This time, I told my husband about the night with my friend as soon as I got home. He wasn’t upset, having expected something to happen anyway, and he actually held me while I – finally – made myself cum. (He’d go on to tease me about “my lover” every time I was about to be in the same space as the latter, but it would never come across as mean or uncomfortable.)

My friend and I met up again a week later at our usual munch. My husband had tagged along, in part driven out of hibernation by the end of allergy season, but also probably by his desire to “mark his territory”. While he still wasn’t jealous, he was a little afraid I’d leave him. I did my best to reassure him and also encouraged him to branch out and not stay by my side all night. I’m usually his lifeline in these events, but that evening I spied him more than once in easy conversations with other people, which made me very happy.

As for the contact between my friend and him, it apparently wasn’t as awkward as the two of them had feared – although my husband told me afterwards he still wasn’t sure he actually liked the guy. He’d said the same thing long before anything had happened with me, so it had no connection to jealousy, either. Something about my friend’s boyish humour and easy, almost puppy-like manner rubbed him the wrong way; not necessarily surprising for a man who’s at least half a cat himself.

My own reaction to my friend’s arrival was predictable. We only cheek-kissed in passing, but his scent hit me immediately, leaving me in a momentary daze. How on Earth had it come to this? I was supposed to have outgrown such primitive reactions, and there I was swooning over a fucking scent (pun intended).

Another friend asked me outright if I’d started an affair because he’d seen us touching each other two weeks earlier. I could’ve tried to deny it, but he wasn’t stupid, so I simply ended up telling him it wasn’t an affair – just some sanctioned fun on the side. He told me to enjoy but to be careful, then went on to ask my husband how he felt about it all. I wasn’t privy to their conversation, but I was glad someone other than myself was looking out for him.

By the end of the evening, only a handful of us remained, engaged in at least three loud conversations in a small space. I’d not-so-innocently settled behind my friend’s chair when his hand discreetly moved onto my leg, then all the way up my thigh. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t turn me on – but to be honest, I’d been a little aroused ever since his perfume and body odour had touched my nostrils, so it didn’t take much to get me there. He repeated the gesture, applying more pressure, but had to withdraw his hand when a young woman came and sat in the chair next to his. We continued our conversation as if nothing had happened, but my leg was on fire.

Our munch finally wrapped up, but a few of us stayed outside the bar to see my friend off to his homeward journey. The night was warm, and he apparently enjoyed his time so much that he skipped the bus he’d initially planned to take to wait for the last one. He later told me via message that my presence, along with my husband’s, soothed him – and in hindsight, he might also have been a bit anxious to go back to an empty flat.

I wasn’t expecting to see him again anytime soon, but as the heatwave dragged on, his ex suggested a picnic by a small lake the following Tuesday. I’d been wanting to go swimming for a while but hadn’t found the courage to do it alone, so I appreciated the motivating power of a group.

In the end, we wound up being only five; the four of us from the dance night, and my friend’s ex’s teenage daughter (who proved lovely). I was slowly starting to feel like I was building slightly more meaningful relationships with these people, rather than just a passing camaraderie.

We reached the lake just before dinner time, spread out the now-familiar picnic blanket, and began munching (no pun intended). It wasn’t easy for me to remove my skirt, as I’m very self-conscious about my bare thighs, but I was there to swim, so off it went. I ended up discovering that the water was hot, and I’d never entered a lake so easily. It was so warm, in fact, that it was almost not refreshing, but I still loved the silky feeling on my skin.

I went in and out of the water a few times, and as I was just starting to dry from my latest dip, my friend asked if I’d go back in with him. I agreed, and we swam over to a small island where his ex’s partner and daughter were chatting and skipping stones.

As I set about looking for suitable pebbles in the shallow water, my friend’s hands grazed my legs and buttocks again. I retaliated ever-so-discreetly, but we didn’t go any further until the others had gone back to the shore to fetch a loudspeaker.

Now, I’d gently probed him about his situation with the girl he was pursuing, but their story didn’t seem to be progressing as he would’ve liked. She was wary of his ex’s continued involvement in his life (hardly strange after only a month of separation in a shared household), and she apparently also blew hot and cold, which wasn’t reassuring to him. He was kind and understanding while talking about her and her problems, but I felt his pain once again and wondered if I could help him.

So, as soon as we were alone, we first shared one passionate kiss, then another, while keeping an eye out for our comrades’ return. The adults may have known about our dealings, but my friend didn’t want his ex-stepdaughter to witness anything. Besides, the half-hidden nature added an extra thrill. After torturing my nipples for a long moment, he playfully told me he had a slight “problem”, glancing downwards. I first feigned innocence and touched his collarbone, asking if that was where he needed a doctor. He kept pointing lower, and I offered him my sweetest smile while caressing his stomach – before finally reaching for his cock. And believe me when I tell you that the “problem” wasn’t slight at all.

By that point, the two others were already swimming back towards us, but their (futile) attempts to transport the speaker slowed them down, and my friend and I began floundering away from them to hide behind the tiny island. His ex’s partner, who was in better shape than either of us, actually followed us for a long while but mercifully wound up letting go, likely realising we wanted some alone time.

“Alone” was a relative term. A guy was slowly rafting along the edge of the lake, but he was so far from us that we didn’t need to pay him any mind. After struggling to find our footing on the less-trodden bank between its random patches of slimy vegetation, we located a somewhat manageable depth. We went on to lose our balance and fall against each other while trying to kiss a few times, but once our fits of laughter calmed down, our embraces grew hungrier. As I freed my breasts from my swimsuit, which never held them very well to begin with, my friend shed his trunks altogether. They actually began to float away, but I grabbed them before he’d have to explain why he’d come back stark naked.

Once again, he ordered me to kneel. Once again, I obeyed – even if this led to some more hassle, as we had to move to keep my mouth above water, since it couldn’t very well stay closed, could it? The temperature was so high that his cock hadn’t shrunk one bit. His tip was glistening, his shaft firm and smooth, and despite the unstable pebbles beneath my knees, I gave free rein to my lust for him. I choked again several times, but I now knew he liked it, and I found myself begging him to fuck my mouth harder.

After a while, he pulled away and said he wanted to fuck my pussy, too, but as we obviously hadn’t planned for the event, he had no condom on hand. I was in the second half of my menstrual cycle, but it’s never run like clockwork, so I refused to take any chances.

Thus, the poor man had to settle for my tongue and palate. Just like the first time I’d blown him, I let him set the pace, taking care to keep my teeth as far from his delicate skin as possible and just taking it all in (what an appropriate turn of phrase). He hardened, softened, was about to cum but missed the mark… and finally, after another warning, there was that hot, salty spurt again. This time, as I knew him better, I was able to focus on the amount of liquid sliding from the back of my mouth into my throat, and I nearly choked once more. He ordered me to keep draining him, and I did my best, fondling him with my tongue until the end of his spasms.

I have few memories of what came next, but knowing him (and myself), we must’ve at least hugged before bursting into laughter and agreeing that neither of us had put “sex in a lake” on our bucket lists. Technically, I didn’t even have one, and he specifically referred to my nationality, but at least our shared “firsts” were piling up.

We soon found ourselves rushing back to shore, as we’d been gone a while, and night had begun to fall. This close to the summer solstice, it could only mean that it was late, and that our companions were waiting for our return to leave the lake.

We never explained our prolonged absence, but those who knew, knew – or at least suspected. We rounded up our stuff, walked back to my car, then set off in joyful chaos, music blaring from my friends’ speaker, and almost everyone singing along at the top of their lungs. At their flat, I was once again offered to stay the night, but my husband was expecting me, so I left after hanging around for a little while more.

My friend accompanied me to the lift, hugged me again, and gave me a chaste kiss, which I replied to with a more seductive one, just for fun. He called me a tease, to which I simply smiled and replied, “yes,” before letting the sliding doors close and riding down to head home. But despite my undeniable elation, I also felt, for the first time since my dealings with him, just a little bit “cheap.”