John rolled off, apologising profusely. He explained I was so beautiful he just couldn’t control himself. I lay there, the glow from his compliments temporarily battling back my guilt, while John started snoring.
In hindsight, it was most unsatisfying. While he obviously adored me, there was no love involved. Sure, he’d pressed my buttons at a primal level; the near rape had proven he was very attracted to me. On a physical level, it was a washout. I hadn’t come close to cumming while he was inside me. Sure, there was the tension, but in the aftermath, I couldn’t even remember what it felt like. The guilt blocked it out. Do the exercise yourself. An hour after your next orgasm, describe it. You may be able to describe the size, but actual details? Feelings must be the most ephemeral things on earth. Overall, the experience was so far from what I’d anticipated I couldn’t help being disappointed.
I think I fell asleep exhausted about 3:00a.m. I’d thought guilt would be an issue but had convinced myself that guilt, and fear of consequences, were one and the same. Therefore, my rationale was that, because the chances of being caught were nil, then the guilt would be minor. That was before my betrayal. After the event, the guilt was nearly crippling. What had I done to my sweet, innocent Dave? And for what? Some third-rate sex. I fell asleep knowing I would never do this ever again.
Have you spotted the flaw yet? Guilt is a feeling too and thus as ephemeral as the rest. John and I slept late so nothing happened in the morning. Between clients that day, I told him of my decision. It felt good. I was back in control. The trouble was John was on the verge of tears when I told him. He laid it on thick about me seducing him to break his marriage vows. A lifetime of regret for less than an hour of pleasure. By the end of the day he looked as pathetic as a wet puppy.
To cut a long story short, we went to dinner that night, I drank a lot to quiet the screaming demons of guilt, then took John to my room. After he’d shut the hell up thanking me for this second chance, I warned him if I didn’t get a little sexual consideration this time, it would be the last.
I’ve desperately tried to find an analogy to explain my actions. In hindsight, extramarital sex is a little like a smoking addiction. The first time I gave up smoking, I lasted a week. After seven days, I thought, ‘that was easy. So easy, in fact, I can give it up any time I like. Therefore, I can buy a pack today, knowing I can give up any time I like.’ Yes, evil logic.
I used the same convoluted logic that night. I’d been premeditatedly unfaithful to my husband. The guilt would be the same whether I did it once or twice. If I did it once and felt guilty for some lousy sex, then the guilt would be for nothing. But, if the sex on the second night was good, then at least it would all have been to some purpose. Yes, in hindsight, I know how utterly stupid that is.
John did learn his lesson. That night he took his time sensuously undressing me, kissing me all over, and firing me up until the tension was unbearable. He licked me to several orgasms until I had to beg him to stop. Again, he tried to enter me without a condom. As drunk as I was, I stopped him. He grumbled that his wife always made him use condoms and what was the point of risking his marriage for restricted sex like he got at home? It became a brief battle of wills. In the end, my horniness won out over my will. Fifteen minutes later, he rolled off me and I basked in the glow of two more orgasms. I grabbed my discarded shirt and put it under my butt to soak up the ooze leaking out of me. This time, I remembered the tension beforehand, matched it with the afterglow, and went to sleep a very happy woman.