Infidelity Debate Erotic Couplings

The Infidelity Debate

The first time I met her, while sitting at the bar and trying to chat up the woman sitting closest to me, she told me right out in a moment of candor that she had four lovers and if I wanted to be part of that to get in line. I held up my glass, said, “No thanks,” and that I would drink to her group of cuckold knuckleheads. She called me an asshole, gave me the finger, then handed me a card with her phone number written on it.

The following Friday night, seven days later, I was on the same barstool and the same woman came in at about the same time. “Oh, look, it’s the fourman woman,” I said sarcastically. Again, she gave me the finger and sat at the far end of the bar. We exchanged nasty looks for about an hour until my conscience started bothering me for being so hostile and rude to someone I didn’t even know. She could be a very nice person who just had a little too much jolly juice and revealed more than she should had cause she was just a little drunk.

Eventually, I moved down the bar and tried to make amends. “Look, I am sorry for being an an asshole, quoting her, being unkind and sarcastic and insulting, for being a total jerk,” I said. “Could I buy you a drink? Start over? Try again?”

“You were an asshole. A drink won’t get you anywhere, just so you know,” she said. “But, okay, I accept your apology.” I put out my hand and she shook it.

“Brad Martin,” I said. “Single, divorced, not always a jerk. You?”

“Charlotte,” she said. “Married, unfaithful, not always drunk enough to tell people things I should keep to myself. Lawyer, nearing forty, ually active, sometimes too trusting or too candid. Anyway, your apology is accepted,” she said, toasting our second attempt at conversation.

For the next month we met once a week at the same bar on the same bar stools and talked about close to everything. We talked religion, politics, the state of the nation, morality, marriage, our favorite books, but we kept coming back to fidelity and what it really meant.

She was married with lovers, so her definition of fidelity leaned more on the side of personal honesty regarding just about everything other than . , she felt, was not a good way to define success in a marriage, but it was a great reason to make lots of friends of both genders.

“You can be faithful to someone you are not ual with, right?” she said. “So couldn’t you be unfaithful to someone you’re not having with?” I nodded. “Then fidelity has little to do with . Being faithful has more to do with accepting someone for who they are, right? For being honest with them about how you feel about things, all things, even ?”

I conceded she had a point, but if someone trusts you to only be ual with them and them alone, then being ual with someone else would be dishonest, or not faithful to your agreement with that person. “Okay, could be a factor in fidelity, but it isn’t the only one, right? So if people agree is not the determining factor, then you could be faithful to someone and still have with other people.”

She studied me for a minute. “Let me asked you this,” she said. “You were married, right?” I nodded. “So when you were married, was the most important thing for you in that marriage? In other words, could you be happy if your wife was having a good time but not with you? Like enjoying a great meal, or a concert, or something she liked that you may not? Or with someone else, but she still really loved you?”

I argued that if she loved me, wouldn’t she want to be ually faithful? “Okay,” she said, “but if she wasn’t, would you stop loving her?”

“It would hurt,” I said.

“But would it kill the love? If love was genuine, wouldn’t it outlive infidelity?” she asked.

“Do you love the men you are having affairs with?” I asked.

“Simple answer, no,” she said. “They just pleasure me, but you are avoiding my question. Would you stop loving her?”

“I don’t think so, but I would probably find out, right? Do you love your husband?” I asked.

“Probably, yes. We get along. We enjoy one another’s company. And we like each other. That may be the best definition of love,” she said. “I do have difficulty coming up with a solid definition of love. How would you define it?”

“Probably that you would do anything for that person,” I said.

“Anything? Even giving them ual liberty?” she said, trapping me in my own snare.

“Okay,” I said. “In the abstract. I guess. Pure love would probably tolerate that. A parent certainly loves and allows their offspring to love others.”

“Unconditional love?”

“Yes,” I said.

“My point exactly,” she said.

On our fifth meeting, our discussion of fidelity picked right up where it left off the time before. “You ready to concede that unconditional love is the absolute essential definition of the highest form of love?” she said.

“I guess what I am saying is that there is the theoretical and the romantic, emotional and practical kinds of love, what people can actually carry out in their daily lives,” I said, “and what they postulate about it.”

She thought for a minute, then she took a sip of her second martini of the night and said, “Let me asked you this. Could you have a best friend who had a best friend besides you?”

“Of course,” I said, seeing where she was going, “but we probably hadn’t made a pledge to remain faithful as our only best friend.”

“So it is the pledge?” she said.

“Well, the pledge must count for something.”

“What if the couple didn’t have a pledge?” she said.

“Then it would be different,” I said.

“So it is flexible? There is room for different interpretations, different understandings for different arrangements? So what I am saying is, there is room for disagreement and variation. It is an individual matter. So fidelity depends on your prospective. There is no absolute list of properties. Could you accept that?” she asked.

“Sure, but for me ual exclusivity is essential,” I said.

“Let me ask you,” she said, “could your wife have friends of her own?”she asked.

“Of course,” I said.

“Women?” I nodded. “Men?” she said.

“Well, I guess it depends,” I said.

“On?”she asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. How she feels about them,” I said.

“Would you limit what she can do with her friends?”

“Nonual things,” I said.

“For the women, too?” she said.

“Women?” I said, surprised that she’d ask about women.

“Some wives are bi. Would you object to that?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said with another shrug. “I guess that would be less objectionable.” I put my glass down and looked for help from the few people listening.

“And why would you not mind her eating pussy and object to her sucking cock?” she asked. I had never heard a woman say cock before, or eating pussy, so her question stopped me short. “Well?” I didn’t know what to say. It was a good question, but one I’d never thought about before.

Of course I had thought about it in a ualfantasy sort of way, but as a choice to give my wife, or one she may contemplate herself, I had never even thought about such a thing. My discussion companion started to laugh at me. “You are turning red,” she said. “Has our extended conversation finally gotten to you?” she asked

We had sat on adjacent stools in the same bar maybe twenty times, but we had never flirted or even hinted at such a thing. She was attractive, I could not deny that, but our continuing conversation just didn’t allow for any romance. It hadn’t come up.

It didn’t move in that direction, so we chatted rather than flirted. “You haven’t made a pass at me,” she said one night out of the blue. “Don’t you find me attractive?”

I looked her up and down, not for the first time, but more blatantly than before. “You are a very y woman,” I said raising my glass.

“But you haven’t made a play for me. Are you gay?” she asked shamelessly.

“Not that I know of,” I said. “I have tried to control myself, be a gentleman.”

“You don’t need to do that,” she said with a grin. “I wouldn’t mind a little flirtation,” she said. “A girl would be flattered. We’ve been talking about for four weeks and you’ve never thought about me?”

“I didn’t say that,” I said. “I have been thinking about it for all those weeks.”

“Atta’ boy. That’s better,” she said. “I am glad you’re not a homoual, not that there’s anything wrong with that.” She laughed. “Glad all this iness hasn’t gone to waste,” she said with a naughty smile and a glance at her bare legs.

“So you know I am married, right?” she asked. I nodded. “So would you be so concerned with my being faithful that you would turn down my invitation to get a motel room?”

“That would be up to you,” I said. “It’s your decision whether to be faithful or not. A personal choice we said, right? So, any motel in particular?” I asked.

“The closest one,” she said with a smile.

“There is a Best Western down the block,” I said.

“Sounds good to me,” she said. “I need to teach you about extramarital love.”

“I am willing to learn,” I said. “I bet you are a super teacher,” I added.

“We’ll see,” she said with a shrug and a sly smile.

I followed her car to the Best Western. We parked in the lot side by side. We went in together and registered and got a suite. I think they thought we were newlyweds. “Enjoy your night, you two,” the desk clerk said, looking like a man embarrassed by the possibilities.

“We plan to,” I said with a wink. The woman I had met in a bar and talked to for weeks about had gone from intellectual and insightful to seductive and y. She seemed no longer interested in cerebral discussion but heated and lustful intercourse. She became coquettish and y, and everything she did had a carnal component, a sensual subplot. We had talked , now we were going to live . I felt it as we stood together at the registration desk, and I felt it stronger as we stood outside the room with the keycard in my hand.

“Ready to exercise a little infidelity?” she asked as she stood leaning against me in front of the room.

“We’re going to exercise?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” she said, “like marathon runners. I am going to drain you like an emptying sink. You are going to think you were in bed with a drill sergeant. Are you ready?” she asked as I opened the door.

She began undressing me before I even got the keycard back in my pocket. My shirt came off, my pants, my underwear, my shoes and socks, my inhibitions. As we fell into bed she said, “Does it bother you that I have other lovers and a husband?”

“Does it bother you?” I said.

“Not in the slightest,” she purred. She lifted up her long tight dress and she wore no panties. I asked if she was like that everyday we had talked and she smiled. “Every single time,” she said. “I was waiting for you to notice as I sat on my stool with my legs apart and my pussy dripping like a leaky faucet. You never did.”

“I tried not to look. You were married,” I said.

“And I still am,” she said as she bounced her hips against me, forcing my erection to the back of her pussy, gripping me like a glove, squeezing my pecker so tight an orgasm rumbled up inside of me. I could feel it coming and she seemed to sense it as well.

She pulled me from her slit, scooted lower until her mouth was at my cock, and then took it in between her lips as she anticipated my first ejaculation of pearly cum across her tongue. She didn’t have to wait long as I began to spirt jet after jet of semen down her throat. After I finished coming she massaged my limp cock long enough to make it grow again and stand up straight and tall and ready.

I felt her hand grip my cock, gently but strong, assertive but soft, then I felt her direct it once again to between her legs, the tip against her mushy lips, and then between those pink petals and into her. My hips involuntarily began to thrust forward and push against her torso, pushing myself deeper, harder, faster into her center.

“Fuck me,” she said. “Fuck my husband’s wife, my lovers’ whore, and your debate opponent and life mentor.

Fuck my father’s girl, my mother’s daughter, and my brother’s fuck mate. I live to fuck,” she declared at full volume. “I will fuck anything that gets hard and fat. Screw me, bang me, make me come,” she demanded. “Jab that hard cock into me, ream me, eat me, make me scream your name,” she begged.

I had argued with her, debated whether fidelity was the foundation of a good marriage, but at the moment I was discarding all my thinking to fill her with my cock as rapidly as possible for as long as I could manage. She cried, she bellowed, she panted, and she shook with an overwhelming desire to be filled by something hard and long and thick.

I put my hands behind her hips, pulling her to me as I propelled my cock in and out as fast as I could make it go. She was truly a wonder, and she continued until we both came again. When the shuttering and rapid breathing had passed, I scooted down to where my mouth was at her soppy slit.

I put my lips around her entire vulva, tasting her musky flavor and the deliciousness of our combined . I stretched out my tongue until it was deep in her watery canal and I drew it back in my mouth and tasted her deliciousness, then I stuck my tongue back into her repeatedly, continuing to feed on her womanhood.

“Can you taste my other lovers?” she asked, humping against my face.

“Probably,” I said. “It is a delicious meal, your friends and you. I could eat this dessert all night,” I said.

“Go right ahead,” she said. “My pussy is yours for the night.”

When my meal had been swallowed repeatedly, we slept, then ate breakfast of waffles and eggs in bed and repeated the entire process afterward.

“I’ve enjoyed talking to you,” she said before we went to our cars. “Same place, same time, same stools?” she asked before driving away to her husband, her lovers, and her brother.

I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. “You scoundrel you,” I said to the face reflecting back at me.

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