My Mistress


She had soft large natural breasts but the rest of her body was fit, lean, and hard as a rock. She was my buddy at the gym. I taught the old people classes, she taught the high impact stuff. I still couldn’t make it through one of her spin classes. On Thursdays we went to the Mexican restaurant. They served a special low-cal margarita. I honestly always thought she was just friendly.

“I wish I could still get drunk,” she said one night. We were sitting on the patio. “After two though I get paranoid about the calories.”

“God, after two I am already pretty close to drunk.” I replied. It was pretty true actually.

“Weed is so much better.” She said.

“Fuck yeah!” I answered without thinking. I was half way through that second Marg.

She was shocked. I admitted I hadn’t smoked any in years. My husband and I had smoked a little back before we had kids and I told her about how we had scored some on vacation in Jamaica. She told me about having a prescription. You didn’t really have to smoke it anymore. She liked cookies. She said the peanut butter cookies were her favorite.

The tequila already weakened my inhibitions. Thinking about pot put me over the edge. I told her how, way back when, my husband and I would smoke a joint and then just lay in bed licking and sucking for hours. We didn’t really fuck when we were high we just did oral. He would go down on me for hours. I guess I don’t really remember if it was actually hours or if it just felt that way. I didn’t care. I was immediately in need of release. I had to go. He had already texted me he was home and that both of our kids were out. They are in high school now; we never know where they are.

“Next Thursday then.” She said.

“Absolutely!” I told her. I had to go. I stood up. She stood and hugged me, which was pretty normal. I also expected the kiss on the cheek. She was a cheek kisser. Standing at the bar at Julio’s she didn’t kiss me on the cheek. Her lips met mine.

I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t have time to turn away. I guess I was a little too tequila-ed because I didn’t fight it. She was a little shorter than I. Her hand pressed firmly down between y shoulder blades. It wasn’t a long kiss, as I drove home I thought about it. I didn’t suspect it looked that inappropriate, just a quick goodbye kiss. Some people do that, don’t they?

I didn’t think I necessarily kissed her back.

As least not full on.

I might have parted my lips a little. I might have tilted my head slightly, but I didn’t kiss her back. As least I didn’t think I did.

At home I told Dave about how Connie was into pot. He laughed a little. He said I needed to remember to call it weed. Only old people call it pot now. I told him how much it made me remember the old days and what we did when he smoked some. He said he remembered. I told him I was going to shower and then he would need to remember in more detail. God, I am bad at flirting He laughed a little.

On my back in the middle of our large bed he kissed me. He nuzzled at my breasts briefly but he didn’t waste any time. He ran his scraggly hairy chin down my belly and teased my thighs with kisses. When he nestled his mouth on the small rise between my legs his tongue sliding over my already aroused clitoris, I relaxed back and let the sensations flow through me. I rocked for him and when he added a finger I pulled at my ankles opening myself to him.

I didn’t necessarily think of Connie as he did it. I might have let my mind wander to the idea of the small but strong woman caressing me but I didn’t focus on those thoughts, at least not until after. He was nestled up against me in our typical spoon post coital embrace His large hand was wrapped around me and held firmly my right breast. For a while I stroked his large thick fingers wondering how different thin, feminine hands would feel. I didn’t fixate on it but the thought was there. It took me a while to actually pass into sleep.

Friday is my day off. It was long and painful as I was stuck with nothing but my thoughts to occupy myself. I was alone in the house all day. We didn’t have exciting plans for Friday night, our son had a game so we would spend the night at the high school and then probably end up at a burger joint with him and his girlfriend. They weren’t exciting plans but they did require that I get myself cleaned up. I bathed. I should have taken a shower but I didn’t. I sat in the tub far too long. I spent far longer than I should have grooming myself. I took particular care down there. The razor and my fingers lingered as they worked. I knew what I wanted to do I just didn’t do that kind of thing.

I dried off and worked on my hair. I lingered without getting dressed. I was stalling. I was wrapped in a towel. I found myself repeatedly drying my thighs and the pieces in between them. After an hour walking around in my towel I gave in. “Fuck it.” I said aloud. I slipped into bed under the sheet. I pulled up the blanket and the comforter enjoying the softness and the weight over Gaziantep Elden Ödeme Alan Escort my body. My legs moved apart and my fingers moved over my belly as I got up the nerve to just do it. I tried to remember the last time I had touched myself like that.

Sometimes I touched myself during lovemaking. Dave liked to watch me do it and when we would have the time and the energy I would do it for him. That didn’t count though. I honestly couldn’t remember touching myself solely for my own benefit, at least not in this house.

I had to dig for a moment in the nightstand drawer to find it. It was a special warming lube we had picked up one weekend at Target of all placed. It only took a small drop. I applied it to my middle finger and slid my hand back under the bed.

I was too nervous to make a sound. There was no one to hear, there wouldn’t be anyone home for at least two more hours but still. I was silent as I could be. The warming sensation came slowly. My own juices began to build. I used my outer fingers to part my lips and moved my longest finger in small circles. I felt my nipples growing firm and sensitive against the gentle motion of the sheet over them and imagined David’s mouth teasing and nibbling at them. I let my mind wander and pressed my finger inside of myself. It emerged slippery and I moved it more quickly.

I was fighting it. Why was I fighting it? Just let it happen I told myself.

I can’t say why but I kept my husband there in my fantasy. I imagined his mouth on one tit as my friend; her lips softer took on the other. I imagined she was aggressive but still a woman. I imagined she bit my nipple, taking it firmly between her teeth. I felt it growing.

My thoughts and my fantasy went abstract as the orgasm built in my lower back. I imagined the woman’s hands and that it was her fingers rather than my own that caressed my pussy. I imagined David’s head between my thighs as I kissed the woman’s soft lips. I imagined her rubbing her body against mine. I imagined her soft skin and I thought of her breasts. I imagined them being full and round. I imagined her nipple, long and erect in my mouth. I was close.

I pictured it. She had dark brown hair. I imagined it in her customary ponytail. I imagined it as if I was a third party, a camera hung over the bed. I could see her narrow hips and tight round ass sticking in the air as her fingers gently fucked my tight pussy. That was how I imagined it. She was gentle. She didn’t aggressively drive my orgasm out of me but instead teased it along causing it to build until the pressure was too much. I think I gasped when I came. I didn’t cry out, I was still able to stifle any sound but it was a hard and penetrating orgasm and as I lay in bed I pressed two fingers deep inside of me and felt the pulsing. I wished it was a fat cock inside of me, that is always the best way to orgasm, but it was still good.

“Fuck, I thought,” a puritanical impulse pushing old-fashioned guilt over me. “I’m a lesbian.” I worried for absolutely no reason.

The rest of the night, the whole weekend, was a regretfully chaste series of chores, errands and high school sporting events. Sunday, after too much wine I forced David into drunken sex. I begged him to eat me but there wasn’t time for such things and although it was quick and sloppy when he took me from behind at the foot of the bed I came hard and fast and it allowed me to get to sleep.

I continued to think of Connie as the days passed but I had it under control by Monday afternoon. I saw her in the gym. We talked casually about classes, the coordinator neither of us much liked and how the equipment kept going missing. I don’t think she knew what I was thinking. I don’t think she caught me staring at the defined musculature of her arms or the exposed inches of firm abdomen between her little crop top and her yoga capris. I don’t think I did anything so obvious such as licking my lips when I thought of how her neck would taste salty if I pressed my mouth to it. I think I managed to play it off as if nothing was different. After all, nothing had changed, why should things feel any differently than normal.

I sat at dinner with the whole family on Tuesday. It never happens we are all at home at the same time and David had put together a feast of steak and grilled tilapia. It was his idea of healthy. It was delicious but I knew it would leave me bloated. In bed in the silent darkness he had left me knowing I would spend Wednesday on a liquid fasting regimen. I had two days.

Wednesday she didn’t teach so she wasn’t at the gym when I was there. I was embarrassed. How could I still be thinking about this? I replayed every word from last week’s happy hour. She hadn’t hit on me. Fuck, I had created this whole image of her as lesbian seductress when really she hadn’t given me any reason to suspect she had any intent.

I resolved that I was a lunatic.

I was nervous as I prepared for class on Thursday. I had spend the last twelve hours swimming between the idea that I was a long closeted lesbian seductress prepared for my deflowering and the realization that I was a delusional housewife making a fool out of myself.

I wore my absolute best gym outfit. It had cost too much. David had made me buy it at the fancy yoga store. It was a great outfit. It was my only sports bra that didn’t push the girls into one solid roll of mono-boob around my chest. I knew I looked good in it. I tossed an oversized T-shirt with some silly fitness slogan in my bag. I liked to toss it on after a workout because it made me feel like that hot dancer from the eighties, fuck, what was her name?

I drove too fast on my way to the gym. I was anxious. I was getting out of control.

I remembered when the happy-hour tradition started. Our Boss had been the one to come up with the idea. There were about six of us at that first one but it quickly dwindled down to three of us. Eventually she quit and it was just Connie and I.

For a while we had a cute bartender. His name was Adam and we giggled like schoolgirls when he smiled at us. Why would I think Connie was a Lesbian?

We typically talked about people at the gym. I, of course, talked about my husband and kids. She talked about her dogs.

Once she had talked about owning a gym with her partner Dana. I remember clearly assuming from then on that she was a lesbian. I couldn’t remember ever being explicitly told that Dana was more than a business partner or that Dana was even a woman.

I wondered if I had just assumed she was a lesbian.

How could I not know if my best friend was gay or not?

She was in her late thirties, almost forty, she wasn’t married, had never been married, she had two dogs and a Subaru. That was David’s joke when he had met her. He had met us at happy hour and He and I had gotten dinner. He commented that she had a Subaru with bumper stickers about her Weimaraner and that it was obvious that she was a lesbian.

I had joked back at him that I would do her.

I had made that joke more than once.

Maybe it wasn’t a joke.

I taught my chair class to the little old ladies and then took platies with Jennifer and worked my ass off until I was a sweaty mess. It was good to push myself like that. I stopped thinking.

I should have brought an outfit to wear to Julio’s – one of my going-out outfits – the kind that flashed a lot of cleavage – the kind that David liked.

Two to three times a month for a year and a half, we always wore our gym clothes. In the winter we would throw on hoodies or sweatshirts. In the summer we just tugged on clean T-shirts. We didn’t put on makeup or anything. It would have been strange to do that. I had my T-shirt. I had my good sports bra. I would look good. The pattern of this pair of yoga pants was very slimming, even on my 48-year-old ass.

I tried not to stare at her. She was teaching a yoga class. I would have sat in on it if I hadn’t just done platies. My class was next. It was a balance class and I chatted up the ladies that were waiting alongside of me for Connie to wrap up.

She wasn’t tiny; she was actually a fairly tall woman. She was thin though, athletic. Her arms and legs were muscular, you could watch the muscles in her ass and thighs flex as she moved through the stances through the glass back wall of the studio. She had dark brown hair and eyes so deeply brown that they seemed almost black when she looked at you. She had a penetrating stare that could sooth or frighten depending on the effect she wanted to have.

She smiled at me. She looked directly at me. Across the room and through the glass she smiled at me one of those smiles that weren’t just her mouth but her whole face. Her whole body seemed to grin with a vibrancy that suggested she wasn’t just saying words when she said she was glad to see you.

She was hot. She was beautiful. It was that smile though that I wanted to give myself to. When she smiled at me I felt deep down that she was an honestly happier person when she was with me then she had been before she had seen me.

I blew her a kiss.

I was, certifiably crazy. Someone needed to get me a straight jacket.

We only waved at each other as her class fought its way out the door at the same time my little army of the elderly muscled for positions in the studio. Occasionally one of us would have to flake on happy hour. That just happens. I was suddenly terrified that might happen again.

I was a good two thirds of the way through class. I had my ladies standing as best they could on one foot. It was a scary part of class. At any moment one of them could fall and break a hip. I was on high alert when I saw her standing outside the window. She had on a beautiful flowered sundress. It was strapless and her bare shoulders were lightly tanned and beckoned to me.

“Fuck.” I whispered, drawing looks from Beverly and Doris, the two women nearest me.

I honestly don’t remember the rest of that class. As the ladies filtered out I threw my stuff back in my bag. I was almost running. She wasn’t at the windows. I wanted to get to the locker room before she saw me again. I was not prepared.

I had known this happy hour was different. I had spent a week fantasizing about just how different it would be and yet as I threw my things together this morning I had fought my intuition. I had denied what I wanted so thoroughly I had ruined any chance I had with her.

Is that what I wanted, a chance with her?


I had shampoo in my bag. I didn’t have conditioner. I didn’t have any of the things I needed to prevent my hair from looking like one of those industrial style mops they use in restaurants and places. I dint have soap either; I would just go through the whole travel size shampoo David had brought home from a business trip. Luckily it was a nice brand and smelled nice.

Clean but still naked I stared in the mirror. I had no makeup with me. I looked old and haggard and my hair hung lifelessly like a wet dog.

I pulled on a clean sports bra I carried with me and my backup yoga pants. I carried them in my gym bag just to be prepared. Why didn’t I carry a little flowered sundress and sandals too? Connie had on heels even.

I topped it all off with my Flashdance T-shirt. I tugged it off of one shoulder. I wanted to look sexy. I stood there looking at myself. I had mono-boob, crow’s feet, and Sammy Haggar hair. So much for getting laid.

Do they call it that? I mean, there is no dick, is it called fucking when two women make love to each other. I am in my late forties. I was hopelessly behind the times. I remembered David laughing at me calling marijuana pot.

I thought of David. If I had walked out dressed like this as we went to the store, what would he say? He would say I looked fine.

He would suggest I put on a different bra. I would protest and say no, I didn’t want a bra strap showing. He would say go without one. I would saw eww. He would say no, it wasn’t eww. He would tell me my breasts weren’t saggy and who cared anyway because any man who looked would be too busy thinking about my tits in his mouth to worry about them being saggy.

I had to pull the shirt off to get the bra off and consciously made sure I didn’t catch a look at myself in the mirror while I was topless because if I saw the girls flopping around I wouldn’t have the guts to go through with it.

As I headed for the lobby I knew I was hunching my shoulders hoping the baggy shirt would hide the dangling milk sacks on my chest. I was sure I looked pitiful when I got to the reception desk. Connie was there, chatting with one of the college boys that covered the desk in the afternoon. Her shoulder blades were bare and I imagined my fingers on them. Her legs seemed impossibly long stretched out by the high-heeled flip-flops she was wearing and even the backs of her knees looked sexy. I was hit by the thought of pressing my licks and tongue to them and the sensual way it would tickle her if I did. The thought was like a slap on the back or a shot of tequila. I felt a chill through my spine as I imagined her response.

“Hey.” I managed to say.

“Um, wow, Stacey!” the boy said from his position behind the counter.

“Shut it.” I chastised him. “I look hideous.” I said.

“Hideous is not the word that comes to mind.” Connie said, her words soft and soothing, like the whispers of a lover as they close the door to the bedroom. I had to smile at her.

“You are such a bitch.” I teased her. “Dressing up and pulling a full on supermodel look to make me look bad.”

“I don’t know where you guys are going but can I come?” said the sweet boy. He was a full grown 22 year old man playing college baseball. I still thought of him as a boy.

“Who would cover the desk?” she teased him.

“Don’t care. I’d pretty much quit my job to buy you guys beers.”

“You’re silly. Why would you want to hang out with the old ladies?”

There was an awkward silence as he tried to decide if he wanted to answer the question. Luckily he was too scared to say it and we scurried to our cars to drive the two blocks to the bar.

We parked next to each other. She was far quicker out of her car than I was. I had taken a moment to look in the mirror, sort through the center console until I found an old lip-gloss I had forgotten about. It was too deep a red and I hadn’t liked it then, I didn’t necessarily like it now but I applied it, pressing my lips to get it to look right. I felt like it made my skin look pale. I also thought it made me look like a hooker. Sometimes my mid-western upbringing was a little tough to escape. She was standing at my window when I looked up. I was staring at her breasts. I was letting myself get carried away with an idea I had never really even considered before. I was going to drinks with Connie with the idea that I was going to sleep with her. It had been twenty years since I had gone on a date with the hopes of having sex, and that had only ever been when men before. I took a deep breath. I didn’t know if I had the guts to do it but I was going to try. I wanted to try.

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