Ediths Extra Marital Affairs

After our slow start, D is certainly finding his feet in our relationship now.

He’d asked to meet me again on Wednesday, but as I had some errands to attend to after work I told him I would meet him at his tube station around 8.30. I was leaving the office early, but thought I wouldn’t be home until after 7 and I wanted time to shower and change.

It seemed to take me much longer to do my make-up than I would normally spend, (I told myself it was because I was at home and not hurrying over the basin in the office washroom), and then even longer to choose what to wear. I wasn’t happy with any of my choices really but was running out of time as I had to get a bus and then tube . . . but as I was leaving J arrived home and said he’d run me to D’s station (after I’d explained exactly why I didn’t want D to come over and pick me up in “broad daylight”.) I got J to drop me at the turning before the station just in case D was already parked in the station car-park. J was laughing at my sillyness and the “role reversal” of a wife having to hide the fact from her lover that her husband was dropping her off. I giggled as I kissed him goodbye . . . he was right of course, but I thought it would be a bit off-putting for D if he had seen how I was arriving. I needn’t have worried, it was another 10 minutes before D’s car pulled into the car park.

We chatted as we drove to his house. I’m always a little self-conscious, as we turn into his drive, in case we should see my friend in next door’s house (especially as the evenings are still so light at the moment). But there was no sign. He poured me some wine in the kitchen and immediately started kissing and caressing me. “Shall we go upstairs?” he asked excitedly. I teased that he always used to invite me out for dinner and now he just couldn’t wait to get me into his bedroom. He stopped and pulled away with a worried look for a moment . . . until I kissed and bit gently on his ear “perhaps we can have nibbles afterwards”.

Just two weeks ago he would have been slow and nervous to undress me, and especially himself. Now as we rolled back onto the bed, his hands were already sliding up under my blouse. As we undressed each other in between kisses and caresses we slid ourselves more into the centre of the bed. He’d told me last weekend how much he loved my legs and started stroking my thighs up and down again. I’ve never had anyone remark so much about my legs before. I’ve had compliments about my bottom and breasts etc., but never really about my legs. (J has just reminded me that he’s always liked me “in short skirts, you used to wear mini-skirts a lot”. I reminded him back that, that, was a long long time ago!!!).

It was nice for D to be paying me so much attention there, especially as his kisses started sliding over to my tummy and lips. He’d loved it last week when I’d showed him where I love being kissed . . . and, then . . . licked. He’d told me his wife had never wanted to do that “either way”, even before her illness. I told him how much I liked it though, and it felt naughty, and arousing, to be showing him again. I was really beginning to enjoy the feelings when he pulled himself up on me though. I’d tried holding him on his hips last week to try make him slow down. (J had told me I should just tell him . . . and normally I would . . . but with D it doesn’t seem so easy, or somehow quite appropriate just yet, to be so forward).

Afterwards we lay together with him stroking my arms and kissing my neck and shoulders again. Telling me how wonderful I was, how beautiful, how soft . . . it is nice, and flattering, to hear his soft voice telling me these things. I can’t help myself, I do like it, it does make me feel special . . . especially as I know that, in this instance, he really does mean the things he is saying. It’s not just words from someone who feels he “has to” say those things because of the circumstances, with D I know, I can tell, that his words are sincere. (Sometimes with V for instance, I wonder . . .)

His stroking was beginning to make me sleepy, as it had last weekend, so I lifted myself up and excused myself to the bathroom. As I returned he sat up as though to roll me back down on my back again but I pushed him down instead and knelt over him and leant forward to let him kiss me. I rubbed my breasts over his chest and as our kiss became more passionate I could feel him twisting and squirming beneath me. I felt his erection brush against my knee as I shifted my leg to get myself more comfortable. He was gasping “God, god”. I pulled away to ask what was wrong. He said he’d never been able to get hard again before. I pushed him back by his shoulders and slid down over his tummy. He was gasping louder as I sucked over him. His hips were shaking and thrusting though so I pulled my mouth away. I knew I could always slow J down by sitting over him and rubbing down on his chest, so I lifted myself up further to try the same position with D. He was holding me around the waist as I rubbed myself over his tummy, leaning forward to kiss at him and flick my tongue into and out of his mouth. I could feel his erection against me as I slid my hips back. I lifted up and reached back with one hand to guide him in. I love looking down, seeing my breasts hanging and bobbing, and lifting my pussy up and down, watching it lift up off, and then slide back down, onto his cock. His hands were on my hips now and he was gasping loudly and pushing up with slapping thrusts. I knew this certainly wasn’t slowing him down . . . I lifted off him and then slid further down, rubbing my tummy over his willy. He came again, this time making much louder groans. I wiped my boobs down and up over him. Sliding back onto his chest and resting down on top of him in an embrace. We rolled onto our sides and he was whispering apologies for being “so quick again”. As we rocked gently back and forth I had to “ssshh” him from saying more silly things. We eventually stopped our rocking and lay cuddled side-by-side. Despite myself, I fell asleep. I’d had virtually nothing to drink, and nothing at all to eat, but just the warmth of our cuddling and his gentle, relaxing stroking on my back, and we both dozed off.

It wasn’t a deep sleep, and not for long, but I awoke to his kissing and whispers . . . and his hand sliding down between my legs. I pulled it gently away. “But you haven’t . . .” I stopped him with a quick, closed kiss. “I need to be getting home” I told him. He pointed out that it was still early, but I knew I’d lost my mood now. Not because of anything he’d done, or hadn’t done, just that feeling of uncomfortableness about being here in “their” bedroom again. I’d felt it on the weekend as well. It’s just strange, and different . . . and something not easy to explain. I used to have the same feelings with S when I first started seeing him. Being in his house, being in his bedroom, in his bed. And knowing his wife, even seeing her quite often at the school, or at the local shops. With D it should be different. He no longer has a wife . . . and yet every so often, I get these little bursts of her still being here. He has photographs of her everywhere of course. In the bedroom, the front room, even in the bathroom. But it’s not actually for that reason that I feel sudden rushes of unease. It’s something else, and not often before, or during, but afterwards . . . and I was feeling it now.

We dressed and went downstairs. He kept apologising and I could tell he thought I was upset, or worried, for a completely different reason. I was trying to explain that sometimes I just suddenly lose my mood and no longer feel like touching or kissing, or . . . I couldn’t actually bring myself to tell him what was really on my mind. I knew J would be waiting on the sofa at home, and here I was sitting in D’s kitchen drinking tea, and eating biscuits and it was gone midnight. But we talked, and talked . . . and talked more on the drive home. He is such a sweet and reserved person and I feel so happy now that he seems to understand the warmth and emotion and fulfilment that J and I have, and understands that we can all occasionally enjoy such pleasure and excitement and love for each other . . . I just hope that she can understand as well.

Best wishes – Edith

After two awkward evenings with D, I was feeling a bit “different” about both our (J and mine) lifestyle, and more particularly about posting details about the “other” men in my life. And I certainly wished I hadn’t been so open about things with D. I had thought that it might make him feel more at ease about our coffee meetings and my agreeing to go out with him for dinner and then to his house. But, actually I was wrong, it made things much more difficult and complicated . . .

In the week before I’d met again with S, I had accepted D’s offer of dinner at his house again. His daughter was now away on her travels, and after our passionate kisses in his car on our last meeting I was actually quite aroused and expectant now that we’d “broken the ice”. Dinner was nice, and I didn’t break any glasses, and we did end up on the sofa together . . . but I could tell D was nervous and when he started asking questions again, about my “other men” I found myself getting nervous and anxious as well. At first I tried quick replies and various attempts to change the subject away from personalities and how long I’d known them etc. I tried telling him we’d been over all of this before and that I didn’t want to talk about it, that it wasn’t about comparisons . . . it was just about fun and something a little different and exciting in all our lives. I told him that I liked him, that I wanted “to be here with you, otherwise I wouldn’t have said yes to dinner”. The conversation twisted and turned and went on for what seemed like hours. Full of awkward silences and shrugs and gestures and . . . eventually I had to reach over to him and start kissing him to bring us closer together. Our caresses were as awkward and inconclusive as our conversation though and eventually ended with both of us apologising and agreeing that “things didn’t seem right”.

He drove me home and I spent another hour laying in bed with J talking through the whole evenings conversation and telling him (to his disappointment) that “I just don’t feel sexy tonight”. All J could say was “you can’t fancy someone because you feel sorry for them” and when I said that D had asked me in the car if I would give him “another chance and can we meet again next week?” J got annoyed and told me that there was no point if it was going to be just another evening of questions and answers. “If you want him, just rip his clothes off like you have with S and get it over with for god’s sake”. Then I got annoyed at J and told him it wasn’t as easy as that.

D did call me the next morning to apologise and say he wanted to see me again that evening. When I said I couldn’t he asked “what about Thursday then?” I told him I would only come round for “drinks, not dinner and only if you promise absolutely no questions!” He picked me up the next evening and although I couldn’t follow J’s advice as we walked into his hallway, we were soon embracing on the sofa. This time things did progress and he undressed me and I was beginning to get quite aroused at his comments and compliments . . . but it was taking me a long time to persuade him to undress as well . . . I eventually did manage to get him to slide off his trousers and his boxers and unbutton his shirt. But he became embarrassed that “things weren’t happening”. I tried to help and tried to reassure him . . . and suggested we stop for awhile. I topped-up our drinks and knelt down on the floor in front of him, but he pulled me back up onto the sofa and said the more he tried to think about it, the more he knew he wasn’t going to be able to do it.

I asked him if he would give me a massage instead, and lay down on my tummy on the sofa. He was actually very good at it and I found it relaxing and, for a while, quite a nice feeling having my shoulders kneaded and squeezed. I’d hoped his hands would start to slide further down though, but they didn’t. I turned over on my back and pulled him down to kiss, telling him how nice it was. I rolled his shirt off his shoulders and he pulled each arm out awkwardly. When I tried to slide my hand down between us though, he wouldn’t lift up and let me touch him. Eventually he stood up apologising and telling me how sorry he was, and that he knew he couldn’t get aroused. He was embarrassed, and apologising and started getting dressed again. I felt embarrassed myself, and really just didn’t know how to react. I was mumbling things like “let’s just sit back down again for a while” and “we’re both probably just trying too hard”. I felt confused and almost ashamed myself. I pulled my dress back on and found myself agreeing when he asked “should I take you home now?”.

We hardly said a word as he drove me home, but then once he’d parked we suddenly started kissing and squeezing each other . . . each of us apologising, and each of us saying how much we’d wanted it to happen. He told me he couldn’t stop thinking he’d never be good enough, and how he thought about me all the time when he was on his own and always managed to get erect. But now, when he’d actually been with me . . .

J was waiting for me in the front room when I eventually walked in. His face dropped and he shrugged and said all the wrong things when I started telling him what had happened. Another night of disappointment for him and me telling him I wasn’t in the mood . . .

And my mood lasted, (apparently), for over a week!! And then I saw S . . . and suddenly everything seemed right again. It had been wonderful with him, and really wonderful with J, and I felt good about myself again. That whole weekend afterwards with J had been simply wonderful, telling each other how lucky we are to have our relationship. How lucky I was to be allowed the freedom to do the things I do occasionally, and how doing those things just seemed to make our love even stronger and better and more passionate. I know that in J’s arms I can say “I love fucking S and I love fucking V” and J will squeeze and kiss me back and say “and I love you loving fucking them”. And we would laugh, and cuddle, and kiss . . . and . . .

I’d called D the following morning after he’d dropped me home that evening. I’d told him I wanted to see him again that perhaps we could have coffee on Saturday. We did, we had coffee together, shopped together, he said he’d call me. He didn’t. So eventually I called him, I told him what I’d told J after our week of post-S, that I still wanted to see him. His voice went quiet on the phone. I asked if he was still on his own. He said he was “for another two weeks”. I said “but I can’t wait that long”. He asked when I was free, I told him “all day this Saturday”.

He picked me up from the station and as we drove I told him that I enjoyed his company, that I liked him as a person, that I wanted to be with him, and that I didn’t want to talk about anything in the past. That I wanted us to start all over again, as though we were meeting for the “very first time today.”

We kissed inside his front door and he started to lead me towards the front room . . . I pulled him back by his hand. “I’ve been here three times and you’ve never shown me the bedroom” . . .

That was yesterday . . . and today I feel as happy, and wonderful, and excited as I am when I come home from a meeting with S or with V . . . I want to shout it out, that everyone should be able to have those freedoms, those feelings, that warmth and that love . . .

Best wishes – Edith