There's a Strange Man in My Bed

You may think I am a 50 year old slut but on the first night of my Norwegian cruise holiday, I met a black man and he ended up sleeping in my bed.

I am not a slut. My mama didn't raise me to offer my body to anyone until I was married. I was a virgin when I got married.

It's a generational thing. My 22 year old daughter, Pauline, sleeps with lots of men. She enjoys sex. Sex is as natural to her as shaking hands was in my youth.

She has a one year old son by an unknown father. This doesn't stop her sleeping with other men. Some of her boyfriends / lovers sometimes stay over in our house.

They seem to me to be using Pauline for sex. But I have never told her that. If I broach the subject of her getting married, Pauline calls me an "old fuddy-duddy".

For my daughter's generation sex is just a normal part of life. Her moral code is different to mine. My daughter calls them "fuck and forget" experiences. I would never think of using the "F" word when speaking to my mother. I don't think much of people using the "F" word, even when it describes the actual act of lovemaking. But many people use it as part of normal speech. It grates when I hear someone say "The meal was f'ing great" when they could merely say "I really enjoyed the meal".

For me "f and f" sex wouldn't be enjoyable. Well that's not quite true. Pre-marital sex would be enjoyable but there would be after-sex guilt.

Sex-Guilt

Before my husband died I was attracted to another man, Terry, who had a reputation as "being a man for the ladies". He was a senior manager in another department. The word around the water cooler was that he had been well provided by mother nature.

He was very attentive and was obviously attracted to me. I tried not to, but I often thought about him as a potential sexual partner. I imagined a larger penis inside my mouth and then inside my vagina.

One day I told Terry, "I am in love with you. If only I wasn't married."

Terry replied "I love you as well. You being married needn't necessarily stop us. I have partnered many a married lady. I will be discrete. No one will ever know."

Terry and I would have long and sometimes sexy conversations. After many months of getting closer and closer I decided that the "ladies man" and I would sleep together. I made this decision as my husband slept beside me.

I felt extra guilty about deciding to sleep with someone else while my husband slept blissfully unaware. I knew that my husband would soon wake up and we would have a cuddle and "Good morning" sex. That night my husband and I would have "Sleep well" sex. The average couple have sex 3 times a week. As you can see, my husband is above average at lovemaking.

I have no complaints about the quality of our lovelife. But the allure of being partnered by someone better endowed was too strong to resist.

I felt that perhaps I was missing out sexually. In comparison to my daughter I certainly was missing "different folks with different strokes". But quantity wise, I was getting more sex than her. I sometimes wonder if I get more variation than she does. I suspect she gets mostly missionary position sex.

But my daughter does get the thrill of new conquests more than I do. I think that is why I am going to stray. The thrill of a conquest of a well hung, well experienced man.

I lay in the marital bed planning on letting another man sample the wares that a wife should give her husband. Correction, the wares that a wife should ONLY give her husband.

For the only time in my life I felt like a slut. A slut who had to keep a secret from my husband and my daughter.

My mama's voice telling me "only whores stray" echoed in my head. Despite my mama's moral message I wanted a "one night stand" in a hotel. Well, I actually wanted a "dirty weekend" rather than just one night. And, on the basis of "you might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb" I really wanted to become Terry's regular and sole mistress.

My Plan

I lay there with my husband asleep thinking of how to explain away my absence for a weekend.

I couldn't think of any suitable fable to tell my husband. Then suddenly I thought of a plausible fiction. In a month's time, Tricia, one of the girls in the office, and many others were going down to Brighton for her hen party.

I would tell a lie to my husband. I would say that I was going to Tricia's hen party. I even planned which quiet countryside hotel Terry would become my lover. I thought of Terry and I in a double bed. Just then my husband woke up. We had a cuddle.

I said "Darling, I feel extra randy. Is "girl on top" okay?"

The cuddle had made my husband hard. He lay there and I mounted him. With his cock inside me I bounced up and down his shaft until he ejaculated.

He said "As well as the sensational sensation of your cunt gripping my cock I get to watch your breasts bounce."

i don't say anything but instead I took my husband's cock and licked the shaft and then put it into my mouth.

Afterwards my husband said "Thank heavens I am not at work today. That was really heavenly. Do you want a romantic lunch?"

I said "I know a quiet hotel. It's a bit off the beaten track. But it has a trout stream running through the garden and a little bridge to their own island."

My husband said "Sounds perfect. I will see if they have a room for the night."

They had a special dinner, bed and breakfast rate for the weekend. It gave me a chance to test out the hotel.

Preparing

The next time we met I told Terry about my decision. He booked a room with a double bed for the weekend when Tricia and co were in Brighton. That gave me 3 weeks to imagine what sexual positions we would take.

I slated my lust for Terry by adopting ever more adventurous sex positions with my husband. I realised I risked sex with my husband for a cheap thrill. So with 2 days to go before I became Terry's bit of totty, I got cold feet. In a way I was glad that I was not to go against my mother's moral code.

But it was such an emotional wrench that one day I just burst into tears as we ate dinner. I made up some bullshit reason for crying. A part of me wanted to confess.

My more sensible part stopped me.

I made passionate love to my husband later that night, involving 3 well placed pillows.

The next day I still had the problem of telling Terry that the weekend adventure was not happening. In case I weakened, I decided to lift up the land-line phone and tell Terry straight away.

I told him "I am really sorry but I can't go through with it. I will pay for the room, since it was my change of mind. I have come to realise that I can not ever be unfaithful. I really wanted you. Indeed I really want you to have me, but I can't."

Terry told me "Don't worry about the cost of the room. The Tollard is still in the free cancellation stage. It is a bit of a blow. I have been looking forward to our dirty weekend. If ever you change your mind then I am still available."

I replied "If ever I decide to be your hussy you will be the first to know."

That was the nearest I ever came to being the adulterous scarlet woman.

I cried once again. My husband came to see what was happening.

I told my him, truthfully "I am so lucky that you married me. You make my life complete. It is more than great sex, and by the way, you were sensational just now. Its more than being wise and courteous and..."

My husband interrupted "a bringer of tears of happiness."

I continued "And someone who knows me so well, he can finish my sentences."

My husband then said "and you want me more than you want Terry."

I cried again "When did you know?"

He replied "I suspected something for a few weeks. I asked myself why you were going to a hen party for someone you barely know. It seemed strange behaviour. I thought of questioning you about the hen party. But I decided against it."

I was flabbergasted.

He continued "You were a changed woman. Your phone records showed me you often talked to Terry. I knew that you must decide about him one way or another. If I asked you direct questions it would only cause arguments. You needed space and I gave it to you. I was pretty certain that you wouldn't stray. I took a gamble on your love for me being stronger than your lust for Terry."

I asked "What would you have done if I had the dirty weekend?"

He replied "I would have divorced you when you got back. But, as I said, I was pretty sure you wouldn't stray."

I asked "Is there any other reason why you stayed when you suspected I loved someone else?"

He replied "You were giving me the best sex. It was sensational. You were sensational. I mean sex with you is always good. But guilt-sex took it to a new level. It made it great."

I quipped "So your head and your heart and your cock all told you to stay?"

He replied "and your passion sealed the deal."

As A Widow

When my husband died 4 years later I tried to reconnect with Terry. Instead of an eager attentive potential lover he was distant. We went out on a dinner date but the old magic was gone.

Not that this hurt, my daughter had given me a grandson to watch over. That was the final straw for any potential romance. Terry wasn't interested in looking after someone else's kid. It confirmed that I had dodged a bullet by not having a dodgy physical romance with him.

So Why Did I Have A Stranger In My Bed?

My daughter, Pauline, said that I might find "Mr. Right" on my Norwegian cruise.

I had a few cocktails at the "sail away" party. Brian noticed me sitting alone and asked if I wanted to join him and Rosie.

I danced with him and drank more cocktails. The cocktails were free and lovely.

We went back to Brian and Rosie's cabin for more drinks. They had smuggled a bottle of premium vodka onboard. We drank the real Russian vodka in the authentic Russian manner, cold from the fridge, neat and as a shot.

Unfortunately we didn't have any food to accompany the alcohol.

As the health leaflet says, "Drinking good vodka in good company can be very dangerous. You don't feel how much you're drinking, You will pay for it the next morning."

Traditional Vodka Toasting

I don't recall how many times I said "To your health" and downed a shot of vodka.

Drinking neat vodka, especially after drinking many cocktails, did not help my health. I went to their loo, threw up and passed out.

There are various reasons why I got into such a sorry state. I was having a good time, I had cocktails which impaired my judgement. I am not used to drinking alcohol, the premium vodka was more potent than the shop bought variety, the alcohol went straight into my bloodstream and lastly, I was just stupid.

Brian feared I would be another Jimi Hendrix and die by my own vomit. Rosie and he decided to let me stay in their cabin.

They took off my vomit stained dress and Brian washed it in the shower. He wrung it out and hung it up to drip dry. The cruise cabins have a wire so you can drip dry clothes over the shower.

Brian then helped Rosie to get me into their bed.

For 2 hours Brian kept watch while I slept. When the chance of me choking was passed, Brian took my cabin key and spent the rest of the night in my bed.

Hence the judgemental people who thought "she IS a 50 year old slut sleeping with a man she just met" are well wide of the mark.

I admit I was stupid and I could have been raped. But I was lucky that Brian didn't take advantage of me.

But I am NOT a slut.

You will have to wait to see what happened on the rest of the cruise and whether I stayed moral in the face of Brian's relentless pursuit of me.

Let me say that my moral stance was tested to its limits as we had a cruise romance.