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This is a story based partly based on true events. Feedback is welcome and encouraged. This is my first submitted story.
“It’s not that I don’t have love and happiness and a good life, because I do, and that’s not going to change. It’s just that what I’m missing is, I don’t know, excitement. Passion. I want to feel scared again, you know?”
She smiled at me, almost apologetically, her green eyes looking into mine. With a flick of her hand she brushed her thick, deep brown hair away from her face and sighed in a that’s-life kind of way. I held her gaze for a moment, thoughts unsaid. We both smiled, laughed and got on with our meals.
We had known each other for about 8 hours, met by accident, and, such is the way at conferences, joined forces to fight against the boredom of long sessions in the conference room. I had initially met her at the registration desk where she was trying to fix some error with her company details at the same moment she was juggling a mobile phone call, a briefcase and a cup of coffee. I helped her out by holding the briefcase and the coffee, while she sorted out the other problems.
I learned her name almost straight away, read it from her name tag. Callie Marr. I assumed that she learned that my name was David Blake in the same way. The rest I knew about her, I learned slowly during the day, over coffee, lunch, pre-dinner drinks, and now as she sat across from me, pushing her pasta around her plate, over dinner.
The conference was boringly technical, dealing with that dull little zone where information technology, the law and human resources overlap. I had been sent along by my company for no other reason than I was in the wrong place at the wrong time when the boss was looking for someone to send. It was really outside of my area of expertise, but on the upside, it got me out of the office and the house for a few days.
I like my job and I love my wife and child but it is always a pleasure to have time to oneself. The conference was about an hour’s drive from home, so I took advatage of my company’s policy regarding business trips: standard hotel room, no room service or mini-bar charged to the firm, preferably at the conference location (to take advantage of those cheap conference rates) and all expense claims to be backed up by receipts.
Callie was in a similar position to me, she had booked into the hotel for the four nights of the conference. She too lived about an hour away, but in the opposite direction. It meant we came from places over a hundred miles apart. Her company was a competitor of mine (in the business of headhunting staff for big corporate clients) but we rarely competed directly. Callie’s firm specialized in technicians, IT specialists, nerds. Mine focussed on the executive level, managers, CEO’s, CIO’s, CFO’s and all the other proliferation of buzz-word top-level staff that big companies feel they need to impress the shareholders and investment houses.
During the morning I had learned a little about Callie. She had only returned to work after a five year break to raise her child to a school age. She was married to a husband who managed an air conditioning company, she was 39, fearing 40. And her life was hectic from morning till night.
“I only came to this conference for a break from it all,” she confessed at lunch. “I don’t think I’ll get much out of this week. But I won’t have to get up at six to fix my daughter’s breakfast, or race from work when she’s sick at school. That’s daddy’s job this week. With a little help from grandma.”
Her phone rang at that moment and she smiled ruefully, “Of course I wasn’t smart enough to leave the mobile at home, was I.” She answered the call and became involved in solving a minor work problem, giving me another chance to observe her.
Callie was an attractve woman, not immediately beautiful yet captivating nonetheless. She had a casual, shy grace about her, a woman who considered herself plain yet carried herself with dignity and quiet confidence. She was 5 feet 6, or therebouts, with a well-proportioned body, by no means a 16 year old’s svelte slimness, rather the healthy shapely curves of a woman in her thirties. Under her conservative navy blue business suit, I imagined, large, ripe, rounded breasts, almost-flat stomach and long smooth legs. Her face was blessed by high cheekbones and small straight nose, genetic inheritances matched by an obvious care in her appearance over the years. Her skin looked healthy, very lightly tanned and she had freshly washed, long hair, quite thick, luxuriant was the word that came to my mind, that cascaded over her shoulders and halfway down her back. There was the hint of lining around her eyes and the slightest softening of her jawline but she could probably have passed for someone a decade younger.
During the afternoon I had learned that she was happily married, happy to be working again, happy to be a mother and happy with the cards life had dealt her. Or as she put it, “as happy as anyone, in other words mostly happy.” By dinner we Kuşadası Escort were chatting about our respective lives, both enjoying the opportunity to confer, complain and commiserate with a stranger of sorts. We were unlikely to meet again and there was precious little from the conference worth discussing so it was only natural to talk about our lives. Other delegates seemed fascinated by the topics from the first day’s session which amused Callie and I endlessly and provided numerous opportunitied for jokes at their expense. She made dinner, the whole day in fact, a far more pleasant experience than the one I had feared at registration time that morning.
Callie quized me about my life, my wife, my child, my home, my leisure time. All those things that bridge the gap between idle small talk and actually getting to know someone. She pouted when she found out that I was younger and had a few years up my sleeve before being confronted by the big four-oh. The other things about me were, if not predictable, at least fairly routine. I was happily married, or at least mostly happily married. I had a 3 year old son, a 25 year mortgage, a four year old car, a twelve year old career that needed to continue its upward momentum or risk stalling permanently, and a 37 year old body that had stood the test of time reasonably well, all things considered.
I can’t claim to be an Adonis, or even anything more than average. Perhaps if I’m feeling good, a little above average maybe. I’m 6 feet tall, almost exactly, with very short light brown hair, verging on blond. I swim regularly so I’ve managed to stay trim and reasonably well toned and, if I avoid burning, lightly tanned. My stomach may not have a six-pack but it is flat, and there is some hardness to it rather than flab. At my best I can claim to be of average build, but well maintained. I have a face that a female friend once described as forgettably ordinary except for clear blue-grey eyes which are probably my only stand-out physical feature in terms of being noticed by women. I look quite presentable in a suit, but I’m really a board shorts and t shirt kind of guy.
I had asked Callie, if she had everything she wanted in life, and it was then that she had told me she wanted some passion in her life, a little excitement back. I knew exactly what she meant.
“It would be nice to live dangerously once in a while, wouldn’t it?” I said, sipping from my glass of red wine.
“Exactly, David. Well said,” she laughed. We had both had several pre-dinner drinks at the obligatory, end-of-day wind down at the hotel bar, then a couple of glasses over dinner. She was at that perfect stage that alcohol delivers for an all too brief time, when you’ve had just the right amount to drink, when you can still make wise decisions but are relaxed enough to make the occasional bad one and enjoy it.
She looked at me over the rim of her glass for a moment. “You know the only way I’ll be able to handle more of this thing?” she said, gesturing around at the tables of half-drunk delegates, eagerly discussing obscure points raised during the day. “The only way, I’ll be able to handle it, is if I get good and drunk tonight. You up for it?”
I laughed, enjoying her company, feeling blessed that I was with her, this bright, intelligent, attractive woman rather than the dull, spirit-crushing conversations at the other tables. “I’m in,” I said. “Let’s get smashed.”
She cheered in delight and told me it had been years since she’d had the opportunity to do something so irresponsible and pointless. “But, what the hell. I feel like it. I’ll probably hate myself for it in the morning but I need one good night.”
It was decided. We were going to be seriously drinking tonight. After dinner, Callie excused herself so she could return to her room to change into something a little more appropriate than her business suit. I took the opportunity to do the same, changing into casual pants and a light cotton shirt. I met her back in the bar fifteen minutes later and she looked wonderful. She wore the proverbial little black dress, finishing at mid-thigh, thin shoulder straps, fitted over her breasts and just tight enough to leave something to the imagination, but not too much. She wore a little makeup, and looked even better than before. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation, an anticipation that I felt too.
For both of us, it wasn’t that we hadn’t done this sort of thing before, a wild, spontaneous night. It was the fact that we hadn’t done anything for pure selfish enjoyment for some time. We had families, responsibilities, commitments, lives that allowed little time, opportunity or even inclination for nights of drinking anymore.
“So,” I said as we took a booth at the back of the bar, “What’s your poison?”
“Suggest something?” she replied, challenging me with those green eyes.
“OK, let’s start with tequila slammers and then after that we’ll get really serious.”
She laughed. “Sounds good.”
We did two tequilas each, the Kuşadası Escort Bayan raw alcohol burning our throats and hitting our bloodstreams with the desired speed. We moved onto more sedate drinks after that, sambuca and Coke, both happily drunk and talking non-stop.
Our conversations ranged over a number of topics, basically anything that might make us laugh. It was during a brief lull in the chatter that Callie surprised me, with a question I hadn’t anticipated at all.
“Tell me David, how’s your sex life?” she said, looking across the table at me.
I hesitated for a moment, trying to frame an honest answer. “Well, all things considered, I’d have to say good, but…”
“Let me guess, not enough and not hot enough?”
I considered this for a moment. “Yes. It’s become predictable and I guess a bit stale.”
She looked into her drink thoughtfully. “Me too,” she said quietly. “I love him and love having sex with him but it’s comforting rather than, you know, mindblowing.”
I nodded my head in agreement. It lead us into a long discussion about our sex lives. It was cathartic rather than erotic, two people sharing the strains and stresses of their married lives. We both averaged sex about twice a week (a good week) and it had become something of a routine. I had four previous lovers, she had just one other. I had lost my virginity at seventeen, Callie was nineteen. Her first time had been a disaster and had made her avoid sex until her mid-twenties. My first time had been notable for my limited knowledge of the female anatomy and lacklustre technique.
“I bet you’ve improved a bit since then though, David,” Callie said, smiling.
“A bit,” I said self-consciously. I decided it was time to turn the tables on her. “Have you ever been tempted to cheat on him?”
Why, David,” she said with mock offence, “Are you propositioning me?”
“No,” I said quickly, unsure whether she had misinterpreted the reason for the question or was just playing with me.
“Oh,” she said, clearly disappointed. “Not that I would cheat on him but it’d be nice to think someone might want to.”
“I wouldn’t cheat either. At least, I don’t think I would, but I’m still tempted quite often.”
“Yes,” she said, looking away suddenly, “I’m tempted. Very tempted.” And for just a fraction of a second she looked into my eyes again, leaving me in no doubt that she was tempted right now.
That was the moment. Up until then we had been operating at the level of two strangers who could be honest with each other, have a little fun, and suffer no consequences. From that moment, though, there was a tension, most definitely of the sexual variety between us. From then on, every comment, gesture, and look, seemed to be sexually charged. We were both drunk and up until then I had been enjoying her presence, thought she was attractive, entertaining and great company. Now I saw her in a different light and felt instantly aroused. Perhaps a little of it was from the alcohol. But only a little. Here was this wonderful woman. I desired her and she desired me. It seemed very simple and so very complicated.
“Twenty questions,” she said suddenly. “And don’t hesitate with your answers, Blake.”
“OK. Go,” I replied.
“As a general rule, her on her hands and knees, me entering from behind.”
“Doggie style. Yeah, you can’t go wrong with that.” She smiled and took another sip of her drink. “How…um…big are you?”
“Spot on seven inches.” It wasn’t a lie, although I was being as generous as possible with myself.
“Nice, but why do guys always know?” she laughed.
For times like this,” I said, and she laughed again.
“Ever had a threesome?” she continued.
“Been caught doing it?”
“Once, by my wife’s sister. A surprise visit. Caught us on the floor in front of the TV.”
“Oh, David. You like doing it on the floor?”
“Is that an offical question? But yes I do. And anywhere else for that matter.”
“Are you a breast man or an arse man?”
I love them each in their own way, but if I have to choose, I’d say I love looking at a woman’s arse.”
“Don’t look at my fat bum then,” she said. “It’ll turn you off them for good.”
“Too late. I already have looked. It isn’t fat and it looked great.” My eyes were locked on hers. My cock was rock hard. My heart was pounding in my chest.
“Really?” she said, blushing. “I’m not sexy or anything, just an average wife and mother.”
“You’re not average. Not at all.”
She touched my hand lightly and smiled sadly. “Thank you David. I really needed to hear that. I’m not normally very brave or daring so I don’t think men find me very exciting.”
“I find you exciting. And I bet you are more daring than you think.”
“No I’m not. I wish I was. I’m a bit of a chicken, not a risk taker.”
“Do something daring right now,” I said.
“Is that a challenge,” she asked, her mood brightening.
“What Escort Kuşadası sort of thing would I do?” she said and I sensed that despite her normally quiet nature, she really wanted to be the sort of woman who thrilled men, excited them, distracted them.
I thought for a moment. “Take your undies off and pass them to me under the table.” It wasn’t something I’d have suggested to her when I was sober, or even suggested to my wife. But here and now, we were both thinking about taking some risks.
She shrieked in delighted horror. “No, I could never do that. How embarrassing.”
“Why not. No one else will see but you’ll know that you’ve done it.”
“I don’t want you having my underwear. And besides, how do you know I’m wearing underwear?”
My cock throbbed and my mouth seemed dry. “Don’t play safe all the time Callie. Do something dangerous. Something that makes you feel a little scared.”
She thought about it for a moment and I realised that she was seriously considering it. “I really don’t think I should give you my undies, though David, although…”
It is fairly daring, isn’t it?”
“Exactly. You’ve never removed your underwear and given it to a man in a public place, and I’ve never recieved any, so it would be a first time for both of us.” I smiled and waited.
She smiled, then laughed. “You are so bad, David Blake, trying to corrupt me like this,” she said conspiratorally. She looked around several times, then raised herself from the seat slightly and quickly fumbled under the table, before sitting down again, a broad grin on her face.
“Where are they?” I said, as my cock surged once again, the throb of arousal in time with my heart beat.
“Round my ankles,” she said, bursting into a series of giggles, partly alcohol induced and partly due to the erotic absurdity of the situation. I made a move to look under the table to confirm what she had just said, but she shrieked and pleaded quietly for me not to look. “Just wait a moment and I’ll pick them up.”
I nodded, looking into her eyes with bemusement, aroused by her, by us, by the situation. It seemed like a dream, the alcohol no doubt largely responsible for that, but the most incredibly erotic dream.
She bent briefly under the table before sitting upright again. Once more there was the grin, delight in her new-found courage. “I’ve got them in my hand. But I’m not going to give them to you. I’ll hold them up quickly so you can see I’ve got them.”
Why don’t you want to give them to me?” I asked, holding her gaze. She held mine for several seconds before blushing and looking down.
“I’m not telling. Do you want to see them or not?”
“Tell me why you don’t want to give them to me?” I didn’t take my eyes off her. I was fairly sure I knew the answer.
“Because…” she said coyly. She looked sexy, vulnerable and very alluring at that moment.
“Why, Callie?” I whispered. The rest of the bar had ceased to exist, the other drinkers, the guitarist in the corner, the staff. Callie and I were alone together, at least as far as I was concerned. We were playing a dangerous game, but one that I wouldn’t want to stop.
“You know why, David,” she whispered back.
I nodded slowly. I slid my hand slowly under the table until it brushed against the skin of her knee. We were swimming in each other’s eyes. “How brave are you, Callie?” I said softly.
She handed me the tight little ball of satin and lace then, and it was wetter than I had expected or imagined. I took it from her and held it under the table, on my lap. over my raging cock.
“What are you going to do with my panties, David?” she said, her voice husky.
“In my pocket.”
“Are you going to give them back?”
“No,” I replied. “I’m going to lift them up to my face and breathe them in.” It barely seemed like me talking, yet it was.
“Not here though. Come back to my room. Please?” she said, her eyes pleading too. I wasn’t sure if the pleading was about not holding her underwear up for others to see, or begging me to go to her room with her. Either way, I was beyond any clear, rational thought.
“Let’s go,” I said, sliding from the booth, onto unsteady legs. She got to her feet, even more off balance than me. I helped her up and guided her out of the bar to the bank of elevators. We waited in silence, aware of each other but lost in our own thoughts about the situation we were in and the rest of the night to come.
As the elevator doors closed, I lifted the panties from my pocket and held them to my nose, breathing deeply, as she watched. The scent was as I had imagined it, the subtle musk of a woman in arousal. I closed my eyes for a long moment, savouring it.
“I think that is the single sexiest thing anyone has ever done with my underwear,” she said. After a pause, she said, “I’ve never cheated on my husband and I’m not going to start now. But I don’t want this night to end and I am more turned on than I can ever remember being.”
“I’m not going to cheat either. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
“I want to as well. But we’re not going to, are we?” She said it in such a way that it was partly the setting down of a ground rule and partly a request for reassurance that we could avoid the temptation.
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