A Quickie in the Woods with My Husband’s Best Friend
One hundred horny days later, my husband still has no idea
100 Days
It has been one hundred days since I first fucked my beautiful lover. I am now technically an expert on cheating. By expert, I mean that I haven’t gotten caught with my pants down. Yet.
If you had told me before that I would sleep around on my husband regularly, I would have laughed in your face. But that was a whole other person ago.
Isaac has transformed me, in and out. After one hundred days together, he’s almost got me convinced to break the news to my husband.
The first time we succumbed to each other, I finally understood what a soulmate is. But I’ve learned that sometimes being with your soulmate comes at the cost of losing pieces of your soul.
Afterward, Isaac tried so hard to get me to talk to him about what happened between us. Terrified, I put it off for a couple of weeks.
I am not afraid of Isaac, and I’m only a little afraid of Paul, my husband, and Isaac’s best friend. The thing that scares me most is myself.
Who is that woman who seduced her husband’s closest friend? What does that say about me? Can I ever go back to who I was? Why can’t I stop thinking about Isaac’s long clever fingers doing things to my insides?
14 Days
I finally feel brave enough to return Isaac’s calls. He picks up on the first ring, sounding relieved, concerned, and hot all at the same time. I feel better as soon as I hear him on the other end. How did I survive two weeks without seeing him? I need be in his presence again as soon as possible. Dammit.
We arrange to meet for coffee. By coffee, I mean that we’re going to buy to-go coffees and sit in one of our vehicles to talk. We live in a small town; no need to risk someone we know seeing us inside an actual dining establishment.
The idea of being alone with him in a small space makes my body tingle. But, I firmly tell myself, we’re only talking. Sorting things out.
I try to crowd out the growing fantasy in my head of me doing whatever I want to Isaac in his car.
18 Days
I casually tell my husband Paul that I’m headed to hang out with my girlfriend Jenny for the evening. I could probably have said I was moving to Texas to be a bull rider in a rodeo — he never pays attention to me anyway. Paul impatiently waves me off, saying he has a headache and to please not be loud when I get home.
I wish he wouldn’t make this so easy.
I pull up at the Starbucks that Isaac and I have agreed on. As his truck pulls in, I subtly check my hair and face in the mirror. I have chosen a simple but attractive outfit to see him today— jeans that fit me perfectly and a long-sleeved fitted top with a tastefully plunging neckline.
Nothing about it screams sexy, but it’s still a far cry from the last time he saw me — at first bundled up in several layers in a blizzard, then later at his apartment, in only his shirt and boxers.
On second thoughts, his clothes are probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever put on my body. I shiver at the memory of this.
Isaac texts from his car and asks what I want to drink; he says he will go through the drive-thru for us. What a gentleman, I think, as I request my usual flat white latte.
Ten minutes later, I am sitting in Isaac’s truck, latte in hand. There is a charge in the air; he must feel it too. He can’t help grinning at me as I hop in. He smells so good, like cedar shavings and coffee grounds. And his stubble is really calling my name today. I manage to stop myself from touching his face.
Isaac suggests we drive around, but I have something different in mind. If he’s driving, then we have to talk. I can think of at least five other things I’d rather do with him than talk right now. I invisibly try to slap some sense into my head; all the while, I already know that a force bigger than myself is winning.
Low waves of guilt wash up on the shore of my mind, but the pull I have toward Isaac is so powerful that the waves simply dissipate into harmless foamy nothingness as they reach the part of my brain that is trying to scream at me to do the right thing.
We end up driving to the parking lot of a nearby state park. It’s a quiet area, and hardly anyone comes through there in the winter. Which is just fine with me.
We park, and then Isaac is looking at me with serious eyes. I know he’s about to tell me that what we did a few weeks ago was wrong and that we can never do it again. I feel panic rising in my stomach and getting stuck in my throat. I realize that I cannot, will not hear this from him.
I open my mouth to say something to stop him, but the words remain in the back of my throat, swirling around with the panic.
So, instead, I bury my head in my hands while torrents of shame, rejection, and dread flow through me.
Isaac must instinctively get that I’m too weak to hear his words; he gently puts his hand on my back and says simply, “Let’s go for a walk.”
Numbly, I shrug my jacket on, open the car door, and tumble out rather ungracefully. He locks the car, and we head toward the nearest trail together. The sun is beginning to go down. I’m still mute, but as we walk further into the trail, the calm of the trees and the crisp air bring a balm to my soul.
I begin to recover my composure until I trip over a stupid large rock jutting out from the side of the path that I’ve somehow missed.
Naturally, Isaac reacts and catches me before I reach the ground. His open hand accidentally catches at my chest as I am falling. We’re both mortified but act as though nothing has happened.
He grabs my hand to help me stand all the way back up, but when I’m on my feet again, he does not let me go. I allow myself to raise my eyes to meet his bravely, and then our lips find each other.
We hold on desperately and kiss like that for what seems like an hour. In reality, it is only a couple of minutes before I am dragging him off the path so I can do some of the things I had previously fantasized about doing to him in the car.
No car, no problem. Isaac follows my lead compliantly. As soon as I’m sure we’re out of sight of potential passersby, I loosen his belt, unzip his pants, and release his glorious manhood into the freedom of the woods around us. I thank the universe that there is still enough light out that I can see him.
God, how I’ve missed his dick since I last saw it. It springs out, long and stiff and warm into my hand and now all I can think about is shoving it as deep in the back of my throat as I can to unstick my words and push all my earlier panic back down.
I crouch down, take him in my mouth, and turn my eyes up at his. I devour him hungrily, sucking, pulling, and pushing. He breathes heavily, trying not to make a sound. It isn’t long before he clenches his jaw and tilts his head up, telling me he’s close. He tries in vain to hold back a low, guttural groan as he squirts hot, milky cum far into my throat, washing away all the sad feelings that had been lingering in there.
He’s a bit unsteady on his feet afterward, but he pulls me up, kisses me sweetly on the forehead, and looks into my eyes. But I’m still flushed with longing and he notices. He pulls me closer then and trails soft kisses around my neck. His stubble rubs against my sensitive skin.
I whimper.
His hand slides under my shirt and unhooks my bra, leaving it loose and hanging off my shoulders while his fingers tease and pinch my nipples deftly. I know we’re out in the open, but I have less self-control than he does, and I’m already moaning out loud and unbuttoning my jeans. I push them off the curve of my ass with my panties, then slide my arms around his neck and cling to him.
He understands the hint. His other hand comes to find my pussy then, and I’m warm and wet and ready for him. He fucks me with his fingers, over and over again, until I lean my whole weight on him and surrender my being, shuddering and crying out in ecstasy.
Afterward, we help each other restore our clothes to dignity, then, hands clasped together, we walk back to the truck in reverent silence as the last sliver of sun disappears.
101 Days
My husband Paul and I are sitting across from the doctor. Paul is sobbing. I’m trying to keep from throwing up. We’ve just been told Paul has a brain tumor, which explains the headaches and bad temper that has been going on for months. They are pretty sure it’s inoperable. He’s been given a year to live.
I’m shaken to the core. I wonder if it is my fault somehow.
Isaac and I did eventually talk — a whole lot. We’ve also fucked a whole lot. At least once a week, sometimes more. It’s scary how good I’ve gotten at lying and covering things up. I know I have traded off parts of my soul in the process, but being with Isaac patches my pieces back together somewhat.
Isaac wants so badly to come clean about everything. He says the truth will hurt, but Paul doesn’t deserve us hiding it from him. Isaac wants to be with me in the most honest way possible. I know he’s right, but I’d been begging him to hold off and give me time to think.
Now, it seems, there’s no time at all.
I decide right then; my husband will never know I’ve been fucking his best friend.
I’d be grateful for a coffee :)
What happened next:
When the story first began: