Chapter 1

I had never had a problem with men before I met my husband. I never allowed men to become a problem. Throughout high school, college, then after, men flocked to me. Tall or short, muscular or slender, boisterous

or introverted — I attracted them all. I made them crazy with desire for me — and still do. I am not a saint. I am not ashamed to use my looks, sensual sapphire eyes, long, shapely legs and killer body to get what I want. My many admirers have called me everything from "boy toy" to "sexpot" to "drop-dead gorgeous" to "homicide blonde (you know; the girl with the killer looks?)". I don't mind a bit. If I 'used' men along the way to advance my career (real estate), provide creature comforts, or to just have good, nasty sex, well, they used me, too. Whenever things started to get too complicated, or when I simply got bored, I moved on to the next. I offer no apologies and have no regrets.

Then I met Danny Davis. I am not going to sit here and tell you he was or wasn't my type because my 'type' had two arms, two legs, and a nice, meaty cock to fill me up and make me cum on demand; everything else was negotiable. Danny had all of that, packed on a firm, slender, five-foot-seven-inch frame. I learned during the obligatory, ritualistic 'small talk' phase of our mating dance he was a freelance writer. With his long legs, he had been a natural for Cross-Country in high school and college. He continued to run after graduation, which, later on, helped explain his phenomenal endurance. I have a taste for pretty people and Danny was very pretty, more than any man had business being. Those glittering, seductive green eyes of his could swallow me up without a trace. I just had to have him — and did.

You always hear men brag about their ability to 'go all night'. Danny just did the deed. As he was ripping the clothes from my body, he purred he would give me "whatever your heart desires." I desired a lot — and got it. God, we fucked like animals that first night. He took me in every hole and every position I could think of. He literally reduced me to a mass of trembling, babbling, incoherent gooseflesh by dawn. Of all the men I had had, he was the first to put my needs, my orgasms (I lost count) ahead of his own. When I finally begged him to stop, that I just couldn't do it again, he held me in his arms, cuddled with me, while we watched the sun come up. There was no way I was gonna let this be just a one-nighter!

The days passed. Danny turned out to be a lot more than just a good lay. He was smart, funny, romantic, spontaneous, unprepossessing. He made me laugh. He made me cry — happy cry. He made me think. We usually shacked up in my home, rather than his apartment (let's be real; real estate agents can afford to live better than freelance writers). He adored my house and took as much pride in it as I did. Whenever he stayed over, he would

invariably pick up, clean, even vacuum around the house while I was at work. In any other relationship, that alone would be worth the price of admission. With Danny, there was so much more. He could even cook, and didn't mind spoiling me with dinner on the table when I walked in from a hard day selling homes. Being with him just felt so natural, so right. I was addicted, and he was my fix...

He teased me relentlessly, shamelessly with his raw sexuality in a thousand different ways. I say "shamelessly" as though it was a conscious, deliberate act on his part. The more I got to know him, the more I believed it wasn't. He appeared to be genuinely unaware of the effect he was having on me — and on other women I noticed noticing him wherever we went. They weren't casual glances, either. I know when a tigress is sizing up a cut of USDA Prime; been there, done that. I am also fully aware of what said tigress's next step will be. Did I get possessive of this

marvelous hunk of manflesh? Uh-uh, Honey; I got downright territorial! Imagine me, Kristen Connor, liberated girl-about-town, all but dragging this poor, sweet, accommodating boy to the altar, just to make certain no other bitch could get her claws into him!

I warned him up front, before we exchanged vows. As much as I wanted, needed him in my life, I wasn't going to promise to be a one-man woman. Then and now, if an attractive cock dangles itself in my face, I am going to rise to the occasion. I did, too. That first time, it wasn't so much the pain of betrayal that registered in my husband's eyes as it was the sense of disappointment. Whatever his personal feelings, he accepted me, for all my flaws, and never said an unkind word about it. To his credit, he never had to.

Gradually, I came to realize none of my lovers came close to satisfying me in the ways Danny did. Sure, I got off - in a purely physical sense. None of them touched me emotionally, none even tried, the way my husband did. For all my protestations of wanting and needing him, I finally understood I loved him, in a way I had never cared about another person in my life. I didn't give up my trysts completely, but went to great lengths to make Danny understand they were just sex — almost always a one-shot fling — and nothing more. There was never a possibility I would want it to be more. Danny had ruined me for other relationships in the best possible way.

I was deliriously happy for four years. The tension began to rise during the fifth. It wasn't that the sex had gone bad, stale, or become increasingly infrequent; far from it. Danny was still the most skillful (he had had me as a teacher), considerate, attentive lover I had ever had. Gawd, that talented, tickling, tantalizing tongue of his! He could lave me

for hours, taunting and teasing my nipples, pussy, clit, and all over my body. He had the lightest, most delicate touch, too — unless he was pinching, nipping, and sucking my sensitive nipples, which he knew would launch me into orbit.

The piece de resistance was that eight-inch cock. It had a flaring, bulbous head and fattened out really big towards the base. When he was filling me up, he regularly brought me to the most gut-wrenching, mind-blowing multiple orgasms. I just kept cumming and cumming like there was no tomorrow. That was because the man was like a fucking machine; he never stopped.

That was the problem; he never stopped. I know what you are thinking. 'Are you insane? How could that be a problem? Simple. He never stopped because he never came, not once, in all the times we had intercourse. I couldn't even make him cum orally — and I am no slouch when it comes to giving blowjobs! Oh, he could get himself off. He usually did that later on, when I wasn't around — unless I insisted on being there beside him, sharing it

with him. If I asked him what he had been thinking about when he came, he invariably replied it was how happy I made him. Yeah, right.

For his part, he never complained, never held it against me, never seemed to give it a second thought. He didn't have to; I did. I loved my husband truly, madly, deeply, and wanted with all my heart to return to him the gift of sexual and emotional fulfillment he had bestowed upon me. Despite my best efforts, I was unable to do that. I had never had a problem getting a guy off before. Now here I was, married to the most incredible, wonderful guy on Earth, and I couldn't make him cum. For the first time in my life, I had performance anxiety — and it was making me an emotional wreck!

I was rushed one morning. Danny had already left for an appointment with one of his regular clients and would be gone all day. I was running late for the office. Today was a 'triple-witching day'; I had to pay the electric, cable, and cell phone bills. We were set up to pay our bills via online banking, so I sat down at the desk. Danny had obviously used the computer that morning, probably to check his e-mail. He must have been either distracted or in a hurry, as I was at that moment; he had left the machine up and logged into his account. Danny never did that. He belonged

to the school of thought that you shut down the machine when not in use to save electricity and prevent unnecessary wear and tear on the hard drive and monitor, not trusting ACPI to do the job. Since I was in a hurry, I simply accessed the Internet through his account, rather than logging off and signing on under my own - a first for me.

I opened the browser, clicked on Favorites, then clicked the link to the bank's web site. The bill paying took about five minutes. I was about to close the browser when a thought occurred to me, something that had subconsciously registered while scanning the Favorites directory tree. I clicked on Favorites again and there it was; a folder named Dark Desires. Be honest. Wouldn't you be curious enough to want to know what such a folder might contain? I was.

After about twenty minutes, I called the office to say I wouldn't be in that day. After that, I browsed the bookmarked websites for a couple of hours. Danny had set up the subscription sites for automatic login, so I

was able to surf their content freely. There were several story sites bookmarked. Some of the story and author links were highlighted, indicating he had recently accessed them. I read those first. Acting on a hunch, I browsed Danny's Documents folder next. That provided enough reading material for several more hours. Eventually, I tired of staring at the screen. I set up the Favorites and Documents folders to be shared across accounts, shut down the computer, and went out for some fresh air.

At least, now I knew. That the situation existed, and other women had had to face it, was not exactly news. I had just never had to confront it before on a personal level. After reading the stories and browsing members' forums, I also had a wide spectrum of the reactions of other women facing similar situations.

More often than not, the first reaction of these women was a sense of betrayal. I could see their point, but for some reason, could not share it. Glass houses, I thought at first; I was in no position to cast the first stone. Unlike me, if Danny was guilty of anything, it was a sin of omission; something he hadn't revealed about his 'dark desires'. Other

women had used that easy excuse to gain a sense of moral superiority, regardless of their own transgressions. I

wasn't 'other women' — and recognized the cop-out for what it was.

These same women had allegedly responded to their partners' revelations in a variety of ways. Some were ludicrous and patently fiction. Others were hateful in a way I could never feel towards the man who had given me so much. Still others were beyond bizarre. A precious few were genuine erotic turn-ons. When I recognized the latter for what they were, I realized this new scenario held at least the possibility of being a positive experience for both of us.

I had a lot to sort out while I walked. I examined how I felt, how I thought Danny must feel, what, if anything, I wanted to do about both, and how that would affect our relationship. Most importantly, I had to examine what really was important; to me, to us and about us. I could have dwelled on the subject for days, weeks, months, as had some of the women I had read about. That I didn't need to should have immediately told me something about me.