Some years ago I had a passionate affair with a married woman. The affair ended with a whimper. Contrary to every indication she had given me, she couldn't-whether out of pity, vestigial religious feeling, or some other scruple that she could not or would not name- bring herself to leave her husband even though he had been, and subsequently continued to be, serially unfaithful to her. Our affair was the high point of my life. I've never come to terms with the fact that we've spent our lives apart and there hasn't been a day when I havn't thought about her. As a form of therapy I started writing down the details of our time together particularly our sexual encounters as it was the recollection of these that most energized my writing.  I'm posting our story on this site in the hope, admittedly slender, that my lover will read it and respond in kind.

There is one thing the reader should know: though the details of the sex are as accurate as memory will allow, details of place and time have been left vague for reasons I will not go into here and my lover's name has been changed. So here is my first posting and, more in hope than expectation I look forward to hearing from you my one and only love:

 

The house was constructed of white clapboard, under a corrugated iron roof, the planks broad and crudely sawn. It was symmetrical, like a child's drawing, with a door set in the centre and a window to either side. The bedroom had a single window which looked out over a long dirt drive that led to the front gate; its only furniture was an old fashioned single bed, standing, high off the floor, in the centre of the room, its head against one wall and its foot a short distance from the window opposite.

 

Do you remember that time we made love there?  Let me help you picture it: We're both naked. I'm lying back on the bed, you're leaning through the open window, your arms on the sill, proffering your behind. I had joked that that way we could fuck while you watched out for your husband and you, ever compliant, ran with the joke...... Bending your legs, till I can feel the warmth of your arse where it hovers just above my prick, you  reach behind you and guide me between those soft, cheeks and into that narrow strait. The image of you is  etched in my mind. Your hand wrapped around my cock; the slender lineaments of your back swelling to the amplitude of your arse; the piercing beauty of your shoulder blades; your left breast, in partial profile, which I cupped in my hand while you rode me. Truth to tell, with my legs over the bed-end and feet clear of the floor, I couldn't provide much in the way of action, but you rode me so sweet and steady, all the while looking over your shoulder as if to check that I'm having a good time. And then you increase the tempo and your downthrusts become more purposeful and determined and I'm shouting no Jane, no, I don't want to come yet. But you take no notice, you're really into your stride now like posting at the trot, and I'm yelling no, no, when you sort of twist on me like that last, tight, turn of the screw. Such expertise! like a milkmaids hand on a cow's teat, and your butt is grinding into my crotch and I'm still calling out no, no, even as I jerk off.

 

And then you lift yourself off me, and turn and climb over me and gobbets of semen fall from you and splash on my belly and I'm saying:  you rat Jane, I didn't want to come yet; you've milked me! And you laugh and say: that's my special trick and plant a big kiss on my mouth.