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Subject: {ASSM} tonytony3's "Joan's Game (infidelity)"
Date: Fri, 21 Jan 2000 18:10:02 -0500
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Joan's Game (infidelity)
An early version of this was posted some time ago. The
bad news is, I don't remember that version's title.
I hate telling stories that make me seem foolish. In this
case, my therapist suggested it's a way to confront some
old issues. We'll see.
All of this happened ten years ago, when I was in my
formative years - my thirties. I had been divorced three
years - yeah, that was a mistake, don't remind me.
The easiest way to meet women in eastern Massachusetts
at that time was through The Want Advertiser, It's a
weekly collection of ads, with some personals thrown in.
Lots of nice women responded to those ads. I actually
married one of them.
But not the one this story's about.
Joan's letter was wonderful. Beautifully handwritten, nice
stationary, literate. "Just divorced," she wrote, and
"wanting to learn a bit about a single's life now," were
among the saliencies. Her background was technical, too -
not too common among women. The telephone exchange
suggested she wasn't living too far from me, either.
I dialed her number.
Joan was fun to talk to. She did seem very shy, and
uncertain about dating.
After a half hour of rapport building, I vocalized a
conclusion. "Joan, I would like to meet you, for dinner or a
drink or something, but you seem as reticent as the
neutrinos I study. I can accept it you'd rather not meet
me. Telephones do make a great screening tool, don't
they?"
That got her attention. "It's not you," she assured me.` "I
haven't dated since I was in college - I don't know
anything about dating protocols anymore."
"It's easy," I assured her. "I ask you for a date, and you get
to say, 'yes', or 'no, thank you', or 'maybe', subject to
whatever conditions that'll make you feel comfortable."
That got a laugh, and a negotiation. "Would you mind if we
met in some very public place?"
"Absolutely not! - Where?" I was sure my usual suggestion
of a drink at a hotel lounge wouldn't work.
She had an idea that must have been part of her screening
procedure.
"Would in the coffee shop at the Museum be too corny?"
Hell, I can play at that. "Sure, but only if you agree to walk
through the Egyptian exhibit with me afterwards. That
way, even if we don't like each other, the trip'll be
worthwhile."
We met that Saturday afternoon. Coffee in the crowded
shop took two hours, and then we walked through the
Museum. Joan was bright, charming, beautiful, but
seemed distracted. It was an uncomfortable start for me.
Joan seemed to be working through whatever was
bothering her. We ended the afternoon by taking a cab to
the MIT facility club for a drink. She initially declined - "It's
not very public" - but her curiosity overcame her
reluctance.
I confess. I was trying to impress her. I also hinted sailing
out of Marblehead Harbor was a future possibility
(Marblehead, the town in Massachusetts named in honor
of me - as you'll see later in this story.)
We cabbed back to the Fenway and our cars. I walked to
hers, and stood by as she unlocked it. Just before she got
in, she turned to me, stood on tip-toe, and kissed me!
"Dave, it was lots of fun spending this afternoon with you. I
hope you call again!"
I stammered something about "I will," but by then she
slipped into the driver's seat, almost as though she was
embarrassed for having been so forward. I automatically
closed the door, she cranked up the Beamer, and with a
wave good-bye, pulled away.
I was left standing in the street watching her leave, totally
distracted by this woman, and jumped when a car behind
me beeped - someone else was pulling out, too. I was so
distracted I never heard that car start up!
"Joan's a mystery," I decided, but worth another date. She
was intelligent, fun, and excited by some of the same
things I was.
I called her the next evening.
"Dave, I'm so glad you called. I was afraid I wouldn't hear
from you again," was the greeting I got. What a nice
welcome to my call. I loved it!
We agreed on a real date. "Pillar House sounds
wonderful," she agreed. "Do you want to meet me there, or
. . .?"
Of course I opted to pick her up at home!
The directions she offered were exact, to the point of her
saying "Dave, when you come, don't park in front. Pull into
the drive way, then walk around to the front door, all
right? We don't like on street parking here."
Her driveway bent around a bit, so my car was hidden by a
solid fence. I walked along the path that went between the
fence and the house on the way to the front door. Nice
house, one level, big. If she got the house as part of the
divorce, it means they've been doing well. I can't help it, I
do think about such things. After all, at the end of the day,
I wanted to be involved in a long term relationship again.
I walked around what was probably a bedroom wing (I
wondered if I'll see that from the inside anytime soon - I
hoped so) to the main door, also well screened with
foliage.
The bell pealed Westminster, and a moment later Joan
opened the door. She was so beautiful I found it hard to
breathe!
I was greeted with a quick kiss - but it was a kiss! "Can we
go now?" she asked, "before I lose my nerve? You're the
first date I've had in this era of my life."
I reminded her of our first meeting: "But I don't count it as
a date unless I get picked up at home," she countered.
I didn't care how this lovely image was keeping score. She
had opened the door ready to go. She already had on a
small jacket over a green dress with a high neckline,
medium heels. She held up her purse "Mad money - in
case I have to come home alone." I was being put on
notice, and I didn't understand why!
Pillar House dinners are uniformly excellent. We were both
nervous, though. Cocktails and a bottle of wine were
excessive. Good, yes, helpful, yes, but excessive. The
restaurant was crowded, and Joan somehow seemed to
spend time looking over my shoulder towards the door.
That was the only dissidence. "Are you expecting to see
someone?" I finally asked, only to have her nervously
laugh, and deny she was looking anywhere special. For
the rest of the dinner she mostly kept her gaze focused on
me. Where, I thought, it belonged.
The two hours at table flew by. "A liqueur?" I offered,
wanting to extend the evening.
"That sounds nice," she said, "but not here. Take me
home, we'll have it there."
That was an invitation I was NOT going to refuse.
I drove back carefully - DWI was not on my agenda, not
ever, and not on that night especially.
We got to Wayland safely, and into her driveway. We
walked along the path inside her solid fence, around the
side of the house. It was dark. "I'll guide you," she said,
holding my hand. We passed the wing protected by the
fence and a window behind high shrubs, with the shade
partly up. "Bedroom" she confirmed without prompting.
She got the door open, and us inside without an exterior
light going on. My own house has motion detector lamps
all around it - it can't be approached without lamps going
on.
I told her about that - "Oh, we have them too, they're just
off tonight."
When I remember all of the clues, and my inability to form
them into a consistent set, I get - well, that's why I'm
writing this. Marblehead!
We went into her great room, and she waved toward the
sofa.
"Sit down, Dave. I'll get us a liqueur. Will Grand Marnier
work for you? I like it on the rocks, or we have. . ."
I interrupted - "That sounds wonderful."
She went toward what I thought might be the kitchen, while
I looked around the nicely done room. Shades were drawn
- nice art on the walls, a piano with music open. That was
not a prop, I decided. The books that were visible were
ones I've read, or wanted to. It was a very comfortable
room.
It took a little longer than I'd have thought for her to
reappear.
She handed me a glass, and raised her own. "To a
wonderful evening, and to the only man, other than my
husband, to be here with me," she offered as the toast. I
could, and did, drink to that.
"Do you know why people break glasses after a toast?" I
asked her.
"I understand it's so that the glasses can't ever be used for
a lesser purpose," she told me. "I'll break these later," she
continued with a smile, "when we're done with them."
We sipped the liqueur for a moment, enjoying the orange
tang, then she purposely put her glass down. - it was,
retrospectively, a seminal moment.
She stood, and turned her back to me.
"Dave, will you help me with this jacket?"
Ever the gentleman, I stood, and slid it off her shoulders,
and down her arms.
Oh!
Her dress, so conservative in front, was not, in back. It was
fastened behind her neck, then the sides curved open in a
beautiful catenary, inches wide above the small of her
back, joining again just above her buttocks, where the
dress was gathered, defining her waist, with a sash. The
mathematician in me struggled to describe the shape of the
exposed skin - not a crescent, what is that shape? - while
the man in me looked at skin, unencumbered with bra
straps, meaning that wonderful shape I'd been admiring all
evening was natural, with no artificial supports. . .
Physiology, even with all of the serum alcohol, began
working. Damn it, I hoped the rest of my body wouldn't be
needing the blood being diverted, and I surely hoped the
diversion wasn't being caused by a false positive.
Joan turned again, facing me, her face wearing an
uncertain smile. "Dave, don't think badly of me. . ." but by
then she was in my arms.
This was not the shy kiss we had shared earlier. This was
an open mouth probing tongue hot kiss, with bodies
tightly together, with no doubt about what it was leading.
My knees were weak again, weaker even than when she
opened the door for me earlier that evening.
The kiss ended.
Her arms moved from around my neck, down my arms,
until her left hand found my right one.
"Joan?" What was I trying to say?
"Shhh," she said, "come with me."
She led me down a hall, to the bedroom whose window we
passed while walking to the front door. It was softly lit, the
bed cover folded on a chair, the top sheet pulled back,
exposing a black satin -satin! - did people still use satin? -
sheet.
The room was already warm - the window was open a few
inches, cooling it a little, I thought, but not caring,
anymore.
"Your coat, Dave, please?"
I tossed it to the chair, only to see it fall to the floor.
I didn't have time pick it up, her hands were at my tie.
Removing that took only seconds, my shirt a few more.
She pulled my tee shirt from my pants, and I pulled it over
my head.
When I could see her again, she had turned her back to
me, and was holding her hair away from the back of her
neck.
"It's fastened with a clasp, Dave, could you get it?"
Some men dream of times like these, and I was one such
man.
The skin under the dress's clasp felt so warm, and the
clasp was so willing to release. . .
It opened, and the dress hung by its sleeves from her
shoulders, showing me her wonderful back, all the way
down to the sash she had around her waist.
She turned to me. "Your shoes, Dave, and socks. . ."
I sat on the bed, and those came off faster than you can
imagine.
She pulled me to my feet, and reached for my belt. I
helped, pulling at it, reaching for buttons, zippers,
anything! "Dave, I want you, I want this, but you can't
spend the whole night here. . ."
A small disappointment, I love to share sex, and I love to
wake up with the same woman the next morning, and
make love, not sex, but she was saying that wasn't going
to happen tonight. . .
". . .is that OK with you. . .?"
She finished her question as her hands gripped the
waistline of my trousers, and started pushing at them.
"OK?"
"Yes!" I'd have agreed to anything at that moment.
I felt myself spring free as she pushed the pants down to
mid thigh.
I took over, pushing lower, lifting one leg out, then the
other, and stood again, nude now, erect, probably drunk,
surely aroused.
"Dave, if you get on the bed, I'll get this off. . . ."
I positioned myself there, watching this vision standing in
front of me.
She walked around the bed, so that she was between the
bedroom's outside wall, the wall with the window in it, and
the bed.
She turned her back to me, and was busy for a minute,
until the dress, gathered at her waist, hung straight - she
had undone its sash.. I watched her left hand on her right
shoulder, pushing at the dress, until it started down her
arm, widening the expanse of exposed back, and she
repeated that on the other side, so the dress now was wide
apart across her shoulders, and the lower extreme of the
opening dropped, too, exposing a few inches of crease
between her buttocks. She had used the time in the
kitchen, I realized, to take off pantyhose, if she had worn
any at all! She was nude under that dress!
Supporting the dress with one hand, she pulled the other
arm free, and repeated the exercise on the other side.
She turned back to me, holding the garment over her
breasts.
"Let's go slowly, please?" she asked, and raised her arms
toward me, letting the dress fall away.
Again, for a moment I couldn't breathe.
She delicately stepped out of the garment surrounding her
ankles, almost as though it was choreographed, it was so
graceful, first this leg, lifting it, then bending down to
remove the heel she was still wearing, then .the other one,
the motion so seductive, her breasts so beautiful, her
pubic mound so inviting, until she stood again, proudly,
exposed, naked, so sexy, so ready. . .
". . .I'm embarrassed, I haven't been like this for so long for
another man. . ."
"Don't be, you're beautiful. Let me look at you, turn around,
please, turn around. . ."
She must have had dance experience, or had done
modeling, she turned so beautifully, allowing me to look,
not hiding herself behind her hands. . .
". . .am I OK?. . ."
She was so much better than just OK there's no way to
describe it. How had I gotten so lucky?
"Come here, come here now, I want to hold you," I
muttered, not able to generate a real voice, too taken by
her, too breathless, too distracted by the prospect of
holding her, touching her, loving her.
She came to the bed, and was beside me, forcing me
horizontal, on my side, my body conforming to hers, I felt
her arms around my neck, and mine moved around her
torso, too, and her leg bent at the knee, climbing over my
hip, pushing herself into me. She was so warm, so soft, we
fit so well together, but this nude body, this Jean, was new
to me, exciting to me - I needed her, needed her now!
Our kiss was long, full of passion, of promise, my own cock
was between her legs, happy for the moment to be there, I
could feel the warmth of her pelvis on it, her small
movements along it.
I couldn't help myself. I had a hand on the small of her
back, holding her tightly against me, and I let it migrate
lower, to one of the cheeks of her buttocks.
"Yes," she whispered, feeling me do that, moving the leg
she had over me even more on me, opening her legs more
widely.
My fingers traced down between her buttocks, lower.
"Yes," she said again, as they moved over her anus, "yes,
do anything, do everything".
And lower still, inspiring her to move her leg to move even
more, until my finger tips found a pocket, a warm, moist
pocket.
"Yes, there," she said, through our kiss, "there, like that. . ."
The back of my hand was touching my own penis, while my
fingers finding their way into her, until one, then two, went
deep, inspiring me to push harder against her, inspiring
her to push against me, too, holding me tightly, feeling, as
I did, lubrication in her, enough to wet my hand, my penis,
and her, too.
I withdrew my fingers - that was selfish - and reached a
little more, until I lightly touched her clitoris.
The shudder I felt, and her motions making access even
easier told me that was what she wanted touched.
I love the feel of an aroused clitoris, and how it tries to
enlarge as I ever so softly let my fingertips brush against
it.
Her kiss, her tongue, her exposure, all told me I was doing
something right.
This was going to be slow lovemaking, as good for her as I
could make it. I knew other women with whom I could
satisfy myself quickly, but not Joan. Joan was a fine
brandy, to be sipped, savored.
I was careful. Gently, ever so gently, not too much
stimulation, softly. . .
Some guys may not agree with this, but I love to please a
woman, to pleasure her. It's very satisfying to me, and
contributes to my own pleasure, too.
Joan was offering me a gift - and I wanted to return the
pleasure.
I stopped touching her, and rolled a little, so that she was
more on her back.
"Not fast, please, Dave, not too fast. . ."
"No, not fast," I assured her. I wasn't going to mount her
just now.
My lips moved from hers, and I tilted her head, brushed the
hair from her ear.
A soft breath on her ear,
a tongue touch to an ear lobe.
Oh, she liked that!
To her neck, her shoulder, my tongue leaving a moist trail,
extracting a moan from her.
She liked that, too.
This was so much fun!
I was hardly touching her, being mostly beside her, my
mouth moving down, over the swoop of her breast.
"That's nice," she said, "do me, do more. . ."
She had a hand behind my head, another on my cheek, as
I moved lower, touching her ever so softly, until my lips
brushed her nipple. Her hand left my cheek, and went
under her breast, lifting it toward my mouth, and her other
hand pushed me toward her.
But I'm strong, I didn't let her push me into her breast, I
stayed away, letting my tongue do circles, and tease that
nipple, then the other one, until finally, I took some of it
into my mouth, my teeth closing on it, nibbling at it, feeling
her excitement. . .
I love pleasing a woman, and Joan was so responsive, it
made it easier for me, made me want to do more, to drive
her to ecstasy, if I could.
I was sure she wouldn't object, as I abandoned her
breasts, my tongue tracing down lower, teasing her navel,
ever so softly.
I was kneeling, now, beside her, my knees at her waist,
leaning over her, torso twisted.
"Are you going to do that. . ." she started to ask, when my
mouth was at the first fringes of her pubic hair.
It was easy to put my fingers over her lips, silencing her,
feeling her lips purse to kiss my fingers, understanding it
was time for her to be quiet. . .
I did answer her question, though.
"Why, yes, yes I am," I assured her, as I moved down a
little more, bending over her pelvis..
"I'm going to do everything," I told her, and breathed
through my mouth, my breath blowing at her, at her lips.
I love it when a woman is so responsive! Her legs were
apart enough, I could see hair moving under the influence
of my breath, such soft hair. . .
Now I moved again, both my hands meeting between her
legs, covering her, and in turn, my hands were covered
with hers!
Was she going to stop me?
I made a gentle touch, a brush, a spreading motion,
inspired her to rotate her hips, splaying her legs wider.
No, she wasn't stopping me, not at all.
I repeated it, not allowing my fingers to penetrate, just to
open her wider. Her hands, on my wrists, followed along,
not resisting, not forcing, enjoying the sensation. . .
There it was, her clit, her own small erection, exposed!
I exhaled on it.
She moaned.
Holding her open, I blew again, moving closer, now.
I realized she had pulled her arms back, and reached
across her body, and put her hand behind my knee.
I blew again, and lowered my head, so I was just above
that lovely place.
Her hips were almost quivering, now.
So, I went a little lower. She felt me move and was
suddenly still - quiet.
"Are you. . .?" she started to ask, before my tongue
touched her there, so softly, a butterfly's weight only.
Oh, but she felt it. I can't describe the sound she made, or
the shudder her body made, but she felt it!.Her legs parted
more, offering all the access I could ever want.
Another touch, still soft, but a little more pressure, and my
tongue made caressing motions on it, over it, around it,
and she wasn't still anymore, her hips were thrusting
against my face, but she couldn't make me go harder, or
faster. I thought, I knew, I was sure, all of my experience
told me, that most women, and I hoped this woman, would
be pleased, be pleasured.
She had lifted her head, I could feel her bite at my hip!
Then, she pulled at my knee, trying to have me move it to
the other side of her head, to be over her.
"You don't have to do that, you can just enjoy what I'm
doing. . ."
"I want to, give it to me," she insisted, pulling at my knee
again.
I did what she wanted, after all, I wanted it too.
Now I was positioned with a knee on either side of her
head, and she reached around me, around my ass, and
pulled at me, bringing me closer, and lifting up her head,
too, until I felt her lips on my inner thigh, kissing me,
licking at me, I could feel her tongue on scrotum, on penis,
nibbling, biting a little, exciting a lot, my cock's head now
warm and wet, captured by lips, caressed by tongue. . .
I reached for one of her wrists, and drew that hand down
toward her crotch.
I bit at those fingers, then pushed them between her lips,
guiding her to touch herself, making her fingers stroke her
own clitoris, while my own tongue served as a surrogate
penis, pushing into her, fucking her.
Her fingers, that hand, became busy, sometimes with a
finger in my mouth, other times touching herself, her finger
touching my tongue while it in turn caressed her clit, other
times covered with my mouth while she touched her own
most sensitive parts.
Oh, it was wonderful, that lovemaking, that sex, and she
responded so well, having, or faking, I'm never sure, an
orgasm, and another.
and another.
Finally, she pushed at my hips, turning me, so we were
face to face. My face, wet with my own saliva and her
juices, hers, also wet, both of us feeling the cooling
evaporation from our faces and pelvises, but not cooling
enough to cool our passion.
"On your back, kind sir," she commanded.
I complied, and the evidence of my unconsummated
excitement stood erect.
"I'm glad you were able to wait," she said, pushing me a
little, so that now, somehow, I was across the bed, my
head toward the partly open window.
She knelt over me.
"I hope you don't mind me doing this, this way. . ." she
continued, and her kneeling turned to a kind of squat.
I didn't mind at all. I held my cock erect, as she positioned
herself, then lowered herself onto me.
I watched between us, as she supported herself with her
hands on my shoulders. And I used one hand to guide
me, so that my cock's head was at her lips, then between
them, then encompassed by them!
I was in her, in this woman, feeling that exquisite warmth,
and moisture, and pressure, deep in her, my passion more
intense than I had known in years. She could be the one,
the ideal woman, for me. Everything about her was right -
her physical beauty, the overlapping interests, that
wonderful mind, and the sensation of her moving up and
down on me - overwhelming!
She moved so that I could see my cock, then watched as it
disappeared, time and again. She would move, too, a little
higher on my body, so my cock head touched her in some
spots, then lower, so its shaft could put pressure in other
places, and add other excitement, too, for both of us.
I'm not superman.
"Give it all to me," she demanded, when she felt that small
increase in size, that increase in heat. She felt me erupt,
pulsed in her, feeling myself emptying into her, for longer
than I thought possible.
What a mess I was then, wet with everything, when she
pulled off me.
I looked down as she did, and saw my penis, still pulsing,
trying to deliver more, but empty, devoid of any seman,
softening.
We were quiet for a few minutes, recovering. I rolled
toward her, thinking I wanted to sleep next to her, to
awake with her, tomorrow, and forever.
"Thank you," she said. "You are a wonderful date. Now I
know what it's like to be completely satiated with sex. . ."
I moved to become more comfortable next to her.
"No, no, Dave, don't do that, I don't want you to go to
sleep.
"I can't wake up with you, that would complicate my life too
much, please, stay awake.
"You promised, and you have to go home, now." There
were almost tears!
"You won't see me anymore?" I asked. I couldn't believe
this. We were magical together!
"Yes, call me, but go home now, please . . ."
Not my idea of a perfect ending, but what could I do?
I stumbled into my clothes, heard a soft "goodnight, Dave",
as I left the bedroom, and went out the front door.
I checked that it locked behind me, and made my way
along the house to the car, and started home. I noticed it
was exactly midnight, when - Opps! My wallet. It was in
the inside pocket of my jacket, and now it was gone. It
must have fallen out of my coat when the coat fell on the
floor.
"I'll go back," I thought, "and if she's still awake, get it.
"Maybe she'll miss having me in the bed.
"Maybe she'll let me stay, after all."
Eight or nine minutes after pulling out of the driveway, I
pulled back in, and started walking along the path to the
front door.
The bedroom light was still on, good - she was still up!
I heard voices as I walked past.
"What the hell?"
The window was still open, and there was quite a lot of
light coming from it.
I stepped off the path, through a gap in the foliage towards
the window, and nearly stumbled over a stool, right at the
window, and a tripod, and a video camera. Someone had
been watching! I looked at the camera - the LED
"recording" light was on, partly hidden behind a piece of
electrical tape.
There had been a prowler here, watching us! Filming us!
Was she safe? Where was he?
I moved closer to the window, to look in.
Joan was there, all right.
In exactly the same 69 position we had been in a little
while ago.
"I loved seeing him go down on you like this," her partner
was saying, a bald partner, a bald head I suddenly
remembered that had been close to us when we met at the
museum, and the same head that was eating as a single
at the Pillar House while we had dinner there tonight. I
remembered he left a little before we did, as I saw his head
descend between her legs.
"I'm glad you liked it," I heard Joan's voice say. "It's
something I'd never have done unless you wanted to see
me do that it for your birthday present. Happy Birthday,
darling."
I was just a player in their game!
I had a message on my machine when I got to my house. It
was time stamped right at midnight. . "Dave, I found your
wallet right after you left. I'll have it messengered over to
your house first thing in the morning, don't make a special
trip back. And Dave, I don't think we'd better see each
other again. You'd just make my life too complicated.
"Good-bye, Dave, and thank you."
They'll wonder and worry who has their video. Let them.
Let them worry about who's watching her, with me, and
then with her husband.
Well, if they read alt.sex.stories, they'll know.
Now you know why my therapist wanted me to get this
written down. Maybe telling the story will make it stop
haunting me.
Like the story? Let me know.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
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