He leaned down for another kiss. I closed my eyes and puckered my lips. He kissed me on the cheek again, let me go and left. It was still early, so I hopped in bed naked, rang Dave, and we had phone sex. I couldn’t concentrate though. My thoughts were on the bulge I’d recently felt pressing into my stomach. After I rang off, I masturbated sensuously to the thought of John knocking on the door. That led to a better than average orgasm. I drifted off to sleep hoping he would knock, if only to absolve me on the chronic misreading I’d made of the situation.
As I’m writing this, I’ve just had a revelation. Well, I am writing it to explain to myself why I did what I did. If I don’t understand it, how can I avoid it in the future? The revelation is something I should have known all along. Sex, for women, has four components. There’s the purely physical side—the achieving the release that only a good orgasm can give you. Dave will always win there. After seven years of bedding me, he knows exactly what buttons to press and when. Second, is the feeling of love that comes with sex with someone who really cares about you. A loving connection when they spend two hours spoiling you rotten. Third, is the validation of your womanhood. When your partner walks in the bathroom, sees you naked, lifts you onto the bench, and just screws the shit out of you. The animalistic lust is perhaps the highest compliment you can ever get as a woman. The last element is something Dave can’t give me anymore—the tension and excitement before someone beds you for the first time. A tension that slowly dissipates as the relationship continues.
My confusion is easing. I’d never had all four together. Sure, when I first got together with Dave, we had the loving connection and the tension, but because of our relative inexperience, neither knew exactly how to please the other. I now think that in John, I saw the possibility of having everything. I knew he had deep feelings for me. I could not only see it in his eyes, but knew he would never contemplate risking his marriage and family without it. The tension would be there in triplicate. How quickly would we be compatible sexually? I was much more experienced now and knew exactly what I wanted. John just oozed sexual confidence and must have had loads of previous partners. If we discussed what we both liked beforehand, then we’d hit the ground running. Not only that, but the discussions would, and, in fact, did, build up the tension. I’m getting wet just at the memory of the month that followed that first trip. No, concentrate, Lisa. You’re writing this bloody thing to remind yourself that in the long run it’s just not bloody worth it.
The next day, I wasn’t introduced as ‘my beautiful new assistant’. Nor did John touch me in any way. I think he was worried I was misinterpreting him and deliberately backed off. I admired him for that. The drive home was neutral. I was waiting for Dave when he got home, dragged him to bed and gave him a night to remember, I can tell you.
The admiration I felt for John, turned to frustration over the next few weeks. I missed the flirting, the compliments, and the subliminal sexual tension. By three weeks, I’d pretty much resolved to seduce him. I’d held something in my hands and now it was gone. I had to get it back.
The two girl’s nights in those three weeks, I used to gather information. Two of my former colleagues, I knew, were having affairs. I subtly pumped them for information, which they both unashamedly provided. One even confirmed she only hung on to lovers for a few months until the tension and the newness wore off. I pretended to be concerned they’d get caught. That way I learned much about how to successfully hide things. At work, I ceased researching predators and moved on to how wives having extramarital romances (to this day I still can’t call it cheating) are discovered.
At the office, John didn’t object to my complimenting him on his sharp suits and touching him at every opportunity. I knew I was on track, when one day I was standing behind his chair, explaining something on his computer screen, when I brushed his neck with my breast. He must have felt my erect nipple because he half turned and kissed my shirt bump lightly. He apologised profusely and we returned to work. I knew then that I’d have to take it slow.
