Have you ever looked back on certain events after a few years have passed and wondered how you possibly could have done the things you did or felt the emotions you felt? It may even seem like you’re looking back at a different person altogether, or perhaps recalling some half-remembered dream.

Six years have gone by since my affair with Delilah began and I still don’t fully understand it.

Before Delilah, I was fully committed to my wife and marriage. In fact, I was always monogamous and believed that love was something that took time to nurture. More than once, people asked if I believed in love at first sight and my answer was always a resounding, “no.”

Then, somehow, I fell in love with a total stranger in less than forty-eight hours. Trying to explain how it happened merely creates a list of tired cliches.

It felt like we had always known each other.

It was like finding my soulmate.

For the first time in my life, someone understood me.

My marriage was a flame that burned steadily for sixteen years. My affair with Delilah quickly became an out-of-control conflagration consuming everything in its path.

And I haven’t even mentioned the sex. Holy hell, the sex!

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Around noon, I called Delilah from my office. She was even more charming on the phone. Smart and quick-witted. Sharp and inquisitive. We had the same speech patterns and spoke with the same rhythm. Delilah was intuitive and intriguing. Her laugh was genuine and the tone of her voice was seductive and mature.

Our conversation flowed like water in a mountain stream - naturally - like we were reading from some memorized script. It was intimate and lighthearted. We talked about our past and our future - our beliefs, successes, and failures.

There was flirting but nothing overtly sexual like the text messages we shared. We simply enjoyed talking to each other. It seemed so simple and easy. Normally, I can’t talk for more than ten minutes on the phone before getting agitated, but three hours went by before I noticed the time.

I couldn’t believe it. I thought my clock was wrong because it only seemed as though a few minutes had passed. Looking back, this was the moment I fell deeply in love with Delilah - the first interval of my life when time literally stood still.

In the back of my mind was Laura. My wife. The person who blatantly lied to me more than once. I began wondering if her idea of rekindling our marriage by creating a Tinder account was some sort of ploy. Was she already talking to Gary and just used Tinder as a way to justify her actions? Was she having an affair? How long had it lasted?

And she had the nerve to put me down! To make me feel unwanted and undesirable! Obviously, I was desirable, because here was a woman almost ten years younger than her who was already giving me more moral support than she had in years!

My love for Laura had vanished. Did it ever exist? How could I have ever loved anyone when I was only now realizing what true love felt like?

In the place where my love for my wife once dwelled was the hurt Laura caused. Hurt that bred animosity and loathing.

Meanwhile, Delilah was everything I never knew I wanted - a woman conjured from dreams - my anima come to life.

Delilah explained it better than I can. During our first conversation, she said, “When I saw your Tinder profile, I had a feeling about you. Like I somehow already knew you. And now that we’ve messaged and talked, you feel like my other half.”

It was the first time I sensed something mystical about Delilah - something I still can’t explain. Some women have premonitions about the future. Delilah seemed to possess hidden knowledge about the past. As I tell the rest of this story, what I mean will become apparent.

Hanging up the phone was like getting punched in the chest. It physically hurt.

Back at home, Laura was obviously preoccupied with Gary or whoever else she may have been talking to. She barely spoke to me. I managed to get a quick glance at her phone and she had over 200 Tinder and text messages.

My wife sat down next to me on the living room sofa and said, “Can I talk to you about something?”

For a moment, I was worried that she knew about my conversation with Delilah. I said, “Sure.”

Turning to face me, Laura said, “Nick, I have to come clean because I don’t want to lie to you. I’ve been messaging Gary, but the reason I kept messaging him is because he’s giving me the emotional support I haven’t been getting from our marriage.”

The anger I felt for my wife had coalesced into a tight ball in the pit of my stomach. Laura’s words fed it and made it denser. I remained silent.

My wife continued, “I think we should open our marriage.”

The ball in my stomach felt like it was vibrating and about burst through my skin. The desire to unleash the same emotional pain I was feeling on my wife was overwhelming.

What came out of my mouth was a simple, “Okay.”

“Really?”

Calmly, I answered, “If that’s what you want… But I will say this right now and only once - it's not going to end well.”

Laura seemed almost giddy, which made me seethe with rage.

She said, “That’s why we have to set boundaries - so neither of us gets hurt. First, we have to be honest with one another. Second, no sex unless the other person says it’s okay, and if we do have sex with someone else, we have to use protection.”

All I could do was sit motionless, listening in total disbelief.

Laura continued, “And Nick, we can talk to each other about our experiences to spice up our love life.”

“It sounds like you have it all figured out.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

“Absolutely!”

My wife didn’t sense my sarcasm. Or maybe she chose to ignore it. Laura had the nerve to hug me before heading upstairs, phone in hand, already texting the person she obviously wanted to fuck.

My wife was picking and choosing her truths, so maybe Gary had already fucked her. Perhaps she was just trying to alleviate her guilt by forcing me into this ridiculous arrangement.

Trembling, I messaged Delilah.

“Hey! What are you up to?”

Her response was almost immediate.

“I’m taking a bath. I have a big meeting with a commercial client tomorrow so it’s an early night for me. I have something for you…”

Another message immediately followed. It was a photo of Delilah in the bathtub, her perky breasts buoyant and floating, her hard nipples just above the water line.

I messaged back, “I wish I could climb into that tub with you. My wife told me tonight that she wants to have an open marriage. I agreed.”

“And you’re okay with that? I mean… It’s great for me because I want to meet you… badly… but are you okay with your wife sleeping with other people?”

I wasn’t ready to answer the question. “I’m just glad that we’ll get a chance to meet. I’m leaving town for a few days this week on business but would you like to meet when I get back?”

“Yes! You can come over to my house! Can you spend the night? ;)”

“I don’t see why not!”

We messaged back and forth until Delilah went to bed. Her last text message read, “Goodnight, love.”

It was the first time Delilah used a pet name for me. I read the text over and over again and every time another soothing layer of joy enveloped the ball of anger in my belly.

The following day, I traveled to South Florida for a site visit to put together a big construction bid. Delilah had to cancel our phone call and was barely able to text because of a family emergency that required her to travel out of state.

Her father had been in a bad car accident and was in ICU. Every few hours, I checked in on her to make sure she was holding up.

On the second day of my business trip, I received a text message from my wife.

“Hey, honey. I want to have someone over to the house tonight. I’m messaging you to make sure it’s okay.”

Not once had it occurred to me that Laura would bring a lover to our house and into our bed.

“To our house? Who are you bringing to our house?”

Laura’s reply was immediate.

“Gary. And yes, our house. It makes a lot more sense than spending money on a hotel.”

Fully resigned to the fact that my wife was going to do whatever the hell she wanted, I let her find comfort in her lie. It was obvious to me that Gary didn’t want anyone he knew to see him walking into a hotel, and my wife was more than happy to facilitate Gary’s cheating.

I responded with, “Oh okay. It’s important to be frugal. Is Gary single or in an open relationship?”

Laura had no idea I’d peeked at her phone and already knew the answer.

“He’s single.”

Another lie. My wife was getting good at it.

“Okay, well have fun.”

“So, just to be clear, you’re okay with it if we fool around?”

“Absolutely.”

“Thank you, honey! This is going to be good for our marriage.”

I laughed out loud at the absurdity of Laura’s comment. And still, she wasn’t done.

“You should go out and try to meet someone while you’re in Miami. But if you do meet someone, remember you have to let me know what’s going on. And I may want you to send me a photo!”

My anger was back in full force. I had the urge to call Delilah for some emotional support but she had her own problems to deal with.

So, I took my wife’s advice. When my meetings were finished, I bellied up to the hotel bar for a cocktail.

Around seven, I got a message from my wife. It was a photo of her and Gary in our bed. Gary was waving. The accompanying message read, “This is Gary. I’m just keeping in touch as promised. I hope you’re having fun. Thank you for this!”

To this day, I still can’t describe the range of emotions I felt. Then, suddenly, I went numb.

I responded to Laura with one message.

“You’re welcome. But please don’t send me any more photos.”

Laura sent me another message but I chose to ignore it.

Around eight, the remnants of a wedding party strolled into the hotel bar. There were about a dozen people in the group, four of them bridesmaids dressed in tight-fitting emerald green satin dresses. They were all having a good time and more than a little tipsy.

One of the bridesmaids walked up next to me at the bar to order a drink. She was in her early thirties, short with an athletic body and shoulder-length red hair all done up in curls. After she ordered a rum and coke, I caught her eye.

“Hi.” It may have only been one word, but I said it with a level of confidence totally foreign to me, like a man with nothing to lose.

The bridesmaid’s green eyes lit up and she smiled wide. “Hi. Were you at the wedding?”

“No. I’m here on business.”

“Sounds official. Are you a lawyer or something?”

“Contractor. How was the wedding?”

“It was beautiful, like all weddings.”

I raised my eyebrows, reacting to the thick personal irony in the bridesmaid's innocuous comment.

She continued, “But now the bride and groom are somewhere in the hotel having fun and the rest of us are here at the bar drinking overpriced booze.”

Reaching out my hand, I said, “My name is Nick.”

The bridesmaid put her hand in mind, “Hi, Nick. I’m Heather.”

“Nice to meet you, Heather. That dress looks amazing on you.”

Heather twirled around, “What do you like about it?”

The lacy neckline of the dress extended across her chest, just above Heather’s ample cleavage. I gently ran my finger along the length of the fringe and said, “I like the way this lace looks against your skin.”

Heather bit her lip and gazed up at me with a look of desire.

“You do?”

“I do. And do you know what else I like?”

“What?”

“I like the idea of slowly removing this dress from your body. Do you want to come up to my room?

Not once in my life had I picked up a total stranger at a bar, so it shocked me when the words spilled out of my mouth.

Heather pointed at the ring on my finger and said, “What about your wife?”

“We are in an open marriage. In fact, if you come up to my room, I’ll need to message her and let her know.”

Heather squinted her eyes at me for a moment, carefully considering my words. Then she said, “Okay.”

We immediately made our way to the hotel elevator and up to my room. Heather went to the bathroom to freshen up while I messaged my wife. The idea of checking in was absurd to me, but I wanted Laura to know that an attractive younger woman was in my room and within minutes my cock was going to be firmly buried in her pussy.

So, I sent her a message.

“Just letting you know I met someone at the hotel bar. She is in my room now.”

Laura responded quickly. “Wait. What? How?”

“I asked if she wanted to come up to my room.”

“Just like that? How old is she?”

“Early thirties. Very attractive redhead. How’s it going with Gary?”

“Gary was kind of a letdown… I’m not sure I’m okay with this, Nick.”

“Why?”

“You don’t even know this woman. Maybe just keep things above the waist, okay?”

It gave me great satisfaction to know my wife’s head was spinning. Was she angry? Jealous? Hopefully, both!

I responded with a blatant lie.

“Okay, honey. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

Then I turned off my phone, turned down the lights, and turned on some music.

When Heather walked out of the bathroom, I met her standing by the bed. She was more than a foot shorter than me, staring up into my eyes, waiting for me to make good on my promise.

Again, I gently traced my finger along the length of Heather’s lacy neckline, her chest heaving with anticipation.

Leaning my head forward, I whispered in Heather’s ear, “I have no idea how to take off this dress.”

We both laughed. Heather took my hand and guided it to a small hidden zipper slider just below the nape of her neck. I moved around to her backside so she was facing away from me. Slowly pulling the slider, I softly kissed every inch of Heather’s newly exposed skin, taking my time until I reached her lower back.

It suddenly occurred to me that Heather was the first woman I’d been with other than my wife in nearly eighteen years. My intent was to make the most of the opportunity.

As I slipped Heather’s dress off her shoulders, I kissed the back of her neck, then around her body until my lips followed the line of bare freckled skin that the neckline formerly occupied. Heather giggled and said, “Oh god, I like that.”

When her dress succumbed to gravity and fell to the floor, I kissed Heather deeply on the lips. She smelled like fancy perfume but tasted like rum. Our tongues danced. Heather sighed, her hands against the back of my head, pulling my lips into hers.

She unbuttoned my shirt, pulled it off, and let it drop to the floor. As Heather unfastened my belt, I kicked off my shoes. Pulling her lips away from mine, Heather looked me in the eyes and slowly pulled my belt until it slipped through the last loop.

I paused to take a long look at her gorgeous body, compact and firm, curvy from head to toe, thick thighs, D-cup breasts trying their best to break free from a lacy green bra, matching panties, and high heels.

Using my hands, I guided Heather into a sitting position on the bed. I lifted her left foot and slowly removed her shoe. Her foot was tiny, toenails painted red. Holding her foot with one hand, I caressed it with the other before tickling her toes with my tongue. Heather bit her lip, enjoying the show as I gently sucked on each toe one by one.

Heather’s hips involuntarily started slowly thrusting back and forth. She purred, “Nobody’s ever done that to me before.” then I repeated the entire process on her other foot, then kissing up her leg and around the inside of the most delicate and sensitive part of her thighs. When my head passed over her mound, I said, “I’ll be back for you a little later,” and Heather growled.

After paying some quality attention to her hip bones, I slid up to Heather’s chest, unfastening her bra clasp, fully exposing her natural titties. Her nipples were hard and I took my time using my mouth and tongue to tease each one, followed by firm sucking. Meanwhile, my fingertips explored the supple contours of her sides and hips.

Being in no hurry whatsoever, I kissed Heather’s arms and hands, and each individual finger before focusing on her neck. Heather was in ecstasy and kept encouraging me with words like, “amazing,” “incredible,” and “Fuck!”

After nibbling on her earlobe, which caused her body to shiver and her skin to break out in goosebumps, I whispered, “You are so fucking sexy and gorgeous, Heather. Is it okay if I taste you?

All Heather could do was sigh and nod.

When I pulled off her panties, Heather spread her legs revealing a perfectly plump little pussy, her labia already wet and glistening. She sported a little tuft of red hair above her hood and her scent was pure arousal and pheromones.

I said, ‘You have a beautiful pussy, Heather,” and she moaned and thanked me for the compliment.

First, I worked my way around the perimeter, gently kissing Heather’s thighs and vulva and gently blowing warm air onto her clit. Heather shoved a pillow under her hips to give me better leverage.

Using my tongue, I just barely put pressure against her hood above her clit, pressing and tapping in a slow, steady rhythm. Heather’s entire body shuddered, which caused her to lift her head and say, “Holy fuck, Nick, I need to warn you, I’m a squirter. Maybe we should put down a towel.”

Looking up into Heather’s eyes, I remained silent, still keeping the same pace with my tongue. My familiarity with squirting was limited to a handful of porn movies. I’d always assumed it was a myth.

While Heather was still looking me in the eye, I grabbed her feet and rested them on my shoulders, which caused her sweet little peach to open wide. Then I stuck my tongue inside as far as it would go, curling it upward repeatedly to tickle the upper wall of her vagine.

Heather’s head flew backward onto the bed, her hands gripping the bedspread. She began laughing with joy and moaning at the same time, her body shaking. When my tongue drifted up to her clit and back deep inside her pussy, Heather screamed a series of expletives and firmly pushed her hips against my face.

My mouth suddenly filled with liquid. Surprised, I pulled my head away only to get a fleeting glimpse of watery liquid shooting out of Heather’s pleasure fountain directly into my eyes. It was such a turn-on that I immediately buried my face in her mound, lapping at Heather’s juices and licking her clit until she came again.

And again. And again. And again.

I couldn’t get enough and I was totally out of my mind, fully focused on the beauty in my bed, all worries forgotten in the nurturing arms of unbridled lust. Nearly two hours passed. The bed was soaked. Pausing to get a drink of water, I said, “We probably should have put down some towels.”

Heather laughed and said, “You see! I warned you! Now it’s my turn to please you. Lie down on the bed.”

Doing as I was told, Heather took off my pants and boxers. Grabbing the base of my ridiculously hard cock, she said, “You have a nice penis.” Then she started teasing the head with her lips before taking the entire shaft into her mouth.

Heather took her time, teasing my cock with the same fervor and dedication with which I’d teased her pussy. I watched her the entire time and it was obvious she liked showing off her skills.

She slid forward until her face met mine. I could feel her wet slit against my dick. Heather rocked her hips back and forth, grinding her vulva against the shaft of my cock. When I slipped inside of her, Heather let out a sexy sigh as though some terrible craving was suddenly satisfied.

Her pussy felt exquisite. Much tighter than my wife’s. Even though Laura had been far from my conscious thoughts, I couldn’t help but draw the comparison knowing that I was violating one of her stupid rules, the one about using protection. My intent was to fully enjoy every crease and contour of Heather’s perfect pussy. I understood the risks and didn’t care.

Watching Heather ride me with wild abandon was equally exhilarating. She was highly orgasmic and came quickly, pausing to rub her clit and squirt all over my stomach and chest.

As I neared my own orgasm, something unexpected happened. Heather suddenly became a fantasy of Delilah. A feeling of warmth enveloped me. For a moment, I wasn’t having sex or fucking. I was making love to someone I deeply cared about.

I would have cum right then and there, deep inside of Heather’s pussy, imagining it was Delilah, but she must have sensed my orgasm building and said, “Nick, I want you to fuck me, and when you’re ready to cum, pull out and cum on my body.”

Firmly grabbing Heather's waist with my hands, I held her body tight while my entire shaft slid in and out of her body. She lifted her legs, holding them up and apart so that the head of my upwardly curved cock was massaging her G-spot.

Heather screamed and came again, harder than before, putting her hand in her mouth and biting down. She quirted again - a flood of orgasmic fluid. It was all I could take.

Pulling out, I grabbed the base of my dick and tightly squeezed it, holding back my cum for the first few pumps before letting go and releasing the full force of my well-earned orgasm. The first blast of cum shot over Heather’s head and hit the wall. Her eyes widened and she said, “Holy fuck! Yes!”

The second blast landed on her lips and she quickly licked it up with a smile on her face. The rest fell on her titties, stomach, and hips. The last drop fell straight down directly onto her pussy. With my fingertip, I traced circles around her clit using my cum for lubrication.

We collapsed in a heap and spent the next half hour laughing and sharing lighthearted conversation. The entire experience was simply fun. Heather had a great sense of humor and obviously enjoyed sex. I realized that sex hadn’t been fun for me in many years.

Around two in the morning, Heather gathered up her things and got dressed. Just before heading to her room, she said, “How long are you in town?”

“Tomorrow is my last day.”

“Are you up for a repeat performance?”

“Absolutely!”

We exchanged phone numbers. Heather blew me a kiss on her way out the door and said, “Thanks for an amazing night. That was some of the best foreplay I've ever experienced. See you tomorrow!”

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and turned it on. It immediately started buzzing with text notifications. In total, there were eighteen messages from my wife.

“What are you doing?”

“You stayed above the waist, right?”

“Did you pass out?”

“Why aren’t you answering me?”

“Are you still with this woman? Tell me what’s going on!”

The last text read, “I’m going to bed. Message me when you wake up.”

I’m not proud of it now, but I was relishing my wife’s frustration and jealousy. Not responding to her messages for hours meant that Laura’s only companion was her worst enemy - her imagination. Now she was feeling what she made me feel, and it was all born from her own selfish design. The thought was satisfying. Being mean made me feel good.

I responded with one message.

“You’re right. I passed out. Everything was above the waist. I’ll fill you in when I get home.”

There was also one message from Delilah on my phone.

“Thank you for checking in on me all day. It’s been a rough one, but dad is out of ICU. I will be home by Thursday of next week. Can you come over to my house? I’m hoping we can spend the weekend together, love.”

Writing all of these details out makes me wonder how I managed to hold my life together, but at the time, I was savoring the chaos.

My night with Heather made me feel attractive and reminded me that I’m a good lover.

Delilah made me feel a kind of love I’d never experienced. Just thinking about spending a weekend together made me feel overwhelmingly happy.

Soon enough, the flames that consumed my marriage would rage out of control, but before the embers were laid bare, there was one perfect weekend.

Coming Soon… Part 3 - Four Perfect Days