Acts of Infidelity - Mel and Chris 02

I had expected the stresses to come to an end once my daughter’s final exam had taken place and indeed, when Katie came home late one afternoon with a broad smile on her pretty young face, one aspect of the stress did indeed come to an end.

There were no more late-night tears over work.

Unfortunately for my other, more physical problem, with no exams to take or study for, Katie was around the house a great deal more than before. The opportunities available for me to compensate for my husband’s absence from my bed with my toys became much less frequent. Consequently, as one source of stress reduced, another grew stronger and Chris would not be back for a few weeks at least to provide what I so badly needed.

Fortunately there was less and less time to think about this because as the Leavers’ Ball approached, the stress of exams was rapidly replaced by the new but no less difficult stress all girls suffer in these circumstances; what to wear, how to look and who to go with.

Money could be used to help with the first two issues, but no amount of cash could compensate for either having a date for the Ball or not having one; for deciding which groups of friends you wanted to be part of and whether they would want you to a part of their group.

For several days Katie and I concentrated on the first of these, shopping endlessly for cocktail dresses that would show off her rather immature figure to best effect. Hours on social media helped her ascertain what some of her friends would be wearing — some ideas sounded very ill-advised — and in the end we settled on an extremely short sleeveless scarlet number that showed off her long slim legs so well that we hoped no-one would notice she had no boobs at all. 

Add to this a pair of dangerously high heels and some good quality costume jewellery and you had a superb ensemble but at a price that, that despite all that has happened, I still haven’t had the nerve to tell Chris.

Given all the time we had taken to find something suitable for Katie to wear, there had been no time to seek out anything new for me so my outfit for the evening was to be my trusty Little Black Dress once again. This was very short and close-fitting too to show off my own long legs, but I had to admit that in that department, I was likely to be out-classed by my own daughter.

On the day of the Ball itself, the plan was for three of Katie’s friends to come to our large house to put the final touches to their outfits and have a pre-departure cocktail. We would then go to the event in a hired minibus where the other parents and partners would be ready to greet them.

This is when things began to go wrong.

In the first place, there was far too much for one Mum to do to get four teenage girls ready for an event as socially important as this. I was literally running up and down the stairs for two hours fetching different but essentials items; safety pins, hair grips, ribbons and the like. 

Secondly, all this was accompanied by the need to serve mojitos to all four prima-donnas as they dressed and talked hysterically about who was partnering who and who hoped to end the evening in whose arms. 

What I did not realise was that the premade drinks were being significantly fortified using a half bottle of vodka which was hidden under Katie’s bed. The result was that all four girls and their harassed dress-maid were well on the way to being drunk before they had even left the house.

The third problem was that, with all this fuss going on, I had far too little time to get myself ready. Indeed, with only ten minutes to go before the minibus was due to arrive, I was piling my daughter’s hair high on her head into the fashionable style she had demanded but which to me looked like an untidy bird’s nest.

As a result, my own preparations had to be lightning-fast. Assisted by a third cocktail that unknown to me had also been liberally spiked, I quickly pulled on my tight dress and tried to make myself look nice. 

Though it did indeed show off my legs in a way even I found pleasing, I must have put on a few pounds since I had last worn it because to my horror, a very distinct and highly visible panty line showed through the fabric around my upper thighs and waist.

I cursed my lack of foresight liberally, knowing that this dress was the only one I could use. I most certainly could not go to such a glamorous affair committing such a style gaffe but what was the alternative? For a moment, the idea of going without knickers at all occurred to me; I had done so a handful of times in the past with some success but always when wearing tights. 

The evening was far too warm even to contemplate hosiery and was likely to get even warmer once the dancing started so fake-tanned, bare legs were the order of the day. 

However undesirable an obvious VPL was, my dress was short. A school Ball was not the place for a woman my age to be caught commando. Some form of underwear was essential.

Suddenly I remembered my secret thongs. 

Despite their undeniable usefulness, I had never liked wearing thongs for any length of time. Since childbirth and one unfortunate consequence of that, my anus has been extremely sensitive. Having a strap between my buttocks chafes badly after an hour or so. The most I used to do was to wear one as part of the sexy lingerie sets I had acquired to please my husband (and myself) on special occasions. For obvious reasons, they were never on me for long! 

There were two thongs — one scarlet, one black – in my collection which was, like my toys, securely locked in the case in my closet. With no time to buy an alternative, the best I could do was retrieve the most comfortable, scarlet thong and pull it on under my dress. 

Fifteen hurried minutes later the minibus pulled up and my preparations had to cease immediately. Descending the stairs I ushered the already-tipsy gaggle of girls into the vehicle, grabbed my evening bag, slipped on my own black heels and joined them on their way to the Ball.

***

The room in which we entered was high ceilinged, lavishly decorated and very noisy. Delighted shrieks of teenage girls filled every corner as they saw, admired, loved, hated and criticised the dresses of their friends and enemies as they arrived.

Those with partners were envied; those without were on the lookout for one.

Katie and the other girls passed through the doors with me in tow, along with a large group which had arrived by bus. Every arriving teen was given a glass of champagne, photographed then quickly absorbed into the melee leaving their parents or other adult escorts to fend for themselves.

I found myself abandoned within twenty minutes of arriving, sipping a second glass of champagne and trying to pretend the seating plan was the most interesting thing I had seen in years.

“Looks like I’m next to you again,” a voice behind me said cheerfully. “You never did have much luck Mel.”

I turned to find Neil and his wife Alison standing close by, trying to locate their own table on the rather confusing plan. We kissed our hellos then ambled through to the large dining room chatting happily. As we found our table and greeted all the other diners, I found that I had once again been placed next to Neil and alongside another man I recognised as a fellow parent but who I had not met before.

I remember feeling a little unsteady on my heels even this early in the evening, but I want to make it clear here and now that I am not trying to excuse what happened by putting the blame on alcohol. Without the help of booze, it is less likely that I would have succumbed to temptation that night and Neil’s cock might not have entered my vagina in the way it did, but no amount of tipsiness at the party can excuse the many weeks of affair that followed. 

I accept full responsibility for my part in that.

The preliminaries over, we drank a champagne toast to our school-leaving kids then settled at the table. The atmosphere was warm and friendly, becoming even friendlier as the wine to accompany the starters was passed round. My new neighbour politely filled my glass but after fifteen minutes’ chat it soon became apparent that he and I had little in common and that he intended to devote the majority of his efforts that evening to the attempted seduction of the mousy-haired woman on his other side.

I silently and ironically wished him luck. I knew her slightly; a recent and damaged divorcee. I also knew from the gossip that despite expressing a low opinion of men to anyone who would listen, she wasn’t entirely unreceptive to their charms and was believed to have woken up in the wrong bed on more than one occasion.

I planned to watch the attempted seduction with amusement, not knowing that the girl in greatest danger that night was me.

Whatever else he might be, in company Neil is a real charmer. Seeing the difficulties I was having conversing with the man to my right, he apologised to his companion and turned his attention almost exclusively to me. 

Given the venue, the conversation inevitably started with an exchange of information about what our daughters were going to do next in their lives; University for Katie, travel for his daughter Sophie. From there we moved on to what our respective plans were for the summer; where we would go on holiday, where we had been in the past and had loved. 

By now the starters had been cleared away. Freed from table mess, Neil had turned his whole body towards me, much to the irritation of the lady on his left. Naturally I had turned towards him too so his tuxedo covered legs were pressed against my rather over-accessible bare thighs for the entire time it took to serve the main course. 

The warmth of his thighs against mine sent a thrill through me. I made no attempt to move away. Naturally our glasses were refilled once the food arrived, this time with the kind of heavy, rich red wine that I loved but cannot handle in large quantities.

After another unsuccessful attempt to engage the man on my right in conversation, I ate my meal in silence for a while before Neil spotted my isolation and came to the rescue again. We chatted throughout the main course, Neil keeping my glass full, this time moving onto the problems teenage girls had with their parents and the difficulty of keeping a romantic relationship going with a spouse when the house was so full of hormones.

This naturally led to us standing up to try and to see how dinner was going for the girls. Once we had located them in the crowd, apart from being even more obviously tipsy than I felt, they looked very happy. When we sat back down for dessert, our thighs were pressed close together again; neither of us made any attempt to move away, indeed Neil’s hand strayed casually to my bare knee where it rested.

His eyes sparkled as the slightly risqué subject was pursued between courses. With another top-up of wine, throughout the dessert, I did not notice his hand moving almost imperceptibly up my thigh.

Once coffee had been served and more champagne toasts drunk, the table broke up and the band began to play. For a while I danced in front of the stage with Katie and her friends, several of whom were clearly very much the worse for drink. Then I danced with a group of other Mums I knew well. It was fun; a great way to let off steam. As I danced I exchanged broad smiles with Neil who was with his wife Alison in the corner of the floor.

After an hour of hot, sweaty exertions, the slow dances began. Having no romantic partner, I returned to our table to have a long drink of water and cool down. As I sat in the darkness, I could see Katie on the dance floor in the arms of as young man I immediately recognised as a first-team footballer she had had a crush on for at least two years. 

In the past I had found the usual teenage unposted letters hidden in her room, covered in pink hearts. But unlike so many of her crushes, this one had endured into a more mature and more sexual attraction. The boy had seemed to have had the typical teenage predilection for large boobs, so Katie’s flat chest had limited her appeal for him and until that night her success had been limited to the occasional snog after a party.

Now, as his arms encircled her body and they kissed openly on the dance floor, it looked like he had finally learned to appreciate a more boyish figure after all. I poured another glass of red wine and watched their two bodies pressed closed together, feeling more and more envious.

“They make a good couple,” Neil’s voice, once again coming from behind, brought me back from my reverie. “Have they been together long?”

“About two hours,” I smiled. “Katie’s fancied him for years though.”

“Good luck to them both,” he said, sitting on the chair facing mine, filling his glass again and topping up mine.

The band was so loud that we had to lean very close together for either of us to hear; so close in fact that Neil’s left knee was between mine. His hand fell to my thigh as we talked above the music, stroking my bare skin almost absently but all the time moving upwards.

“You don’t fancy doing the same out there with Alison?” I teased, nodding to the young smooching couple.

Neil pulled a face and squeezed my leg.

“Nah! You know what Alison’s like. Besides she’s otherwise occupied.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sophie is being sick in the Ladies’ Room,” he grunted. “Ali is looking after her.”

“I’m so sorry. Should I help?”

“I’ve been told to butt out and not to let anyone know.”

“You’ve told me,” I grinned.

He gripped my hand playfully.

“You don’t count, Mel!”

“That’s no way to make a girl feel special!” I joked, pretending to turn away.

Neil gripped my leg between his and held my hand tightly to prevent me moving. Then he leaned really close to whisper in my ear.

“I’d like to make you feel very special, Melanie.”

There was a long pause as we stared into each other’s eyes, neither knowing what to say or do. What might have happened then I will never know because at that moment the music came to an end and, to rapturous applause, the MC announced the imminent commencement of the firework display.

“Fancy watching?” Neil asked.

“What about Alison and Sophie?”

“They’ll call when they want me,” he said, patting his breast pocket. “Till then I’m to let them get on with it in private. Coming?” 

Neil smiled, offering me his hand. I took it, still unsure what if anything had just happened between us then followed him out through the French windows and into the hall’s extensive grounds where a large crowd of teenagers were gathered together in a knot in the middle of the viewing area. 

There was no room for anyone else.

“I don’t fancy being crushed against a crowd of vomiting kids, do you?” Neil pulled another face.

“No,” I agreed. “Is there another viewpoint?”

“I saw a few couples going off in that direction,” he pointed to a narrow but well-defined path through the ornamental shrubbery. “Shall we see?” 

The fireworks had not started so we strolled along the garden paths away from the main building. I slipped my arm through his as friends do and for a while all seemed normal as we walked away from the noisy crowd and into the darker recesses of the garden.

If Neil had seen other couples going this way, they were now well-hidden because once we rounded the corner of the building; there was no-one else to be seen at all. The well-tended bushes were tall and intimidating despite the bright moonlight, efficiently separating us from the main group of excited guests.

Eventually the path came to an end at what appeared to be an old, brick-built stable block with a small patio in front of the doorway. When we reached it, Neil slipped his arm around my waist and turned me towards the direction we had just come, moving close behind me, his body pressed against my back, his hands on my waist.

“Look!”

A moment later the sky was filled with one of the best pyrotechnic displays I had ever seen at a private do. The ‘oohs and ahhs’ from the spectators were loud and, although completely invisible to us, were clearly close by. 

A big fan of fireworks since childhood, my attention was fixed firmly on the brightly coloured, constantly-changing panorama in the sky, so I did not notice that I had started leaning back against Neil’s powerful chest or that his hands had fallen from my waist to my sides and had started to stroke my hips and buttocks.

The display was long as well as imaginative. I watched excitedly, barely noticing that Neil had started to nuzzle the back of my head or that his hot breath kept finding the nape of my neck. It was only when his hands slipped from my bottom to my sides then rose to cup my boobs that I realised something was going on.

I turned my head towards him, a look of puzzlement on my face.

He kissed me lightly on the lips. For a second, I recoiled in shock.

Had my friend’s husband really just pressed his lips onto mine?

Then he kissed me again, a little harder. This time there could be no mistaking it; Neil had deliberately kissed me on the lips.

“What are you doing?” I asked, turning to face him.

To my surprise, I heard no trace of reprimand in my voice.

“I’m kissing you, Mel,” he said softly. 

Then his lips touched mine again, this time for much longer and I felt the tip of his tongue sliding between my lips, brushing against my teeth.

“Neil, please don’t…” I protested weakly but there was no conviction in my words.

“Don’t you like it? I thought you wanted to feel special…”

His lips returned to mine in the darkness. He kissed me slowly and sensitively. I froze, unable to respond but equally unable to move away. He kissed me again, the tip of his tongue dancing over my tightly-closed lips. A warm glow began to grow within me; a glow of excitement I recognised but had not felt for many years.

The feeling of deep unease began to grow but not because of what Neil was doing; rather it was driven by what I began to fear I might do myself.

“Neil please! We’d better go back,” I mumbled into his mouth. 

“Do you want to go back Mel?”

“N.. Not really!” I replied, astounded by my own words.

“Neither do I,” he smiled. “It’s just a bit of fun after all.”

“Fun?”

“If anyone needs a bit of fun Mel, I reckon it’s you!”

And then it all began. Without another word I began to kiss him back. Like two teens outside a school disco, we were in each other’s arms, our lips pressed firmly together. Within seconds, Neil’s tongue had parted my teeth and had plunged deeply into my mouth, seeking and finding my own.

As our tongues writhed over and around each other, my arms rose instinctively around his neck and I felt the touch of his hands on my body. Apart from my husband’s, they were first male hands to touch me sexually since my wedding and they felt… so good!

Though every cell in my brain was screaming at me that this must stop; that it was so, so wrong, for the first time in twenty years I felt exciting; I felt sexy; I felt desirable again. As Neil’s confident hands began to explore my back, my sides then my buttocks, I felt decades younger and like a real, wanted, desirable woman again.

I should have had the traditional battle between good and evil going on inside my head but right then, the overwhelming impact on my mind was coming from between my thighs as my hands flew to Neil’s body; to his face, his hair and his bulging groin. 

In return, Neil’s hands were on my waist, on my back and on my buttocks as we kissed frantically, our tongues writhing around each other until a small stream of saliva began to drip down my chin. Then his hands were on my tiny boobs, crushing them cruelly through my dress and bra. 

It hurt so much; I loved it even more! 

One of my hands fell to his bulge and I massaged it, my other fumbling between our bodies with his belt. I felt my dress being raised and instinctively lifted my right leg, looping it around Neil’s left, making room for his probing, exploring fingers. 

In an instant, his hand was on my vulva. Finding his way barred by my scarlet thong, he paused then, with only a moment’s hesitation, simply ripped it away. I winced as the strap between my legs was pulled wire-tight, digging deep into my vulva, slit and cleft before giving way and parting, the ruined garment becoming no more than a red band around my waist.

Then, with no tights or knickers to impede his access, Neil began to finger me in earnest, his long, searching finger deep in my vagina, twisting left and right, forcing themselves further into me with every flick of his thick, strong wrist. 

A second finger joined the first, stretching me wonderfully; tighter than I had felt in a long time. The angle was awkward but the pain was exquisite. His fingers were rough, they hurt too but again, I loved the pain, moaning into his mouth, thrusting my tongue as hard as I could between his lips.

My knees began to give way and I fell against his strong body, my boobs crushed against his chest. A moment later my vagina had been deserted and his hands were under my buttocks, lifting me bodily from the ground and carrying me forward.

Before I knew what was happening, I was pressed up against the wall of the stables, my dress was under my armpits, his right hand was under my buttocks, my arms were around his neck and my legs were wrapped around his waist as his left fumbled frantically with his belt and zipper.

Then I felt it; the unmistakeable feeling of a man’s long, thick erect cock brushing against the underside of my thighs. My heart missed a beat. For a moment I wondered what in God’s name was happening but the flow of heat from my groin drove out all other thoughts.

As Neil’s left hand joined his right under my buttocks, I reached down and grasped the thick, heavy pole of muscle that was pointed straight towards my most private place.

He stabbed wildly at my vulva in his passion, first hitting the back of my thigh, then painfully hard against my clitoris before he controlled himself enough to find the right opening.

I reached down in self-protection, gasping as my hand closed around Neil’s long, hard shaft. Without hesitation, but with a tightness in my chest I was to remember long afterwards, I directed it towards my turgid, dripping flesh. 

Then, for the first time in twenty-five years, I felt the indescribable excitement of a man’s new, unfamiliar cock entering my body. I felt my eyes bulging and my body opening as Neil thrust himself clumsily forwards and upwards, slipping easily between my lips and half way into my vagina.

“Oh God!” I gasped.

For a split second we paused, as if realising what we had done but it was too late; he was inside me. There could be no going back now. A voice which sounded like mine grunted.

“Do it! Please…” 

Immediately Neil drove his amazing cock into me. 

“Ahhhggghhh!”

I squealed aloud as the long, thick shaft was forced deep into my vagina, my chest aching as if a white-hot spear had been thrust upwards into my most delicate parts. Instinctively I raised my knees, trusting in the strong hands that cupped my buttocks and spread my legs to open myself to his thrusts. 

I gasped again as he somehow found an extra half inch of penetration, forcing his way even deeper into my body until I felt the heart of his thighs pressed against my buttocks and the pressure of his smooth end high in my belly.

I was panting with excitement and could hear Neil grunting too.

I felt his strong hands beneath my bottom, taking my weight and lifting me bodily. I felt an emptiness in my loins as his cock was drawn back until only his head was inside me. 

Then he lowered me down bodily onto his cock, driving himself upwards with his strong legs until it was buried deep inside me again.

Oh God! It felt so good! So wicked and yet…

Suddenly, without ceremony, before I could begin to comprehend the amazing feeling of his body in mine, Neil began to fuck me hard — faster and faster as if there was no tomorrow, forcing my back against the brickwork, hammering his body into mine with a wild passion that almost made me scream. 

‘Slap slap slap!’ 

Our bodies collided noisily in the cool night air. I felt his shaft rubbing against my labia, his pubic hair grinding against my clitoris.

I bit my lip to stifle my cries as my excitement mounted and mounted. Half aware of the extreme danger of discovery I remembered to my horror how noisy my orgasms made me and fought hard to prevent myself climaxing despite the wet slapping sounds of his flesh slapping against mine the wonderful, exhilarating deep penetration of his cock within me.

Although it seemed like an age and changed my life, my first every infidelity was over in a handful of minutes. Before the full impact of the pleasure had fully reached my brain, I felt Neil’s fingers gripping the underside of my thighs painfully hard as his face contorted horribly and he began to cum. 

Great spasms racked his body and he shook violently as he began to ejaculate inside me, his powerful thrusts becoming short, sharp uncontrolled stabs into my vagina. He grunted and I quickly pressed my hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

I felt relieved as his cock quickly softened and plopped messily out of my body and I shuddered as a trickle of something warm dripped down the underside of my buttocks and down the backs of my thighs.

I hadn’t climaxed but it had been so, so good. 

Neil slowly lowered me to the ground until my heels touched the floor. My dress was still bunched under my armpits leaving my messy private parts on display for the benefit of any spectators there might have been.

He stepped back, a stunned look on his face as if he was as surprised as I was at what had taken place. His trousers and pants were clumsily still around his knees. He looked ridiculous, but I suppose I looked no better.

“Neil….” I gasped. “What….what just happened?” 

He looked across at me, taking my hand as I tottered unsteadily, unstable in my heels. My legs had half-turned to jelly and I held on to him for balance as I tried to recover a little dignity by pulling my dress back down over my hips. 

The ruined thong around my waist tangled in the dress; I pulled it down my legs and away, screwing the torn red fabric into a ball then looked for somewhere to hid it.

“Here!” Neil offered his hand.

I silently placed my ruined panties in his palm. He Neil slipped them into his trouser pocket.

“Are you okay?” he asked anxiously.

“I couldn’t reply, my head still spinning from the combination of alcohol, lust and post coital comedown.

“Mel!” he insisted. “Please! Are you okay?”

“I’m… I’m okay,” was all I could say though my fight-or-flight instinct was telling me to get away quickly. 

“I… I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

“Yes… Yes of course,” Neil stammered, seeing my distress. “Take my arm.”

I took his strong arm and he led me, still rather unstable on my feet, back along the path towards the ballroom. But before we had gone more than a few steps I broke away from him.

“No! Wait!” I exclaimed suddenly, stopping abruptly.

“What’s the matter?” he hissed in alarm.

“We can’t go inside like this!” I hissed. “We can’t go in together for God’s sake! What would that look like? You go on ahead!”

“But…”

“Just go Neil!” I hissed.

Reluctantly but obediently, Neil did as I had told him, looking back over his shoulder three times before disappearing into the lobby. 

Once he had entered the building, for the benefit of prying eyes obviously alone, I slipped as silently as I could around the back of the hotel into the staff entrance. To my relief, there was no-one to see as I took off my heels and padded down the corridor to the staff toilet where I closed the door firmly and locked it.

Safe for a moment, I breathed out heavily. 

What in God’s name had I done? And had anyone seen me do it?

I thought hard. As far as I knew, nobody had seen me either with Neil, in the car park, or on my way back to the hotel. 

As far as I knew.

Raising my dress to avoid any more stains, I sat down on the toilet and began to pee as I fumbled in my handbag. Pulling out my compact mirror, I inspected myself carefully, a feeling of nausea growing within me as I looked anxiously into the accusing glass. 

And saw me! Admittedly a rather red faced me with slightly ruffled hair but still just me. 

What had I expected to see? A slut of a woman with guilt written over her face? I don’t know. I certainly felt like a slut. I had just had sex in a public car park with my best friend’s husband; what else did I need to do to qualify as one?

What was worse was that it had been a truly exhilarating experience. Okay, it had been short and crude; I had come nowhere near to climax but my arousal had been incredibly intense. Something deep inside me had just been reminded what really passionate sex could be like – indeed used to be like with my husband before familiarity dulled my senses and routine replaced lust.

I took some toilet tissue in my hand and reached between my legs. There was sticky stuff all over my inner thighs and a trickle down the back of my left leg. I mopped it up as best I could, marvelling at the volume of semen Neil had produced, much more than I had ever received from Chris.

Why in God’s name had I done it? Like most women, I had fantasised about having wild, lust-driven sex with another man but I had never dreamed it would happen in real life. 

Even in my fantasies, cheating hadn’t been as crude and dangerous as this. There were a thousand ways I could have cheated on my husband less riskily than in a knee trembler against the wall in a public car park! 

And with my best friend’s husband too? Was I completely insane?

Had we been seen? Would there be consequences beyond the obvious?

As I anxiously re-joined the party, constantly on the lookout for signs that we had been observed in our fucking, the answer to that question became increasingly clear and very quickly too.

Firstly, thanks to Neil’s destruction of my thong, I now had no underwear beneath my dress. Apart from having to take extreme care in my deportment to avoid flashing my bare vulva, twice I had to run to the toilets to mop up trickles of semen that had leaked from my vagina and were running down the inside of my bare thigh. 

The first had actually reached the back of my knee before I realised what was happening. Eventually I had to shove a tissue into me to prevent further difficulties. It was rough and uncomfortable.

Secondly, I had bitten Neil so hard that I had given him a love bite on his neck. This I hadn’t done since I was in school. The mark was fresh so wasn’t too obvious but it was above his collar line and recognisable for what it was. He had to wear his evening scarf draped around his neck despite the hot weather.

For the rest of the night we avoided each other like the plague, each taking care not to be seen in the other’s company. Once we literally bumped into each other as I left the Ladies Room for the third and last time having plugged the leak between my thighs, so to speak. The look we exchanged was something between lust, pleading and sheer terror.

Eventually the evening came to an end. As Katie and I went home together in the back of our taxi she was full of excitement and giggles. Unseen by me, her new dance partner had asked her to go out with him on an ongoing basis. From the flushed look on her face and her dishevelled appearance I suspected they had got a great deal closer to each other than I had seen with my own eyes but I was too wrapped up in my own problems to worry about hers.

Fortunately, full of her new romance, my daughter did not ask me a single question about my evening. Normally this selfishness would have annoyed me but that night I thanked my lucky stars for teenage love.

I helped her undress, unpicked the grips in her tousled hair and tucked Katie’s happy, fresh, tipsy young body in her bed. Then I undressed, removed the soiled tissue from my vagina, washed myself down there with a flannel, pulled on my least sex pyjamas and dragged my middle-aged, aching, guilty self into bed, knowing that sleep would come hard.

It came very hard indeed.

I lay there in the darkness, trying to come to terms with the knowledge that for the first time in my life I had cheated on my husband. It had been hurried, crude, dirty, tawdry but even then I could not deny that it had been more exciting than I had believed possible.

It had been foolish in the extreme and an act of betrayal too but as the bed and the room span slowly round, the memories that stuck most firmly in my mind were of the raw physical pleasure and the sheer joy at feeling young and attractive again.

I had forgotten how it felt to be desired sexually in that crude, feral way. I had forgotten how good it was; how exciting it was to feel familiar hands on my body in unfamiliar ways; how incredible it had felt to feel a strange new penis penetrate my body and even to cum inside me, however messy it was afterwards. 

Then the guilt took over. The betrayal, the squalid surroundings; the shameful, knee-trembling way in which I had simply thrown away my honour and fidelity forever. 

I began to drift into what would inevitably be only a troubled, uneasy sleep. My body remembered only excitement and pleasure, my mind full of guilt, fear and remorse. 

However good or bad it was, it had happened. There was no going back. What was done couldn’t be undone. My body had willingly accepted the erect cock of a man who was not my husband. It had penetrated me, brought pleasure both physically and emotionally; it had delivered its heavy load of sperm-filled semen at the mouth of my womb…

Suddenly I sat bolt upright in bed.

Oh Jesus! Oh Jesus! Oh Jesus! 

It had delivered sperm filled semen to the mouth of my womb — and I wasn’t on the pill. 

Chis has had a vasectomy so between us, the subject of birth control never comes up. I hadn’t even thought about protection; it had all happened so quickly that neither Neil nor I had even thought to use a condom. 

Oh Jesus Christ, help!

I spent the rest of the night awake, my mind filled with horrible images of what might be taking place inside me in the darkness.

And dreading what the morning might bring.

***

The following morning I woke with a guilt-hangover to add to my alcohol hangover and sleepless-night-exhaustion. Katie showed no sign of stirring so, although I was probably still over the limit, I drove to a twenty-four hour clinic in a distant part of the city where I stood for half an hour alongside care-worn prostitutes and crying teenage girls before finally obtaining the morning-after pills I desperately needed.

When I returned home, Katie was still asleep. I lay on my bed, bewildered. 

***

The flowers arrived at two o’clock in the afternoon. I was asleep, so tired that not even guilt could keep me awake. I had popped two of the pills, was hoping they would be doing their much-needed job and wondering if I would feel them doing it.

The doorbell woke me up. I ignored it, expecting it to be one of Katie’s friends. It rang again. I ignored it again. When it rang a third time I realised Katie must have gone out while I had been asleep so I tottered downstairs to find a smiling young woman on the doorstep with a large bouquet of flowers. 

There was no card but as I took them into the kitchen a text message arrived on my phone.

‘I thought a card would be too risky but wanted to let you know how important last night was to me. You are a very special woman. Thank you. Neil x’

I should have either ignored the message or replied saying that it had been a terrible mistake which we must both try and forget had ever happened. Even now, I cannot fully explain why I did neither of these. I didn’t throw the flowers into the dustbin either. Instead I trimmed them, placed them carefully in a vase then sat looking at them with a mug of coffee in my hand, thinking. 

My hangover had greatly reduced and the hour’s sleep had gone some way towards restoring my composure but even then I can’t have been thinking clearly because I picked up my phone and began to type.

‘The flowers are lovely but you shouldn’t have sent them.’

The response was almost instant.

‘Mel! I’m so glad you replied. I thought you might not talk to me.’

‘I shouldn’t talk to you . We shouldn’t have done it Neil.’

‘I don’t know what came over me’ Neil’s message ran. ‘I’m really sorry.’

Something in that message stirred something within me; perhaps it was anger, perhaps something deeper but there was fire in my fingers as I typed.

‘Are you sorry Neil?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Simple question. Are you really sorry you fucked me?”

Where the ‘f’ word came from I have no idea. Until then I had been rather prudish in my vocabulary.

There was a long delay before my phone beeped again.

‘No Mel. I’m not sorry at all. In fact I’m pleased we finally fucked!’ 

The words stunned me. I stared at the screen in a combination of disbelief and guilty delight but could not think what to reply. In the end Neil must have got fed up waiting because he sent another message.

‘Are you still there?’

‘I’m still here.’

There was another pause before my phone beeped.

‘I’ve wanted to fuck you for years. Ever since I met you.’

The words burned into my mind as I stared at the screen in astonishment.

‘Are you sorry it happened Mel?’ came the next message.

How did I feel? I certainly felt dirty and guilty but somehow, not sorry. 

What was more, I felt unexpectedly aroused; I felt attractive again, I felt sexy again.

Had Neil forced me? I couldn’t even pretend that he had. Although Neil had given me little choice in the matter I hadn’t really resisted; I hadn’t screamed or called for help — in truth I had actually directed his erect cock into my open, waiting vagina myself. 

And it had felt so very, very good to have a man want me again in that feral, uncontrolled way.

I took a deep breath then made the second biggest mistake of my life.

‘I’m pleased it happened too’ I typed slowly and carefully.

My heart was thumping as I saw the words appear on my screen and knew they had just appeared on his.

‘Thank God! When can I see you again?’ 

My fingers seemed to be typing on their own as unfamiliar, powerful emotions surged through me. 

‘Tomorrow night.’

‘You’re alone?’

‘Katie’s staying with friends’ 

‘You really mean it Mel? Let’s be very clear; you want me to fuck you again?’

The words were so hard to type I almost gave up but in the end I sent the message that was ultimately to destroy the trust in my marriage and leave me where I am today.

‘Yes Neil. I want you to fuck me again!’

***

Neil came round the following evening dressed in his tennis clothes. He had told his wife Alison that he had a league match to play but instead came straight to see me. I was wearing a short yellow sun dress with a plain white bra and knickers underneath.

When I saw his strong tanned legs and tight buttocks in those crisp white shorts and the way his polo shirt showed off his chest and biceps, the few reservations that remained simply disappeared.

Within ten minutes of arriving he had bent me over the kitchen table, raised my dress around my waist, pulled my knickers around my ankles and was fucking me hard. I had my first orgasm within minutes, my hands gripping the table edge for all they were worth as I wailed into the empty house.

This was no drunken, accidental mistake. This was a deliberate, sober decision to have sex with another man.

The first, pivotal act of infidelity out of the way, we could take our time about the second. This took place in the guest bedroom with the curtains open, both of us naked. I came again, noisily, my arms and legs wrapped tightly around him as he came, this time in a condom.