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Message-ID: <41128asstr$1046754603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "H. Jekyll" <h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} "Unfaithful: A Romance" (no story-codes)
Date: Tue,  4 Mar 2003 00:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Unfaithful: A Romance 

By H. Jekyll

* * * * *

I don't do story codes. This is a story about a man finding his 
wife pleasuring another man, and what this does to their 
marriage. There is consensual sex between adults. There's also 
heartache and happiness.

I appreciate comments and inquiries, even criticisms, and I 
absolutely promise to respond to them. Please send them to: 
h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com

Copyright 2002 by H. Jekyll. Permission is freely granted to post 
on any site that does not charge for entrance, as long as full 
attribution is given to the author. The story should not be read 
by anyone under the legal age to read sexually explicit stories, 
or by anyone in a location where it is illegal to read such 
stories. 

The story was first posted at "Ruthie's Club," under the guidance 
and editorship of Ruthie V.

The H. Jekyll stories are archived in the Alt Sex Stories Text 
Repository, at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/h_jekyll/

Also at "Ruthie's Club" -- http://www.ruthiesclub.com/

* * * * *

(1) The Incident

When Michael thinks about it after the fact it seems all jumbled, 
and time heaves in huge blocks. Sometimes it is as if everything 
happened instantaneously. Coming down the hall, home a night 
early. Surprise her. Sarah will be so happy. She must be in the 
bedroom. What are those sounds from back there? A man is 
grunting? "Unnh!" he's saying, complete with the aspiration. 
Then, "Oh you're good, you're good, keep it up, keep it up!"

Hurry now! Something's happening! Why don't they hear his steps? 
Michael half turns the corner into the bedroom and that's when 
his whole world is torn away and he's frozen to the spot, he's 
floating somewhere in space, he's unable to comprehend the 
simplest thing.

It's George, who works with Sarah, standing, half leaning back 
against the footboard, and he's naked. Sarah is kneeling naked 
on the floor in front of him with his dick sticking in her 
mouth. George is grunting again. He seems close. His hands are on 
her head, grabbing some of her hair, and he's moving his dick in 
and out. She's moving sinuously, back and forth with the motion 
of his dick, like a mermaid swallowing an eel. He's looking 
straight down at her and she's looking up at him through her 
eyelashes and her face shows desire. She pulls back and he says, 
"Don't stop," and she answers, "I don't want you to finish too 
quick." It's Sarah's voice, not that of a mermaid. It's her voice 
when she's especially excited. She begins taking his dick in deep 
and pulling it out, keeping her lips tightly around it, the way 
she eats popsicles.

George's dick is huge, much bigger than Michael's. Even his balls 
are huge. Michael is amazed at the size, at the thickness even 
more than the length. It makes the scene even more surreal. He 
can only watch, can't move, can't say anything. He watches his 
wife pleasure George and taste and enjoy him, and somehow 
neither of them notices the third person, the witness. Then 
George takes a breath and moans "I'm gonna cum," and Sarah takes 
him back in her mouth all the way, and holds him there and pumps 
him into her, and finally, way out in right field, Michael 
yells, "What are you doing?"

Later is seems obscenely lame and stereotyped. It's obvious what 
they are doing. But what do you say?

George yells, "Oh shit!" and pulls away and Sarah has a profound 
startle reaction, jerking around toward Michael faster than he 
would have thought possible, shrieking and trying to cover 
herself with her arms. She stares straight at Michael. George had 
started to ejaculate, but when they jerked apart he shot a line 
of semen across her cheek. Now he crouches back, as though to 
defend himself, and his big dick pumps spurt after whitish spurt 
on the new carpet. Won't it ever finish? How much can there be?

No one says anything, or moves, for how long? Yell at them! Throw 
something! Hit George! Hit Sarah! Instead Michael staggers 
against the door frame. The room starts to spin. He rights 
himself and inches away, then stumbles all the way back out to 
the kitchen where he leans against the table. He waits. What 
will he say? What will he do? 

There are sounds of scrambling from the bedroom, tense voices, 
one high pitched and one deep. Sharp, short words. Michael hears 
Sarah's voice over George's, saying, "Just go now." What can he 
do? They'll walk out right past him. Michael pushes through the 
screen door and staggers again, out to his car, gets in, and 
drives away. He leaves his suitcase and briefcase behind.

He drives to his office. The whole way there he's trying to 
control his driving, trying to stay in his lane, to stop at 
intersections, to keep the car going. At first he forgot to turn 
on the headlights. He wishes he hadn't left. Now that he's out 
he can't stand not to be there, but he can't bring himself to 
turn the car around either. On campus he walks up to the 
department through the stairwell, and the echo of his footsteps 
is the only sound in the world. What's Sarah doing? Has George 
left yet? Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

In his office there's a couch he can sleep on. Hah! As if! He 
turns on a desk light and his computer. He goes to the couch. He 
goes to the desk. He looks at the phone. Should he call her? 
What would he say? She could call him, but she doesn't. She 
won't. He doesn't consider that she wouldn't know where he's 
gone. Should he go back home? He paces and sits, paces and sits. 
He starts a CD that he won't listen to. His mind just won't stay 
still. He goes to the bathroom then hurries back, afraid he may 
have missed her call. Go home. You've got to see her. He has 
started to get over the shock, he thinks, and to get angry, but 
he finds himself being awakened at 4:07 a.m. by the cleaning 
lady. 

In this part of the memory, everything is slower for Michael. It 
flows over him with no particular rush, what has happened. He 
really had thought maybe it could be a nightmare. No, it's real 
all right. It happened. What do you do about it? 

Michael may as well go home now and get it over with. Face Sarah. 
He doesn't have any idea what will happen. He knows only that he 
isn't angry at all. He's depressed. He's mourning. He washes his 
face in the bathroom and trudges away with the cleaning lady 
staring after him.

It's worse the closer to home he gets. He almost can't go all the 
way there. Half a block away he actually stops for several 
minutes and stares down toward their house before he finally 
resolves to drive past it and around the block--but when he gets 
to it her car isn't there. Only then does he realize he hasn't 
really been breathing. He turns up the driveway. 

Where had George parked his car?

Sarah has put a note on the door on a sheet of torn notebook 
paper. It's in her handwriting in blue ink, written with the 
calligraphy pen Michael bought her last Christmas. It's as 
though she had intended to write him something poetic and grand 
that would make everything okay, but when he reads the note 
there's no style to it at all:

~~~* * * * *~~~

Mike,

I'm so ashamed. I can't explain myself. Please forgive me. I love 
you. I'm sorry. Please believe me. 

I love you, 

Sarah

~~~* * * * *~~~

Below the rest, at the bottom of the sheet: "I'll spend the night 
at a motel. I'm not with George. Please forgive me, Mike."

Michael walks all the way through the house to the bedroom, to 
the place he saw them, his and Sarah's most private place. The 
carpet has been washed where George came on it. It looks like 
someone scrubbed it hard. He touches it and it's damp. He goes 
into the master bathroom to wash his hand.

What should he do? 

He wanders around the house, looking at everything, wondering how 
it is so different from when he left the day before yesterday. 
It was just a simple professional meeting, the kind of thing 
he's gone to dozens of times. He didn't want to go because he 
wouldn't know anyone and he'd been hoping almost to the last 
minute that Sarah would be able to go with him. He remembers 
that when he called last night she had sounded happy to hear 
from him and had said she loved him, like she always does. Was 
George here then too? Was he here during other meetings? Were 
other men here?

His suitcase isn't where he left it. That's a subtle change, not 
like the overwhelming difference to the house itself. There's a 
ghostly presence, something hollow and cold, a strange 
emptiness, and silence. There are shadows he's never noticed, and 
he hears the floor groan when he walks. 

He finds his suitcase. It's in the bedroom closet, right where it 
should be, empty. Everything has been put away. Everything is 
tidy. His shirts are hung and the top buttons are buttoned. He 
almost never buttons them on the hangers. In the armoire, his 
clothes are folded and neat, much neater than he would have left 
them. The little cornhusk doll he got Sarah as a present is on 
the étagère in the den, still wrapped. Michael vaguely remembers 
putting it on the dining table just before he went back to the 
bedroom to surprise Sarah. He has a stray thought that he should 
put it with her doll collection, but he does nothing.

Breathe in, breathe out. His chest seems to be unlocking just a 
bit. His thoughts slow down more. He won't have to face her just 
now, won't have to worry about not knowing what to say or how to 
handle it. He's already growing accustomed to the thought that 
his marriage is over, or he thinks he is, but when he walks back 
to the bedroom he can't stop staring at the spot on the carpet 
where George came so lushly. The moisture makes it a little 
dark. 

Finally Michael starts to cry. He fights it. He really does. When 
he gives in he tries to do it quietly, but he can't really 
succeed even at that. He can't help gasping and making the 
sounds of grief, and his shoulders and chest shudder and shake. 
He leans back against the door frame and tears stream down his 
face. 

Sarah. Sarah. Please don't leave me. 

It takes a while to cry himself out, but everyone goes dry 
eventually, and after enough time has passed he simply leans 
there, staring into the room at nothing in particular and 
wondering how he lost his wife.

By and by he is caught in a wave of exhaustion. He strips down to 
his underwear and drops the clothes on the floor, careful to 
avoid the wet spot, then crawls into the bed. He leaves his 
reading light on. Soon he's almost asleep in that half-lit room, 
occasionally opening his eyes a little to look up at the ceiling 
fan, and his thoughts are slowing, slowing. He's thinking only 
of Sarah, of what he should have done, of what he did, of what 
he could have done. Then, when he begins to drift, an image 
brings him back. Yes, it's Sarah. George is spurting into her 
mouth and she's loving it. She's excited.

Most women don't drink semen. The majority find it sickening. 
Sarah is like most women that way. She doesn't like it either 
and hasn't done it once in all the years he's known her. Until 
now, he thinks. He asked her to once or twice and she said no, 
she couldn't, so he joked about it and then dropped it. You 
don't impose that on your beloved. Some things aren't going to 
happen. You make your compromises with real life. 

Sarah likes sucking on George, though, and she is practiced at 
it. Michael can't stop seeing it happen. He was so big! How wide 
she'd had to open her mouth to take it in. She wanted it. He 
remembers her expression, what she said: "I don't want you to 
finish too quick." She'd been breathing those fast breaths when 
she said it. She'd wanted it to go on. 

It wasn't the first time. It wasn't the first time! Michael is 
wide awake again with that knowledge and with the other things 
coming to him, his mind working fast again but more focused than 
before. She'd been dressing better and been more careful with her 
make-up, for the first time in years. He'd noticed that. He 
wasn't completely blind. And there were the spots on her blouse, 
the ones that night she'd gotten home late from work, that 
looked like she'd spilled a few drops of milkshake. It was, what, 
two or three weeks ago? She'd gotten terribly upset when he'd 
mentioned them, to the point that her face and neck had turned 
red, and she had taken off the blouse to hand wash it right away. 
It had been excessive, but he hadn't thought much about it then. 
Now he knows what the spots were, and how she got them.

She loves Michael. She's sorry. That's what she wrote. But she 
loves George's meat, and his cream, and she doesn't want any of 
Michael's. She's been supping there awhile, getting satisfied 
awhile. 

He can't stay here, to be here when she returns, but he's too, 
too tired, and that's the end of the memory.

 * * * * *

 (2) First Meeting 

 He heard the fumbling at the door and stood up because he didn't 
think he could stand to be sitting when Sarah saw him. Then she 
was in the door and they were both of them just looking at each 
other and he was paralyzed again. He had rehearsed what he would 
say, but on seeing her it fled him. He almost said "Hi" but it 
seemed so banal that he couldn't manage it. Just inside the 
door, Sarah stood with her feet close together, holding one hand 
with the fingers of the other, not looking at him, not looking 
away. Her lips were tight and her chin quivered. Her hair was 
pulled back in a pony tail, the way she did it when she was 
cleaning the house. She was wearing jeans, a pullover sweater, 
and her running shoes. No make-up. Her eyes had bags, like she 
hadn't slept. She looked awful. She looked wonderful.

They were standing in an otherworldly place that crowded out 
everything they knew of the world. Michael was all empty where 
his heart should be and the silence could almost swallow them. 
Then Sarah's voice came from somewhere, a tiny sound, almost 
nothing at all. 

"I'm so sorry, Mikey."

She waited for a second, and when he didn't reply she went on, "I 
know you hate me, and you have every right to. What I did was 
horrible. I only hope you can forgive me."

He still didn't say anything.

"I love you so much. I'm afraid I've lost you. Please let me try 
to make it up. Please? I'd do anything to undo what I did, to 
save what we have."

She had to let loose her grip on her fingers to wipe her eyes, 
first one side, then the other, then back to the first side. 
Michael couldn't answer. It was too complicated. He couldn't say 
anything because everything got in the way of everything else. 
Finally Sarah said it in that shakiest of voices that sounded 
like it was coming through water,

"Aren't you going to say anything, Mike? You could tell me you 
hate me. Tell me I'm a whore. Please say something."

He tried to say something, sighed, tried again, took a deep 
breath, tried again. "I don't think I...there's not...what can I 
say?" A pause. "I don't hate you." Another pause. "I don't think 
I can talk to you. I can't talk to you right now."

"Mike?"

A pause while he tried to formulate sentences. "I'm going to stay 
somewhere else. Please don't try to see me." Still another 
pause. "I'll come get my things when you're not here."

He wiped his eyes and brushed past her and out the door. He saw 
her in the doorway, heard her calling, "Michael, please don't 
go. Please! I'm sorry!" as he backed down the driveway. He 
almost stopped. He had to press on or he couldn't do it.



* * * * *

 (3) The Argument 

 What did it come down to? There were so many things. He argued 
with himself about it while he walked along the river road. He 
was walking because he couldn't stand to stay inside.

It isn't a matter of just forgiving her. There's more to it. It's 
complicated. I can't see all the parts. I mean she's always been 
loving.

She has? Well she was sure loving George's dick!

No, damn it! I mean she's never been like that. I don't know what 
happened.

She was slurping it pretty good. 

That's not it, damn it! I always knew other guys would want her. 
Anyone could stray.

Stray? She was drinking cum!

I know! But what was going on?

Don't you know?

I just don't know.

So what's the point you can't get past?

The big point? It's that she sucked him. That's the big point! 
That she didn't just fuck him. She wanted to do things to him 
she never ever wanted to do to me!

A couple came along the road walking in the other direction, 
holding hands, looking happy. He nodded to them as they passed.

But oh shit. Anyone can stumble. She's only human. 

Yeah, but she sucked him and she did it in our house. There might 
have been others, too.

But am I so pure? I'm not. I sexed two other women since we were 
married. I fucked Susan at three different meetings. I didn't 
even feel guilty. I loved it. I just worried what would happen 
if Sarah found out. It was, shit, it was exhilarating. What if 
Sarah had found out? The only difference is I found out and she 
didn't. 

Would she forgive me? 

I think she would, but she would have been awfully hurt. She'd 
forgive me after she hurt me back awhile. 

Do I want to hurt her? 

Yes. No. Fuck off! It's not that simple. I can't make it square 
one again. I could really push her nose in it, but I can't. I 
can't push her nose in it when my nose should be there too. The 
whole time I was making her confess I'd know I should be 
confessing too.

He pondered this while he walked a few steps, then: Shit. I'm all 
fucked up.

Yeah. I know. That much I know. But what if she found out about 
what I'd done after I made her crawl? What would she think of me 
then? 

She won't find out. 

But what if she did? 

She won't find out. 

I'd know. I'd know it forever.

Is that the only thing? 

No.

What's the other thing?

Shut up. 

What is it? 

Drop it!

Say it.

It's that I never did anything with the others I wouldn't offer 
to her. I never held out on her sexually. It never interfered 
with our lovemaking, never once. But Sarah! Damn it, I don't 
want to go where this is going. 

Yeah, well say it anyway.

Sarah loved drinking George's gizz and she was doing it--how 
long?--a month?-- maybe more? Maybe more. But never once did she do 
that to me. Oh no! The bitch never said, "Mikey? I'd like to try 
something different, something I never did before." No, nothing 
like that. She loved his dick and she loved sexing him! The look 
on her face. She was worshipping the goddamned thing!

Why? 

I don't know. I don't know. 

Maybe I didn't treat her right. I know I could have been better 
to her. Been sweeter. Paid more attention. Maybe she was getting 
even for something. I wish I could put everything together. I 
can't think straight!

Maybe he's a better fuck. 

That's not it!

No? 

No! I don't know. I just don't know.

Well, maybe it's that his dick is so big. It's humongous. She 
loved it because it's a monster. You can never compete with 
that. 

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! That can't be all of it! How did she 
do any of it at all? Sarah never even tasted cum. She didn't and 
now she does. At least his. She must have a belly full of it! 
Why'd she start doing that now? 

Why not? 

Why? What made it happen?

You know, don't you? You know what it has to be.

No. Just that it's something about George. Something that's 
different from me! 

Maybe it's his personality. Maybe he's more charming, or more 
outgoing, or more sure of himself, more dominant, more 
masculine, more of a man. Maybe she wants a man like that and 
she's tired of men like me. Maybe that's how he got her to suck 
his dick and like it. 

Maybe she couldn't get off to someone more warm and sensitive.

You're not so damned sensitive.

He stopped thinking and exhaled. He started to shiver, and the 
next thoughts he spoke out loud. "God. Oh God. I'm not much of 
anything. Whatever it is, he's got it and I don't, and I can't 
compete with him for her." 

He started to cry because he read the equation and knew that in 
every way he came out less than George, and that he really had 
lost Sarah. That was what it finally came down to. He had 
promised himself he wouldn't cry again, so he made himself stop. 
Be a man about it. Shit.

But she wanted to come back.

"Yeah. Because she got caught and she's afraid of what everyone 
will think. If she came back she'd know it soon enough, what she 
got from him and not from me. What she was missing. If she 
stayed it would be from guilt or pity. Every time we did it she'd 
be comparing. I'd always come up short."

And narrow. Don't forget narrow. 

Oh shut the fuck up! It wouldn't be any good for either of us. I 
may as well let her go now and try to keep a little dignity. 

Well there's that. You can pretend to have dignity, now that your 
wife is sucking other men in your bedroom.

Damn it! I can try to be a grown up. Not be a total jerk. At 
least I can keep from demeaning myself.

Sure. Be "Miss Congeniality." That's the "B" prize.

Yeah. Yeah. I know. But what can I do? Sarah already chose 
George. He gives her something I can't offer. Something I 
haven't got. 



* * * * *

 (4) Purgatory

Michael saw Sarah once. She came to his office the second day as 
he was busy trying to keep from thinking about it--not very 
successfully. He'd been by the house when she was gone, like he 
said, and had left a note on some practical matters. He'd added a 
postscript, asking her not to come see him, but there she was in 
the doorway.

She was dressed smartly and had used make-up. He could tell she 
was scared and it reminded him how much he loved her. Everything 
became jumbled for him again so that nothing was going to be 
easy. He wanted to crush her to him and tell her he couldn't live 
without her. He wanted to beg her to take him back. He wanted to 
shout at her and tell her to stop fucking with his heart, to 
leave him alone so he could shrivel up without having to deal 
with her. Instead he managed to say, "Hello," and make his voice 
normal, but right off she made a big mistake.

"Mike, I know what I did was terrible, but it's just something 
that happened one time, and it'll never happen again. I promise 
it won't!"

Little things can change your world, things less than finding 
your wife with another man. In the realm of all that could be, 
this was a very small thing indeed, finding your wife trying to 
lie her way out of the heartache she'd caused. Such a little 
thing.

Outwardly Michael merely winced. Inside he was outraged. Bitch! 
Bitch! Fucking, lying bitch! Somehow that made it easier to 
talk, so he really did shout out loud at her, and everyone must 
have heard.

"Jesus Christ, Sarah! Do you think I was born yesterday? You 
can't even be honest about what went on? The very first thing 
you tell me? God damn! There's nothing to say. How could I ever 
believe anything you said?"

He watched her shrink down inside herself. Oh shit. I didn't have 
to do that. I didn't have to do it. I didn't have to pound her.

"Mike, no..." Sarah looked around, and put her hands up in a 
supplicating gesture, but Michael was too wound up. At least he 
lowered his voice.

"Go away. Please, Sarah. Just go away. Think about what you 
really want. Go back to your wonderful fuck. Don't come around 
to lie to me. It's bad enough you've got another man, but you 
couldn't even respect me enough to tell me the truth."

So she left. She gulped twice and seemed about to cry again, but 
then she set her mouth and, looking neither left nor right, 
walked back down the hall.

* * * * *

One day led to the next. 

He lectured days, because he had to. He tried to write. He sat in 
his crummy little efficiency night after night and wondered what 
Sarah was doing to George. He went to a movie but left in the 
middle and didn't go to any others. 

There were practical issues of living apart, so he called several 
times to leave messages on the answering machine. One day the 
message in his voice was replaced by one in hers. Another time 
he called and Sarah picked up the phone and he hung up. He 
started shaking. After that he didn't call anymore, but left 
written messages on her door. He didn't tell her his address and 
he didn't list his new phone number. Sarah didn't come to the 
office again and she didn't call there either.

* * * * *

One week led to the next.

There was this singles club Michael found his third weekend, when 
he was crazy with loneliness. He met a woman and they talked and 
he could tell in five minutes where it was going. They went to 
her apartment where they sexed. During it he stood, half-leaning 
back against her desk and she knelt in front of him and sucked 
him off. It was wonderful. It felt marvelous and the thought of 
her swallowing his sperm gave him a stupendous orgasm that left 
him reeling. She seemed to like the whole thing, too. Afterwards, 
of course, he realized he had just copied George and Sarah. 
Really he'd known it all along, but he'd been too caught up in 
it to care. That came a little later.

He went to another singles club the next weekend, where he met 
another woman. He could tell pretty quickly that he was going to 
score with her, too. He'd never dreamed there was such a pool of 
available women. He'd known but he hadn't. 

When she found he was a professor and she didn't have to play 
dumb, she told him her hobby was collecting English antiques. 
She said she identified with Elizabeth I, because that was her 
name, too, and because her hair was red. 

Michael said, "Not a virgin queen, I hope."

He went to Elizabeth's house and they fucked. She gave him a blow 
job, too, and it was nearly as good. He wondered if all women at 
singles clubs sucked cock, and resolved to find out. Elizabeth 
was different from the first woman, though. She was interesting 
and funny, and her house was packed with prints and old objects, 
and books. She liked antique furniture. She wasn't just a sex 
toy to Michael. Not just. 

They were sitting on Elizabeth's couch, naked, with the lights 
off, watching "Antiques Road Show" while they kept each other 
bothered. When Elizabeth was distracted by an 18th century 
Chippendale dresser, Michael pushed two fingers up her vagina. It 
was almost better for him than fucking her. She lay her head 
back and closed her eyes and had just enough presence of mind to 
moan, "You bastard." He masturbated her for a few minutes, 
enough to get her most of the way there, then they watched the 
show some more while he smelled his fingers. When an appraiser 
asked the owner of a frontier doctor's case if she knew its 
dollar value, Elizabeth leaned down and took Michael's penis in 
her mouth. A few minutes later she asked him if he had noticed 
the value.

"Who cares?" He answered. "You're worth far more than it."

He liked her, enough to call her during the week, and a few weeks 
later they flew to DC for the weekend, to an exhibit at the 
Smithsonian and "The Taming of the Shrew" at the Shakespeare 
Theatre. 

Elizabeth brought sex toys along. One was a cord with seven balls 
attached in sequence. Michael got a hard-on the moment she 
pulled it from her suitcase. Sarah would never do something like 
that, he thought. Maybe for George.

The sex toys gave Michael an idea. He told Elizabeth, "This 
weekend, I'm Petruchio and you're my sweet Kate, and you have to 
do everything I tell you."

She looked blankly at him for a second, then smiled and pulled 
out her ancient copy of the play. "Wait a minute." She looked up 
the lines she wanted. Then, "I am bound to serve, love and 
obey." 

* * * * *

Elizabeth is kneeling, her head on a pillow, her ass high in the 
air, waiting for the enema to act. 

"Petruchio, my Lord, it is time."

"Then be quick, Katherina."

Shortly, Elizabeth is kneeling again and Michael is playing with 
her vagina and her ass. He takes the cord and a tube of 
lubricant and begins pushing the balls into her rectum, one, 
another, another. She gasps with each one. When all that remains 
outside is a short length of cord, he rises.

"Get dressed. It's time to go to dinner."

"My Lord! No!"

"Come."

She gasps again several hours later, after dinner, after the 
play, when he finally pulls the balls out, one by one by one. 
She gasps and moans again when he fucks her ass while fucking 
her vagina with a vibrating dildo. Afterward they lie together 
with Michael on top, and the room seems to rise and dip. He 
doesn't think of Sarah at all, not even that he hasn't done 
sodomy in years, not since Sarah told him she didn't want to do 
that anymore. No, not Sarah. Not Sarah.

* * * * *

When they slept together afterward, he found Elizabeth liked to 
touch. Like Sarah, she would be touching him when he awoke 
during the night, her forehead or her feet or a hand. Once he 
woke from a dream, disoriented, and found himself on the edge of 
the bed, and she was pushed up against him.

"Sarah, honey, you need to give me a little more room." 

Oh shit!

"Huh? Did you say something, Michael?" asked Elizabeth. She 
yawned.

"Yeah, Lizbeth. We need to move back to the middle of the bed."

"Oh, okay." They moved back and she fell asleep again, with a 
hand on his chest.

She slept like Sarah. 

Michael stared at the alarm clock for awhile. He put a hand atop 
Elizabeth's. It felt like Sarah's hand.

* * * * *

They would have seen each other again, and something might have 
come of it, except for a coincidence. It was almost Sarah's 
birthday. He'd thought of it now and then, and it hit him when 
be brought Elizabeth home from Washington, because she had an 
area by her front door planted in Calla Lilies.

It might have been different if they'd been any other sort of 
flower, but Calla Lilies were Sarah's favorites. After she and 
Michael had seen an exhibit of Georgia O'Keeffe's flower 
paintings, she'd torn up a good part of the garden to plant them. 
Sarah knew O'Keeffe had claimed her flowers weren't sexual, but 
she wasn't fooled. She knew they were abstract visions of 
vaginas, and that knowledge made her love them more, so Michael 
had surprised her with a book of O'Keefe flowers for her 
birthday. She'd gone through the entire book at one sitting, and 
then had attacked him. That's why they'd gotten a large print of 
a Calla Lily for the bedroom, and why he'd taken to calling 
Sarah's vagina "Lily." It became part of their love play, a term 
of sexual affection.

* * * * *

Michael is sitting on the rocker in the den, reading a book on 
the role of disease in history, when Sarah walks past behind 
him, pauses, and bends over. She's just going to give him a peck 
atop his head, but no, she lets her hair cascade so that it flows 
on both sides of his face, tickling his ears and his cheeks, 
spilling all the way down to his chest. She's the only woman in 
her office to still grow her hair long. She runs her hands down 
her hair, across his shoulders, to his chest, leaving them right 
over his nipples. Her hair lets them move smoothly, as though 
over silk, to where she makes gooseflesh on his chest, and 
Michael is aware of all these things about Sarah, her hands, her 
mouth on his hair, her murmur, "Sweetheart, Lily needs to be 
fed," and he's hard before the book is down.

* * * * *

The memory flooded through the car as he drove home from 
Elizabeth's. He replayed it over and again, all the way home. At 
a stoplight the car behind him honked because he didn't notice 
the light change. It wasn't a distant memory. It had happened 
just before he'd left for that last meeting.

He remembered all through the night. He wasn't going to sleep, so 
he thought of Sarah. Sarah was distant, Sarah was gone. Sarah 
crowded out Elizabeth. She wouldn't let him go. He finally made 
up his mind to do something he had resolved before not to do, get 
Sarah a present. 

Isn't it unforgivably cold to ignore a birthday? It's necessary, 
Michael argued. She'd see it as a sign of desperation. It would 
just make things harder before she decided to make that official 
break that was bound to come. Doubtless George would give her 
something. Oh yes, George would give her something. Toward 
morning, though, it seemed that Michael should do it, give her 
something special.

He bought Calla Lilies, of course. He never thought of anything 
else. Would this somehow mess up what was beginning to happen 
with Elizabeth? When the time came he almost didn't leave them. 
Idiot! Idiot! Drop it. Don't cling! He left them on her doorstep, 
the doorstep of the house filled with the memories the two had 
made, that was alien now. George's fuck house. He left it with a 
note:

~~~* * * * *~~~

Dear Sarah:

Please have a happy birthday. Though it may be time for our lives 
to part, I'm grateful for the days we had together.

Yours with affection,

Mike

~~~* * * * *~~~

 He'd worked hard to get the words right. It must have been over 
an hour, with several cards ruined, before he had given up.



* * * * *

 (5) Face to face 

Sarah should have been a detective. Twenty minutes after she got 
home she took the arrangement to the florist and demanded to 
know the address of the man who had bought it. She said he'd 
been stalking her and she'd go to the police if they didn't tell 
her.

Shouldn't Michael have expected Sarah to do something? He had, 
after all, given her a loaded present. But he did and he didn't. 
Sure, he fantasized this and that, but he didn't consider the 
real possibilities. He shouldn't have been as surprised as he was 
when she knocked at his door. He truly didn't expect her, hadn't 
a clue. For a moment, looking through the peephole, he even 
thought of playing possum. You'd think he would be more self-
assured, now that he knew women found him desirable. 

What did she want from him? She had no special make-up this time, 
no special clothes. Her face was pink around her eyes. She 
looked different somehow. She looked drawn. He had to open the 
door to her, and when he did it was like no time had passed at 
all. Was she gathering courage to tell him goodbye?

Sarah did gather her courage again, the way she had that first 
morning, and had again at his office. She began talking, rushing 
the words out before he sent her away again. She was naked 
emotionally, eyes wet, voice quavering, and even Michael could 
tell.

"Mike, let me say what I have to say before you slam the door on 
me. Please come home. Please. I'm miserable without you. I hate 
myself and I'm lonely for you."

Michael should have fallen at her feet. Part of him wanted to, 
but he didn't trust her. He didn't understand. He thought she 
couldn't be serious, not really. What should he say? Was there a 
line inside him somewhere? A phrase from a punishment fantasy 
jumped out. "Well it can't be for lack of good sex...oh shit!" 
Michael grimaced and shook his head. Bite my damn tongue! "Damn! 
Damn! God damn me, Sarah, I'm sorry. I'm not very good at this."

She'd flinched. Yes she had. But she responded to the hidden 
question. "The truth is, I haven't had any sex at all since you 
left."

With everything swirling in his head, he couldn't resist upping 
the ante. "That's ironic, Sarah, because I have."

Stop it you asshole! Stop hurting her! She's defenseless. Call it 
a win and move on. Sarah would have been impressed by the battle 
going on inside her husband right then. But she wasn't finished. 
She continued, and Michael came to realize she was much braver 
than him.

"There's no one at all. I don't want anyone else. I keep waiting 
for you to call or come back. Now you've sent this card saying 
you want to leave me forever. Please Mike." Her voice dropped, 
became soft, weak. "I'm begging you for another chance."

Then she looked him in the face, wide eyed, wet, and defenseless. 
He could have smashed her if he wanted to. What did that 
birthday card say? Why did she want him? He still didn't 
understand, not completely. He subdued himself and recovered his 
soul, but he had to ask something that could be ugly. Don't be 
vicious, but ask. He made his voice as soft as hers, 

"Sarah, I don't know. I just don't know. Are you sure you know 
what you want? What of George?"

Sarah sniffed and wiped her eyes, then her nose. "I told him I 
can't see him anymore. That I won't see him anymore. That I want 
my husband back. I want you back. I want my marriage back." Her 
voice broke during the last sentence, but she regained her 
control and finished. "I quit my job, because I couldn't work 
around him. I interviewed for a new job, and I think I'll get 
it."

Oh God. Is this real?

So of course Michael opened the door and let Sarah in, but he was 
careful they didn't touch. He brought her a tissue and offered 
her a seat at one end of the couch and asked if he could get her 
anything, while he tried to remember what he had vowed to say if 
this ever happened. He was polite and formal as he sat on the 
other end, and he tried to keep his voice from shaking. How easy 
it had once been to talk to her. 

"Sarah, I need to say something first. This is hard, so let me 
try to say it right. The thing is, I don't know if we should try 
to get back together. Whenever I think about it I go round and 
round. I'm not sure...I don't know..." 

Try again.

"The truth is, I don't know that I can give you what George 
could. That you'd be happy with me. So I have to know the truth 
about it. The whole truth. Whatever happens I can't stand any 
dishonesty. I just can't."

"Mike..."

"Let me finish. Please. Please." He waved his hand spastically in 
front of his face. "I don't need to know about any other men, 
but I need to know..."

"Mike, there weren't any other men. Please believe me about that. 
This was..."

"Sarah, I don't need to know...okay. Okay. Look. Okay. Oh Jesus. 
Before we go any further." He took a deep breath. It was time. 
"Sarah, I was unfaithful to you."

"I know. You just said..."

"No. Before that. I slept with other women before that."

She didn't say anything at all for a minute. She was completely 
still. Finally she asked, "Why are you telling me this? Do you 
want to punish me more? Believe me, Mike, you can't hurt me more 
than I'm hurting myself."

"No. No Sarah. I really don't want to hurt you. Part of me did, 
but not anymore. But I don't want anything false between us. I'm 
confessing...because I'm not pure...and I love you too much..." 
His eyes were watering and he was breathless. No, not that! That 
was all he did for Sarah. No wonder she'd left him. "I love you 
too much...I don't know...to hold anything over you." He screwed 
his eyes and mouth shut, pulled his head down into his 
shoulders, and made a fist at his side. He didn't move for 
several seconds.

"Mike?"

He held his other hand up, his fingers spread wide. Give me a 
minute, he thought. I can do it. He was so deep within himself, 
trying to keep control of himself, that he didn't hear her ask, 
"You still love me?" Finally he took another deep, deep breath, 
looked at her, and continued. "I thought about this a lot, 
Sarah. I can't judge your doing something when I did things. 
Maybe we can't work things out, but I'm not going to try to do it 
with a lie. If I held something over you when I'd done the same 
thing...well...you can see. It wouldn't ever be right. It 
couldn't. So....So...So I can't lord it over you. Everything has 
to be a clean slate."

He didn't want her to see him like this. Damn me! He closed his 
eyes again when he finished and turned away from her, which kept 
him from seeing her lean to him. The first he knew was when 
Sarah took his hand.

It's a good sign for togetherness when you can cry together. It 
wouldn't seem to be true, would it?.



* * * * *

 (6) Confession

"Are you ready for me to tell you about what happened?"

"I think so." Kissing Sarah's temple, smelling her hair, running 
his hands all over her, holding her close. It was enough to have 
her. What would he do if he could tell she lied now? Would he 
keep her, even if? Even if he knew not to trust her again?

"Well, I did lie to you about how often I'd been with, you know."

"Uh huh."

Sarah picked his hand off her hip and pressed it to her mouth. 
Then she continued, but she didn't let go of his hand. "We were 
together five times. Four that we...this is hard, Mikey. Four 
times that we went all the way."

"It's okay, babe. It's okay." He kissed her forehead. She smelled 
like lilacs.

"Okay. Well. Well, the first time he just masturbated me. We'd 
been flirting on and off for a while. It was almost innocent. 
Then one afternoon we were alone in the supply room and the 
flirting got out of hand and he just kissed me. No. That's not 
true. I don't want to admit it to you. I kissed him. I'm sorry, 
Mike, but I did. It was an impulse. When I did it he grabbed me 
and I got excited. Then he reached up under my skirt and 
masturbated me."

She stopped for a moment to kiss Michael's hand again, as though 
it were a good-luck charm. He kept one arm around her, holding 
her close so she'd know it was okay.

"I told him to stop it, and I pushed down on his hand, but I 
didn't really try. You know how 'no' can mean 'yes?' Well it was 
as much my idea as his. Maybe more. It was something I let 
happen because it was so thrilling. He told me he would see me 
alone the next day, and I didn't know what to do. I felt guilty 
and I was sure you would be able to tell something had happened, 
but the excitement wouldn't go away." 

"So, what was it about him, honey?"

"He's funny and, oh, impetuous, and I don't know. It's hard to 
say. He was there every day to joke with and flirt with. Being 
with him was dangerous, and it was so much fun to take chances. 
I don't know now exactly why he seemed so entrancing. I know you 
hate him, but he's really not a bad person. Not in most ways."

"I suppose. I know how a man could want you. And I've acted liked 
he did before, so I guess I'm not in a position to judge."

"Anyway, after you caught us I lost those feelings for him."

"Ah, what about his, oh boy, his size?"

"Huh? He's not particularly...oh...you mean his..."

She blushed for him and looked away, and when she looked back she 
had a sheepish smile. "I saw it for the first time the next day. 
I didn't know they came that big, and it did make it hotter. It 
was, like 'oh wow!' But really it...oh, Mike, I don't know if 
you'll believe me, but it scared me a little too, and it made it 
a little uncomfortable when he...oh lord...when he entered me." 
She took a deep breath after she was done. Michael, though, 
liked it that she had trouble saying the last words.

"I believe you. I believe you."

"Well, anyway, it got completely out of hand. We did it with me 
lying back on a spare desk in the supply room, and after I had 
finished he made me...do fellatio."

Here's where it came up. Michael tried to keep his voice soft.

"Sarah, that's something I don't understand. You always told me 
you couldn't do that."

"I didn't think I could. But it made it dirty."

She laughed. It was a short and bitter laugh. She squeezed 
Michael's hand harder. "Don't ever underestimate the effect when 
a good girl discovers the thrill of being sleazy. Plus the fact 
that we were sneaking around. It made me want to do everything. 
So I did it. I wanted it. Mikey, I'm sorry. I really did. I'd 
think about it at night, in bed, instead of sleeping. And I kept 
doing it." She sighed, then, "The next time was three days later. 
He had me lean over a desk and did it from behind."

Ask her. Ask her. You have to know.

"Sarah." He paused and she looked at him with worry on her face, 
as though she thought he'd come be a final verdict against her. 
"Even after you started, you never did that to me. It was only 
for George."

"Oh, Mikey, I couldn't do that to you! Don't you see? I couldn't 
let you know anything was different! Don't you think I wanted 
to? Here I was sneaking around, afraid of being caught. If it 
wasn't you, someone else would have caught us. I couldn't do 
something that might give you a clue. As it was I thought you'd 
caught me the next time."

"That's when you got some on your blouse."

"Yes. Oh that was horrible! It was about a week later. We were 
working late and George wanted to do it again, but I was in my 
period, so he pulled me back to the executive men's room and 
told me to give him a blow job."

"And you did."

"I did everything he wanted." Her eyes grew damp again. "Mike, 
you wanted to know everything. If you tell me to go away, it 
won't be because I lied to you. Yes, I gave him a blow job, on 
my knees while he sat on a toilet in the men's room. It wasn't so 
good that time because it was only for him. I really felt like a 
whore that time. Like I was servicing a client. But..."

And she paused.

"...I still got wet. I was horny almost all the time, and doing 
that turned me right on. I thought maybe you'd make love to me 
when I got home, because you're not turned off when I bleed, but 
it was a fiasco. He'd pulled out and squirted on my face a 
little. That's part of what made me feel so cheap. I didn't know 
any had got on my blouse, but when you saw the spots I could 
imagine everything blowing up. I was mad at him and excited and 
scared and guilty feeling, all at the same time." 

She turned and looked him in the eyes, her face almost touching 
his. 

"But I couldn't stop. When I saw him the next Monday, and you 
were going out of town, we set it up to have a time when we 
wouldn't have to worry about getting caught. Pretty ironic, huh? 
Anyway, you saw the rest yourself, so that's pretty much 
everything. My life as a slut. I'm still ashamed of myself. I'd 
always felt so superior to women who ran around like that."

He pulled her head down to his shoulder and held her there gently 
with the palm of his hand, while he ran his lips around an eye, 
her cheek, her bangs. He knew she hadn't held back, but he still 
had to know one last thing. "Sarah? What would have happened if I 
hadn't caught you?"

Sarah raised her head and looked straight at him again. Her hand 
rose to his face, but she didn't answer. "I'm sorry. It's all 
right. You don't have to say." He kissed her mouth, but in the 
middle of the kiss she pushed his face away and looked at him 
some more, her hand still softly on his cheek. She sighed.

"I don't know, Mikey. I think...I know it would have gone on a 
while longer. I don't know what else could have made it end, at 
least right then. Maybe he would have tired of me. A girl at 
work had a fling that she kind of bragged about, and she said it 
just burned out on its own. I don't know. Maybe I'd still be 
doing it. But I'm not, Mikey. I'm not. It's in the past. I want 
you. I want us."

"Well, you see..." and for the life of him he couldn't continue. 
He couldn't stop the tic that began in his eye, or the quiver in 
his chin. It was going to happen yet again, and all those 
thoughts about not showing her how weak he was came roaring back.

"Mikey? Say it. You have to be honest too."

"I thought..." Breathe slowly. You can make it. "I thought 
probably you wanted to leave me. For George."

"Oh honey, no! No! I never stopped loving you! I never stopped 
wanting you!" Sarah began to kiss Michael all over his face. 
"The worst part was that I knew it could make me lose you. You 
have to believe me, darling! I always knew you were my love."

Then Sarah stopped kissing and stopped talking. She raised her 
head and looked at him with enormous eyes.

"Michael! That's why you never called!"

"Uh..."

"And I thought it was because you wouldn't forgive me."

"Oh Jesus, Sarah. I could have forgiven you that first week. I 
just didn't think you'd want me anymore."

"Honey! My darling, empty-headed husband! Please don't ever do 
that again! It's too much like a soap opera. The thought that I 
could lose you not because I had an affair, but because we 
misunderstood each other. Promise me you'll always be open to me. 
Promise!"

"Okay. Okay." They began kissing again, but he was embarrassed 
that she had married such a wuss. 



* * * * *



(7) After

After the distance, after the emotions, after the confessions, 
after everything, comes the sweet. Tender touches. Kissing 
lightly here, and here. Murmuring absurd things. 

"You know, hearing you talk about sleazy sex has made me awfully 
horny."

"Thank goodness! After telling you all that, I didn't know what 
I'd do if you didn't want me tonight."

"I want you to be my slut, tonight."

One thing leading to another, one button following another. 
Sliding clothes off arms and legs and bodies. Feeling the one 
they each thought never to know by touch again, her skin waiting 
for his mouth and his hands, his flesh cooled and warmed by her 
breath.

He lifted his lips off her ear. What a soft ear, and cool. Her 
ears had always been cool, except when she drank alcohol, when 
they became red and warm to the touch.

"I'm glad you came to me and forced me to listen," he said, and 
moved his mouth over the soft lobe. He blew lightly into her 
ear, "But why the detective work? Why didn't you just come to 
the office?"

Sarah pulled her ear away and replaced it with her mouth, sucked 
on his lip, slid her tongue over his, moved to his cheek and 
rubbed her mouth over his whiskers.

"Mikey, you told me not to." She sounded self-conscious about it, 
a little embarrassed. "And I couldn't bring myself to see you 
with anyone else around. It had to be in private. You don't know 
how many times I almost turned around and went home today. I 
couldn't have done it at all if you hadn't left that note saying 
you were making the separation permanent."

He had to look at that note again!

Michael was on his back, leaving his cock convenient to Sarah's 
hand. She stroked it, the whole red thing, from the tip, past 
the head, all the way down to his balls. Michael breathed 
through his mouth while his penis rocked upward.

"Look. John Peter is happy to see me again." She petted him all 
along the penis again and it surged again, and Michael made a 
little sound. "Maybe I need to punish him for what he did to all 
those other women."

Michael caught her hand before she could give him a third stroke. 
"Not all that many women, Sarah. And there's one I'm going to 
have to hurt a little."

Sarah smirked at him. "My husband the heartbreaker. You know a 
lot of women have always lusted for you. I can't feel too sorry 
for whoever she is." She stroked John Peter again.

He took her hand again. "She's not bad. She only went with me 
because I was separated. Now I have to tell her I'm going back 
to my wife."

"Well do it quickly. And you know you have to tell me the things 
you did, too." 

"Yeah, when you need it to get sexed up."

"You're going to wait that long? Well maybe you're not good 
enough to come back to me."

"We'll see how good I am."

Michael rolled over and pinned Sarah. He moved his face to her 
underarm and nipped her, and his reward was to hear her little 
gasp and see her chest jerk a fraction. He moved his face over 
her chest slowly, to one of her small, pear shaped breasts, and 
sucked the nipple into his mouth. He sucked until it grew, and 
he flicked it back and forth, back and forth with his tongue. He 
felt her bring a hand to his head and hold him to her breast.

"Harder! My Mikey. My sweet man. Ow! Not so hard."

He trailed fingers down Sarah's belly, through her hair and 
lightly between her lips. They were slick and oiled and he knew 
they had her scent, so he reluctantly left her breast and moved 
further down, sliding his whole face over her belly, nibbling and 
licking and tasting her, to her mound and her curls and down to 
her vagina. He licked all the way down Sarah's slit, then moved 
his body down until he was facing her vagina right on. She was 
breathing fast. He could see her breathing in the movements of 
her belly. 

"I didn't think I would ever taste Lily again." He flicked his 
tongue over her clitoris, then all around it, and then lifted up 
his head.

"Oh you're a bastard, Mikey. Don't leave her now that you've 
found her."

But when he kept his face above her to torture her, giving her 
little licks on her hood and blowing long, slow breaths on her 
clitoris, Sarah reached down to pull his mouth to her.

"Is that how you treated those women? It's a wonder 
they...oh...!"

He sucked Sarah all the way in, her labia and clitoris, 
everything, and moved all the way down to her mouth, then up 
again, smelling and tasting everything, pushing two fingers 
inside her while he licked her, and getting re-acquainted with 
how she felt inside. He stopped just once, to look up at her and 
murmur, "My Lily," and then he finished her, sucking in both 
labia again and running his tongue up and down, over and again, 
biting Sarah so she would hold herself still, then sucking her 
again so she would move, and she started to make those sounds he 
always loved, always had loved about her, half gasping and half 
crying. She made them faster and faster and higher pitched and 
then she came loudly, as though crying, holding Michael's head 
to her crotch so hard he could hardly breathe, crying on and on. 
God she sounded beautiful!

He crawled up beside her while she was still gasping, so he could 
see her face. Her eyes were closed and she didn't see his 
expression, full of something like wonder. He brushed his lips 
all over her face. He knew she could feel it, though she couldn't 
respond just yet.

Finally her breathing eased. Her eyes opened, just barely, and 
she half rolled to her side and put a hand on Michael's waist. 
"I'm going to be sooo sweet to you, my darling."

After they kissed some more, she began to inch down the bed, 
toward the foot, until she was far enough down to take his penis 
in her hand and pull it toward her face.

"No," said Michael. He put his hand atop hers, over his penis.

"What?"

"Don't do that."

"Mikey, you really do want to punish me."

"No. Just don't do that. Not now. I don't want that."

"Oh-oh," she said in a sing-song voice, and she switched to the 
high-pitched baby-talk voice she used when teasing him. "You 
know what I think? I think my sexy but very silly husband thinks 
I won't like John Peter."

Sarah grabbed his penis like a microphone. "Does you fink I won't 
wike you, John Peter?" She shook it side-to-side. "Me neiffer." 
In her regular voice she said, "Believe me, honey, I'll make it 
worthwhile to you."

"I believe you. I do. Just not this time. Please. Some other 
time."

Sarah let loose Michael's prick. She knelt upright and looked him 
in the eyes, put a hand to his cheek, and bent to kiss him. Just 
a light kiss. Michael sat up to her and put both arms around 
her, his left around her waist and his right around her 
shoulders. Sarah didn't take her hand from his cheek the whole 
time he was moving. Now she looked directly into his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mike. I made such a mess of everything."

"Don't say that. It's not all your fault. You know that. Some 
things just take a little time."

She sighed. "Is there anything I can do?"

He was afraid she was going to cry again. No, please don't.

"Just love me, Sarah. I'll be okay. I promise."

"Okay. I can do that. I can love you. You know I can do that."

Sarah lay her head on Michael's shoulder and put both her arms 
around him. After a minute she lay down and pulled Michael down 
to her. She spread her legs to welcome him home.

End. 


=====
Find H. Jekyll's stories at --http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/h_jekyll/
and 
"Ruthie's Club" -- http://www.ruthiesclub.com/

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