Valentine’s Day. Romance, candlelight, roses, fine wine. And sex. Passionate, romantic sex.

There will be all of that, this evening, with my darling, lovely husband. He will be well dressed, so handsome and charming, and I will melt into his arms and fall into our bed. It is such a special day when we express our love for one another in the most tender and intimate way.

Valentine’s Day. I am beyond myself with excitement and anticipation.

But not for the reason you might think.

Mid-morning. I have lovingly prepared myself. Bathing with expensive body wash chosen just for today. Shaving my intimate area. I put on fancy, sexy lingerie. Makeup is carefully and tastefully applied. Ruby red lipstick completes the look. My hair has been blown out to frame my face in the most flattering way. I step back and appraise myself. A vision of sexuality stares back at me. I am giddy and nervous.

Valentine’s Day. Why did we choose this day in particular? In some ways, it seems perverse, a mockery of my marriage. The ultimate violation of its sanctity.

And yet it is so appropriate.

It has been two years now. Two years of exploration, deepening our understanding of one another. We connected based on our mutual need to share erotic fantasies and desires and shed our inhibitions. It began in a chat room and moved to live conversation. Inevitably, we felt the pull of emotion. At least I did.

Today is the day we will meet for the first time.

The drive to the hotel he has arranged seems interminable. My hands are shaking at the wheel. Every traffic light takes an eternity. My chest tightens. My heart races.

So many times, I consider turning back. This is so wrong. I love my husband completely.

But perhaps not unconditionally. Because every time I think about aborting this tryst, I think about our times together. The laughter. The dirty, filthy things we would say to one another.

There was the first time I shaved completely, save for that erotic little landing strip worthy of a porn star. It was his insistence, and I fulfilled his command with joy in my heart and an aching around my clit. My husband thought it was for him, and in some way it was. It certainly added spice to our lovemaking.

There was that first time I squirted, all over my marital bed, requiring the use of a hair dryer on the mattress and a quick laundering of the sheets. I cried out in surprise, delight, and ecstasy when his words into the phone, and the sound of his orgasm brought me to my own powerful climax.

The badge app icon every time he texts, makes my heart leap.

Lost in reverie, I feel those familiar butterflies in my belly and a trickle of my cum dampening my thong. There will be no turning back. So intense is my need that the thought of being with him is like a drug. I am drawn like a moth to a flame.

The hotel is fancy beyond my expectations. I nervously walk through the lobby and ascend the elevator. He has procured a suite. Soft music plays. A split of champagne and two crystal flutes rest on the coffee table. A bouquet of roses sits next to them.

Valentine’s Day.

He is even more handsome in person. We melt into one another’s arms as if we were old souls who have done this a hundred times. Everything feels natural, appropriate, and perfect. His cock is beautiful, magnificent, and erect beyond belief. My mouth revels in the taste of him, how he pushes into me with just the right amount of aggressiveness. My ears hear him telling me how beautiful and sexy I am, how wonderful it feels.

I love undressing for him. Watching his eyes drink me in. Seeing the hunger in them.

I have never felt so sexy, so vital, so alive.

Valentine’s Day. My legs spread wide in a V, inviting him in. The moment of truth. His bulbous, purple, turgid head rests against my lips. He holds it there for a small eternity before pushing into me, and never has something felt so right. I am home.

We ride the crests, wave after wave. I lose count of how many times I crash against the rocks. His essence fills me to overflowing and pours out of me like a small river. We lay beside one another, tender kisses and soft caresses punctuating our intimacies.

We join again, our fervent coupling driven by the pent-up desires built over these two years, the late nights and middays when we shared our deepest secrets and laid ourselves bare for one another, all yearning for this day.

Valentine’s Day. “I love you.” Did I merely think that, or did I whisper that in his ear, or perhaps even scream it for the whole world to hear as I shook violently in reaction to his giving me his seed yet again?

The day winds down. We must part, me to return home to my husband and my other Valentine’s Day, swimming in the cum of our now consummated relationship. He reaches down to the roses on the table. He plucks a single petal and folds it into my hand as he kisses me tenderly, asking me to keep it as a memento of this special day.

Valentine’s Day. It will never be the same again.