Here is the last part of the account of Jenn's affair during our year apart. This section was really hard for her to write (both originally and even the revision) -- for obvious reasons. It was also very difficult for me to read -- especially the first time. We came right to the brink and it was a person's wise words that brought my darling Jennifer back to me. When she finally admitted she'd been involved with someone, I remember thinking, I thought so! But when I learned the extent of it through her stumbling words, then through the account you've read on this thread, I was horrified, disgusted, and majorly hurt. It took many months, a hell of a lot of talking both with a councellor and between ourselves to begin to mend the damage. But she has been true to her word for the past twenty-two years. Every time a guy hit on her (still a common occurrence and back then it was almost daily), I would know. The first time she was with someone after Marc was ten years later and it was at my suggestion.
I may write about what happened when I found out, but it's not all that interesting. I was horrible for both of us, but when the smoke finally cleared, we agreed that it was a good thing that I knew. And once she could be herself when we made love, the results were amazing! I've learned so much from Marc through her and we've built on that.
But we know we were incredibly lucky it all worked out.
I spent the last few days before my husband arrived closing out my academic life. Courses were done, papers handed in, recital finished, and finally the last test was over. On Thursday marks were posted and I’d done very well indeed, especially in my recital. The comments from the adjudicators were effusive. It was all very stunning to me. Despite all the distractions I’d caused in my life, the results of my final year were amazing.
Thursday I went to see my teacher. I had to return some borrowed music and I really needed to thank her for all she’d done in the three years I’d studied with her. I’d been a fairly technically proficient player and she’d built on that, turning me into a professional who could go out there and compete. Words couldn’t express the debt I owed to her.
We sat in her living room (she was done with school for the year) and went over the comments I’d received. She wasn’t quite as effusive, but that was her way. Only the best was good enough, and that was as it should be.
I got the feeling the whole time I was there that she wanted to say something, but nothing happened. Maybe she found it hard to say goodbye. I didn’t know.
Evenings were spent in Marc’s bed and they were lusty evenings. Everything he did pleased me, and I tried my damnedest to please him equally. One night we made love in every position we could think up. It was all rather silly and we laughed a great deal but it was also illuminating. Marc had an encyclopedic knowledge of the Kama Sutra.
We avoided talking about what was to come, but eventually it had to be faced. It happened Thursday afternoon when I’d returned from seeing my teacher.
“Your husband is coming tomorrow,” he said almost as soon as I’d gotten in the door.
“And what then?”
“Yes. What then?”
I needed him to say it. “It has been a very full year — for both of us.”
We stood still, staring at each other.
“I want you to stay, my darling Jen. I couldn’t bear it if you left.”
“It would be very hard, Marc.”
His face brightened. “Then you will stay, move in with me? You’re practically living here already. I care for you and you care for me.”
“I don’t know…”
“But you do, Jen. I know you do. You hardly mention your husband. I know you enjoy sex with me far more than with him. We are a good fit. Stay.”
“A moment ago you said you care for me. Is that all it is?”
He turned away and walked over to the window. Without turning around, he said, “You need to hear me say that I love you. Is that it? I have said it before.”
“But only when we’re having sex — or about to.”
“And that is important to you?”
“Yes. It is.”
“Then I do love you, Jen. I want you to stay. Please don’t leave.”
Oddly, my heart didn’t leap the way I would have expected. Perhaps that was because now I was definitely faced with having to tell my husband I was leaving.
“My husband is coming tomorrow, and—“
Marc turned around. “You will tell him then? I can be waiting nearby.”
“No. It will have to wait until we get home. I don’t want him to drive all the way there with that kind of weight on him.” I walked over to my lover and put my arms around his neck, pressing my body against him. “Besides, there are a number of things I have to bring back with me.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Just long enough to take care of business.”
“Okay, then. That is good. You have made me very happy, my beautiful Jen.”
Within ten minutes, Marc was inside me as I lay on the sofa with him kneeling on the floor. I just stared at him as we approached our orgasms. The decision had been made.
I hardly slept that night, not unexpected considering the circumstances. Everything was packed and ready and all I wanted was for the van to be loaded and us on our way. The sooner we got home, the sooner this would all be over.
Robby, you were very quiet when you arrived. I had expected a joyous welcome since you would be taking me home and we’d be starting a new life — together again. But while I got a big kiss and you were friendly and warm, there was something missing, something odd.
With only the mattress and a dresser to get down to the street and about twenty boxes I’d packed over the previous week, we were on the road in less than half an hour. We hadn’t seen each other in almost two months since you’d been traveling for work, but again you were strangely silent. I spent at least half the trip staring out the passenger window. Yes, we did talk about mundane things, the weather, politics. Was there some way you had found out about Marc and me? That was on my mind a lot, but then why hadn’t you just screamed at me back in Montreal and stormed out?
I found out when we got home. You’d recently rented a small house since your pay was good enough to afford it. I’d seen photos, of course, but they’d failed to take in the neighbourhood. It was far more lovely than I’d imagined and you’d gotten your mom to fix it up nicely.
But the huge shock came when we entered, and people jumped up from everywhere yelling, Surprise!”
You’d invited your entire family and two friends from school who’d recently moved into town. There were colourful banners with “Welcome Home Jennifer” and “Congratulations on Your Degree”, streamers, balloons, the whole nine yards.
You put your arm tightly around me and kissed my cheek. “Sorry for the cold shoulder treatment on the way home. I wanted this to be the biggest surprise ever. Welcome home my darling wife.”
At first, I couldn’t move as everyone crowded forward to congratulate me. Then I did the only thing I could think of: I bolted from the room. I could not face everyone with what I was hiding in my heart. The bathroom wasn’t hard to find, so I locked myself in, sat on the toilet and wept, holding a bath towel to my face so no one could hear me.
I didn’t feel sorry for myself in the slightest. No, I’d brought this completely on myself by my behaviour in Montreal. I wept because my husband and his family were so wonderful, kind and welcoming, and somewhere along the way, I’d forgotten that — or at the least, taken it for granted.
Eventually, you knocked on the door, Robby, asking if I was all right. I croaked that I’d be out soon, I was just feeling a little ill and overwhelmed. You wanted to come in but I couldn’t face you at the moment.
Getting up, I looked in the mirror over the sink. My reflection told me nothing I didn’t already know: I’d completely fucked up. If I’d had any sense at all, I’d have bolted from the house and disappeared. Or would have told Robby that morning back in Montreal.
“Face it,” I said to myself, “you’re going to have to go out there and pretend everything is okay — at least until everyone leaves.”
Five minutes later, having washed my face and brushed my hair, I left the bathroom. You couldn’t miss that I’d been crying, but well, there was nothing to be done about that.
Robby’s mum and aunts had brought food. His dad, two cousins and brother-in-law were helping horse the last of my stuff down into the basement. For the moment, I was home.
Fortunately, people only stayed for a couple of hours. Robby’s mum pulled me aside and asked if everything was okay, ditto his sister. I gave them some lame ass excuse that I was just completely worn out by the past few weeks, hadn’t slept much the night before (I was balling my lover until well after two), and was so overwhelmed by their kindness, none of it lies, but not the complete truth, either.
Finally the door closed behind the last guest. I leaned my back against it and threw the lock. I’d had a few glasses of champagne which was keeping my hands from shaking, but I hadn’t been able to eat much because I would have heaved it all back up. One thing about my inlaws was that they never left a party without helping clean-up, so that didn’t have to be faced. You were in the kitchen doing something, Robby. I heard a pop and out you came with a last bottle of bubbly and our two special cut glass champagne flutes, a wedding gift from my sister. I followed him to the living room and sat down numbly.
You poured and handed me a glass. “To us, my dear wife, finally together again. This has been the longest year of my life.”
I’m sure my eyes were half bugged out. This was going to be so much worse than anything I’d imagined, even in my darkest moments.
Finally I managed a sentence. “Robby, there are many things to say.”
“You’ve got that right, my redheaded witch. I have many things to tell you. I’m so proud of what you’ve accomplished this year. I just wish I could have heard your recital, but well, I’m new at work and don’t want to create hassles. But I was very upset about not being there.”
I put down my glass untouched. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You know what? You look absolutely beat. Sit here and I’ll draw you a bath. Even though it’s early, we can go to bed if you want, or stay up and watch a movie, listen to some music, just name it! Tonight is your night. I’m just so happy to have you sitting here with me. Want to see the rest of the house? I fixed it up as best I could, but I’m sure you’ll have some great decorating ideas. I know it isn’t a palace, but it is a house and now we can really start our lives together.”
You went off to get the bath ready and I just sat there completely numb. I picked up the glass, swallowed the contents and poured another. Drank that.
Then you were back in the living room looking down at me. “Your bath is ready, beautiful woman.”
I nearly lost it there and I think you knew it. What had I done? I loathed myself at that moment, completely and utterly.
You led me to our bedroom. Your mum had obviously helped you with the decorating. You never would have picked curtains like that! I dully noted how I would have done a few things differently, but it was very homey, very nice.
“May I undress you?”
I nodded. All I had on were jeans (not any of the tight ones), a sweater, bra, panties and socks, none of it special but you unwrapped me as if I was the most precious gift ever. Finally, I was naked.
“I always forget how beautiful you are.”
Now, I couldn’t hold back my tears. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Such a beautiful woman deserves everything.”
“I have to tell you something.”
You enfolded me in your arms and whispered, “Hush. Bath first, talk after. Okay? You need to decompress.”
I nearly told you right then, but I just couldn’t pull the trigger. You’d obviously planned so carefully for my homecoming. It should have been joyous. It would have been if I hadn’t been so weak the previous fall and started down the slippery slope to adultery. Now everything was a mess, a complete fucking mess. I was going to have to hurt you badly. I wanted to run away.
Instead, I let you lead me to the steaming bubble bath you’d prepared.
“I’ll leave you alone for a bit. I’ve got a few things to take care of.”
As I said, I was numb. Being around you again, especially after deciding to walk out on you, made me realize exactly what I’d be throwing away. The trouble you’d gone to in order to make my return home something special, the way you treated me drove home the fact that I really was a terrible person. I’d done something horrible and then had decided to do something even more horrible.
Tear were streaming down my cheeks. I couldn’t got through with this. I couldn’t do this to someone so warm and generous of spirit. Robby, I realized how special you were and the deep connection we had. Funny to find that sort of clarity in a bubble bath.
Being away from Marc, especially after so intense a period, surprised me by being a bit of a relief. My thoughts were clearer, more reasoned. Feeling so miserable also seemed to put a lid on my libido, so that was taken out of the equation. Suddenly I found myself wavering on my decision. Was going with Marc a completely stupid idea?
The bath was getting cold so I got out but kept the towel wrapped around me as I crossed the hall to our new bedroom where the light was on. You were already in bed and probably naked, considering your bare shoulders. I didn’t know what to do at first, but decided to turn off the light and slide into bed.
“Roll over onto your side, hon,” you said. “I’ve been dreaming for weeks about scratching your back.”
If there’s one thing my husband knows how to do it’s scratching my back. It’s as if you have a sixth sense what kind of touch I want and when. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed this. Occasionally, your hand would drift down to my ass and knead the muscles there before gliding up again. Sometimes you’d creep outward and almost touch the side of my breast. It wasn’t too long before I could feel the tip of your cock pushing against the upper part of my leg as you became erect.
“I can’t tell you how many times I lay in bed at night and wished that you were next to me,” you said.
Instead of answering, I reached behind and took your right hand, placing it on my right breast. You stayed but a brief moment drifting around back again. I wiggled my behind against your groin so there would be no doubt. Your erection was trapped between us.
“You’re not too tired?” you asked. “I thought you might want to wait until morning like you usually say.”
I again put your hand on my breast and kept mine on top to hold it in place. When I wiggled my ass against you I was rewarded by a couple of cock twitches.
Over the next few minutes you built my arousal slowly. If I’d been without someone in my bed as long as you had, I would have been going at you like an animal. I can’t tell you how nice it was to move along so lazily. You didn’t tease me the way Marc did, ramping me up to a peak and then stopping. It was a steady build to the point where you rolled me on my back and lay between my opened legs.
“Hold yourself open for me,” you said. “Can you do that for me tonight?”
In the past you’d asked me to do that and occasionally I’d gone along with it, but I also made it clear I wasn’t comfortable doing it. That seemed so long ago — and so stupid. God! What a stiff little bitch I’d been!
Pulling my knees back, I spread myself wide open.
“You’re already so wet, Jenn.”
“It’s been a long time,” I sighed, meaning that it had been a long time since I’d been intimate with you, so I really wasn’t lying, was I?
Your tongue and lips felt so good. I couldn’t help but compare your technique to Marc’s and you didn’t fare so badly. When you licked me, it was worship. When Marc licked me, it was a means to an end. You loved me. Marc toyed with me.
I came quite rapidly, and I guess it surprised you because you pulled back to look at me.
“Again,” I urged. “Make me…orgasm again.”
I’d almost used “cum” which had definitely not been in my vocabulary before last fall — and not with you ever.
You made me cum quickly again and then you kept going. I waited until I was almost ready to blow, then let go of my outer lips.
“Inside. I want you inside of me, now!”
You took the hint and I spread my legs very wide to welcome your hard cock. It wasn’t going to work in this position so I made you flip over. I quickly got on top (something I’d only done once or twice previously and only at your prompting). By leaning back with my arms on your knees to support me, I could get perfect contact with my G-spot.
You were so hard that night, Robby, and I could see you were amazed that I was being so forward and forceful. When I came that third time, I actually squirted a bit, and that was a first for me with you. You came very hard and I squeezed your cock with all my might enjoying the jerks that accompanied each jet of semen.
Realizing I’d allowed myself to get a bit too carried away, I rolled off you quickly and ran for the bathroom.
From the bedroom, I heard you ask if I was all right. If I hadn’t been fucking another man for the past nine months I would have been great. That had been one of our best times ever. I was petrified, though, that you’d start asking me questions. What could I say?
When I’d cleaned up (taking a quick shower as I’d always done after we’d made love), I slipped into bed again. You rolled onto your side facing me.
“Jennifer, that was truly amazing. You were truly amazing. I’ve never seen you like that before.”
“I guess I was hornier than I thought. You turned me on a lot.”
“You always turn me on. I only have to look at you and I get hard. Naked, I’m a goner.”
I didn’t know what else to do, so I kissed you. It quickly grew heated, but our lust was slacked for the night. I’m pretty sure I heard you whisper, “Welcome home, my sweet one,” as I drifted off to sleep.
That didn’t last long. During the night I had some sort of nightmare that I couldn’t clearly remember, but I’d been crying a lot in it and you weren’t there, so I can imagine my unconscious had been involved in beating me up. I got out of bed and sat wrapped in a blanket on the sofa, trying to figure out when to talk to you and what to say. I tried imagining various ways of breaking it to you, and they all seemed horrible and cold.
Next morning, we went out to breakfast and you took me for a walk in some nearby woods. I couldn’t bring myself to begin the conversation I had to. I felt like such a failure, but tried to hide it as best I could. You wanted to tell me about the vacation you’d planned for us that summer, and I was trying to figure out a way to tell you that I’d met someone else and had decided to leave.
When we got home mid-afternoon, there was a phone message waiting. It was my violin teacher.
“Jennifer, I’m going to be in the city tomorrow unexpectedly (we lived way out in the suburbs), and I’d love to see you. Lunch? Call me. I’m flying out tomorrow morning pretty early, but I’ll be up tonight.”
I called her immediately and it was set up. I was happy for the diversion. You’d be off at work all day, Robby, and I was dreading being alone with my thoughts. Marc would be expecting me to call to tell him what had happened. A whole lot of nothing, and I was sure he’d be disappointed by my lack of courage. I hadn’t given him the number so he couldn’t call me. One more screw up like having you answer a phone call from him was something I didn’t need!
Next morning, you were off early and I went out for a good long run. When I run, I am able to shut off my brain if I need to. All I of is think about music and other thoughts are kept at bay — as long as I’m running.
I took the long bus ride downtown and met her at her hotel. It was one of the small ones, and they had a lovely restaurant so we decided to eat there. I was very curious why she wanted to see me again so soon. It’s not as if we were particularly close. I respected her immensely and I believed she enjoyed teaching me, but friends? Not really.
It didn’t take long to find out what was on her mind.
“I know I should not butt in on something like this, but, well, I’m going to. Maybe it’s luck that I had to be here today. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking that the stars have lined up for this. I don’t know.”
Something in the way she was looking at me made me very uneasy.
“Jennifer, are you involved with Marc?”
I felt as if I’d gotten punched in the gut. “What do you mean?”
“I mean romantically.”
“What makes you think that?”
She gave me the look that was generally saved for times when students are poorly prepared and she’s let down.
“Just answer my question, please.”
I was trapped. I didn’t want to lie. “Yes.”
“Since early last fall.”
The waiter had just served our wine. She took a big sip.
“Jennifer, I think the world of you. I believe you’re going to find professional success, but all the professional success in the world doesn’t make up for a shitty personal life. Trust me on that. Will you let me tell you some things I believe you need to hear? It’s up to you whether you tell me to mind my own business or not, but just hear me out. Okay?”
I had trouble making my mouth work to say, “Yes,” but it might have been due more to the turmoil her words had put me into.
“And I’m trusting your discretion about all of this. Please don’t share what I’m about to tell you. This is very personal information. Promise?”
“You have my word.”
“I, too, had an affair with Marc, a long one. It lasted nearly two years.”
“Eleven years ago.”
“Does your husband know?”
I let that comment sink in.
“Do you love your husband?” she continued.
“I’m…not sure. Everything is very mixed up at the moment. I was planning on…well, planning on telling him that I’d met someone else. Marc wants me to live with him.”
She reached across the table for my hands, forcing me to look at her. “Don’t do it.”
“Why not? Marc loves me!”
“He said so.”
“He said that to me, too, but he never offered to leave his wife.”
“He’s no longer with his wife.”
“I know that. Let me ask you something, and I’m going to be blunt. When you’re in bed together, does he ask you to do things you otherwise might not?”
I think I knew what she meant, but I simply said, “I don’t know what you mean?”
“Has he introduced you to bondage? I can tell from your expression that he has. How about the group he’s part of? Has he told you about them, taken you to one of their gatherings?”
At this point, I knew enough to keep silent. Our conversation, or more accurately, her lecture, lasted through our lunch (I have no idea what I actually ate) after which we went up to her room to continue.
The arc of my teacher’s affair with my lover was quite similar to mine. Her husband was often out of town on business and she became lonely. They both played in the symphony at that time. They drew close, then one night it happened. As with me, the sex was sensational and she kept being drawn back. Since Marc didn’t have his own apartment at that time, the situation was far more complicated, but they were both determined and met as often as they could.
As he drew her in, Marc introduced her to wilder and wilder things. Eventually, though, she began to realize that what was going on wasn’t healthy.
“I never much got into the bondage thing. I wanted good sex and great orgasms, and Marc knew how to give me those. I didn’t take to the idea of being tied up and helpless. It scared the shit out of me. Finally, when he took me to one of his group’s orgies, I decided I’d had enough. It was up in the Laurentians in someone’s ski chalet. A big party with twelve couples. I knew many of them and recognized others. It just wasn’t my scene: too weird and way too risky.”
I was sitting on her bed at this point, stunned. “Did your husband ever find out?”
“Not that he’s let on. I finally realized that Marc was a dead end street. We’d enjoyed great sex together — he taught me a lot, actually — but that was it. I loved my husband more than I loved the sex. I wanted children, a family. I knew if I didn’t break it off, I’d get sucked in so far I’d never get out, and eventually when Marc moved on, I’d be left with — what?”
My brain felt as if it was going to burst.
“Jennifer, do you still love your husband? Think before answering.”
I looked down at the floor, then up. “Last night with him was wonderful. I’d forgotten so much about what’s good in our relationship. I don’t want to hurt him, but—“
“Then don’t hurt him! Do not go back to Montreal. It may take a few years, but Marc will work himself out of your life.”
“But I love him!”
“Do you love him, or the idea of him? I’m sure he rocks your world. You’re young, very beautiful, exotic even, and he does know how to make love to a woman, I’ll grant him that. But there’s more to life than good sex. Let me tell you this: you can make sex with your husband just as good. You only have to teach him what you like and do the things to him that he likes. That’s the most important thing I took away from my time with Marc. I knew exactly what I wanted in the bedroom and exactly how to please a man.”
I was very late getting home. To say I was stunned was putting it mildly. In the end, I had thanked my teacher for being so frank with me. I promised to think about what she’d told me and also to take her secret with me to the grave.
(She’s dead now, as is her husband, both killed in a car crash six years ago, so I feel I can reveal this. Sadly, they never had kids. I miss her a lot, and I’m sure I’m not the only one)
As we’d hugged goodbye, she whispered into my ear, “Call me any time you feel the need. I want to help you.”
Those words echoed in my head for a long time, and I did call a lot in the beginning.
Over dinner that night, I decided to take this one day at a time. There was still a lot to sort out, and I wasn’t sure if I’d eventually leave or not. There was still a very strong attraction to what I’d enjoyed in Montreal.
That night, you wanted to make love again. I was more circumspect and in control of myself (which was difficult). I let you take the lead, Robby, as you usually had, and you were disappointed, so when you finally entered me, I put on a bit of a show for you, lots of sighing and moans, but when I told you how much your cock was turning me on (which it was), you went nuts. I asked you to slow down because I wanted to see if I could cum again with you inside me. That led to me being on top. I got you to half sit up, so that you could reach my breasts when I leaned back. As I got closer and closer, I finally told you to twist my nipples hard. Remember how excited you got? You came before I could finish, but it was still very satisfactory.
Afterwards, I pretended I was all embarrassed by once again being so unrestrained. You see, I’d formulated a plan. If I was going to stay, I’d have to bring you along slowly. I knew if I showed more interest that you’d begin suggesting things again. This time, though, I wouldn’t say no — ever. You wanted to do something, I’d do it, instead of arguing, being disgusted and telling you that it wasn’t right to do stuff like that.
I eventually wrote Marc a letter telling him I wasn’t coming back. He could keep or throw out anything I’d left there (and that included quite a bit of music). I got a letter from him and it was very difficult to read. He told me he would miss me always, called me a bunch of his little “love names” for me, but it wasn’t hard to tell that I hadn’t broken his heart.
In the end, dear Robby, I just couldn’t leave you. There were too many ways that I loved you far more deeply than Marc. I’d just forgotten about them, caught up in the sexual web that had been spun around me. My lover wasn’t an evil person, he wasn’t even bad, but he was trying to mold me into his ideal woman. Breaking free from what I’d been taught by my mother and grandmother about sex was a very heady experience. My life with Marc was completely centered around sex. I loved all the doors he opened for me. I would have remained a sexual stick in the mud if it hadn’t been for him. But my teacher was right: life is so much more than sex.
Outside of the bedroom, Marc and I didn’t really have much in common. Politically, we were polar opposites and had agreed early on to never discuss it. I held up my part of the bargain but he never did. It was clear he thought I was a silly girl in many ways. He expected me to wait on him, cook his meals, wash his clothes. With you, Robby, there’s a partnership. We work together to get things done. We never have “assigned jobs”. Marc and I would have never been like that. He was too old and set in his ways.
That was another thing my teacher forced me to face: my lover was much older than I. By the time I was forty, he’d be over sixty, fifty/seventy. If nothing else, when I was in my sexual prime, he would be in his twilight. “Of course, if you wanted to play with his friends, I’m sure they’ll have added some new blood by then,” she’d said, “if that’s your thing, but somehow I believe it isn’t.”
And Marc had already made it perfectly clear he wanted no more children and as for marriage, “Never again!”
I vowed to take it one day at a time. Besides dealing with this huge lump of badness in my life, I also had to get my playing career off the ground in a city where no one knew me. That would certainly occupy a lot of my time for several years. I tend to be bit shy, and I’d have to overcome that. Shy people seldom get ahead because networking is tough for them. Success was all about networking.
After several days — and two more phone conversations with my friend/former teacher — I decided to cauterize what had happened during the past school year. Everything about Marc would be packed into a separate compartment and locked away in my mind, never to be shared with anyone — especially you. I know now how stupid and naive that must sound, but that’s what I believed I could do.
Trouble was, I did think about what Marc and I had gotten up to. You were traveling a lot in those days, Robby, and when I was alone (and horny), I’d often masturbate, and what I thought about was Marc making love to me in the myriad ways we did during our year together. It didn’t make matters any easier, but I couldn’t stop myself.
As for our lovemaking, I had to be on alert at all times. I’d gotten used to talking when making love to Marc, sometimes saying pretty raunchy things. Your sweet little wife had never done that. In fact, with you I’d sounded like a frigging doctor when I did say anything. “Penis” (never “erection”, or God forbid, “cock”), vagina (instead of my now favourite “pussy”) and we always “made love” (you and I never “fucked”). It’s tough on spontaneity when you have to pre-censor everything you say — especially in the heat of an orgasm.
And I had to be aware of everything I did. I’d been such a prissy thing in the bedroom that I scared you from suggesting anything new. That made it tough to introduce the things I’d grown to enjoy — as much as I really wanted to do them with you.
It was all worth it to me, though. I had been yanked back from the brink by fate and circumstances. I still had my life with you.
But underneath it all was the very real fear that you’d find out what had happened and boot me to the curb. I knew I deserved that, so as much as I wanted to come clean to ease my burden, sharing it with you would be even worse and far too selfish.
Of course it all came undone after that party we had when I’d drunk way more wine than was good for me. It started so innocuously. We were sitting in our backyard after everyone had gone and you kissed me. A warm summer evening, wearing a sundress, no bra and rather small panties, I was an easy mark and suddenly quite horny. When I crossed my wrists above my head as I leaned back as your left hand took possession of my pussy, you pinned them together tightly with your right. I know you were thinking about the bondage you’d suggested (and I’d shot down) some time ago, and being a little drunk, too, you’d gotten carried away.
When I felt your hand tighten on my wrists and your fingers slide into my pussy, I immediately thought of Marc doing the same thing to me. When you whispered, “I’d love to tie you up,” I just moaned and said, “So did he.”
An innocent slip, but you weren’t too far gone to pick up on it immediately. Your hand tightened around my wrists enough for it to hurt. Your other hand withdrew from me.”
“Who are you talking about?”
And with that slip, I nearly lost you a second time. It was a nightmare to live through that. Eventually, it turned out to be a blessing, but that night in our backyard, I thought it was all over. I have never been that afraid in my life. But I also knew that I could no longer lie to you, be one person in my head, and another person to the outside world, and especially to you. I can now say wholeheartedly, “Thank God it all came out!” If nothing else, over the next year, we certainly learned how to really communicate.
So that’s my story, dear husband. I came so close to losing you through my stupidity, selfishness and arrogance. The reason we’re still together, though, is you. Robby, you were always the mature one, the calm one (I know what you always say about “volatile redheads”) and ultimately the accepting one. How could I have known you’d also have this large kink about me and other men? I understand how incredibly I lucky I was — and I didn’t deserve it.
Now that this revision is done, you have the story complete and 100% true. (You also know now why I held something back.)
Marc did try to get in touch with me several times over the years, and I never answered. That’s why I’m not on social media and why I never take any jobs in Montreal — or even in Quebec. It’s not that I might succumb to temptation. I just don’t want to see him.
We’ve both admitted that our sex life owes most of its success to what Marc showed me — mostly about myself — and how he brought me out of the tight cocoon of “anti-sexuality” my family had woven around me. I love you madly more than ever and I can show part of that love for you with my body, freely and easily. For that, I will be eternally grateful to Marc.
For the rest of the stuff, not so much.
There! I’m done!!
_________________It's true what they say about redheads…The recounting of my wife's university affair: viewtopic.php?f=8&t=28088And what has happened more recently: viewtopic.php?f=8&t=30613