It's Just Sex

by Barneyr

Copyright© 2012 by Barneyr

Romantic Sex Story: My wife has complained that all I write about now are cheating wives; well, this is in answer to that comment.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Heterosexual   Cheating   Anal Sex   .

My phone alarm woke me and I looked at the bedside clock. Seven-thirty; time to shower and get home before I'm too late. I get up, quickly shower the sex smell off me, and in passing as I get dressed, say, "Call me next month when you need to get royally fucked again, Cathy. I'll be Johnny on the spot. See ya." I walked out the bedroom door, down the hall, and out of her house. I got in my car and drove home, knowing what was waiting for me at home.

I drove into the driveway, hit the garage door opener, and entered the house by way of the door that leads to the kitchen. As I came in, I yelled, "Honey, I'm home. Let me take a shower and I'll be ready to take you out dancing." I walked in the living room and saw the vision of loveliness that is my wife of twenty-five years. She might be almost forty-five years old, but she is as lovely and beautiful now as she was when I married her. In fact, I think she has somehow become more beautiful as she aged. She can still wear the cheerleading outfit that she wore in high school and college.

She has just descended the stairs, wearing her 'little black dress' that ends about three inches above her knees and her five inch CFM heels. My God, how I love that woman. I immediately hardened, and I had just spent almost two hours fucking Cathy ragged. I kiss my love and say, "I'll be right back, unless you want to stay in and make love all night long."

"No, Rob, I want to go dancing tonight. We can leave a little early, come back here and make love all night and again in the morning, but I want to go dancing. Hurry up, go shower and change."

I did just that, I ran upstairs, showered in record time, changed into something comfortable for dancing, and went downstairs. I escorted my wife, Sharon, out to the car, and after opening her door, I was treated to her slowly sitting while giving me glimpses of her upper thighs where her garter belt and stockings met. 'Oh boy; tonight was going to be some night, ' I thought, as I hurried around the car to head to the Dragon Lounge. Once there, I helped my wife out of the car, savoring the salacious views of my wife's nylon encased legs and the nice cleavage she showed when she bent over to get out of the car. Oh yeah, tonight was going to be special.

I escorted Sharon to a table then went to the bar for our drinks. As usual, I had to shoo guys away from our table, since Sharon could draw men for miles around with her looks and her personality. I really worried about that at first, but I had seen the results of what unwanted attention from other men got when they went too far in their flirting. One young man got kneed in the crotch when he put a hand on my wife's tit while dancing. An older man got a spike heel in the foot when his hand slipped to her ass one time. One other time, when I was coming back from the restroom, a man that had danced with Sharon earlier was leaning over the table talking to her, when she suddenly grabbed his shirt and slammed his head on the table, then he got her drink splashed on his pants to cool him off.

Okay, you say, but she had to know I was watching. Not really, you see, as I had just barely caught the action in each instance, and Sharon didn't look around to see where I was; she was looking the bastard in the eyes in each case. Besides, she spoke of every incident that happened, even the ones I didn't see, but which were confirmed by friends who did see the scene. I knew that my wife loved me and only me, just like I loved her and only her. Kind of funny about that, huh; considering what I did earlier this afternoon and evening.

I came back with our drinks, shooing guys away like always. Sharon grabbed my neck and brought me to her in a scorching kiss that left no doubt what I was to her and as a warning to others to leave her alone. We didn't dance every dance, but most of them. She allowed some of the younger men to dance with her for some of the fast dances, but every slow dance was just her and I. No matter what set of songs the band was playing, if a slow song came up, she would excuse herself, turn, and I was there ready to slowly glide her away into our own little world.

I guess maybe I should describe us; Sharon and I have known each other since high school when she transferred to my school in January of the tenth grade. Her father was transferred to a plant here from California, and she started school after the Christmas break. Since she was new to the area and this school, and I lived next door to the lady in question, I took it upon myself to be her guide, a position I took very seriously. There was something about the California blonde, 5'-6" girl in a woman's body that set my heart, as well as my loins, on fire. Sharon had a tan that was the envy of most of the kids here in western New York. We had some sunny days since school started, but with the colder temperatures starting in late September, it wasn't smart to go out in summer clothes or bathing suits. One could freeze ones extremities off doing stupid things like that.

Anyway, Sharon was kind of taken with the boy who treated her like an angel; he carried her books, even opened doors for her, and generally fawned all over her. She lapped it up, and except for a brief period in eleventh grade, when she got mad at him and went out with seven different guys over a three month period, she was faithful to her beau. Sharon now is much like her high school self; she is still drop dead gorgeous on a 36B-24-34 frame that still excites men from across the room. Her hair is still the sun-bleached blond of her youth, although I think she has some help in that area. After all, she is almost 45 now.

Me, I'm Robert Fenton, but to Sharon, I'm Rob, Robby, or Robert Louis Stevenson Fenton. It all depends on what mood she's in, or how much trouble I'm in when she calls me. I'm 6' even and 180. I've been heavier, but I trimmed down after a friend had a bad scare with his heart due to his putting a few pounds on and not exercising enough. I took that as a warning sign and started running each morning and watching what I ate. So even though I turned forty-five four months ago and am getting greyer at the temples, I can still run six miles a day and make love all night long.

We danced until the witching hour of midnight, then we headed home for lovemaking and cuddling. At home, I helped Sharon undress, hung up her dress, and massaged her feet to relieve the soreness the heels and dancing in them gave her, but she loved to show off for me. I think it was for her too, not just for me. Anyway, after the massage, I undressed and we retired to the bed, where the best part of the new day began.

We lay there cuddling and kissing, and I started caressing her body. I slowly and lightly ran my hand over her breasts, teasing her nipples, while kissing her eyes, her lips, and her ear lobes. My hands wandered lower, toying with her innie, then venturing further south to the Promised Land. Her grotto was soaking, and I knew it was time. I levered myself over her and Sharon took me in hand, seated me home, and I slid into her molten center. We both slid back and forth for some time until I heard Sharon's telltale moans indicating that she was close, so I ground around on her, rubbing my pubic bone on her barely hidden clit until she went off like a rocket. I was still hard, so I continued until Sharon had another great orgasm and that was about when I came with her. We cuddled and fell asleep in each other's arms.

I was awakened in the morning by a hot mouth on my morning erection. After some very nice sucking, I was ready and Sharon climbed aboard the Saturday morning ride to Orgasmville. This morning seemed different somehow. Sharon seemed to be moving faster than normal and I wondered what was going on. I opened my eyes because I felt something wet hit my chest, and looking up into Sharon's face, I could see tears falling from her eyes.

"Baby, what's wrong, why are you crying?"

"It's because you are a cheating bastard. Belinda said that she saw you going into the Nightie Nite Motel over on Bleaker and that she said some brunette let you in and she just had a robe on. Why did you have to cheat on me, Robby? I loved you so much and I thought you loved me too. How could you do this after twenty-five years? I gave you everything I had to give; I gave you my love, my heart, and three children. Why, Robby, why?" she sobbed, collapsed on top of me, and really let loose with the waterworks.

"Sharon, I love only you; I have always loved only you since that first day I met you when you moved in next door to me. I even loved you when you were mad at me back in eleventh grade, and you went out with those other guys, all seven of them. I never said a bad word to you then, and I haven't since then either. I love you more than life itself, but Cathy is just sex. What we have is love, deep all-encompassing love for each other. You give me warmth; comfort, love, a happy home, and you are the very best cuddler that I have ever known. You have also given me, well us actually, three children that I adore and love almost as much as I love you."

"Then why, Robby, why do you have to cheat on me; if I give you all those things you say, why must you cheat?"

"If you must know, then the reason I cheat on you is because I get something from Cathy that you don't or won't give me. I don't love Cathy; she is just sex to me, raw, uninhibited, sex. I don't make love to her; I only fuck her. She will suck my cock until I shoot off in her mouth and she swallows my cum. She loves wild pounding sex where I just climb on and then pound her into the mattress. She loves anal sex too, and those are all things you won't allow me to do. If I get too rough or carried away and start slamming into you, you cry and complain that I'm too rough. You flatly refuse to try anal, and you hardly ever do anything with your mouth to me except to get me hard. So once every month or so, I get together with Cathy and we get the wild monkey sex out of our systems and we go back to our loved ones, knowing that the only one we love is who we are married to. We hardly ever say more than a couple of sentences to each other. It's almost like a business arrangement, except no money changes hands. I get what you won't give me, and she gets what her husband refuses to give her. Then we are good for another month or so, and when we feel the burning desire for rough or kinky sex, one of us will call the other and we get the craziness out of our systems, then we go back home to our loved ones. So how is that different from when you wanted to experience different boys back in eleventh grade, and you sampled seven different guys before you came back to me?"

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