Chapter 2

Yet it really wasn't that easy, for I did not wish to be known as the town slut; my assignations had to be capable of being kept exceedingly private. And I knew from my youth that the male has a tendency to brag of his conquests. Our trips to Las Vegas, allegedly for Granny to play the slot machines and for me to chaperone her, were useful diversions, but I did not wish to make a life of out-of-town one-night stands. I needed a parishioner, someone I could actually talk to after his orgasm, for regular relief.

And that's all it was, relief. Not intending any romantic involvements, I just needed a man whose sex drive did not preclude him from making me cum also. I needed someone who could hold back until I let go, and someone with discretion. I needed an older man, preferably a widower like Arthur.

I was at church regularly every Sunday, standing outside and greeting people. I already knew most of them, but my friendly smile was intended to distract people from my searching eyes, looking for a new conquest, if that be a female word, or for a new sort of look in the eyes of an old acquaintance. I did not doubt that a man who looked at me casually on most occasions might yet see me in a new light if his wife had turned her back to him the previous evening.

That was how I came to know Stanley, our local banker; one fine morning, his smile lingered on me too long for mere courtesy. He had been hurt at home, I could tell, yet from the way his eyes stayed on my face, never dropping to my breasts or hips, I knew that he was feeling something other than pure lust. My eyes flickered down to his groin, briefly, and when they returned to his face, I could see surprise slowly changing to silent approval, maybe actual pride. My mind raced into the building to imagine Michael looking down on me from on high; could I pull it off without his knowledge? Stanley was clearly mine if I wanted him; did I have the nerve to let him know that I craved him? My head held still as Stanley passed out of view, to be replaced by his wife; attractive enough but with a frightening toughness. She was a woman not to be trifled with, and no doubt some anger had caused her to withhold her womanly gifts from poor Stanley.

I knew as I sat in Church, looking up at Michael, knowing that behind that lectern was hidden a useless shriveled penis, I knew that I must not again give any sign to Stanley. He had seen my glance between his legs; if nothing happened I did not have to explain it away, but if I repeated it without provocation, news might well be spread. I had notified him telepathically that I was available; whether or not he received the message, or acted on it, the ball was in his court. For a month of Sundays, I stood outside the Church, smiling at one and all. When it was Stanley's turn to pass by, I shook his hand but my eyes never left his. He was astute enough to know that eye contact would never convince anyone that I was lustful, and so I communicated my message wordlessly, leaving no evidence to damn me in case my estimate was erroneous.

Stanley's eyes, like the eyes of all of us, were the windows to his soul, and I could see in them a slow conversion from curiosity to anxiety, to lust. Given time, he would invite me to his bed, and once I realized that, I also knew when it would be. Michael was scheduled to go to New York for a conference, and it was no secret. I was by then sure that the day after Michael left, Stanley would be on the phone to me; the only thing uncertain was what pretext he would use. I would have been at home, waiting for that call, had not Stanley surprised me by calling the afternoon of Michael's flight. His pretense was a review of the mutual funds we had bought through the bank.

"Melissa, you realize that we should be reviewing your investments every so often to be sure that they are still right for you and Reverend Johnson."

But I wasn't about to let him into my pants without being sure that he was really interested, that he had enough spunk to overcome rejection.

"Oh, yes, Stanley, but haven't you heard, Michael is in New York this week for a conference. Maybe we should wait for his return."

I could hear the gears spinning in his head. He was, I hoped, wondering how to talk me out of this roadblock; certainly, he didn't want to wait for Michael to get home. At least I hoped not. Come on, Stanley, show me how smart you are, how much you want to get into my pants.

"You're right of course, Melissa, but I think that if I meet with you preliminarily, I can get your thoughts and have any of your questions ready to be answered when he is back in town."

Attaboy, Stanley, you got the brass ring!

"Good idea, Stanley. Since I've got all the records at home, why don't you come over at lunchtime tomorrow? I'll whip up something tempting."

The meal I intended to offer him the next day consisted of a pair of bright pink pussy lips, lightly spray-scented, moist for his enjoyment. Of course, I had presented that meal to enough young men in the past that I knew how to tease them, how to hold them off until their cocks were ready to burst their zippers. And Stanley too would have to sweat a bit until he took his prize. The line from 'South Pacific' ran through my mind: 'I enjoy being a girl.'

After we hung up, I got into my car and drove seven miles until I reached my usual out-of-the-way video store. It was mid-day, quiet in the adult section, and I selected two DVDs for my inventory. As I paid, I watched the clerk staring into my face and I stared back, refusing to be embarrassed by my purchase, although in fact I truly was. I knew the man had seen what I was purchasing, and I knew that his mind had quickly put the both of us into a scene, but he wasn't my type. Anyone who would sell that filth to children did not deserve the pleasure of my body.

One of the DVDs would get me through the night; the other might possibly help me entertain Stanley the following day. I hadn't yet decided about that. Oh, I knew I would soon be underneath Stanley with my legs spread, but it wouldn't be in my own home. Stanley may have thought otherwise, but he would soon learn the facts of philandering.

I rushed through a simple dinner, stripped to a robe and inserted the first movie into the player. For myself, I had chosen a straight fuck movie, filled with large black and white cocks, the better to help me imagine what Stanley kept between his legs. For his treat, I had bought a lesbian movie; most men go crazy watching two women making love. Back in high school, Marci and I had enjoyed putting on shows for our boyfriends, usually separately but once for both of them at the same time.

That was the time Granny walked in on us, a full two hours before she had been expected to return home. The afternoon had progressed to the point where the boys were fucking us as Marci and I sixty-nined each other. I didn't know that Granny had come into the bedroom until I felt my boyfriend's cock instantly shrivel up inside my pussy and the other one likewise as it suddenly ceased its fight with my mouth over possession of Marci's clitoris. The dear lady left the room without a word, but both boys were so shaken that they had to leave, unsatisfied. Marci and I had already cum with each other, but I assume the boys had to masturbate when they got home.

I didn't see Granny again until dinner time. Not having been able to come up with the right words, I just said, "I'm sorry, Granny."

She gave me just the hint of a smile.

"I was jealous, Melissa dear." We both burst out laughing and hugged; that was the first time I ever thought about doing a threesome with my grandmother. She's only in her sixties now, and fantastically well preserved; hot might be a better word. Anyway, after that afternoon, I would just tell Granny when to stay away from the house, and she always complied. Each time I did so, I got a kiss and a smile, a squeeze of my hand and advice to be careful, for I was still just a high school girl.

I was able to enjoy my movie without my vibrator; my fingers supplied the needed sensations to my clitoris as I rubbed in time with those beautiful plunging pieces of meat that hung from the men and drove into the mouths and cunts of the actresses. Drooling as I watched their cum shoot out onto the bellies or pussies of the girls, or onto their faces, my hand fairly flew over my clitoris, bringing me off a number of times. Sometimes, however, I just sat and watched, leaking freely as the movie ground on.

I slept the sleep of the innocent, though while awake I continued to think of myself as the sinner, violating my vows to Michael and subjecting my body to unspeakable conduct. Yet I was a human being, and thus subject to all the vices and lusts of mankind, of humankind. Oh how I love the feeling of a hard, blood filled cock somewhere in my body, exciting me, pouring forth its sperm to thrill me.

The morning sun came through the window and my eyes opened; a firm hand masturbating my wet lips brought me to wakefulness. After breakfast, I showered and planned my wardrobe. Underneath, my hidden stash of goodies produced a thong which barely covered my nether lips while a lacy bra with the nipples cut out supported my breasts, though they needed no such support. My outer garments on the other hand were extremely sedate; a white Oxford cloth blouse buttoned up to my neck and a skirt extending almost to the floor. The undies would excite me as we sat, yet Stanley would have to find a place for our assignation if today was to be a success for him.

For lunch, I made sandwiches and tea, with cookies for dessert. The lesbian DVD stayed in my purse; Stanley would have to find a motel or hotel with a DVD player, or it would have to wait for another day.

We shook hands when he arrived. There was not even a kiss of the air alongside each other's cheek; I was after all the Minister's wife. Before lunch, we sat side by side on the living room couch, papers spread before us on the coffee table. We never touched so much as a hand, though I often felt Stanley's eyes burning a hole through my opaque blouse as he tried to see my bra and my breasts. I in reply had my head facing toward the papers on the table, yet my eyes were turned to the side to try to see the bulge in his trousers, waiting patiently for him to make his move, knowing with certainty how he would do so.

Finally, he announced his need to go to the lavatory, crossing behind me en route. When he returned, he stopped behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders, massaging them chastely, staying far from my breasts. My hands went up to cover his; this was to be the moment of truth for Stanley. Would I just hold his in place, would I lift them off my body, or would I pull them down onto my breasts? Though I knew that eventually I would have his cock buried inside me, my burning desire, yet at that very moment I wasn't sure what I would do when my hands reached his.

At the last instant, I brought both of his hands to my face and kissed his fingers, then returned his hands to my shoulders, implicitly inviting him to continue whatever he chose. He chose to bring one hand under my chin, tilting my head back as he bent to kiss my lips. The kiss was soft but extended, continuing as his other hand moved down to fondle my breasts. I allowed him to fumble with a button, finally opening it and sliding the hand inside my blouse. He gasped as his fingers found my uncovered nipples, and then he began to feather them with the palm of his hand.

"Stanley, I'm the Minister's wife. We can't do this here. Is there any place we could go?"

"Let us go to my home. Stay low in the seat and I will drive right into the garage; you won't be seen."

"What about your wife?"

"She will be at work until six."

"But won't she see evidence that you have had someone there?"

"Melissa, I've had my own bedroom for over a year."

I could think of no suitable comment, and so made none. Lunch sat uneaten; it would be my dinner. Not knowing if Stanley had a DVD player in his bedroom, I took my purse. We drove out of town, in two cars, and then I parked mine in a large shopping center lot. We rode together to his home, our conversation still on the financial report while our minds were both in his bed. As we approached his home, his hand went to the clicker and the garage door opened for us, closing before I left the car.

I had never been in this house before; the furnishings were those of a woman, certainly, with not the slightest male influence. Stanley was clearly henpecked; his relegation to a separate bedroom not one of separation but one of acceptance, acceptance of two separate existences under one roof. Unless Stanley masturbated often, I was to be treated to a delicious build up of sperm; he certainly wasn't getting his rocks off in his wife's bedroom.

"Stanley, please don't think of me as a cheap whore. It's just that..."

"I understand. It's the same for me." We kissed in the hallway, this time with tongues touching, exploring, invading; his hand clasped my ass tightly. Wordlessly, he led me to his locked bedroom, where I finally saw evidence of masculinity. And of preparation; the bed was turned down, ready for company. Stanley had expected to get me back there. Good for him!

A quick glance showed a TV set with a DVD player attached; we could watch the tape as after-play, and as foreplay for a second round. There would be plenty of time before his wife was due home. I helped him off with his jacket and tie; he handled the shirt alone, as well as his shoes. Then I knelt to undo his belt, pulled down his zipper and eased his pants off over his stockinged feet. The tent in his shorts would remain, covering his obvious erection, until a little later. I stood to allow Stanley free rein on the buttons of my blouse; his hands were soft and smooth, the hands of a professional, yet they looked powerful, hinting of manual delights from him. He already knew that my nipples would be exposed when he opened my blouse; like every other man I've ever known, he bent to suck them at though he were at his mother's breast.