After a night of vivid dreams, I awake consumed by the thought that today might be the day I finally cheat on Chris. It's something I have fantasized about for years. And it won’t be a reckless impulse in the heat of the moment. This will be deliberate. Calculated. Seductive.
I am lying in a hotel bed in San Francisco, attending an annual scientific conference, the most important in my field. I’m a planetary scientist. Also, a professor, but I am burnt out on teaching. Professor Abigail Stone. Abby to my friends. I guess you could say I’m rather distinguished in my field - famous even. Or maybe distinguished is just a soft way of saying old.
But I don’t feel old. I’m fifty-ish, but I look and feel younger. I run several times a week. Work out occasionally. Try to eat right. I still feel attractive. Still slim, and my breasts aren’t getting any smaller. Fiery red hair. Radiant green eyes and freckles even now. But it is not as if Chris would notice.
Chris and I have been married for 22 years. I love Chris. I have no regrets. We have created a comfortable and happy life together, with a daughter (Amy) who has now moved out of the house to attend college. I would love to say I have no complaints, but there is one. Chris, now 52, is increasingly impotent. Call it ED or whatever you wish, he can’t get it up anymore. He tried medication, but it didn’t seem to help much. Our sex life has slowed down to an extent that is almost non-existent. His libido has deteriorated along with his performance.
Believe me, that is not shared. I crave sex now as much as I ever did -- maybe more since Amy moved out and Chris stopped performing. I have had enough of getting off in the shower. I need to feel desired. Satisfied. Fulfilled and filled.
As an attractive woman in a male-dominated field, I have had plenty of opportunities to cheat before. Not overt, but there have been shared glances. Subtle comments. A few not-so-subtle, but those jerks never stood a chance. If I’d have just said the word, this could have happened years ago. But I was bound by duty. Not so much societal norms -- I am a scientist, and I blaze my own trail. But I am also honest, and I did make some vows on our wedding day. And I would never want to hurt Chris.
That’s where conferences come in. One of the perks of being a “distinguished scientist” is travel. A lot. There are at least half a dozen conferences a year I could go to if I make a case for it. Plus multiple invitations for seminars and collaborative visits. Away from Chris. Away from responsibility. In recent years, I have started to lean into this freedom. Finding excuses to travel more. I have begun to look at old colleagues in new ways. I take more interest in meeting new male colleagues. An added bonus is that conferences take promising specimens away from their spouses as well.
Enter Alex. Professor Alex Hansen gave a presentation in the opening session of the conference on zonal winds in the atmosphere of Venus. It was built on work I had done years ago, so there is a natural connection there. A reason to say hi. Alex is about eight or ten years younger than me. Confident. Brilliant. Dark hair. Piercing brown eyes. The kind of body that makes a woman want to see what is under that suit.
After his talk, we had lunch. We had an immediate rapport. Something clicked. A vigorous discussion on science soon transitioned to more personal matters. It turns out that he knows my husband, Chris. Does that make it hotter? I think so. They met years ago when Chris was still in the field. He has since gone on to make more money as a software engineer.
I saw Alex again the next day. After the last sessions, I was gathering with a group of colleagues to go out to dinner. Alex approached us and asked to join. I introduced him to some prominent scientists. I figure he owes me for that. I noted how he deliberately sat next to me at the restaurant. The discussion was lively. Alex engaged everyone at the table in conversation, but the way he looked at me was different. I haven’t dated in 22 years, but I know that look.
I went back to my hotel that night - last night - and masturbated. Spread my legs and rubbed my mound hard as soon as I hit the bed, while my other hand teased my then-pert and sensitive nipples. Fuck..My fingers worked my clit as I imagined Alex crawling on top of me. Nude. Strong. In this bed. Slow circles. Then tighter…faster. The silence of the hotel room was broken by my rapid breathing. Breathing became moaning. I spread my pussy lips and plunged my index finger into my slit, imagining that it was Alex’s hard cock. Pumping…pumping…fuck me…fuck me…In a moment of naughty inspiration, one finger became two - the second bearing my wedding ring.
When I first fantasized about cheating, I did feel guilty. But not so much now. Over the last few months, I have convinced myself that I deserve this. I should not be denied satisfaction for the rest of my life because of some promise I made over two decades ago. What’s the harm if he never finds out? The spirit of those vows is still alive and well. I still love Chris. I still plan to grow old with Chris. But I am not dead yet.
Now, I have to admit, the idea of cheating is part of the thrill. Does that make me a bad person, even if Chris never knows? Respected scientist by day, torrid taboo lover by night. If I can cheat with one, why not more? The undercurrent of infidelity turns every interaction with an attractive man into a tantalizing and dangerous proposition. It empowers me as the master of my own desires, defiantly unconstrained by a sexless marriage.
I dress for seduction, in respectable but sexy clothes. Pencil skirt. Black pantyhose. A navy blue, button-down blouse that can be leveraged to reveal my underlying black lace lingerie if and when I choose. No -- when, not if. Think positive. I’ll save the makeup for dinner.
I see Alex at the morning coffee break. “Alex -- hi -- I wanted to talk with you a bit more about a possible collaboration. I think we can test your model with some new spacecraft observations our team is about to publish. Maybe we can talk about it over dinner? Do you have plans tonight?”
Alex’s smile sends shivers down my spine. “Sure, I would love to, Abby. It would be an honor to collaborate with you.” I granted him permission to call me Abby when we had lunch the other day. He’s officially part of my inner circle. Why does that sound salacious? It is common in such situations to invite other colleagues to join, but neither of us suggests this. Is he thinking what I’m thinking?
I can feel my pussy tingling all afternoon in anticipation. Aching for some action. Hard to concentrate when you’re this wet.
I pick the restaurant - a cozy Italian place that I know to be romantic. I told him I’d meet him there at seven. I don’t want to hang out in the hotel lobby looking like this. I have the same clothes on as earlier, but with a few fewer buttons buttoned. God, that sounds salacious too…Am I turning into a slut? Crimson lipstick to help him imagine my lips around his cock. Eyeliner to encourage deep, meaningful looks. High heels to bring attention to my legs.
I can see by Alex’s expression that he notices and approves of my change in appearance. We talk science as we order, but by the time the entrees arrive, the shop talk is behind us. For me, the entire meal up to this point has been an exercise in seduction. Leaning in. Eye contact. Licking, touching, pouting my sensual, full lips. Flirtatious smiles. Laughing at his jokes. Crossing and uncrossing my legs.
“So how is Chris doing? I haven’t seen him in years.” I choose to interpret Alex’s question as an inquiry into the state of my marriage.
“Well, he’s doing pretty well. He enjoys his job. He’s working with Lockheed now, developing software. He doesn’t come to conferences like this anymore. Honestly, I don’t mind. I enjoy the freedom.”
“How so?” Alex looks intrigued. I look directly into his eyes.
“Well, if Chris were here, I wouldn’t be having dinner like this. In a posh, dimly-lit restaurant with an attractive man.”
“Do you find me attractive?”
“Attractive. And promising.” There it is. Enough small talk. If this is going to happen, I need to make it happen.
“Promising -- what does that mean?” Alex seems to approve of the direction this conversation is taking.
“Let me ask you a question, Alex. Do you find me attractive?” I push my linguine to the side and boldly reach for his hand across the table.
“I do.” His answer sounds like a vow.
“What would you say if I were to invite you to my hotel room after dinner?”
“I would ask about your husband.”
“Chris is a thousand miles away.” I mean this figuratively as well as literally.
“Then I would say yes.”
There is an unspoken urgency to finishing dinner now, as our gazes lock and our hands touch. I slip my shoe off and run my foot up his leg under the table. He raises my hand to his lips as we wait for the check. He insists on paying, as if he were paying for the privilege of being with the famous Professor Stone. I briefly have a titillating image of myself as a high-class escort.
Our first kiss is on the elevator going up to my 10th-floor room. As the doors close, he presses me against the wall. We hungrily explore each other’s mouths, fueled by two days of pent-up sexual tension. His hands roughly squeeze my breasts through my blouse - god how much I have longed to feel that sensation again. My hand drifts down to the bulge in his pants. For the first time in forever, I stroke another man’s cock, though it is still behind a few layers of fabric. His hardness is for me. This is mine tonight, and I am going to enjoy it.
The door to my room closes. More kissing and fondling, pressed against the wall, but this doesn’t last long. We stumble toward the hotel bed, desperately removing each other’s clothes as we go. I push him onto the bed with a burst of strength that surprises me. I undo his belt with trembling hands and unzip his pants. In my desperation to pull down his boxers, I don’t have the patience to pull his pants all the way off.
There it is - alluring and hard. Something I have not seen in years, apart from Chris’s pathetic member. “God, you are beautiful. You don’t know how much I have wanted this.”
I lick the shaft and kiss the tip as if I were sampling a Popsicle. Definitely longer than Chris’s and god - so fucking hard. My crimson lips wrap around his cock just like I imagined it. Alex moans as I take him as deep as I can, my head bobbing up and down with primal energy.
His cock feels so good in my mouth. I don’t want to relinquish it. But god - my fucking pussy needs attention. I move into a 69 position. The warm, probing feel of his tongue on my clit is almost enough to make me cum immediately.
“Oh fuck Alex -- yes -- that feels so fucking good - you have no idea.” I stop sucking his cock for a moment as I savor the sensation.
“Does your husband treat you like this?”
“God no -- not for years -- never this fucking good.” My hips involuntarily gyrate and thrust as I return my attention to his cock.
I can’t wait any longer to feel him inside me. “I need you now.” I turn around and straddle his lap. I guide his upright cock into my pussy. So fucking hard. So deep. So full. So good. “God, I have been wet all day thinking of this fucking moment.”
Alex’s cock becomes a tool for my own pleasure. I grind and pound my hips, angling his cock to my G-spot, taking him deeper than Chris ever reached - where no fucking man has gone before. “Yes -- god -- you feel so fucking good”.
But Alex himself doesn’t matter anymore -- not in this moment. I almost forgot he was there. What matters is this glorious hard cock. I ride him sensually and triumphantly at first, my hands on his muscular chest. Then more urgently. I feel he is close. I am too.
Suddenly, I feel a large load of hot cum surge into my pussy. More follows - in copious waves…”Yes…Yes…Yes…Yes…Oh fuck...” So much fucking cum. The sensation triggers my own orgasm -- the most intense that I can remember. My body quakes as my juices flood over Alex’s cock. I collapse next to him on the bed, my hand on his bare chest. Our lips meet again in a post-coital bond.
The moment is both sensually satisfying and profoundly liberating. Why on Earth did I wait so long? I have to make up for lost time. I smile to myself as I realize that this changes everything. No -- it is not a realization. It’s a promise. To myself.
