He loves me, he loves me not

A fictional first-person account of an extramarital affair, as told by the mistress.

Aug 26, 2008 12:08am

Oh fuck.

It was two days until my 18th birthday. I found the short velvet skirt in my closet, wore it over my bare skin, and zipped it up. My naked butt rubbing against the soft feel of the velvet underside excited me, prompting an ever so slightly bit of moistness to seep. Or maybe it was the fact that this was the first time I’ve ever not worn any underwear when leaving the house.

I then put on my favorite silk blouse, slipped on a pair of kitten heel shoes, took my handbag, and sat in the living room, waiting for a phone call. He called. I saw his car outside the window. So I left the house, and climbed in his passenger seat.

You’ll forgive me I hope, because everything else from that point is a blur. I just know I somehow ended up giving him a blowjob with his car parked in an empty housing project, with our seats reclined all the way back, and his fingers reaching for my wet pussy, plunging one, two fingers in. We ended up fucking awkwardly, with our appendages cramped up against the door and the gearshift, me trying to maintain my balance on top of him, while trying not to break my back and scream in pain and pleasure at the same time.

Did I mention he was ten years older than me, and that he was married?

Things didn’t work out, of course. I went away to college, he got divorced and then remarried, I climbed my way up the ladder at a local paper pusher firm, and he and his wife found the time to have three kids, two girls and a boy. We were both blissfully unaware of each other’s progression in life. I had almost forgotten him, if it weren’t for the fact that he was my first.

This all came crashing to a halt last night, when I saw him at a Las Vegas convention. Surprise surprise, we were both in the same industry. He seemed pleased to see me, and heaped on the praise of how fabulous I looked. I then find out he’s married with kids. My plans to drink only one glass of wine that evening changed dramatically to include about three glasses of wine and two cocktails. Which, as it turns out, wasn’t a very good idea.

I woke up naked with him lying next to me in my hotel bedroom this morning.

Fuck.

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