Looking Right At It Ch. 01

JULIE'S STORY

In my whole life I'd never looked so closely at a penis as I was right then. I was holding it in my hand, Bobby's cock, and it looked beautiful. It was so hot, and so unbelievably hard! My husband's penis had never been so hard, had it? Certainly not any time recently—but then, he wasn't 26 anymore, the way Bobby was.

No, Alan was 43, two years older than I was, and about the only time I ever held his cock was when I was sliding it into me—either lying on my back, missionary position, or sitting on top of him. In either case I didn't have it right in my face, and it was never as stiff and hard as this one.

Bobby interrupted my excited thoughts. "C'mon, Julie, suck it," he said.

"I ... I've never ... Bobby, I don't know how!" I confessed, blushing.

He looked at me, incredulous. "You've never sucked a cock?"

I shook my head.

"Okay, babe, it's not so difficult. Just take it gently in your mouth... just the head, that's it. Ooh, good! Now use your tongue all around it—just keep your teeth from scraping me..."

He continued to give instructions. I was too excited to be embarrassed, and Bobby's moans and groans made it clear I must have been doing all right. Within a few minutes he was warning me, "baby, it's coming, it's coming, it's ... oh God!"

The hot sperm shot into my mouth. I tried to swallow, but there was too much of it, and some dripped out between my lips and down my chin. I gasped for breath, and looked up to see Bobby leaning back against the headboard, smiling at me.

"Baby, that was great! Give me a minute, I'm gonna return the favor."

In no time he had his head between my legs, and for the first time in my life I felt the incredible pleasure of having my pussy and clit licked and sucked. Bobby's tongue and fingers worked me over good—I was gasping, rolling my hips, crying out over and over. He didn't let me up until I had come twice, and then he was on me in an instant, his cock rock-hard again, fucking me deliciously.

Only much later, when we'd both showered and were getting dressed, did he ask me about my inexperience.

"Julie, you've really never blown a guy before—not even your husband?"

I blushed again, this time for two reasons. I was embarrassed to be so inexperienced, and I wished Bobby wouldn't mention Alan to me. I was trying as hard as I could not to think of him.

"No," I answered shyly. "He's always wanted me to, but ... I guess I thought it was gross. After a while he just gave up asking."

Bobby looked amazed, as though the idea of any man giving up on oral sex was unthinkable. "And he never goes down on you either?"

I shook my head. "I never ... let him."

Buttoning his shirt, Bobby grinned at me. "Well then, baby, we sure have a lot of lost time for you to make up for!"

Looking at the clock, I hustled him down the stairs towards the door. Alan would be home in less than an hour, and I had to get the sheets in the laundry and the bedroom cleaned up. I'd better open the windows to get the smell of sex out of the air, too!

*** *** *** ***

This was the second time I'd had sex with Bobby, and it was even more exciting than the first. We'd met about ten weeks before, when he joined the staff at the insurance office where I work. Bobby is gorgeous—about 5'11", with dark wavy hair, amazing dark eyes, and a muscular body. Every woman in the office probably started fantasizing about him within his first two days at work!

I half-expected him to make some sort of pass at me—that's what I'm used to getting from male colleagues—but he was completely professional. We exchanged pleasantries over coffee breaks, or at lunch in the building cafeteria, but he never went further than that.

After a while it started to get to me—why wasn't he at least interested? I may have turned forty, but I still had a nice figure and a big chest, one that got lots of looks from all the men in the vicinity. But never a come-on, or even a hint of one, from Bobby.

But I would notice him gazing at me from time to time, and it stirred me up inside. I'd been faithful to Alan for all of the 21 years of our marriage; and I had turned down a fair number of offers in that time, too. There was something about Bobby, though—the way his eyes looked hungrily at me, yet he never behaved in a flirtatious way with me at all.

I rushed into the stock room one day, in a hurry as usual, and found him looking through some boxes for something. We were alone, and without thinking I went over and stood in front of him until he looked up.

"Why don't you ever flirt with me, Bobby? I see you look, and I can tell you're interested."

I couldn't believe I had said that! I started to blush, and backed up a step. He just looked at me, a broad grin slowly spreading on his face, his eyes burning into me. But he didn't say a word.

I was suddenly terribly embarrassed. I was going to turn and run out of the stock room. Instead I stepped forward and kissed him, hard, on the mouth.

Inside I was screaming at myself! Julie, what the hell are you doing? But then his arms slid around me, holding me close, and our lips opened and his tongue came into my mouth, and I was more aroused than I'd ever been in my entire life.

He held me and kissed me for several minutes, and I was out of control. We rubbed our bodies against one another. My nipples hardened, and my panties felt wet. I could feel his hard cock pressing into me. I was breathing hard, and I could hear he was too. Neither of us spoke.

Finally, he gently stepped back from me, holding my shoulders. We gazed at each other, still not speaking.

Then he said, "how soon can you get out of here today?"

I looked at my watch. It was 1:45. "I could make an excuse and be out by about 2:30."

Bobby said, "my apartment building is at 220 Green St., right near the corner of Elm. It's apartment 310. I'll meet you there in an hour."

And before I could answer, he had moved past me and disappeared out the door of the stock room. I had no time to say, "no, I can't," or "we shouldn't", or any of the things I should have said.

But would I have said any of them? As I stood there, feeling the wetness in my underwear, I knew the answer was no.

*** *** *** ***

When I got to Bobby's apartment he greeted me at the door, wearing a bath robe and holding a bottle of champagne. I didn't even give him a chance to put the bottle down before I was in his arms, kissing him desperately. I felt like a teenager—had I ever been this excited before?

We went straight to bed and fucked for two hours. There were some pauses in between for some champagne and a little conversation, but it was mostly just sex. Hot, glorious sex. He had me the first time in missionary position, which I was used to—but after that we did doggy-style, which Alan had asked me for but which I'd always refused. And the third time Bobby sat on a chair and had me straddle his lap. That way he could lick and suck on my breasts while we fucked, and I loved it. Feeling his tongue on my nipple and his cock in my pussy at the same time made me come like crazy.

I finally showered and staggered out of there around 5:15, with barely enough time to get home and make dinner for Alan. I was dizzy; and satisfied; and thrilled; and appalled; and guilty.

For one thing, Bobby seemed to like to ask me about Alan, while all I was doing was trying to forget about my husband, forget about the fact that I was cheating on him. Adultery was a sin—I believed that. It was an unforgivable act, something that no loving wife would ever do to her husband.

So how was it that that strongly held belief had not kept Bobby's tongue out of my mouth? Or me out of his bed, or his cock out of my pussy? I simply hadn't any idea.

*** *** *** ***

I was terrified that Alan would take one look at me and see right into me, knowing instantly how I had spent the afternoon. I was not much of a liar (or even a poker player), and he was always very aware of my feelings and moods.

But I tried hard not to over-do it, not to be TOO affectionate or cheerful when he came in the door, just play it as I always did; and it seemed to work.

We had our usual chatter over dinner, about his work and mine, and what the kids were probably up to. Brian, our oldest, was a junior at Lehigh, and his sister Bethany was a senior at a boarding school outside Harrisburg.

That night I was eager to make love to Alan, I think mainly to reassure myself that he and I were still fine. But he didn't seem interested, and I let it go rather than doing anything unusually aggressive. I almost never initiated sex, and if I had come on to him too strongly he might have wondered what was going on.

The next day at work I tried to be cool as a cucumber around Bobby—the usual casual morning greetings, a bit of chat over coffee with the rest of the office, nothing special.

It just about drove me NUTS! He seemed able to drop back into that role without a second thought, while I was as jittery as a hunting dog who hears shots fired.

I managed to get through that day and the next, but by the third day I simply couldn't stand it. About 11am I strolled past his desk and handed him a brochure, saying something innocuous about how it advertised a new product I thought he might want to offer to some of his clients. Inside I had written, "next Thursday at lunchtime, my house?"

In the early afternoon he came by my desk, thanked me for the brochure, and said quietly, "I'll be there around noon."

I felt my pulse start to race. I knew I didn't have to worry about Alan on Thursday; it was the day he had to make a weekly trip to an electrical switching station, part of his regular maintenance routine; so all I had to do was get the approval of Maureen, my office manager, for a personal day.

And that's how I came to be naked with Bobby, in my own bedroom, with him giving me blowjob lessons! And as I sent him out the door, then hurried back upstairs to wash the sheets, I felt even more confused about things than the first time.

Was I guilty? Yes, incredibly. I didn't know what the hell I was doing, slutting around behind the back of my faithful, loving husband. What would he do if he found out? I had no idea, but just thinking about it scared me.

And was I excited? Yes, excited and fulfilled and delighted with myself. Fucking Bobby, letting him lick me, and above all taking his cock into my mouth, was about the most thrilling thing I could remember doing. I knew it was wrong—I knew I had done something that all my life I considered dirty—and that made it even more exciting.

As I cleaned up the house, unable to solve the problem of my guilt and my excited pleasure, I concentrated on just one thing: be normal for Alan. Just like the first time, make sure I was my usual, calm, affectionate self by the time he came home.

*** *** *** ***

ALAN'S STORY

I don't know if I'm an unusually perceptive person, but I've always been able to read Julie very well. We met in college, and I fell in love with her almost instantly. It maybe took her a bit longer to be convinced that I was the right guy, but we've been together ever since: nearly 22 years.

One of the things that helped me win Julie's heart was my ability to tell what she was feeling, and what she might want in any situation. I remember a big party we went to my senior year, at a frat house that some friends of mine belonged to. Everyone was a little drunk, having a good time, the music playing; but I could tell about an hour into the party that Julie was uneasy. She didn't say or do anything, and no one but me picked up whatever the subtle cues were.

So I took her aside, and sure enough she really wanted to leave. When we were walking away from the party, she explained that a former boyfriend—who had sort of stalked her after they broke up and whom she wanted to avoid—had been in the next room, and she was uncomfortable being around him.

The happy ending of the evening for me was Julie's gratitude to me for being so aware of her feelings. By then we were sleeping together, and our love-making that night was more passionate and intense than anything we'd had together up til then.

Throughout our marriage, I've always been able to tell how Julie is feeling. So one day early last week, I wasn't in the kitchen for more than two minutes when I knew something was different.

I didn't immediately know what it was—just that Julie was not herself. There was an indefinable way in which she was trying so hard to ACT normal, that I could instantly tell that she wasn't FEELING normal.

Figuring out what it was took a little longer, perhaps because as I began to suspect the truth it seemed so unlikely. Julie having an affair? Not only was she a very moral person, with a strong sense of ethical responsibility, but she was pretty uptight sexually. So a sexual escapade was certainly not the first thing to occur to me.

But as I observed her, that possibility kept rising to the surface. She was not angry or unhappy—on the contrary there was a kind of suppressed giddiness to her, the way she moved around the kitchen, the way she chattered to me about things at work.

And it seemed she glanced over at me a lot, as though wondering what I was thinking. After 22 years, married people don't normally work that hard to check their spouse's feelings!

Then, there was the conspicuous absence of the name "Bobby" from her conversation, as there had been for several days previous to that night. When Bobby first joined Julie's office she mentioned him a lot: not only was he the new guy, but Julie thought he was attractive, and apparently the other women in the office thought he was hot and talked about him all the time.

So for a few weeks, Bobby's name figured prominently in Julie's chitchat about work. Then it suddenly disappeared—he was never mentioned.

All in all, by the time dinner was over I was sure that something was going on with Julie that she wasn't telling me about; and I had the unhappy suspicion it had to do with Bobby.

At bedtime, Julie came out of the bathroom in one of her very few sexy nighties, and smilingly asked me if I "wanted to fool around". She takes the lead in sex very rarely—and almost always on a Saturday night after we've been out with friends and had some drinks. Approaching me sober on a Tuesday night was pretty surprising.

So, while I certainly might have been interested, I made a snap decision to put her off and see what would happen. "You look gorgeous, Julie," I said with a fake yawn, "but I'm dead on my feet tonight. Eddie kept me running all afternoon at work today. How about a rain check until tomorrow?"

Out of the corner of I my eye I watched her hesitate, as though unsure what to do next. Would she push me, or let it drop? She let it drop, contenting herself with giving me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Why did she give up, I wondered? If she really wanted to make love, Julie surely knew she could easily enough talk me into it. She must have been afraid that her unexpected interest in sex would seem suspicious to me! But the irony was that NOT trying harder to seduce me made me more certain than ever that something was up—something I wasn't going to like.

You might wonder why I didn't simply ask her. Well, that was never my style. I grew up in a household with two parents who fought like the Hatfields and the McCoys. There were brutal arguments several times a week—especially if they'd been drinking—and it used to get so bad that my kid sister and I would lock ourselves in the bathroom and cower in the bathtub, covering our ears.

It was a frightening and unhappy way to grow up, and I vowed that I would never be the sort of combative spouse my parents had been. My philosophy with Julie, and with all my girlfriends before I got married, was be calm, be patient, and let things slide.

That didn't mean I let women walk all over me—just that I tried hard not to get upset about little things, or challenge Julie about small issues that didn't matter very much. If she was overtired or stressed from work and made a cutting remark, I'd let it go rather than snapping back at her. And when I could sense something was bothering her, especially if it seemed to have to do with me, I would wait and see how she handled it.

Sometimes, after stewing about something for a couple of days, Julie would come talk to me about it, and we'd work it out. But in other cases, I found that if I left things alone, they'd frequently work themselves out without our having to hash them out. And for 22 years that approach had worked pretty well.

So: that night I had some suspicions about Julie, and the horrific possibility that she was cheating on me had raised its ugly head. But I was far from certain, and there seemed no point in confronting her without evidence. It simply wasn't my way of doing things.

*** *** *** ***

Three days later, though, matters got much more serious. I happened to get home before Julie, which is unusual, and as I came in the door I heard the phone ringing and the answering machine pick up. I didn't grab the phone, and I heard the voice of Maureen, Julie's office manager.

"Julie, this is Maureen. I got your note—yes, of course you can have next Thursday for a personal day. Just make sure to mark it down on your quarterly report. Bye!"

Just a moment later Julie came in the door, and I went over to give her a kiss.

She said, "any messages on the machine, honey?"

Just to see what would happen I said, "I don't know, I just came in and haven't had a chance to look."

Then I went off to the bedroom to change out of my work clothes. When I came back, Julie was bustling around, getting dinner ready. I glanced over at the message machine, which now said "Zero".

"Were there any messages?" I asked.

"No," she said casually, reaching into the refrigerator.

This is getting a lot worse, I thought. Julie's taking a day off from work and I'm not supposed to know about it. And her demeanor all that evening had the same "everything is oh-so-normal" quality that kept my alarm bells ringing.

After an uneasy night, I got up the next morning knowing I had to know more. Over the next two days I got in touch with a buddy in the electronics business, and arranged to borrow four voice-activated tape recorders—real small ones, about the size of a paperback book. I told him I was trying to figure out what Julie wanted for an anniversary present, so I was hiding them in the house for when she spoke to her sister on the phone.

On the night before Julie's secret "day off", I hid one recorder under the front seat of her car. The other three I concealed in our living room, in the guest bedroom, and in our bedroom. If Julie did any fucking around in our house, I would know it—and if she went elsewhere, at least the tape in the car might give me some clues. I also noted down her mileage, so I could see how far she might have driven during the day.

I went off to work on Thursday with an uneasy heart. When I came home that night Julie was cheerful and affectionate, but just a little too giddy and excited for me to believe that all was normal.

I discreetly looked around the house. All the rooms were tidy, the bedroom just as usual; but I noticed that the shower in the bathroom was still wet—someone had used it that afternoon.

I spent an unhappy evening, watching Julie try to pretend everything was fine and pretending the same thing myself. I'd already arranged to take Friday afternoon off—I was going to come home early, check the tape recorders and find out what was really going on.

*** *** *** ***

"What was really going on," it turned out, was about as bad as it could be. Julie and Bobby fucking in our bedroom! Her sucking his cock—something she had never done for me in 22 years. And him eating her pussy, a treat similarly denied to me despite numerous requests.