Thoughts at Night

Is it wrong when I lie beside my sleeping wife, my thoughts filled with images of lust of another woman? My hand creeps down across my body and slips under the waistband of my boxers. My mind has now dressed her in a school girl costume to feed my fantasies, sending that first twitch into my cock. It lays dormant against my palm as I imagine her long dark hair in a pony tail, a crisp white shirt tucked into a checked red and black short skirt, her hips thrust to one side emphasising the length of her slender legs. White bobby socks and black patent leather demure school shoes adorn her feet. My mind completes the fantasy picture with a lollipop between her pursed and red lips. It is clichéd, I know, but is it wrong?

Is it more wrong when that woman is married to another? I lie in the darkness, the sleeping form of my wife barely discernible in the bed beside me, though there is enough light creeping around the blinds that my eyes, adjusted now to the darkness, can make out the curve of her breast under the thin satin top that she is wearing. It moves gently and steadily with the slow rhythm of her breathing.

My fantasy changes, the school girl is too clichéd perhaps, too carnal for my tastes. Instead she wears cut off jeans shorts that cling to her curved cheeks, her midriff, flat and tanned exposed below the yellow tank top that clearly defines her slender waist, small breasts and exposes the smooth skin of her arms and shoulders. My mind keeps the pony tail, not as a symbol of school girl innocence, but as the embodiment of her practical nature. The heat of the tropics makes life more pleasant when her long hair does not cascade forward across her face each time she moves. Her feet are bare now, another reality of the tropics, her legs tanned and smooth. She is dressed so simply yet is desirable to me, as always, perhaps more so than as the school girl fantasy. Does the realism make my thoughts any worse than before?

My cock is erect now, pushing against my palm and I slowly massage it, not wanting to build up too quickly. My wife stirs slightly, rolling towards me but settling on her back. I am tempted to reach out and cup her breasts and roll the pointed nipples that protrude through the material. But I would wake her and then my fantasy would have to stop. There would be no spontaneous offer of sex, not at midnight when awoken rudely from sleep.

So I close my eyes and return to my fantasy of the other. Of those times I have seen her arrive home from her work, dirty and sweaty, eager to shower. Her emergence from the bathroom, hair washed and dried and framing her face as she brushes it through. Wearing only a long, oversized tee shirt that invited my mind to picture her slender nakedness underneath. Her brown eyes, almond shaped that turned down just so slightly at the corners sparkling as she greets me with a kiss to my cheek, my nostrils filled with her clean, freshly showered scent. Her husband bringing in cold drinks. Do you now think that my fantasy is wrong, knowing that her husband is one of my best friends?

My thoughts turn to the time when we all went out for dinner and she had surrendered to the recommendations of my wife to purchase a little red dress. Short sleeves and an even shorter hem, black stockings, red stilettos, her hair loose and tumbling around her shoulders and towards her waist. Her husband holding her hand and grinning like the cat that has found the cream. My wife pleased at her friend accepting her dress advice, but glancing sideways at me to see my reaction, knowing that we were in the company of a goddess. If she glanced at me now, in the darkness, she would have seen the full truth of my reaction, my cock stiff in my hand as I pumped it with increasing vigour. I fight to lie still, to ensure that I do not wake her now as my climax begins to build. Is this wrong, lying here thinking these thoughts like this? Is it made more wrong if I tell you that I lived under their roof for three months? That these thoughts started in earnest then, when I was in her company daily and that for half that time her husband was away with work?

Each day I would see her post-work ritual. Each day we would chat, and with each passing day we would chat about more intimate things. And after a week of just the two of us, each night I would retire with my cock springing to life before I was naked in the bed, on my own while my own wife was interstate with her new job, setting up house and waiting for me. How wrong is it now?

I would arouse myself in my room thinking my thoughts, thoughts of her naked body in the shower, of her naked body in her sheets, of her naked body under mine. I imagined her long legs wrapped around my waist as I slid into her, my thoughts being sucked into the liquid pools of her dark eyes as our bodies slapped together in the warm tropical night. Sometimes I would leave my room, naked and erect and walk the short distance to the bathroom to relieve my bladder. I hoped that she would emerge from her room, to find me like that and that somehow she would make the first move, freeing me of my guilt.

And when he returned, after eight weeks, I heard her as I walked to the bathroom. I was not naked, not now with him there. "Yes, yes, yes," I could hear her gasping. It was obvious of course, their first night together after so long. He was fucking her as I wanted to fuck her and I was both envious and delighted. I could hear her voice in the throes of passion and it would feed my fantasies for a long time. I stood with my back against the wall near the bathroom, my cock in my hand listening to her passion and in no time I came, squeezing the head of my cock to catch my cum in my hand.

And I come now, my brain filled with the thought of her naked on her bed, but with me on top of her, wrapped in her legs, her arms pulling my head to her shoulder and her words in my ears, "yes, yes, yes." My cum leaps from my cock and lands on my abdomen, in my pubic hair, coats my fingers. My wife continues to sleep...

Is it wrong?