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.