The last week or so has been really interesting, really challenging.
Last night I had an amazing, fun, tease filled date with Carla, a MILF that I
have hopes of becoming a FWB. There was no sex, but a whole lot of flirtation
and subtle touching at a charity ball where plenty of people knew us as married
to other partners. The knowledge that we were probably scandalizing others was
part of the fun!
And two weeks ago, I had been at a conference in a nearby
country and had fun sparks flying with a lovely single woman about Ellen’s age,
with whom I will likely work more in the future. Unfortunately, professional
considerations prevented me from pursuing her…yet.
So many mixed emotions. The previous week had been a real
struggle as I looked forward to my date with Carla while also feeling very
funky about Ellen’s most recent club visit.
I have felt left out and pretty ambivalent as Ellen continued
on her erotic journey at the club she visited with Kelly and friends last week—it’s
all on her blog, Blissfully Open, where you can read about her fuck fest with
Ron and Jake, and the rest of her fun-filled night. The fact that Ellen is so
hot for cock is both great from an erotic compersive perspective while also a
bit intimidating for me, and it’s hard to cope with given the physical distance
between us, which we still have to deal with for a few more weeks. I’m still
very envious and wish I could be there when she is having these experiences, to
see her fuck and to take my own pleasure in it, but also to have my own fun
with other women in the same place with her. I’ve realized that our initial
expectation were different to some degree. Ellen is exploring the bounds of her
sexuality and acting out her many fantasies—she’s only just begun, really—and
largely doing it on her own, while I had always pictured us sharing the
experience as much as possible.
Knowing that Ellen feels inhibited around me is also hard,
as it makes me feel like the old ball and chain. Knowing that my reactions over
the last few weeks, which I’ve shared openly with her, also come across as a
bucket of cold water tossed on the fires of her lust is also guilt inducing. I’m
not proud of or happy with these emotions welling up inside me so unexpectedly.
Ellen is being supportive and trying to understand, but I sense her frustration
and know that it can easily morph into resentment. She’s made it clear that she
likes this new lifestyle, which is in its own way a warning to me. And she’s as
eager for me to play with other women as I am, so that I get over some of these
issues. It certainly would help.
Reading Ellen’s blog post last night after my return from a
very hot date with Carla, happy but also unsatisfied that it didn’t culminate
in the sort of mind-blowing sex I know we could enjoy, was both fun and exasperating.
It is so fucking easy for women! Ellen is beautiful and sexy, so any man in his
right mind would jump her bones at the slightest invitation. I’m told I am a
pretty good looking guy, charming, funny, smart, but the balance of power is
simply not that easy, particularly when the relationship is not clearly predicated
on an honest and open approach to sex, as it generally is in the adult social
clubs and lifestyle scene.
So about my date.
Carla is in her mid-forties, the mother of a former
schoolmate of our oldest child. She’s European, extroverted, and very
attractive, with big bright eyes, great tits, and a body kept firm and lithe from
regular yoga. Her husband, William is a strapping, handsome, slightly younger
man whom I get along with well—he’s gruff and funny and smart. He also has been
struggling with an injury that prevented him from accompanying Carla to an
annual Celtic society charity ball. We had all gotten together at their flat for
dinner last month before my visit home, and during clean up when William was
resting in their bedroom and their son was off getting ready for bed, I’d told
Carla about Ellen and me opening our marriage. She was intrigued but not
exactly surprised, but my brief hope of
a potential playmate was deflated when she told me a story of when they had
attended a large pool party at some friends house that turned out to be more friendly
than either of them had expected. Carla and William had not stayed to partake
in the play, she said.
So it was with some surprise that I got a text from Carla on
my phone soon after returning from my visit home, asking me if I would be her
date for the ball since William wasn’t up to it, yet. She even said that I was her
“first choice.” Intriguing. I shared this with Ellen and we both determined
that it couldn’t be all that coincidental, especially since we were certain
that Carla would have shared news of our new lifestyle with William.
It was with much anticipation but restrained expectation that
I ventured out last night. Carla had told me to meet up at their flat, as we
would catch a lift downtown with some mutual friends, Hank and Mona. They seem
like a pretty conventional couple, and I wondered if they were to be our chaperones.
Then again, as I’d learned during Ellen’s and my weekend together at the club,
you really can’t tell by appearances if a couple is into the lifestyle. Not for
the first time I wished there was a secret handshake!
I arrived just as William was pulling into the parking lot,
having run an errand. Their son Thomas was riding around on his bike, and we
chatted briefly before heading up to their flat. I walked in behind Thomas and beheld
a 21st century vision of Debra Harry. There stood Carla wearing a
sequined sleeveless micro-dress and high heeled shoes that emphasized her long,
toned legs. She looked hot, and she knew it. And I complemented her in as
neutral a tone as I could, but she saw the look in my eyes that told her I wasn’t
saying everything. We joked about kids getting used to seeing their moms in
sexy outfits—Carla has always enjoyed flaunting her lovely figure and deep cleavage,
even when at school, and Ellen has recently been questioned by our own kids
about her selection of revealing dresses. Soon, Carla got a text that Hank and
Mona were just around the corner, so after saying good night and leaving
William and Thomas to their dinner, Carla and I headed down to the gate to
await our lift.
We piled into the back seat of the SUV and made small talk
with Mona and Hank on the short drive downtown to the hotel where the ball was
held. I wondered to myself if I should have booked a room, which I knew other
people did rather than driving home intoxicated—not a wise thing to do in any
country. But then again, I had a perfectly comfortable one-bedroom flat of my own, and there were always taxis to whisk us away if the opportunity arose.
Walking in with my hand lightly resting in the small of
Carla’s back, we found a foyer filled with people in tuxedos, kilts—this being largely
an expat evening—and women in evening gowns. Carla got lots of looks, as she was
wearing by far the most revealing dress. She loved the attention, and had fun
introducing me as her date, explaining that William was still healing. I played
right along, and enjoyed the surprise on the faces of people I knew, some of
whom asked after Ellen. We chatted with various friends and acquaintances for a
while and at one point, spotting one of my sons’ former teachers who was
looking our way, I leaned close to Carla and whispered that I enjoyed the scandal
we seemed to be causing. She laughed and her eyes sparkled with agreement—she was
having a blast.
We found our table, introduced ourselves to the tablemates
we didn’t know—Hank and Mona were sitting across from us at the ten-person
round table—and broke open the whiskey that was a featured part of the evening.
Around the table it went. I poured myself a small shot, determined to go easy,
but Carla poured herself a double. There were the requisite opening ceremonies
and music and a boring speech by an ambassador, and then dinner was served.
Carla sat on my right and we chatted with various people but also a lot with
each other, leaning in close and speaking into each others’ ear when the music
was loud. I drew her close at times, touching her lightly on the shoulder. Her
foot or long calf was often in contact with my leg. And because our table was
right at a top corner of the dance floor and we were on that side of the table,
our flirting and touching was in clear view of many other people.
At one point I found myself leaning in close to Carla as we
talked to a pretty acquaintance of hers—another lovely mom, and I noticed that
this friend was looking at me with a great deal of interest. I returned the
look, and she smiled flirtatiously and blushed. Later I made eye contact across
the dance floor with a sassy and adorable young lady whose brother had bought
our boat earlier this year, and she walked clear across the room to chat with
me after an exchange of cheek kisses. Then there was the tall Irish beauty whom
I spent some time talking to, along with her equally tall and dashing diplomat boyfriend.
Once the food was cleared, it was time for traditional
dances. This was a Celtic ball, and I have always loved Celtic dancing and
music ever since I learned to square dance in elementary school. Carla was also
very keen, and even though neither of us knew the steps, the female vocalist
who led the band took everyone through the basic maneuvers before the music
started, and then off we set to the sounds of fiddles and drums, figuring it
out as we went along. I found I was still pretty good, and what I lacked in
skill I made up for in enthusiasm. Carla was great fun as a dance partner—she is
carefree and doesn’t mind the occasional muddle of confusion. So we danced and
worked up a sweat and danced some more until we both needed a break—the room
was heating up! As we worked our way through the crowd to our seats, I pulled a
handkerchief from my pocket to mop my brow, and Carla took it from me, moist
with my sweat, and dabbed her brow and neck. Glancing across the table I
noticed an ice bucket, which I reached over and plucked up. I took an ice cube
from it and ran it across my neck, enjoying the chilling relief, and decided to
share. I laid the ice cube on Carla’s bare thigh and rubbed it gently, trailing
it up and down her crossed legs. She let out a throaty sigh and said “that
feels good.” It sure did.
But I was soon interrupted by another woman who needed a
dance partner, and off I went for another round. I was loving the attention of
so many women! It had been ages since I’d really noticed anyone’s interest in
me, in part because I just didn’t look. After all, I was a married man. But the
awareness around the room that I was there without Ellen and with another
married woman seemed to give me a certain aura of the forbidden that was
attracting women’s attention. For the first time in my life, I was the “bad
boy.” And I really liked it!
As the evening wore on the whiskey bottles went around and
Carla kept drinking—she was certainly feeling no pain, while I was still trying
for moderation. The caressing touches and intimate cheek-to-cheek conversations
continued and finally I asked Carla if she wanted to stay or whether she was
ready to leave—I could call a taxi. She glanced over at Hank and Mona and
noticed Hank checking the time on his phone. “I think they’ll be ready to go,
soon,” Carla said. Ah, the chaperones.
Eventually we all migrated to the exit, saying good night and
still catching interesting looks. I walked with Carla and Mona down to the
lobby while Hank went for the car—he has diplomatic plates, and also had been
going easy on the booze. Once he pulled up, the doorman opened doors and Carla
hopped in and scooted across the back seat, making room for me. The ride home
was more small talk about kids, and I struggled with whether to whisper an
invitation into Carla’s ear to join me at my flat—I was to be dropped first. I
lightly caressed Carla’s knee and she let me, but didn’t respond with any sign
of invitation for more, even though I was keen to explore beneath her dress in
the darkness of the backseat. I felt suddenly very self conscious with Hank and
Mona talking away about boring routine things. Carla’s eyelids were heavy and I
could see she’d had too much to drink, and I also didn’t want to put her or the
others in an awkward position. I decided not to pursue it. Not yet. As we
arrived outside my flat, I thanked Mona and Hank and said goodnight, then Carla
and I exchanged lingering moist kisses on either cheek and I thanked her for a
lovely evening. I sensed a certain ambivalence from her as I got out of the
car, and berated myself for letting my courage fail me.
As soon as I got into the flat, I sent Carla a text message
that said, “Thanks for a wonderful evening. You were a great date and looked
absolutely amazing. If I had the slightest hint of your willingness, I would
have asked you to come in with me but I didn’t want to put you in an awkward position
around Hank and Mona. Nick.”
I figured that it couldn’t hurt. If the whole evening was
nothing but a tease and a way to spice up Carla’s and William’s sex life, I
didn’t care—I’d had a blast discovering my inner bad boy and titillating Carla,
myself, and many others. But I still have a few weeks left before heading home,
and am not yet ready to give up trying to get into Carla’s panties.
As I settled into bed, a bit regretful but also very
contented from a truly enjoyable date, I wondered if Ellen had updated her blog
on the previous weekend, as I knew she’d been working on it. I picked up my
iPad and, sure enough, there were all the glorious and troubling details of her
escapades. My emotions churned yet again as I read it and I spent a restless
night with competing images of Ellen riding and sucking other men’s cocks and the
memory of Carla’s firm smooth thighs warm beneath my fingers and the enticing mental
images of what lay beyond the hem of her tiny sequined dress.
No comments:
Post a Comment