The woman was stunning; I’d always noticed. It had been a few years, but she’d just gotten sexier, even as she’d started to be unable to afford the expensive clothes that had always been her passion. Now, as she stood in the doorway to the empty house, her chest heaving, explaining why she was about to flout her marriage vows after 25 years and do something she thought was probably irredeemably bad, all I could think of was that she looked even sexier now that she’d experienced some of life’s sadness. You could see it in the lines on her face.
They underlined her beauty.
“I’m 47 years old. I’ve never been with anyone except my husband. I know from watching my sister that I don’t have that much more time; she had to have her hysterectomy at 48, and after that, she lost most of her desire for sex, because the white-hot intensity, the need, went out of it. It never came back; I think when it goes, it’s permanent.
“I still have that; the crazy thing is that I’ve never really been with anyone that quenched it. That’s sad. I’ve tended my body well, it’s still pretty good, don’t you think? And I don’t want it all to go to waste.”
I was tempted to point out the fallacies in her thinking, and maybe the falsehood I saw in her story, but then abruptly had the sense that maybe she was doing more than explaining her reasons for wanting to cheat.
I could have told her that her sister’s radical hysterectomy was, in a word, radical, and that most women would not have had that procedure; that it was unnecessary under all but the most dire circumstances, and that her sister’s ignorance and impatience was the only reason she’d taken that route. Most women avoided it for exactly the reason that such a radical change in their hormones dimmed their libidos if not extinguished them, at least for awhile. That her sister’s sex drive had only diminished was a testament to how strong her libido had been.
I could have told her I knew she’d been with at least one other man, but I felt that her point was valid, since that one was not voluntary.
But I wanted her more than I wanted to be honest. It was one of my failings, probably the most important one. She was gorgeous and I had dreamed about her the first time I’d met her.
Instead, I told her that her body was a dream. I didn’t lie about that.
She beamed. I knew in that moment that I was actually going to have this woman. Maybe not now, but I was going to do it even though I knew how wrong it was.
Correction: Even though I knew how wrong society would view it as being. I wasn’t certain it was wrong for her. I knew it was wrong for me, but I was used to being wrong.
Then she told me why I was being chosen to be the lucky cuckolder.
“She told me all …about you. Every detail, I think. About her sex life with you. How, during the time you were together, as on-and-off lovers, you … made her come, gave her the most intense orgasms she’d ever had. Even made her… squirt, for the first time. That it embarrassed her when it happened, one of the first times you were together, because she didn’t know what it was, but it felt good, and how you told her about it, that it was a good thing, it was something… some lucky women learn to do in their ‘40s, and some never do. How she started to do it all the time with you, over and over, how you knew how to make it happen, and just how to hold still, deep inside of her once she started to come, because it made it more intense and made it last longer, how she could sometimes come a dozen times in a night, sometimes multiple orgasms while you just kept still inside and then fucked her again hard after. Often made her come the other way, the normal way, and come harder than she ever had.
“She said she never did squirt with anyone else, even after she knew how to do it; no other man knew his part, and she couldn’t bring herself to try and teach them.”
She looked at me shyly from under her bangs. “I’ve… never …” She blushed.
“You will.”
She colored even more. “I like your confidence.”
She resumed her narrative. “She said that you never loved her, that it was just sex for you, and that she knew that and she hated it. But when she was with men that she loved, she used to dream about being with you, often fantasize that it was you when she was with them. She said she’d always come back, get high and have sex with you, because being high made it ok — and made it more intense — and she needed to have a dozen hard orgasms almost as much as she needed love.
‘She said she thought you liked her well enough, but that she wasn’t smart enough for you to love.”
It was my turn to look away in embarrassment. I had to admit that was a version of the truth… and it didn’t make me happy with myself.
“But it’s okay,” she said softly. “Because I don’t want love from you. I love my husband, and he loves me back. Hard. I don’t want to be rid of my marriage; I’m not ashamed of him because we lost our vacation house, the BMW and most of our money in this damn recession. It’s not about wanting to get back at him for our loss of face.” She smiled tremulously, looked around. “Even this house goes soon. We haven’t made a payment in nine months.”
“You’re more than your possessions, Annalisa. Don’t you know that? Everyone is. Everyone’s potentially a millionaire philanthropist, or a rich, self-centered prick, and everyone’s potentially a saint. Everyone’s potentially an artist and an accountant. Everyone contains a million potential selves.”
“Everyone?” She seemed doubtful.
“Well, maybe not Republicans,” I said, and smiled to show her I was joking.
She smiled obligingly, but she seemed to want to get back to her point. I shut up.
She pursed her lips.
“I don’t… I don’t think I’ve ever really lived up to my potential as a person. I’ve been afraid to put myself out there, test my talents, I’ve never had to, so far, he was a good provider.
“But I don’t think I’ve ever really lived up to my potential sexually, either. I’ve been afraid to…” I saw the look that passed over her face, and I knew she was thinking about the rape, and whether to tell me. I’m pretty sure she didn’t imagine I knew.
“I just… want you to make love to my body, and maybe my mind, before I lose that potential. I want you to show me what she says you have.”
“What else did she tell you?” I asked.
She smiled again. “As I said before — she told me everything. She seemed to feel guilty about it when she… was sick… and fiercely proud of it at the same time. I was her confessor.”
“Everything, hmmm?”
“Blow by blow. As it happened. How you went down on her; she said you licked better than anyone, made her come in seconds and how she had her first multiples with you.”
“That’s all?”
“…she talked about you fucking her mouth. She told me she had… blown… guys before until they came, but you were the first that she did it with that way, with you… ‘being in control’ was how she put it. Told me how it was uncomfortable for her when you started to thrust and how she found out by accident that it worked better if she lay down on the bed and you… mounted… her face. She said you did it teasingly one night after she did it to you, so she could see how it feels when she wanted to sit on your face…She said it was claustrophobic at first but that she could take you all the way in her throat that way, and how she started to enjoy it. How she would sometimes choke and gag, but then when you came hard in her mouth, shooting bullets like you always did when you did it that way, because you got really really excited, she felt all-powerful.”
I didn’t know that. I’d known I was transparently using her when I rode her mouth, but I could justify it by saying the position was her idea, and frankly, it had felt so amazing that, especially when I was high, I just didn’t want to think about it. I’d been ashamed on some level, but not enough to stop unless she asked.
“I never thought I should do that…” I started… “but…”
She shushed me. “You feel ashamed of yourself because you knew better. You know it’s not polite to choke someone with your…penis…But you were weak.”
“Yes, I guess that says it.”
“She said it was worth it, that the feeling of being humiliated, taken advantage of, started to feel hot. She loved to see how much you got off on it, how much power she had even when you thought you were in control.
“You don’t seem to get it, do you? She saw her time with you as the sexual high point of her life. Maybe the low point in many other ways, especially romantically. But she got happy talking about the sex. That’s why she told me so damn much about it.”
She moved in closer. “She talked so much, she filled my dreams with it…I want all that, too,” she said softly. “I want you to be kinky with me. No one ever has. I want to experience that before…”
Before she died, like her sister. She didn’t know it, but I could relate to that existential familial concern.
“I don’t know if … I’m any good in bed, frankly. He and I don’t do anything …naughty. Plus, I’ve had two kids…”
… and you think your cunt may be stretched out of shape. That beautiful cunt I used to imagine, used to love to be so close to, when I danced with you at the VFW dances at Christmas when she and I were together. But you didn’t know that… at least I don’t think you did.
I knelt before her and her eyes widened as I lifted her thin skirt. She wore a soft white thong over her exquisitely toned, tanned pelvis, which I pulled aside and slid my tongue along her delta. She shivered and caught her breath. Her vagina was newly shaven, scraped, reddening.
I stopped, inquired.
“I did that for you,” she whispered. “I thought…”
“…thought…?”
“Thought you preferred it,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Because your sister said I preferred hers that way?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“She really did tell you everything, didn’t she?”
She nodded. “Every twist.”
I closed my eyes. “What if I don’t live up to it? I’m a few years older, you know.”
“You will,” she said.
I smiled. “I like your confidence.”
I knelt again, pulled her panties aside.
I touched her clitoris with my tongue and she stiffened, pressing forward to meet my mouth. I lapped it once, twice… and stopped. She made a small sound of disappointment.
I rose and looked into her eyes. “You have a beautiful cunt. I would love to lick it for hours. But it’s not comfortable for you with it shaven, is it?”
She made a soft sound and shook her head.
I stood and took her face in my hands, looked into her eyes. “I think your hair is gorgeous. “ I took a lock, a curl, in my hand, ran it between my fingers. “But I liked it better black. Does it come in, fine, soft, light brown…?”
“… down there? Yes. So you like hair on…?”
“…your pussy? Yes. I mean, I like it shaved, too, but hair is very erotic for me because it reminds me of how women wore it when I was a teenager. Nostalgia for puberty is very arousing. Let it grow. I think you’d look sexy as hell with a thatch.”
She colored. “So I’m gonna be retro. I guess I’m cool with that. No one has ever licked my pussy before besides…”
I kissed her then, deep and long, and after wrinkling her nose at the taste of her own vagina on my breath, she warmed to it, kissing me back vigorously, and pressing her body to mine. When I moved behind her, kissed her neck, she pressed back against me, her rounded voluptuous but muscular cheeks against my denim-covered erection. I pressed her forward to lean across the bar, reached under her skirt. pulled her thong free and dropped it down her thighs, then knelt behind her and gently licked her, then rose and used my fingers and the heel of my hand to make her come rapidly as I kissed her neck.
“God,” she breathed. “That was amazing. I’ve never come that quick before. No one ever made me come before except…”
I put my finger to her lips. “Don’t speak his name. I don’t think he should be here.” I lowered her, breasts heaving and eyes flashing, to the closest bar stool, kissed her fingers, and let myself out by the kitchen door.
The third time we were together, she told me about it. I’d just made her come with my penis for the first time, and she was lying beside me, the tears drying on her cheeks. “I cry when I come,” she’d said apologetically.
I hadn’t seen it when she’d come from oral or by manipulation with my fingers, so I assumed she was talking about intercourse orgasm only. “Your penis — your cock —” she said, landing hard on the consonants, “is very nice. Hard. Thick. Silky.” She took it in her hand gently, as if she knew I was tender after an orgasm. I was, but I hadn’t had one. “No penis has ever been inside me before except…”
She stopped abruptly. I knew what she thinking about.
“That’s not strictly true,” she said after a bit, as if willing herself to go on. “…He…my husband… was my first, yes, when I was only 17. But… about six months later, I was working in this restaurant and my boss…” her breath caught shakily in her throat.
“He forced himself on you. I know. She told me. I’m sorry.”
She turned to look at me. “My sister told you…?” she asked incredulously.
“She didn’t know the details. She said it was a rape, but that it wasn’t reported for some reason. She worried about you, said you were having nightmares about it.”
She was silent. “What else do you know about it?” she whispered finally.
“Nothing. I think you should tell me, if it would help to talk about it.”
She thought briefly, then sighed. “I was 18, and he was 31. The guy, Marco, ran this big fancy restaurant in Hyattsville. I was hired as the hostess, so I got to wear nice clothes and be glamorous, or so I thought.
“The boss dressed really expensively, a real show horse, my dad called him, drove a Jaguar, gold cufflinks, but he was Italian and not mafia, so my old-world dad was grudgingly proud of him. He used to flirt with all the girls, so nobody thought much of it when he did it with me.
“The night it… happened… he had opened a new restaurant in Baltimore, the Inner Harbor, and it was packed. He was so happy, he threw a party after it closed and got us all drunk. I was the hostess of the new place, but everyone else was new or from somewhere else, nobody I knew from work. He kept filling my glass, booze I didn’t usually drink, and I got way drunk and danced with him and all the waiters. The next thing I knew, everyone was leaving, and I was way too trashed to drive, so he said he’d take me home.” Her voice began to shake, and I told her she should stop.
She shook her head. “I need to get this out. I’ve been sitting on it for almost 30 years.”
“I mostly passed out, so he picked me up and took me to the car. I remember feeling his muscles as he carried me, he was very strong, and I think I felt his fingers on my legs. I remember his hand under my butt…but I was way too out of it to protest.
“When I woke up, it was pretty dark, and I was still very drunk, so it took me a minute to figure out that I was almost naked and in a strange bed. My underwear was missing, my skirt and top were gone, all I had on was this sexy underthing I had worn under my dress, kind of a bustier…no, a chemise… and I heard some moaning.
“In a second I figured out it was me. I was moaning because Marco was licking my …pussy…”
She gulped.
“Then…” she closed her eyes. “I… I came. I couldn’t help it, I was just waking up, and I was already on the verge of an orgasm, and i couldn’t stop just because it was wrong. He looked up at me from between my shaking thighs and smiled…
“Then …he just moved on top of me, stuck his tongue in my mouth and his cock inside me. He didn’t ask, or act like there was any question I wanted it. He was big and thick and strong and determined and I was drunk and confused and…when I tried to move my hands to stop him, they were tangled in my chemise, which was under me… I had these big bracelets that were holding my wrists to my sides…” she gestured.
“… aaaand…” a loud sob escaped her but she kept on, “…he had his pussy-tasting tongue in my mouth and was fucking me, making all these… sex noise, grunting as he …thrusted into me…telling me how good it felt. I… I…I was making noises too.”
She stopped, collected herself. “It was very confusing. I was scared, humiliated, I didn’t want this man fucking me, and I was crying…but…his cock felt sort of good in me anyway.”
I pulled her into my arms. “You came with him inside you…”
“Yes,” she said softly, her cheeks wet. “Nobody ever says that about rape, that you come even if you don’t want it.”
“And he knew.”
“Yes. He felt it. And he was very proud of himself.”
“Did he come?”
“Not…right away. I got one hand free, and started to fight him, pushing up at him, and he stopped for a minute. I was crying really hard, asking him to stop! get off me! let me up…He got really pissed. He said ‘What? I don’t fucking believe this. You liked it! Liked it so much you came, you little twat. Now you want to act like you don’t want it? Well, I get to come, too, bitch. Fair’s fair!’ and started to fuck me again, hard and fast.”
“Those are the words I hear in my dreams. ‘Fair’s fair,’ and ‘twat.’”
I held her as she cried. “I’m sorry you were raped, baby.”
She stopped abruptly. “He said …it wasn’t rape because I came. He said no cop would arrest him if they knew I came three times…he said they could tell if you came, they had a test…he said if I called the cops and charged him, I’d be arrested for false charges when they did the tests and found out I came.”
I shook my head. “Unbelievable. And you were a poor kid who didn’t know any better, so you believed him.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Three times.” She looked at me, took a deep breath. “He was really big, fucking me really hard and so deep it took my breath away, and I couldn’t stop him. He got rougher and it scared me…But when he came, I, I, I felt this jolt inside me, and then he put his hand under me and …stuck his fingertip inside my ass… It hurt like hell, but I came again, hard, crying…”
She stopped, and I told her to let it rest, we could finish this another day if she felt it was that important.
She agreed. And we sat for a moment, as she calmed herself.
Then she surprised me by reaching for me, taking my hand and guiding it to where her long, slender legs came together, and up to her cunt, which I discovered was soaking wet again, sticky with desire. She pulled me to her, and inside her incredible heat. We made love gently, softly, and she came again, crying quietly into my shoulder.
It was a few weeks later. Stoned this time, we had just fucked again, with more gusto than the last time, nastier and not so tender. After I’d eaten her for 20 minutes, she’d come hard and then yanked me on top of her, and we’d been unstoppable for nearly an hour. We lay in bed, after, catching our breath.
She put her hand on my ass as I leaned across to get my glass. She’d kept her hands on it the whole time, and stroked it after we’d come and lay entwined. “She said you had a great ass,” she said idly. “She was right. It’s adorable.” she sighed. “…His… is small, but not as rounded. He has muscle tone like you, but all the oomph is gone from it.” She leaned down and kissed my bum softly. I felt her warm breath on my butt and then her wet tongue traced down my left leg to the back of my knee, while her hand fondled me from behind, hardening me again.
“Your butt is awesome, too, Annalis,” I said, fondling it. I licked the crease lightly, then when she didn’t recoil, I touched my thumb to the hard bud of her anus.
I waited.
“He threatened to fuck me in the ass…” she said abruptly.
“Marco…?”
“Yes. He… said… next time, he wanted to ride my ass. When he was… fucking me, he called it riding. ‘I like riding you.’ Like that. ‘Cute, tight, little bum you got there. You liked it when I put my finger in it. Next time, I want to teach you about anal sex. I’m gonna ride that ass good.’ ”
“When did he say that?”
“After. When he drove me to my sister’s. He refused to let me call a cab, and it was so late I was afraid to go home, and going to Joel’s was out… I showed up at her house, he made me get out a block away, so no one saw him, I guess. She called dad and told him I’d had too much to drink and she’d picked me up. She calmed dad down. See, that was the other thing: I knew dad had beat our eldest sister when she … was caught having sex with a boy. And she never lived it down with him. I knew I couldn’t tell,” she finished in a whisper.
“So your sister didn’t insist you go to the police either.”
“No. You know her; she takes her cues from others. I told her I couldn’t and she gave in. But she was great; she told dad what he needed to hear to calm down, lied through her teeth. Her husband was drunk and asleep.
“She took me over to my boyfriend’s that night, and then a few days later, he went in with me and I quit. He stood there glaring at Marco, because I told him he’d been eyeing me and I was quitting because I didn’t trust him. I told the cashier I wanted my last check, and he sat there and wrote it out, handed it to Marco to sign, and Marco handed to me.
“Then he had his buddy, who was a cop, walk us out and tell us not to come back. My boyfriend was scared but he didn’t act it. He had pot on him and he was worried he’d get a criminal record and not be able to get into law school.
“Then, when I got home, I looked at the check and found what Marco had written on it, instead of a signature — ‘Don’t forget — I’m still going to ride your tight ass.’
“I used to wake up at night, scared out of my wits, heart pounding. Dream he was on top of me, inside me. I woke up once having an orgasm, like I did when he was eating me… A couple of times I woke up scared he was behind me, about to … put his cock in my ass. I stopped sleeping face down, because I’d often be aroused and terrified when I woke up…But when I slept on my back…
“I started to take sleeping pills, and that’s when I would wake up sticky, like someone had come inside me; sometimes I’d even wake up masturbating. The pills made me very groggy. One night after my husband and I had had sex after getting stoned and drinking, I got up and smoked a bowl alone because I couldn’t sleep and was afraid to take the pills with everything else. After about 20 minutes I was nice and drowsy, and was sort of playing with myself as I got ready to drift off. All of a sudden I got this idea to put my fingers up my ass…it just seemed like a sexy thing to do, so I did, nice and slowly, with a whole lot of lube, and when I came, I came so hard…” she stopped and her far-away eyes zeroed in again and locked on mine.
“Do you want me to fuck you in the ass, Ana?” I ran my hand across that gorgeous expanse of lushly rounded flesh. “Is that what you’re saying?”
She gulped, whispered. “It’s what I’ve aways wanted. It…wouldn’t bother you, would it? She… told me you did it to her a lot, how you loved that. Said that she had done that before, with her husband and others, and sort of liked it, but with you she came that way, and came hard. How that was the way she squirted most often. She said… it’s almost your favorite thing to do… well, along with fucking her mouth.” She sighed. “My husband would never. He thought it was gross.”
Now I saw why she really wanted me. She’d just needed to trust me just a little before she broached the subject, asked me to help her bury the past. But first she’d needed to dig it up.
“Just tell me when you’re ready.”
“Yes,” she whispered. She leaned forward. “Please?”
The idea of being the first man inside her bum, between those perfectly sculpted globes, made me instantly rock hard, and she felt my reaction. But I wanted to be careful.
I watched her face in the mirror as I began to knead her butt, the cheeks taut and muscular under my hands, relaxing slowly, the cleft between them deep and inviting. I took the lube from the bedside and eased my index finger in, wiggling it past her sphincter. Her breath hissed, and her eyes in the mirror showed excitement bordering on panic. Then I was in and her anus accommodated my finger quickly, letting me rub the lube into her tight folds, add a second finger. She squirmed and pressed her butt toward me, moaning softly. I squirted more lube and began to press in with my cockhead, slowly, gently. She lifted her hips from the bed and I slid a hand under to feel her cunt.
It was warm, taut, and shiny with desire. I slid a finger across her clit as my cock pressed the tight ring of muscle and then she was coming, rubbing herself on my hand. I pressed past the coil’s knot as she bucked and moaned under me, her tight ass gripping my cock like a fist. I had intended to just pause just inside and hold still, but this was too hot. I needed to really fuck her, slowly but firmly, driving deep inside the ravine between the twin mounds and down inside that snug bum.
“Oh, no!” she breathed. “Oh, Marco, please…” her body bucked, wriggled, pushed back.
Helplessly I picked up the pace, harder, thrusting ever deeper.
She jerked, began to sob. “Please don’t fuck my asssss… you naughty man…. Oh Marco. Please… no…”
My cock went impossibly hard as she got off again, this time with me madly thrusting, pounding into her amazing, perfect butt, and soon I was spraying the hot and sticky way up, deep inside her, and then out over those gorgeous cheeks, and even up across her back.
“Oh God, Keith, you fuck me good,” she cried, and then crash-dived face down on the bed.
My name. That was good. I had wondered if she knew who it was anymore.
Presently, she caught her breath, and rose on her elbows. “Wow. My first time.” Looked me over, like she was remembering who I was.
I bowed. “Satisfactory, I trust?”
“I needed to see if I liked it as much she said…as much as I thought I would. The answer is yes. God, yes,” she said smiling. Then her face fell. “It’s … just… I feel like I just cheated for the first time. That’s sort of crazy.”
Crazy part is that I knew exactly what she meant. I’d cheated on a lot of people in my life, technically, but never in any way that mattered. This, it seemed like, maybe did count.
Or maybe we were both just stoned.