Honeymoon Infidelity

The second to the last night, my husband got bitten by a bee and took a couple benadryl and a lot of Jack Daniels to tamp down his allergic response. I got him settled in the tent, then went to join the group by the boats. Gin tonics without ice. I had caught the newest crew member ogling me more than once, and frankly, I fancied him. He was called Levi: tall, thin, shy, thick curly hair. I sat with him, a bit apart from the main party. I knew that if anything was to happen it would be up to me, so I placed my hand high on his leg and levered myself upright whispering for him to stay put as I would be right back. I went back to the tent and removed my shorts and underwear, returning wearing my husband’s big flannel shirt and flip flops. I lowered myself onto Levi’s’s lap, to hoots of approval from the dwindling party of drunken revelers. I had made sure to pull the shirt tails up out of the way so that he could feel my nakedness on his bare thighs. Deliberately I placed his hands on my breasts, encouraging him to explore inside by unbuttoning the front. Once his hands were full of tits, I felt him inflate immediately. I reached back, raised enough, and took him out, guided him in. Gentle rocking motion as the chilly river flowed by and I rubbed vigorously. Feeling him let loose inside was magical and I staggered sticky (very) and guilty (a little) back to my husband’s side. The next morning I recounted my exploits as though it had been fantasy: “Imagine if I sat on Levi’s lap…” My husband got hard as a rock, and he encouraged me to see if I could make anything happen tonight, the last night of the trip. So I did. That night I asked Levi to put his bedroll near our tent, and I went out after dark and took him in my mouth. It was, he said, his first blowjob. A zillion years later, I still get aroused thinking about those two nights..