My first adulterous indiscretion had been mostly due to circumstances over which I had scant control. That night I’d been in a situation and a condition which taken together, made me like a leaf caught in a maelstrom.
It might seem from my earlier confession, that I’d walked or ran into Marco’s bedroom, ripped off my own clothes and demanded he fuck me on the spot. But those of you who’ve found yourself in similar situations, will know that a mix of recreational drugs and alcohol can, and very often and does, suppress the normal moral behaviour, and can heighten the libido to such an extent that a perfectly respectable, happily married woman will behave like a sex-starved slut.
I cannot blame Marco, who is a well practiced seducer, for taking advantage of the situation, because even while I was ripping the buttons off my blouse, I was conscious of a small voice on my shoulder that screamed at me to stop. When he kissed me, I didn’t immediately kiss him back, but stood aloof, listening to the inner voice of protest, that had stopped shouting but had succumbed to tears and soft pleading.
Even as he stripped off his clothes and I saw my fate in the solid erection that sprang up as he lowered his pants, the inner me cried out in weakening protest.
Our eyes met as he tore the condom packet, rolling the transparent rubber barrier up the length of his penis.
He reached out and cupped my mound, slowly sliding his index finger into my already wet core, a smile of satisfaction turning up the corners of his mouth. I sighed with pleasure as his thumb brushed my clitoris, but the voice inside me groaned, realising that all future protests would be futile.
But as he lowered me to the bed, spreading my legs, sliding his penis into the entrance, the voice persisted, one last and final time, ‘No. Please no. Stop, I can’t do this with you.”
My mouth opened and I almost said something, but he sealed my lips with his, driving his tongue in to still my own.
It was too late. The milk had been spilt. I had been defiled.
I had no such excuse the second time.
It had taken me three weeks to realize what it was about me that had changed. I thought at first that Marco had brought out the nymphomaniac in me; a woman who couldn’t get enough cock. But slowly it dawned on me that although sex with another man was at the pinnacle, it was something else that was holding it up. Something I couldn’t have seen coming.
Nearly all my life I’d been controlled or in control, certain of where I was going and what I was doing. But it dawned on me, that it was when I wasn’t in control, that I had felt most excited, most alive. Bungee jumping; skiing too fast; rafting through rapids; hurling myself off rocky cliffs into deep water; only then had I felt really a dangerous exhilaration.
The feelings I had during the preparation and the planning I’d done before breaking into Marco’s house to steal the photos, had been so intense, goose pimples had washed over my skin, making me shiver – making me wet.
Like the first time I allow a new lover to penetrate me, I have no fear of failure to please, I’ve been taught by someone who knew the business well, someone who’d been born to it; but I do fear that I wouldn’t feel the buzz, or approach the almost orgasmic delight that I’d had before. Each dangerous activity has to be done faster, or higher, or harder to give me the same level of exhilaration.
As I’d sat in the car watching Marco’s man, John, dither on the pavement, I’d felt a delicious fear that made my skin crawl. When I’d gotten out of the car and walked across the road, my hair had stood on end, as if electrostatic energy was coarsening through my scalp.
Once through the front door, I’d stood in the semi-darkness frozen to the spot, unable to move, it was then that I’d realized that although there was some fear, there had also been something else; something far stronger; an excitement and exhilaration that sent waves flowing through my body, as if was standing on the highest diving board, looking down at the water a hundred feel below.
The first step was like the first puff of a really good reefer.
I could hear the blood pumping through my veins, my heart hammering in its cage.
Yet I was calm, mellow as if the aromatic fumes of marijuana were buoying me along. My skin tingled. I laughed softly as I walked slowly into the room where he had taken my fidelity.