjoy the show without paying the price. After all, I had played out this scenario in my mind - or many so very much like it - more times than I could count; each and every time I would successfully manage the moment and happily escape without detection.

My fantasies not only outnumbered my reality, they numbed me to reality. It was as if all the work I had done to build layer upon layer of plausible deniability was melting in the heat of this single moment.

My mind was alive as it flickered with the lights of so many previous sparks of lust and cravings. The images of my forbidden desires were merging with the vision of this forbidden moment. The line, once clear, was blurring as my fuzzy-headed, lust-driven, cravings struggled to keep a distance between what toyed with mind and what tempted me in the flesh.

For so long it had been secret glances at opportune moments. Discreet positioning that availed my eyes of rare glimpses of her. Veiled eyes, hidden behind my sunglasses, drinking in the view of her bikini clad body stepping out of our backyard swimming pool.

Now those visions, those visuals, those naughty, ocular activities were conceiving, breeding, and now giving birth to a power that refused to look away, to be denied, to be shuttered.

The siren was silent, yet the dangerous pull of her essence was beginning to flood over me. I was losing my autonomy, my self-control, the ability to steady my rudder. No longer was I the master of my fate, nor the captain of my soul.

It was certainly a stroke of irony that as my constant dabbling in visual temptation without ever having been detected (or so I thought) had ushered me to this false sense of security, what imperiled me at that very moment was the reality that she, my siren, did not need to see me to know I was there. She sensed me. Without seeing me, she had me in her crosshairs.

When I first heard what were her whispers, I confused them for the gentle breezes that bring comfort. I thought them convenient for the moment; a perfect soundtrack for the forbidden lusts now in full bloom in my mind and throughout my body.

Incrementally, her song increased in direct proportion to - perhaps as a direct cause of - my ever decreasing level of inhibition. Each new melodic measure melted away another layer of my self-defense mechanisms, slowly exposing me much like the many times my mind had slowly slithered over her form, secretly exposing my projection of her body to my mind.

Her back was to me. I stood facing her. Her reflection in the smooth surface of the mirrored waters propped in front of her were still angled so that her eyes could not see mine. My eyes could see her body; fully exposed to me from behind, reflected to me otherwise. Her now one-tiered, turban-topped body was stunning; better than even my most intensely, pleasurable fantasies of her.

No man could resist this. If one thought he could, and certainly I stood as one such fool, he was destined to learn otherwise.

As her lyrics filled my ears, the cadence of her melody was matched by the rhythmic beat pulsing through my body, pounding in my head, throbbing in my full erection.

Her breasts hung like twin peaks lifting above the horizon, capped with perfectly rounded tops reflecting the light of the sky, whose form forever drew the praise of all who viewed them. Her curves dared my eyes, presently feasting on her breasts, to dive deeper, to search for her hidden treasure tucked between her legs, snuggled within the enclave harbored just beneath her tender, moist folds.

As her sweet songs filled the air, my body fell completely under her spell. My multi-tiered coverings fell away. Captivated by the seductions of her symphony, I lost track of my own actions, peeling off one garment and then another until I was left standing completely exposed, utterly vulnerable, unarguably aroused.

I do not know if it was by the power of her doing or my own. But I felt the strokes of my full erection, gripped and tugged and manipulated with the greatest of ease.

I was lost in the ultimate pursuit of pleasure. The last horizon of lust. The place where a man's appetites can devour him whole.

That last thing I remember just as the ecstatic explosion of lust was pumping forth from my body was the sounds of waves crashing on the rocks. The sight of her body dashed away without warning. The abrupt, sudden intrusion of the unexpected, the unthinkable.

The pain.

Oh, the searing pain of detection as my arching back, heaving hips, cum-soaked cock and precarious perch of which no man could ever justify to his wife was indeed discovered by my wife.

It was wrong. Very wrong. I knew it. Now, there was hell to pay.