I’m not worried
‘Bout the ring you wear
‘Cause as long as no one knows
then nobody can care
You’re feelin’ guilty
and I’m well aware
But you don’t look ashamed
And baby I’m not scared

“Follow Me” by Matthew Shafer and Michael Bradford

Vlad gave his profile serious consideration. He answered all the questions, shared personal preferences and was forthright about what he sought. One tasteful photo was posted of himself sitting by a creek, his muscular back and shoulders framed against rushing water. A hint of gray hair curled at the nape of his neck, his face obscured. Mercifully and to his credit, no dick pics were included. He sent a message my first day on the website and we began to chat. Dry wit, obvious intelligence and a desire to meet me all worked in his favor. Personal email addresses were exchanged soon after.

Vlad was slow to respond at times and explained the lengths he went to, to not get caught by his wife. He was seeking a married cohort to keep a secret with; someone with as much to lose as he did. He had a successful business, as did his wife, and seemed to be an attentive husband and father. But when no one was looking, he switched out his SIM card and solicited sex with strangers online. Every time I logged onto the website, he showed up as “Active.”

How would his wife ever know?

New to the online sex hunt, I was shocked to realize that married men really were this calculating. It was news to me that phones could have more than one SIM card. I had permission to play, which allowed me to feel an edge of moral superiority, but I felt guilty for participating in his deception. Not guilty enough to stop, however. I decided his marriage was not my responsibility.

Vlad was cocky, funny, and sarcastic; attractive and arrogant. He vowed to have me begging for cock (I have the pussy, you beg, I said. He didn’t back down.).   I issued a list of requirements which he promptly agreed to: condoms and I can’t remember what else. We had a date almost planned when I put him off. I got worried about how to make an affair work, even when not having to sneak. There were a lot of details to consider: when and where and who pays for what. I didn’t have money for hotel rooms and it wasn’t a date. Vlad lived a couple of hours away, so some planning was required. This wasn’t going to be an easy hook-up. How would I explain my absence to my kids? Could I actually do this?

Also, I was just plain chicken and not entirely sure about Vlad, anyway. I thought he might piss me off in person because he was such a know it all. Sensing my hesitation, he lulled me with romantic memories of past lovers. We talked, via email, about what turns us on. He loved my descriptions of the way doggie style makes me feel fucked, full, taken. I admitted to liking the idea of being spanked; he didn’t forget that. He teased, but was never mean and cracked bad jokes constantly. We exchanged impromptu, Dr. Suess-style dirty poetry.

I would fuck you in a bar

I would fuck you in a car

I would fuck you here or there

I would fuck you anywhere…

It was pretty bad as poetry goes, but delightfully silly. I was relieved to have someone to laugh with, charmed by his attention.

Eventually we set a date to meet at a hotel in White Rock, just over the US/Canada border. Vlad was very picky about hotels; they must have good reviews. He didn’t want anything cheesy.   He picked one out, a place across from the water with decent reviews and reasonable rates which he agreed to pay. I got there first and sat on the couch in the lobby by the fireplace, waiting. Antsy. Fidgeting with the handle of my green leather bag, stocked with lingerie, condoms, lube and vibrator. I wasn’t making any assumptions about Vlad being able to bring me to orgasm. Most men didn’t seem to know where to start and I didn’t know what to tell them, not that anyone had ever asked.

Vlad texted, “I’m here. Meet me in the diner.”

I walked out of the hotel lobby into the balmy, seaside air and sunshine and into the tiny, clustered L-shaped diner next door, packed with people and reeking of fried onions. I scanned the customers quickly, nervously. Vlad was not among them. As I turned to leave, there he was on the sidewalk, squinting into the sun looking lost as he searched for the entrance. I stepped out through the grimy glass door and called his real name. He stopped, turned and flashed his thousand watt smile. His electric blue eyes lit up as he walked toward me.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, reaching out to shake my hand.

I laughed, sidestepped his hand and put my arms around his waist, pulling him in for a hug.

“Hi,” I smiled, discarding my nervousness with touch.

He kissed me, all tongue. He was already hot and hard and kept kissing me, right out on the sidewalk, right there in front of the diner windows. Sweet. Delicious. I stopped trying to kiss back and let him lick the inside of my mouth, amused at his excitement. I wondered if the diners were watching.

“Let’s go,” I laughed when he took a breath.

We walked back into the labyrinthine hotel hallways, through the ice room, around the corner, kissing in the elevator, knees wobbling, around another corner, fumbling with the key. There we found a lush, beautiful room with a luxurious bed piled with a fat, white, down comforter; not cheesy at all.

And then, god almighty. I stripped that man of his clothes to discover a physique made entirely of muscle with a long tongue and a long cock stuck on in the right places. Just muscle, cock and tongue, that is all. I knew he was an elite biker and skier but hadn’t thought about what that meant. It meant zero body fat. Jesus. He rippled.

We sat on the bed, total strangers face-to-face for the first time and completely naked. He brought condoms, as requested, and was willing to use them, although neither of us particularly wanted to.

I said, “I don’t know how hard you play.”

He insinuated, vaguely, that this was his first actual encounter in 14 years of marriage. He had been vasectomized long ago. Condoms did not seem necessary. He obviously wasn’t worried about it, so I figured we be would okay. I did not present any danger to him.

Vlad was lying, of course. He played hard and I took an awful chance, not using protection. I came to realize over the next couple of months that Vlad had a high degree of success online. He could get pussy anywhere, anytime and had a long history of unfaithfulness. He had probably never been faithful to his wife. During one of our many conversations, he described biking through a park and absolutely seething with desire as he watched young women as they laid on towels in the grass. How many men feel that away, I wondered, desperate to fuck?

We turned our attention to each other. I began with long, slow, get-to-know-you licks. Vlad’s cock just announced itself, long and hard, big red knob angled away from his belly at the head.

He murmured, “This isn’t fair,” and pulled me around in one smooth motion.

His first lick, from ass to clit was electric. I gasped at the current that woke my body. We set about to exploring, heat building quickly. By the time he entered me, I could only moan.

“You are so responsive,” he whispered.

“Well, jesus h christ, that tongue, those hands, that cock all made of fireworks or something, after twenty years of neglect,” I thought, unable to formulate words.

“Uuuhhhhh,” I said.

He rubbed my back, his hands skimming my skin from shoulders to ass, as he kneeled behind me on the bed, facing the mirror on the closet door. We held each other’s gaze in the reflection. Suddenly, he raised his hand and swatted the hell out of my ass, his eyes sparking with humor. A startling, smacking burn permeated my skin. I burst out laughing and turned to inspect the damage. We stared at the handprint emerging on my ass, and I wondered if I would have to change my clothes in secret for a week. Even with our open arrangement, I didn’t want to advertise my activities to my husband. This was for me.

I was on top, suddenly self-conscious of my stomach skin, so hovered low over Vlad’s body as if somehow I could hide that troublesome wattle, stretched out from babies, as it hung embarrassingly. I had trouble finding a rhythm because of his thrusting and put a hand on his hip to stop his movements. He relaxed. I began to fuck him with pussy muscles in control and forgot about my stomach skin.

“I don’t want to come yet,” he whispered.

“Tell me when to stop,” I breathed.

“Stop,” he moaned, looking at me with glazed eyes.

“Do you want to get together again?” he asked, with a catch in his throat.

“Yes, do you?” I smiled, as I slid up and down his shaft.

“Yes,” he responded, so softly.

Vlad grasped my hips and turned us over. He entered me doggie style.

“Is this what you meant by feeling fucked?” he asked, moving slowly.

I tried to say yes, but it came out in a whimper. Vlad came, long and slow and moaning.

When he finished, I slowly lowered to my stomach, keeping him inside me as he laid stomach-down on my back. Eventually, we extricated ourselves, had some cheese and crackers, and took a nap. He didn’t snore at all. When we woke up, he was hard again and fucked me from behind, on our sides, his head tucked under my arm as I twisted toward him. He sucked my nipple while I lay there, my left leg wrapped around his, amused.

“Having fun back there?” I asked.

“Yes, just be my sex toy,” Vlad grinned.

“Mmmm, ok,” I sighed, relaxing into his body.

He fucked me from a 90 degree angle, which started a vaginal orgasm rolling that would not quit. I used my vibrator while he sucked my toes; a revelation of sensuality. I had never comprehended that toe sucking could actually be hot, instead of dumb and kind of gross. Not so. Whole toes in his hot, wet mouth while my orgasm built.   I came with my vibrator while he kissed me, all tongue and wet, devouring kisses. Only shreds of my sanity were left after that. While I came again with the vibe, he gave up waiting for me to ever be done and got in the shower.

That was the first time in my entire life I had ever spent the afternoon in bed with a man, been rolled around and loved from head to toe, with no thoughts of anything or anyone else, with nowhere else to be. The first time my 46 year old body had ever received that much attention. It was heaven.

Vlad put me back in my body and back in touch with my sexual self. All of my parts came alive. He was an expert in technique and our chemistry was explosive. It is fair to say that it was the best sex I had ever had to that point, by a lot.

Over the course of our brief affair, I learned that I could keep my emotional distance; that I could enjoy a sexual connection without emotional need. I needed to be fucked well, needed to feel heat and passion and desire, but I did not need entanglements or drama. I needed sex like a dude. Since I was not planning to divorce and was not willing to break up my family, I did not want someone who needed anything from me outside of bed.

I needed the flirting, the attention and the laughter. I needed to feel desired, to feel worthy of desire and then to feel the desire itself, in the heat of his touch.   Vlad’s passion for me was like a mirror. This is what was missing, the connection between my body and mind. Sex with Vlad was not completely reciprocal; my skills could not match his and any time I tried to take the initiative, we faltered. I laid back and let him lead.

He did get attached to me and brought up being together, an idea I shot down without hesitation. We were in another hotel room, a few weeks later.   I had gotten there first, as always. I suspect he stacked his dates up and went from one tryst to another, because this time he brushed his teeth immediately upon arrival and still tasted like pussy. He had to have a reason to be out for hours.

After this romp he had to go for a hike so that he could go home with muddy boots, because that is what he told his wife was going to do. Vlad didn’t hike like a normal person. He walked straight up mountainside without trails, using only a machete to hack his way to the top. We were in bed, post-hot sex, lying side by side. Vlad began to complain about his wife; her intense drive (elite athlete, physician, owned her own medical clinic), her lack of interest in sex, refusal of doggie-style because she felt degraded, her constant demands, dissatisfaction and nitpicking, her inability to relax, her focus on appearances, vanity and pettiness.

“The very things about her that were attractive to you in the first place are the things driving you crazy now, her looks, ambition and drive,” I pointed out. When had I become his marriage counselor?

“Yeah…” he sighed in agreement and, while staring at the ceiling, tentatively ventured, “What about us?”

“God, no.” I thought.

“We would drive each other nuts,” I blurted out, surprised at the question.

“Yeah, that’s true,” he sighed again and did not meet my gaze.

I did not want him out of bed. I sure as hell wasn’t going to leave my husband and disrupt my family for him. I did not want him to love me. No more words were said as we drifted into a doze.

Later, as I sat in his lap eating strawberries, Vlad said, “You know, the thing that would bother my wife the most, if she found out about us, is who you are. ‘HER??’ she would say. Because… you’re not gorgeous, you know.”

He reached for a strawberry, avoiding my gaze again, as I froze in his lap.

Meaning I am not pretty at all, not attractive enough for his wife to be able to excuse the affair. He was cheating on her with someone plain. There could be no forgiveness for that. His words were retaliation for not wanting him and they did sting. I did not respond, leaving his words to hang in the air.

A month or so later, Vlad wanted to spend the night together and that was the last straw. He went to great lengths to arrange being away from home overnight. We had discussed my desire to orgasm during intercourse without a vibrator and I was pretty sure I knew how to make it happen. I would need a drink to relax. He showed up with the makings for screwdrivers, which I thought appropriate, and we got to it in the same White Rock hotel room where we first met.

When the cocktail had taken effect, I pushed Vlad up against the headboard, straddled him and rode his cock to an explosive orgasm. I was fantastically loud. He wondered in awe if the neighbors heard. If there were guests in the next room, they heard.

I hated sleeping next to him, though, uncomfortable with the intimacy. I had gotten what I needed from Vlad. We had sex a couple more times in the morning and said good-bye. Somehow we both knew it was over; we didn’t contact each other after that. I never saw him again.

Photo Credit: hairy:jacques Flickr via Compfight cc

Ronna Russell

This chapter is an excerpt from my memoir "The Uncomfortable Confessions of a Preacher's Kid." No one escapes religious cults without sexual damage and I was no exception, nor was my father. He came out as gay in mid-life, as did my own husband decades later. The oppression of religion tentacled into my self perception and took decades to unthread. This chapter shows how I got started reconnecting to myself. While I had no difficulty leaving religion behind as a teenager, I had no experience interacting in the secular world, like a real-life Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt without the humor and good looks.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *