Unspoken Attraction

My fiancé Ben is the best partner a woman could ever ask for. He has equal parts ambition, humour, and good looks that make me swoon. He possesses attractive qualities, like honesty and discipline, that the future father of my children ought to have. Ben's kind soul keeps me humble, and his sense of adventure keeps me thrilled.

Our lovemaking is sweet, passionate, and at times athletic. We've been together for 5 years now, but sometimes we stay up late like we're new lovers, kissing and fucking until our mouths and bodies are tired, talking until we realize it's 3am. We fall asleep for some time, but as soon as his morning wood presses up against me, we begin to fuck again until daylight spills into our bedroom.

I often feel like we have already perfected marital bliss, because I can always count on coming home to Ben after a long day and getting exactly what I need, whether it's a big hug, an orgasm, a shoulder to cry on, the willingness to lend an ear, the space to be however I need to be, or simply just dinner and a beer. How our lives only converged recently is astonishing, as I can't imagine my life without him.

We met at a friend's birthday party. I had spilled a whole bottle of red wine all over myself and all over the floor, and Ben, who happened to witness the accident, came to my rescue with some tea towels. We were total strangers, introducing ourselves each other under very random, clumsy circumstances.

I'll never forget the sound of his voice when he introduced himself, his kind, brown-eyed gaze, how comforting his warm baritone was, and how quickly my embarrassment dissolved around him.

He nervously helped me dab my bare leg and lap with a towel, an exchange that remains imprinted in my memory forever as one of the most unexpectedly arousing moments of my life.

We ended up talking for the entire party, then furiously kissing in the hallway as we were grabbing our coats to leave, then fucking like rabbits back at his place late into the evening.

To my delight, Ben looked as adorable in the morning as he did while we were both tipsy at the party. We went for a coffee after copious amounts of morning sex, and he drove me home like a perfect gentleman. Ben and I had our first date the following weekend, then another date the weekend after that. Essentially, we have been attached at the hip ever since we met.

Even our families get along. Our parents like each other so much that they spend time together even without us around. My two older sisters are highly approving of Ben and treat him like a brother. Ben, who is an only child, has taken to them as well, mostly in the spirit of teasing me whenever they're all together.

After 5 years of dating, numerous trips, 3 years of living together, and some big career moves, we decided we were ready to start our lives as a married couple.

We picked out my engagement ring together, sparing each other the dramatic proposal story that neither of us wanted. While some couples love the thrill of a spectacular engagement, I'd prefer a planned event over any surprise. It all feels like it's happening as it should.

As I prepare my wedding vows, I have been ruminating on a surprising secret that nobody can ever know.

I should probably start explaining it from the beginning, which dates back to the first time I met Ben's family.

After a few months of dating, Ben and I drove over to his parents' place for Thanksgiving dinner. Steve was standing in the front doorway as we unloaded the car with our potluck offering, literally welcoming me with open arms.

As I approached the door, the smell of turkey wafted towards us from the kitchen, and it mixed with Steve's aftershave when we first hugged. He squeezed me uncomfortably hard, as if I was a long-lost daughter, though we hadn't met until that moment.

The way he exclaimed my name, "Mariiiii," echoed and decayed down the entire block.

"So, this is the lovely Mari our Ben has been talking about! Pleasure to meet you. I'm Steve," he said, gently holding my hand.

Ben stood behind me watching our first interaction and groaned, pained by his father's antics.

"Hi, Mr. Fraser," I said, squeezing his big, rough hand back.

As I entered the Fraser household for the first time, I was getting hot and flushed, taken aback by the way my future father-in-law inspired lust in me from the moment I laid eyes on him.

He looked nothing like Ben, who took mostly after his mother, and shared only a slight facial resemblance with this magnificent man now standing in my presence.

He was a proud 6'2, with very broad shoulders, and dark, curly brown hair that seemed totally unlike Ben's blonde. He still had a full head of hair that was only beginning to grey at 55, though his beard showed faint speckles of white.

He looked like Gerard Butler, ruggedly handsome, with brown locks that curled over his forehead, framing his face and pointing towards his striking green eyes. I found myself admiring the way his bulky chest protruded from his wool sweater, and the way his forearms appeared so thick as they emerged from his rolled-up sleeves.

God, he was hairy, big, and so perfectly masculine. I couldn't believe that this was the man who had raised my sweet Ben, for he incited a sexual thirst in me that I had never known before.

I would go on to spend that whole evening eyeing Steve, watching the way he hosted guests and flattered them with his sentimental toasts. He thanked his wife with such a passionate gratitude that it reminded us all to thank her for cooking dinner for us as well. I loved seeing how his big, calloused fingers rested against the delicate curve of a wine glass, which sparked the desire in me to feel the touch of his fingertips on my most private parts.

Then there was the after-dinner music session. Ben's family, lovers of bluegrass, often play and sing their lungs out in the living room at gatherings. Ben was on banjo, Steve was on guitar, and his aunt Wendy played mandolin. As they sang in perfect trio harmony, I gazed lovingly at Ben, totally enchanted by the warmth of his family, who had welcomed me so well at our first Thanksgiving together.

Then my eyes fixed onto Steve. He was singing with such conviction, embodying every note of the music, his toe tapping and body swaying strongly with each guitar strum.

Seeing that he was so immersed in song, I dared to eye the slight part of his legs that accommodated the base of the guitar, thinking about how thick and sturdy his thighs must be, how his cock must dangle between them when he sat, wondering if it budged with every toe tap.

He looked so natural, in his element, as if the guitar was a part of his body. I imagined us alone, him strumming guitar in the nude, his fingers delicately grazing the fretboard and strings. I thought about lifting the guitar away to remove the only barrier between me and his hard cock.

I snapped out of it in time to join the jam. Ben and I had prepared a little duet of "Blue Moon of Kentucky" to perform for the family. I nervously approached the "stage" on the rug so I could sit beside Ben to sing together.

All eyes were on us, but I got locked into Steve's stare. In my line of sight was Steve, looking at downward-pointing V of the plunging neckline of my dress as his head bobbed to the music. When his eyes met mine, I stuck my chest out a little, as if to tell him to keep on staring, and there his gaze remained.

What can I say? I have big breasts; a pair of bouncy, round F-cups that are quite impossible to conceal. I'm used to people staring at them, but I am generally modest about my body, except for moments like these, where I want to be desired. This exchange was the first of many moments like it between Steve and I, of intimate, knowing glances that only we shared.

"Some nice pipes you got there," Steve said, clapping his hands as the song ended.

"Thank you," I said, with hardening nipples that throbbed as I reclaimed my seat on the couch, now next to Steve, who had taken a break from playing to have a drink and some pie. Our shoulders touched briefly, which made my clit rage with need as I steeped in his strong masculine aura.

He leaned towards me, this time with whisky faintly on his breath and warmth in his eyes.

"So glad we could have you with us this Thanksgiving, Mari," he said, murmuring in a low, husky tone.

Hearing the timbre of his voice so close to my ear gave me a tingle that made it impossible to hold back a smile.

Ben saw Steve talking to me and stopped playing banjo to intervene.

"Dad, whatever you're saying, please stop!" Ben yelled from across the room.

"Don't worry Ben, I'm just happy to have Mari here," he said, putting his hands up to surrender to Ben with an innocent shrug and a smirk.

"Yes, honey, don't worry, he's just being a good host," I said with a chuckle as I elbowed Steve.

When we got back to Ben's place, I headed straight to bed. I was full from dinner, and overcome with my lust for his father. I felt "the urge," big time. I lightly parted my legs, pinched a nipple, and caressed my thighs as I began thinking about Steve's body. Just as I pressed my finger against my clit, I stopped myself, deciding I ought not to indulge too much in this fantasy for fear of being totally inappropriate, even in my mind. How could I think this way about my perfect boyfriend's dad?

As Ben crawled into bed to cuddle me that night, he asked me how I felt after meeting his family. I stared at the ceiling in the dark, stewing in my guilt while mentally screaming, "I THINK YOUR DAD IS FUCKING HOT!"

Yet all I could muster up in the moment was, "I had such a nice time, babe. I feel lucky. Your family is so kind and loving. I see where you get it from."

We kissed goodnight and Ben fell asleep immediately, but I lay awake instead, mulling it all over in my head.

I suppose Steve had awakened my deep-seated lust for older men. I hadn't given it much thought before, but I had long been drawn to older male figures in my life, like my soccer coach, my swim instructor, or my teacher. I'm not sure what the science is behind this, but it always seemed perfectly natural to me. I kept thinking that perhaps Steve was simply an older version of Ben, and therefore enticing to me, but the more I tried to rationalize and understand it, the less it made sense. It was all as arousing as it was unsettling.

As Ben and I fell deeper and deeper in love, I grew very fond of his family. Eventually we were over at the Fraser's for nearly every family occasion, holiday, and the odd weekend dinner.

There were times where Ben and I would have a little too much to drink, so we'd have to stay the night. That's how I started having late night kitchen run-ins with Steve, a night owl who was happy to have a partner in crime, or at least, the excuse to break into the liquor cabinet to pour us secret drinks.

We talked quietly in the living room like the best of friends, telling stories and laughing together. Sometimes Ben came down to break up the party like a cop who was sent to usher me back to bed.

I got into a habit of touching myself after these evening encounters, covering my mouth with one hand and rubbing my clit with the other, having silent orgasms fantasizing about Steve while Ben slumbered beside me in his childhood bed.

My mutable, free spirit is difficult to contain in the presence of someone with influence. Steve was the devil on my shoulder, with our shared extroversion being the main reason we got on so well, but I know it was our attraction that always kept us going.

Back then I looked for excuses to be alone with Steve, offering to help him whenever I could. When he needed some writing for his website, I put my journalism degree to use to help him craft the story of his construction business. I loved our one-on-one calls, and lending him my expertise, for which he was very grateful.

Over time we became comfortable exchanging affectionate touches. It felt fatherly, but as the frequency and duration of our touching increased, so did my arousal. He would rest his hand on my arm, or rub my shoulder gently. I thought that I was dreaming when I noticed our hugs getting longer. Soon we began to embrace like lovers, with Steve rubbing my lower back with a lingering palm that I always hoped would dare to clasp onto my waist or slip down to my ass.

I looked forward to Steve kissing my cheeks when we said hello, craving the feeling of his beard on my face. The light, casual pecks we shared on the lips seemed normal in Ben's family, yet they left me yearning to feel tongue slipping into my mouth.

Whatever level of lust I felt for Steve, Ben seemed just as pleased that his girlfriend and father were so friendly. While I suspect nobody ever detected our attraction, to me it was the most palpable thing that went totally unacknowledged.

Sometimes we'd all go out for walks together, the Frasers, and Ben and I. Strolling behind them, I would watch the way Steve put his arm around Julie, nuzzling his face into her neck like a newlywed, though they'd been together 30 years. I pondered if he had ever wandered into the beds of women other than his bride, or gave thought to putting his face into the warmth of my neck.

Then there was the trip to the family cabin in summer 2017, where my desire for Steve peaked. Steve remained topless in his big, furry form at almost every moment we were up at the cabin while in the presence of family.

I got the sense that Ben was often embarrassed by his father's quirks, but I took delight and pleasure in them. Take the singalong that lasted the duration of the 3-hour drive to the cabin, for example. Mostly led by Steve and I, Ben rolled his eyes as we sang "Dad Tunes," he called them, referring to the carefully curated playlist that contained Steve's soul: a collection of music from his youth, and some other stuff too, like The Beatles, Neil Young, Wilco, and The National.

Listening to Steve's playlist made me picture the younger version of himself, which was aided by having seen at least a few photos from the family vault. To me, these were drool-inspiring images of Steve in his prime, in his fullest virility, with long hair and a moustache, boasting a figure that was sculpted to the statuesque perfection of a Greek god.

Up at the cabin, I watched Steve and Ben swim in the lake. They'd jump off the dock together and giggled wildly while splashing around, two grown men laughing their heads off, a sweet father-and-son bonding scene. Steve would wave at me from somewhere in the water as if he wasn't eyeing the ice blue bikini that did nothing to hide my nipples, which hardened as I stared at him while tanning on the dock. I'd peer over to observe Steve like he was David Hasselhoff in Baywatch.

Steve wore a Speedo swimming, leaving me ogling his crotch and aching to taste him as he hovered near me while towelling off, dripping with lake water that sprayed my back while I lay on my belly reading a book. I made sure my back was arched such that my ass was protruding in the fullest way, forming a nice slope up toward pronounced lower back dimples, and then a little further up to my cheeks. I dared not look up to check, but I hoped that Steve would take notice.

Every day of our trip went like this: breakfast, lounging, swimming, more relaxing, and some hiking during daylight, followed by nights of laughing, card games, drinking, campfire stories, and family sing-alongs, with me secretly lusting the entire time.

At night, Julie would poke Steve's reddened skin and nag him about putting a shirt on while coating him in aloe vera gel. I would imagine touching his body with a tender and sensual hand, so as not to aggravate his sunburns. I would think about rubbing gel on his inner thigh, eventually massaging his hard cock that I had long craved a naked, frontal view of.

On the third or fourth day we were up there, Julie and Steve were out for a hike and I seized the spare moment of alone time to have my way with Ben, who was reading on the couch. I grabbed his book, closed it shut, and climbed onto his lap to give him a barrage of kisses all over.

"Babe, my parents though," he groaned, as I hiked up my dress and straddled him while swiftly freeing his cock from his shorts.

"Relax, you prude," I giggled. I held my breath as I guided his cock towards my pussy lips, then leaned down to whisper, "they won't be back for awhile," in his ear.

I pulled my red thong to the side, slid down onto Ben, and began to grind my hips, letting his hardness fill me.

"Ugh, fuuuuuck," I said, moaning into the curve of his neck.

"God, you're so wet, baby," he said, gripping tightly onto the loose cotton of my dress just above my hips.

Ben began holding my ass, rocking me, both of us gasping, lungs full as we exhaled slowly and enjoyed the sensations of our sex.

Everything about finally being alone in the cabin, and being able to seize the moment to fuck, was making my pussy leak everywhere. I was most aroused by our setting: the smell of grass and earth, lake water lapping about, the faint, warm breeze, the hum of a mid-summer afternoon. In the midst of it all, recent scenes of a topless Steve cycled through my mind as well.

It felt like Ben and I were racing to the finish line together before his parents returned, letting our orgasms build quickly. I knew I wanted this to end with him creaming inside of me, and at this rate, it was going to happen soon.

Ben felt so hot as I tightened around him, both of us crying out as our pace quickened and he began thrusting up into me.

I rested my hands on the back rest behind him, leveraging the stability to lean down over him, fucking harder now, working him with my hips, rolling my head back as we drove each other insane, enjoying the pure and intense fuck that only we know how to give each other, all while thinking of his father, which brought me that much closer to the edge.

Ben and I were fucking harder, faster, and looking at each other with lust in our eyes.

"Cum inside me, baby," I said, "I want your cum."

While bouncing on Ben's lap, I felt myself clenching around him as we rocked in unison on the couch. He squeezed my hips harder when his orgasm arrived.

"Oooooof, Mariiiii," he moaned. "You're going to make me cum, baby!"

Just as Ben's warm cum began to spill into me, my orgasm came as well, both of us panting, glistening in sweat from the intensity of our brief, but satisfying fuck.

I sighed, catching my breath, and hopped off of him to find something to wipe myself down with. Ben tucked his cock away, we kissed a little more, and snuggled up on the couch.

Julie and Steve returned just moments later, and had the front door not been open, I'm certain they would have smelled our sex as soon as they stepped inside.

Steve said he thought the summer sun was working wonders for me, that I glowed. Perhaps he had a sense for what I'd just done with his son while he and Julie hiked, with my hair and dress slightly disheveled, face flushed, traces of cum still trickling into the thong under my cotton sun dress.

On the way home from the cabin trip, Steve dropped off Julie first, then Ben, then me. I loved the way he had placed his hand on my bare knee while driving and talking, alone together in the car. Was this normal behaviour for a boyfriend's dad?

As we hugged goodbye and I thanked him for a great week, I gave Steve one of my usual ambiguous and familial pecks on the lips. I wanted it to last longer, so I gave him a second kiss, this time resting there momentarily, closing my eyes as I did it. When I pulled away, I noticed Steve's eyes were closed, too. We quickly said goodnight and parted ways, but I sorely wished that kiss went on for longer, and in retrospect, I know it could have.