Affairs/catmandu
                                       Ellen
                 Open Marriage Chronicles - The Heat from Catmandou
                        After a year of our lifestyle, I'm still not sure whether
                  "open marriage" is the right term. When Bill first encouraged me
                  to date others, I found the idea appalling, but now I love this
                  arrangement. Bill hasn't shown any interest in involvement with
                   another woman, so this has been a one-sided affair. What Bill
                   gets out of these dates are the thrills of my telling about my
                   extramarial experiences. I agreed to whatever adventures Bill
                  might dream up as long as these were no threat to our marriage.
                        So a month after our vacation at the Five Roses ranch, we
                 drove in separate cars to Catmandou, a live-entertainment club. I
                    was wearing four-inch heels and a red satiny oriental dress,
                  baring my back to just below the waist and slit to the thigh. I
                 found a table in a dimly lit corner. The place was decorated with
                   nostalgia gimmicks no one would want in their home but somehow
                   looked just right in the lounge. I gazed around the crowd and
                           listened to the three-piece band's soft music.
                       Minutes later, Bill walked in, sat at the bar and ordered a
                  wine cooler. He acknowledged me with a smile, then turned away.
                 He glanced back now and then as several men eyed me, clearly with
                                         sexual intentions.
                      When I wear heels, some men under 6 feet avoid making passes
                  at me because of my 5'8" height. This was the problem this night
                   until a tall attractive man, his hair black as my own, noticed
                    Bill glancing toward me from the bar. Attired in a dark blue
                 blazer, white polo shirt, and white tropical slacks, he turned as
                   I smiled quietly at Bill, not the stranger; but the man lifted
                     his drink, sauntered over to my table, and grinned, "With
                                              anyone?"
                       I responded, "I am now, I suppose," smiling as I appraised
                 his blue eyes and lean physique. I aged him at 28. He was wearing
                    a white gold wedding ring like mine, but I pretended not to
                                       notice, and so did he.
                        He squinted at me through the dimness and, with a look of
                    surprise, remarked, "I haven't seen anyone with gray eyes in
                                              years!"
                        I smiled, "An inherited trait." I hear that a lot; there
                   aren't many of us. When gray-eyed people see each other, they
                 silently smile in acknowledgement, just as I've been told a young
                   person with prematurely gray hair returns a smile to another.
                         He gave me his name, Phil, but his occupation gave me a
                 start; he was a new attorney with the law firm that set up Bill's
                   corporation and was now advising Bill's office manager, Steve,
                   who runs the business side of Bill's engineering practice. We
                  engaged in small talk, complimenting the other until he finally
                                         asked me to dance.
                       On the dance floor, he held me closely. Men from around the
                   room looked disappointed that they hadn't asked me first. The
                 touch of his cheek brushing mine, as Bill watched, excited me. By
                  the middle of the second song, he was gently pressing his groin
                   against mine. I was fighting to control my gasps as I felt his
                 firmness growing beneath his slacks. My face burned at his openly
                  sexual gesture, but soon in excitation, I was brushing my mound
                   against his hardness. I could feel my nipples tingling against
                 the satin of my dress. He whispered, "Do you have plans tonight?"
                       "Don't you have to go home?" I queried, my voice trembling
                                 as I remembered his wedding ring.
                         "My wife's a pharmaceutical sales rep," he said softly.
                   "She's in Chicago until Tuesday at her company's headquarters
                 gathering." He'd remembered my own ring and had no reason to lie.
                       I allowed him to press me closer. His skin radiated a heat
                  like my own. The female singer's long, slow melody of adulterous
                    longing seemed dedicated to our entertwined bodies. When it
                   ended, I realized Bill and I hadn't planned this very well. I
                  lied, "My husband's at a convention. I have no plans, Phil." We
                    bantered about a bit as I tried to think of what to do until
                   finally he came right out with it, "Can we spend the night at
                   your place?"  His swollen cock was now massaging my clitoris.
                        I was breathing heavily, my eyes wild. My throat throbbed
                   fearfully, choked with increasing desire, as I breathed, "I'd
                                  like to visit the ladies' room."
                       He nodded, saying, "I'll meet you  back here in a couple of
                                             minutes."
                        When he walked through the crowd to the cashier's desk in
                 another room, I strode quickly to Bill, explaining the situation.
                 As usual, Bill was wonderful; he grinned, "Great. I'll drive over
                  to the office and sleep on the couch. If I come home about five
                  a.m., will that be enough time?" I agreed, and Bill returned to
                            his drink as I waited at the door for Phil.
                        We drove in separate cars. The late evening streets were
                    still wet from a brief Florida thundershower. The Mercedes'
                   diesel engine throbbed like my chest. Although I'd slept with
                  other men, this would be my first true "date." The multi-colored
                  lights of neon signs, street lamps, and a line of cars streaming
                   west to the suburbs cast long brilliant reflections on the wet
                      highway. I glanced back now and then at Phil's red Fiero
                                         following closely.
                         Stopping at a traffic light a block from the lounge, I
                 stared at a Cadillac's bumper sticker ahead of me and smiled. The
                  bumper sticker read, "Lead Me Not Into Lust, For I Shall Find It
                                              Myself."
                       We emerged from separate cars into our garage. He murmured,
                    "My god, I just noticed the name on the mailbox! I know your
                                     husband, by name anyway!"
                      I laughed. "I told you my name at the lounge. You didn't ask
                   for my husband's. Don't be so up-tight, Phil!" Actually, I was
                  more tense than Phil, not from his association with the law firm
                  but from the desire that had grown with each mile I drove home.

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                   Inside, Phil removed his coat, poured a drink from our bar and
                  searched out a diet soda from the refrigerator for me. He walked
                                upstairs to meet me in the bedroom.
                          I'd turned on the stereo and flicked on a table lamp,
                  bathing the room in a dim red glow that seemed to accentuate my
                 inner heat. I turned, my hands on my hips and legs spread wide on
                 the carpet as I faced him. He stared, his manhood bulging beneath
                        his slacks, and breathed, "God, you're incredible!"
                      My breasts heaved as he set the drinks on the nightstand and
                  took me in his arms. He unzipped my dress, puddling it onto the
                    floor, then unbuttoned his shirt. I trembled, barely able to
                  stand as he grinded his hardness against my clitoris. I fell to
                   my knees and pulled away his slacks, his nine-inch instrument
                  bobbing against my lips as his fingers stroked my neck. I moaned
                    at his sensuous touch. I was mesmerized by the dark, purple-
                   veined cock that I was now stroking, my hand squeezing it back
                 and forth from its black mass of pubic hair to the broad, bulging
                  head. I oval-ed my lips over the rubbery head, sucking it slowly
                     as he groaned, "Oh god, Ellen, you're terrific, oh god, oh
                    god..." My tongue slid along his length as his hips writhed,
                   pushing it beyond the back of my throat. The smoothness glided
                  through me until I was delerious with passion. I became one with
                 his cock and the throaty music drifting from the stereo. I flamed
                 with desire, my eyes wildly rolling up at him as I whimpered with
                        each stroke into the fullness of my quivering lips.
                       He leaned to cup my breasts, then kneeled behind me as his
                          strong hands kneaded the softness of my breasts.
                        I fell against his hands until my arms braced against the
                   floor. I shuddered as his warm cock brushed my flaming vagina
                  from the rear. I muttered, my voice quaking, "I'm on fire, Phil.
                   I'm yours!" My hips gyrated, tremoring as his lengthy hardness
                   entered my lubricated channel. My vaginal walls stretched with
                  each thrilling inch to accommodate him. And then he had sheathed
                  the tool to its hilt as my mouth opened widely, my eyes rolling
                   with the adulterous passion that gripped my searing soul. His
                     long shaft radiated, steaming in the hot coals of my cunt.
                        Wailing as he fucked me wildly, I swirled my hips to his
                  rhythm. I turned my head to watch as his hips bumped against my
                    buttocks, further inflaming my passion. Each entry throbbed
                      against my clitoris until, deep within, I could feel the
                     thunderous waters of an orgasmic flood rushing up to burst
                  through me. I began to cry, tears streaking down my cheeks. His
                   blue eyes glinted. He was biting his lip in excitation when I
                  felt his cock swelling. He was about to come with me. He groaned
                  passionately. Our eyes locked. As his cock expanded within me I
                  spread my legs further as if I could somehow allow my vagina to
                   hold even more. I was biting the softness of my lower lip as I
                  cried, "It's super, Phil! Super! I LOVE it!" I reached behind to
                 touch his chest as his cock fucked into my hot, wet depths, which
                  were now a vortex of mega-lust that gripped the broad cock-head
                                  sliding through my love tunnel.
                          He increased his tempo. The building orgasm was still
                 distant but now rushing up like a mad prehistoric beast screaming
                  for air from primeval depths of a misty cavern. The earth opened
                 before me. I was falling through a bottomless chasm of adulterous
                   pleasure with his every thrust, my mind enveloping an unknown
                   universe inhabited by only me and Phil. I shuddered. The beast
                 within was insane with pleasure. My whoring had now spanned eons,
                  all sense of time lost as I cried out frightfully. I was praying
                  for the oncoming super-orgasm but fearing I could no longer bear
                                     the passionate explosion.
                       And then, OH GOD!  It rolled over us like a landslide!  My
                    mind and body exploded with staggering force! Gigantic stars
                      crashed as I screamed in ecstasy, feeling his warm sperm
                 splattering through my channel. The planet was quaking beneath me
                  as I sobbed in release from the bondage of this adulterous love.
                    Crying, I collapsed, tremoring beneath the white heat of his
                                               body.
                         Later, in the afterglow, we drank wine, watching erotic
                   movies on our large-screen VCR from our bed until, finally, he
                    mounted me again, missionary position, fucking me slowly. I
                  screamed with a second, then third, then fourth orgasm, until he
                   came, shuddering atop me. Dazed, I muttered, "I love you," and
                  meaning it at that moment of gratitude. When he replied, "That's
                   nice," because Phil couldn't lie, I laughed and hit him softly
                                           with my fist.
                       He left at three a.m. I dialed Bill's office. When Bill was
                 in bed beside me a half hour later, I described Phil's fucking me
                  just as I'm telling you here, until Bill's manhood had risen and
                   was eagerly entering my vagina. At times like these, I almost
                    feel a control over him. I moaned, muttering my feelings of
                   passionately fucking Phil as Bill thrust into me. I could feel
                  his tool expand to awesome proportions, until finally, reliving
                   my adultery, I came again; Bill groaned, his sperm splattering
                 warmly into my vagina. We lay side by side facing each other as I
                  answered his questions about my feelings when fucking other men.
                    I admitted, "You lead me into these situations, but once I'm
                  united with another, I can think only of him and me. Sometimes I
                  forget I'm married." When his eyebrows arched, I smiled, "But I
                                          still love you."
                        Exhausted, I fell asleep. When I awoke with the sunrise,
                      Bill was still looking down at me, grinning in approval.
                        A month later, my former career as a photographer's model
                         would develop into into another kind of picture...
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