Predictive Sext
The return of someone else’s husband
If you’ve read any of my past stories you’d know that I recently played a game of risk with a married man.
This poor guy is now starring in his own mini-series, compliments of yours truly, and he doesn’t even know it. But he keeps giving me new episodes to write, so why stop now?
Here’s the thing about having sex with a married man you work with — you can’t possibly know which direction it’s going to turn after the first time. Either he’s going to regret it and it never occurs again, or it takes on a life of its own and becomes something.
It took a full month for him to figure it out, and now he’s back-ish.
He is the reason I now take towels to work because you just never know when you might need one for an aftermath. It’s called planning ahead. The last spontaneous transaction ended up turning my hoodie into a whole DNA registry.
Let me back up to the moments immediately following the event. We had just finished fucking like teenagers in the back seat of my car one night after work and then parted company as if we would never have to acknowledge it again. Except we would at some point — we work together.
I made a pact with myself to let him be the first to acknowledge the incident because he likely had more mixed feelings about it than I did. And that’s where the last episode left off.
The day after our exploits I showed up at work just as I would any other day. It’s inevitable that we run into each other several times throughout the workday so I wasn’t about to intentionally look for him.
Eventually, the run-in occurred. He nonchalantly said “Hi” and then rushed off to wherever he was going, and that was that. The rest of our work week played out the same way so I decided to leave him alone, even though he had assured me after our romp, that he wouldn’t be weird about it. Let me clarify that he’s the one who initiated it in the first place.
He did try to cover up his own awkwardness by texting me after a few days, apologizing that he’s been too busy at work to stop and commiserate. I was nonchalant about it, but I suspected he wasn’t.
Fast forward through an entire month of cold-shouldering at work and I pretty much thought our friendship was done. It was clear to me that he had reconsidered his actions and decided he’d made a mistake.
Until one night, he came to my department to chat with some other colleagues I happened to be standing around with. Then just before leaving, he said goodbye to one, said goodbye to the other, and on his way out — he smacked my ass right in front of them both and said goodnight.
Radio silence filled the air between myself and my coworkers as he strutted out of the building.
This was a new and completely unexpected behavior after an entire month of avoidance. My two coworkers busted up laughing over it so I just joined them in laughter and played it off as a WTF moment.
Reaching home the same night, I received a text that read, “That ass though.” It’s the same ass he had his face buried in one month earlier. Maybe he was having flashbacks.
I replied, “It’s nice to see some spark back in you. You’ve been bitchy a long time now.”
Since the ass smack, we have been engaged in regular nightly, full-blown sexting until 2 or 3 A.M. I don’t even know how I keep up with it all, I can’t do those types of hours but I did it.
We then graduated from just words to graphic photos of how we’re pleasuring ourselves while sexting. I nearly pulled out the video guns one night but thought better of it.
It only bothers me a little bit that his child’s toys are strewn around in the background of his rock hard dick pics. Is his wife such a heavy sleeper that she doesn’t notice his empty side of the bed while he’s stroking his dick for me on the couch?
Our steamy sexting maps out entire erotic scenes inside storage rooms at work, in my car again, and in spots where we know, the security cameras don’t hit. We replay every second of our first encounter and build on it to create the next.
Our fantasy world logistics are stellar.
Finally, one night after hours of sexting he wrote, “Fuck, we need to make something happen tomorrow.”
I knew in the tiny speck of decency in my soul that it had to happen in my car. Regardless of how hot fucking him in a dark corner at work sounds, I’m not willing to risk my reputation nor my job over it. He’s a married man.
On my way to work the next day, I left the house with my bag, a cup of coffee in one hand, and a clean towel in the other. As I locked my front door and strolled to my car I smirked and shook my head at myself.
Who the fuck goes to work carrying a clean towel?
The minute I walked into work, he was the first person I saw and he had a huge grin on his face. He wanted it and I could tell he’d be counting the hours until the end of the night like a kid counts the days until Christmas.
I told him about the towel I brought for my back seat and laughed while saying I’ve reached a new low in life. He corrected me by saying, “Or a new high.”
That night, I finished up work before he did so I swung through his area to casually say goodnight, not wanting to set off alarm bells to anyone who might be observing.
That’s the funny thing about being involved in something illicit — even though no one else knows, you know, so you feel like everyone sees it too.
When I approached him he made it appear as though he was up to his eyeballs in work and wouldn’t be able to get out anytime soon. He apologized so I just said, “That’s okay, work is work. No need to apologize.”
I was very cognizant that he had probably gotten cold feet. I could dig it and I understood without him having to explain.
I half expected him to hit me with some sexting later that night but nothing came. I let it go and then the weekend arrived — we never sext on weekends because that’s his wife and child time. I respect that.
In all honesty, I was pretty nervous about round two anyway. The first one was spontaneous and both of us were operating on pure instinct. The second time would have been (or will be) premeditated, playing out all the fantasy scenarios we’ve been building up by sexting.
I’m more of an unplanned adventure seeker.
If it wasn’t him in particular, I would be anticipating round two, no question. But the fact that it is him and he seems to have several questions burning inside, it doesn’t sit well with me.
Stay tuned for the next episode — the fate of the clean towel.
