Trust, and its absence, in an affair

Yesterday, I promised to tell another sexy, yet awkward, story. Here we go!

I met Wes on Craigslist in early June, last year. He was handsome, brilliant, and wrote beautifully. After a few weeks of lyrically lovely letters, he asked for my telephone number. His number was blocked on my phone's caller ID, but we talked for a few hours and discovered similar world views, the same kind of wit, and complimentary sexual requirements.

We planned to meet at a coffee shop somewhere between the two of us. I took the train from my suburb, walked the few blocks through sprinkling rain, bought my coffee, and waited. And waited. He called (still from that blocked phone number) to let me know he was running late, but would be there shortly. It took a little while for us to find each other once he was there, but we settled in a corner and chatted. There was chemistry fairly sparking between us. The place we met had books on every wall, and we talked about those we'd read, those we wanted to read, those we disdained outwardly but secretly loved. I felt this gorgeous connection, and knew that the sex would likely be explosive.

We walked through the neighborhood around the coffee shop, talking about our gardening woes while looking at various landscaping projects. He walked me back to the train stop, and shared two thorough, fabulous kisses with me, and I stood on the train back to my car, awash in a wave of lust.

A few weeks later, we managed to arrange our schedules for a Friday afternoon at a hotel. I would have liked another "date" before we went to bed together, but he had trouble getting away from home and work, and said pretty words about how he really didn't want to wait to fuck me, so I went along with it. We'd agreed to split the cost of a hotel room, so I found a great deal (by the way, http://biddingfortravel.com is fantastic for gaming Priceline's hotel bookings, and I got a room in a 4-star hotel for $31).

The day before we were set to meet up, he sent me a list of instructions. No perfume, no make-up, no hair product, to bathe thoroughly (uh, like I wouldn't want to be squeaky clean for sex?) and I followed them to the letter. He told me he'd call when he was in the parking lot for the room number, so I read on the bed in a slinky, silky nightgown and waited. And waited some more.

He arrived, 90 minutes after he was supposed to meet me. I let him into the room, and he ravaged my mouth, going straight for the tonsils. Nothing wrong with it, but it was maybe a little much a little quickly for me. He sat on the bed, and gestured me to recline between his legs, my back to his front.

He brushed his lips across the nape of my neck, and I luxuriated in it. He slid one strap of the nightgown off my shoulder, and then the other. Each hand took hold of a nipple, which he teased and twisted and pinched, varying the pressure to find my pleasure. He reached between my legs and teased my (freshly waxed) pussy. I tried to find something to do to him, yet he kept me from him.

At last, he swung off the bed and removed his clothes. He was incredibly handsome, even naked. Fit, brown hair, gray eyes, a moderately muscled chest likely sprinkled with hair. He told me to remove my nightgown, and I pulled it over my head (totally ruining the french twist I had coaxed my hair into, since my hair always seems to get in the way).

He slid on top of me, and seemed to examine my body as he brought me pleasure. He suckled my nipples, squeezed my breasts between his hands. He noticed the stretch marks and c-section scar, signs of motherhood, but kissed them as he moved down my body. He commented on the nice work of my waxer as he looked at my pussy.

In our conversations, Wes told me that he adored cunnilingus. Does every man seeking a sexual partner say that? Because we can tell if you don't. It's okay. I'd rather do something else that you really do like if you're not thrilled by it. I am comfortable with my own taste and scent, I'm hygienic, but I also get really, really wet when I'm turned on. Whether the lack was me or Wes, he took three swipes at my clitoris with his tongue, moved up immediately and then poised his cock at the entrance to my cunt. While I was pleased that I'd passed his inspection, I wasn't going to fuck without a condom.

I finally took the initiative and pulled him further up my body so he straddled my chest. I sucked his cock (nicely sized -- wide enough, in the six-or-so-inch range) and looked at his face. He kept his eyes closed, but by the jerking of his cock in my mouth and the slackening of his jaw when I combined my tongue and fingers on his balls, I was doing fine. I grabbed a condom from the table where I'd placed them (a girl never should be unprepared), and got it on him in one try. He seemed displeased, but stayed hard, which worked for me. He sat on the bed, reclining on his elbows, and I mounted him, feeling him fill me and stretching around him.

Wes was silent in bed, something he had sworn he wasn't. It's hard for me to lose myself when I'm the only one making any noise, but I did my best. He stopped me right as I was about to cum, and tried to get my mouth on his cock, which at the angle I was at, was not going to happen. "Wes, I'll do just about anything to please you, but I don't bend that way." He laughed, admitted that I was right, and I settled alongside him to suck his cock, as he wished.

I've said before, the taste of skin with condom residue isn't my favorite, but I can deal. He played with my clit and I sucked him until he came. I still hadn't cum, and he didn't seem to notice. "I have to get going," he said. He got in the shower, alone, and I read in bed until he chastely kissed me goodbye. After the door closed behind him, I finished myself with my fingers.

I had some mixed feelings after this encounter. He didn't notice that I didn't cum? He didn't care? Maybe this is why his marriage was sexless.

He called that night, when I was nowhere near my telephone. Left a message about how beautiful I was, likening me to the full moon that night. I was mollified, and assumed that the next time would be better.

We talked a few times a week for months after that, but the lyrically written e-mails ended the day we fucked. He really wanted to come to my house when the kids weren't home to fuck again, but that's against my rules. When I offered to get a room at the same place, he was suddenly too busy. I stopped taking his calls in October, since I didn't think we'd ever manage to get our schedules to match up again, and he never e-mailed again.

I think, deep down, he didn't want to spend a dollar on the affair. That's okay. I'm not a hooker, and I'm not seeking monetary gain from these adventures. But I don't have a place to meet my lovers, so it needs to be on neutral ground. I'm willing to pay my share. But I also felt like I gave more than I got, from a trust standpoint.

I should preface this by saying that I am well aware that I am in a different situation from the majority of people seeking extramarital succor. My husband knows I'm looking elsewhere and he doesn't care. If a lover decided to make my life difficult by confronting my spouse, hubby would be displeased because it's against our "don't ask, don't tell" proviso, and would consider it a sign that I didn't choose someone who respected our rules, but my life wouldn't change materially.

I know that in this respect, I am lucky, and I do understand the measures that married men must take to protect their own situations. While I would never, ever jeopardize someone's home life, they have no real way of knowing that. It's a weird kind of honor among thieves, I suppose. Wes told me what he did for a living, but not where. He never told me his last name, where he went to school, if he had children, and he never ever trusted me with his telephone number.

The evening when I posted my last ad, I got a call on my phone from a blocked number, right before the ad was flagged. I know it was him, and I am quite sure he knew it was me. He didn't leave a message.