"David, I'm not fucking him. I'm not lying to you. I'm really not."

We were sitting outside in our screened lanai on a hot, summer, Sunday afternoon. Linda lay in the lounge chair beside me nursing her second iced tea. I pretended to be immersed in a new paperback, but couldn't take my eyes off her. Her pale skin didn't tan well, but on weekends she poured herself into these tiny little shorts, I was sure just to keep me horny.

Sex on Sunday afternoons had become a ritual for us - for her, really. I'd watch while she pranced around in front of me for half the day, then wait for her to slither next to me and slide her hand up the leg of my shorts. It hadn't come to that yet, but it was only a little after noon.

A small tuft of hair escaped the inner leg of her shorts along with a portion of plump labia. She rarely shaved down there, and I wondered how many others would be blessed with the same view before summer's end.

I had made her a few crop tops from some of her worn out T-shirts. The colors had been bleached to pale grays and whites from years of her daily runs, and many of the seams had opened into ragged holes, so she refused to wear them any longer in public. Now they were cool and comfortable around the house in July and August, and she knew I loved seeing her in them. The bottom edges where I had cut a foot of material away continued to fray, making them shorter and shorter over time. I loved the way they exposed the lower curves of her breasts, and then much more when she reached for a cup or dish from one of our kitchen cabinets.

I took a chance and asked again. "So, if you didn't fuck him, and haven't since that night, then at least tell me more about him. How did you meet Stephan, or find him, or whatever it took to get him to agree to something like that?"

It was one of her secrets I hadn't felt comfortable asking more about, but half a year had passed since that night, and seeing her there half-naked beside me had me wondering just how much of her he saw in that infamous hotel room. Had they fucked or not? She still hadn't committed to an answer that wasn't sometimes vague or misleading.

"I don't think you're fucking him. I'd just like some straight answers to a few honest questions. Finally. After all this time. I don't need to know - I want to know. It's old baggage - I can take it."

She turned her head and studied me for a while, sighed, then told me, "Okay - I guess it's time."

"Stephan isn't Stephan - he's Michael, an old friend from college. And I mean 'friend'. We met at a campus campfire when I first started back then in the fall. He was an upperclassman when I was a freshman, and he kind of took me under his wing. He was a big deal on campus - class president, wealthy family, and the ultimate catch for all the prissy sorority bunnies. I'm not sure what he saw in me - we just kind of clicked. I think he majored in both English and business, but he wanted to be an actor. I heard he moved to New York and almost made it off-Broadway. Later he moved back and opened his own publishing house here in the city. Our company does art layouts for his books and publications. I met him again two years ago at a job fair. I was working our booth when he happened by and he took me to lunch. We see each other now and then through work."

"So how does Stephan, or Michael, or whoever, go from being just an old friend to fingering you in front of me in a public bar?"

"David, he and I fucked a few times in college, but mostly we were just friends. Nothing's happened since. He's still a close friend. When I found the pictures of Joanna I was devastated. I needed a friend, and Michael was there for me. One day at lunch I told him that I was so angry it would serve you right if I did the same to you. When he asked if I was serious, I was shocked. He's still a gorgeous, sexy man, and it was tempting, but I just couldn't fuck him out of anger. He said he'd done some acting, and that he could make you believe I had fucked him out of spite if I thought it would help me heal. I turned him down - I was afraid of what you might do. But later, when I found the pain wasn't going away, I asked him to help. It was either that, or leave you."

"And, how did he help? I can imagine a few ways..."

"And you'd imagine wrong, David. He wrote a script. That was his doing. We rehearsed. I wanted him to fondle me in front of you. I wanted it to be so real you'd choke on it. So we did all that together, just a few times until I remembered most of the lines. He was much better at it than I was, and he promised he'd prompt me when the time came to do it.

"I won't lie to you David. There were times when he put his hands on me that I wished he would tear my clothes off and fuck me. I'm pretty sure he felt the same way. The second time we rehearsed I could see he was hard every minute. I tried to remember what his cock was like back then, back when I had it in my hands, and, well, everything else we did with it. He was there, so close to me when we rehearsed, unbuttoning my blouse, stroking my leg - I'd look down at his lap and think there was only a belt and a zipper between me and his hard cock, and that it would be so easy to just take it out, suck it again, and have it in me one more time. But neither of us had that last bit of courage to go through with it. And, I was still hurting so much.

"That night, up in the room after we left you, he offered. But only if I wanted him. He asked me if he could watch while I put my bra and panties back on, so I let him. I wanted him to see me, David. I wanted to be naked there with him, to show him all the signs that, although I couldn't bring myself to fuck him while I knew how you suffered down in the bar, I was wet for him - soaking, dripping, crazy fucking wet for him.

"I told him he could touch me. I couldn't say it, but I wanted his hand between my legs. I thought cumming would make it better, that it would let me be myself again, and I could tell you later that I didn't cheat, that he didn't fuck me. I was shaking when he put his hands on my breasts. After that, he stopped and moved back to look at me. I didn't want him to stop, David. But he just smiled and said he liked me that way, the way he remembered me right before he fucked me with those last final strokes, the ones that made me moan like the 'best little freshman piece of ass' he'd ever had. I wondered if I'd have liked hearing it as much back in school as I did there, standing naked in front of him. No one ever calls me 'the best piece of ass they've ever had' - not even you. But if a piece of ass is what I had to be for him, I was willing to be just that.

"We hugged before I left him. I pressed my hand against his pants and curled my fingers around the girth of his cock. I just stood there, clinging to the front of his pants, holding it, holding him, a second away from getting on my knees like I used to do with him. He could have had me if he insisted. But instead he reached out to me, lifted my face gently, and asked me if I'd regret it the next day. When I couldn't bring myself to answer, he smiled and told me he thought I would.

"I rode the elevator down, wondering if you'd still be there. When I couldn't find you, I panicked - at first because I thought you might have left me for good. But then, seconds later, I fought the temptation to give up looking, ride the elevator up to his room again, take him inside me, and drain every last drop of cum from his body. I'm not sure how many times I walked to the elevator and back before I found you. You took my arm, we left together snuggled against each other, and I was relieved that the elevator would soon be many city blocks behind us."

I'm not sure what words to use to describe what her story did to me. I had hoped what I witnessed that night was fiction, feared that it wasn't, but wasn't prepared for a twisted mix of both. My heart was pounding. She got up, moved to where I sat, and lowered herself into my lap, straddling me.

"Are you okay?"

"I - I'm not sure. I didn't expect that - I mean, the parts where you wanted him to touch you, and you wanting to be naked with him, and how you wanted his cock. All that was real? What you said about how desperate you were for him to fuck you?"

"I promised you the truth someday, David. That's what I gave you. Are you sure you're okay? You look a little stunned. Maybe I should have waited to tell you..."

I put my hands under her top and explored her breasts with my fingertips. Her nipples hardened immediately, and she put her hands over mine, guiding them. Her eyes widened with understanding and she let out a sigh of relief. I knew she could feel my erection growing under her.

"If it happened today, would you take the elevator back up?" I asked.

"Would you like that, David? As part of your fantasy?"

She unbuttoned my shirt and ran her hands lovingly over my bare chest. Her voice was sultry and deep, almost a growl.     

"Becaaause...I'm sure if I asked...he'd be more than happy to do me. Orrr, I could come home someday...and tell you allll about how I sucked his cock...and how he fucked your wife, for hours and hours. And you'd nevvver, evvver, know if it was real or not. Remember, I'm the best - little - piece of freshman ass, he's ever had."

How could I tell whether she was teasing, or promising she might go through with it someday? I wasn't even sure which version I was hard for. "So, I'd never know for sure? I'd never know if your story really happened or not? That you might fuck him, or just make me believe you did, right? Like one of our fantasies?"

She grinned, worked her crotch slowly forward and back along my cock, and told me, "Yes, David. Can you believe either might happen? That it might depend on how 'persuasive' he might be on that one day? Or maybe how urgent my fantasy might be?"

I was sure she was only teasing, trying to play me, to get me harder right before we fucked. But the way she did it sounded almost like a promise. How badly did she really want to fuck him?

"Now, let's go to bed, David. Let me show you what a bad girl I could be. Oh - Michael's number is in my cell. All I'd have to do is sliiide my finger along the surface, touch his name, and when he answers, beg him to fuck me."