I love the summer. Evenings in the mountains in August are cool and refreshing. The air is crisp, scented by the pines, and by the loam underfoot. Moist with the afternoon showers that drift by, cleansing land and sky only to dissipate, leaving stars to shine like a thousand candles to light the way. These summer evenings seem to hold the promise that the adventure of a lifetime is ready for you, you just need to step into the adventure that awaits and trust to nature and fate, and all will be well. Perhaps I’m projecting my own optimism into the night, but I really do feel it.
My wife and I walk along the earthen path, hand in hand, that leads from our cabin to the central lodge. We are on our way to dinner, to adventure, to him. Tonight is the culmination of six months of careful preparation and seduction, a step by step path allowing my wife to realize the beauty and femininity within her. Six months of carefully nurturing the growing realization that children and age may change the body, but that the body, her body, can still arouse the wants and needs of men.
She is truly radiant. Her Cherokee ancestry has blessed her with long, black hair that reflects the light of the night, making it shimmer and shine as it cascades over her shoulders and down her back. High cheekbones frame dark brown eyes that are so incredibly large they almost seem like the eyes of an anime character. Eyes that command your attention, and contain a smoldering sensuality that promises uncontrollable passion.
Passion. How did I lose the ability to awaken that passion within her? It was such a gradual thing that it slipped away unnoticed. Marriage leads to familiarity. Familiarity leads to predictability. Predictability leads to boredom. I’m sure it’s the same path travelled by thousands of other couples. Children come and free time goes. Promotions mean more work and less time. Stress saps energy. The great pendulum of life always extracts a payment for each advance until one day you wake up and find that the heart is full of love, but the passion for your love is gone. What is there left to do?
I made the same decision that far too many men make. With passion gone at home I would find passion with another. I signed up on a dating site that had a section devoted to people who wanted to find passion outside of their marriage. I thought that the number of women on the site would be small, and of those an even smaller number that would find interest in me, but I was surprised at the number of women who contacted me.
I would flirt with these women online whenever time and circumstances allowed and even meet one now and then. We would meet for drinks, or a meal, or dancing. I would employ every seductive technique I knew and would end the evening with soft kisses and smooth caresses and a promise that we would be together soon but knowing full well that we would not. Occasionally one of the ladies would want to continue our tryst into the night, but for the most part we parted for the evening, each of us gaining what we needed most, fulfilling our need to be wanted.
And that’s how I came to understand that what my wife needed to feel was wanted. That it was, indeed, my fault that the passion had dwindled. Through the years that we, meaning she, had raised our children, sex had become, in her eyes, a need to be fulfilled, not an opportunity to explore each other’s bodies in a slow and sensual dance of touch, taste and smell. So I turned this revelation into a commitment to once again seduce my wife, to re-awaken the passion between us.
The problem was how to erase years of what amounted to emotional neglect? I tried all the same things that I had done with the other women. I would take her out for a romantic meal, and she would talk about the wasted money. If I suggested going dancing, she would say she was too tired. Flowers? They just wilt, and in her eyes lingerie would highlight her flaws instead of her assets. We still had regular sex, but that was all it was, just regular. After five or ten minutes of foreplay it was time to get into the missionary position for a quick fuck. That was all she was used to getting. All my actions and all my words were in vain. Then the most marvelous thing happened!
Early in January I logged back into that dating site. That night I was feeling particularly lost as to what I could do to awaken the fire within her, and was contemplating contacting one of the ladies I’d dated with the goal of a night of wild sex. My inbox had several messages in it. Some from new girls, and some from women I had gone out with in the past. So I started to clear my inbox. I wasn’t interested in any of the new girls so that went fast. A couple of the messages from past dalliances were promising, and gave me some possibilities for contacts. Then there was one from Linda.
Linda was the woman I had met up with most, and the one with which I had come closest to actually having sex. Linda was what every man dreams of in a partner, both an emotional partner and a physical one. She stood 5’ 5” tall, and weighed about 140 pounds. Every pound was strategically placed on her frame. Long, tapered legs melded into what could only be described as that classic, inverted heart shaped ass, whose full rounded lobes fit my hands so beautifully on the dance floor.
Every slow dance she would press herself against me just so I could stroke and squeeze that ass. Within seconds she could feel the power her body had over me through the hard bulge in my pants. She would laugh softly, lean her upper body away from me for a few moments to expose the cleavage showing out the top of her dress, then lean back in and ask me which of her assets had aroused me to such heights.
If a faster song came on she would turn and grind her ass against me and, if the club was dark enough, guide my hands along her body until they were cupping her breasts. She was never satisfied with our dirty dancing unless the management asked us to leave. Then I would whisk her off to a motel room for a few hours of sensuous play.
Alright, I admit it. We may never have had intercourse, but we had a lot of fun! We would get to the motel and slowly unpeel each other, kissing and caressing the whole time. Linda loved to wear the sexiest lingerie under her outer clothes. Seamed stockings with a satin garter belt seemed to be her favorite, and she always wore pretty lace trimmed panties in a matching color. She wore these over the garter straps so that they could be removed while leaving the garters attached. On top she would wear either a shelf bra or a peek-a-boo bra so that her hard nipples could be seen through her dress, or nibbled on once the dress was off. If she was feeling particularly playful she would wear stiletto heels, and leave them on while we played. Linda was always in a hurry to strip me bare, and since I insisted she leave that wonderful intimate apparel on (with her whole hearted approval) all I had to do is slide the shoulders of her dress aside and let it drop to the floor to be treated to a living wet dream.
I would gather Linda in my arms and lay her in the bed. We would never rush these clandestine meetings. Our kisses were long and passionate; our tongues penetrating each other’s mouths, a fencing match with no loser. She liked to play with my hair with one hand, the other slowly stroking my back. My hands would wander her body like nomads traversing the desert dunes, stopping to linger on a breast, or to slide under a garter strap just to imagine that I was bound to her in these intimate moments. I would kiss my way along the side of her long graceful neck, across the inside of those perfect teardrop breasts, and take her nipple between my lips. She loved for me to twirl my tongue around the nipple while I pressed in firmly, and follow it with a slow kiss.
I would part my lips farther and suck her nipple into my mouth, capture it with my teeth and give it the lightest of nips, then release it and start again. Each iteration I would suck a little harder, and she would moan a little deeper. When I felt her nails start to drag across my skin I would leave her nipples and kiss my way down her stomach, partly because that was her bodies way of saying it was time to progress, partly to keep her from leaving tell-tale marks. A quick dip of my tongue into her navel always drew a quick intake of breath, but by then I was too fixed on my goal to linger. One last trail of kisses and I was down to the softly pedaled rose that blossomed so invitingly.
I never turned down the invitation. I would take one long, slow lick across the tip of her clit to gauge her mood. Usually it would be answered with an immediate start of an orgasm, and I would press my mouth and tongue firmly against her, letting her rock her way through the orgasm. Linda would hold my head in place until her orgasm ebbed, and the sensations became too much to take. When she released me I knew it was time to move my tongue down the cleft of her pussy to enjoy the wonderful juices flowing from the velvety opening. The gentle lapping at her lips would keep her just below the peak of excitement while I enjoyed exploring the textures, aroma, and taste of a woman’s arousal. I would often loose myself in the pleasure. My tongue eventually probing her depths in search of the heady elixir would start to push her up the hill of her next climax. The motion of her body would signal her readiness for another release.
Occasionally, if she brought it, I would insert a small bullet of a vibrator into her, but usually she preferred for me to insert two fingers into her pussy. I would curl my fingers up and rub the rough flesh inside her that was just above the entrance. I would slide the flat of my tongue across the sheath protecting the bud of her clit. Her body would respond. Her clit would slowly engorge until the sheath was pushed aside, and I could feel the hard nub against my tongue. The tenseness of her legs expressed the nearness of her second orgasm until it would break across her body, and she would cry out in ecstasy while the spasms in the core of her womanhood would force an incredible expulsion of her juices into my mouth.
Sometimes it would be too much for me, and I would feel I was losing myself in the flow of her passion. Other times it was slower, a steady flow that would afford me the opportunity to lose myself in a flood of sensations of taste, smell, and tactile response that would lead to my own orgasm. The seed of lust leaving my cock in a crashing climax synchronized with that of my lover, and we would lay together spent, her stocking clad legs wrapped around my head.
Yes, memories of my times with Linda flooded my mind in an instant. Linda was the perfect companion to take my mind off of my failed attempts at rekindling the passion within my wife. I opened the message expecting the usual small talk leading up to a request for a night away from her boring marriage, so you can understand my surprise and concern to find it wasn’t from Linda at all, but from her husband!
TO BE CONTINUED…….
