Blueprint Extras

Steve Brookman’s story

I cried on my wedding day. I know that's nothing unusual; many grooms, even the 'tough-guy' ones, experience an emotional overload. But mine were not tears of joy. As I sat perched on the edge of the bath, pulling on my new socks, I knew that the marriage was a mistake.

Sure I loved Amanda, but I wasn't in love with her, and I never had been. When she accused me of having another affair and presented me with the ultimatum: 'marry me or leave', what was I supposed to do? She's the mother of my children for Christ's sake and she isn’t equipped to survive on her own.

I denied that affair, of course, as I always did. Well I say ‘denied’, but it was more like avoidance; I just dodged her direct questions and deflected all accusations: ‘Don’t be stupid woman…When would I have time for an affair?…You’re being paranoid…Have you come off your anti-depressants?’  I cleverly made her doubt her own sanity; I'm good at mind-games. But this time was different. Amanda had found herself a shred of strength from somewhere and forced me to choose. I took some advice from a lawyer before I said I’d marry her. Apparently fifteen years of my paying all the bills had entitled her to half my assets, despite the fact that I had carefully and deliberately made sure that everything was in my name. No way was I going to let that happen.

I've always had affairs. I'm not ashamed of it, it’s just the way I am. I can’t help it. Before getting married, my conscience was always clear. I hadn't made any vows to be ‘faithful and cherish her above all others’ and what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. I knew marriage would change all that. I'd have to be monogamous, or at least try to be.

So on that dreary October day I headed for the registry office under sufferance. I was giving up my freedom, handing in my 'fun pass' that would allow me to escape the monotony of a boring family life. From then on every day would be the same: listening to Amanda's tedious comments about the special offers on at Tesco, how she'd cleaned the oven all day or what a friend of her mother’s (who I didn't even know) had said to the doctor last week. This was to be my life from now on, with no ‘thrill of the chase’ to break up the tedium

Don't get me wrong, Amanda is a great homemaker and mother. She's kind and thoughtful and the house was always spotlessly clean. But fuck-me she's dim and dull. I know that sounds harsh, but she is. I met her at a nightclub in Bristol. She was twenty-five and I was eighteen. She was dancing to an Abba classic and her full breasts were jiggling in time to the music. I fancy some of that, I thought. She was an easy catch and by the end of the night we were back in her bedsit, shagging.

Nine months later Jason was born, shortly followed by Shirley, then finally Adam. Apparently the pill hadn't worked on all three occasions; funny that!

Despite what you may think of me, I am honourable and take my responsibilities very seriously. I love my children and have spent the last twenty-five years building a comfortable life for them and for their mother.

After we got married, sex with Amanda was ok, and as always, scheduled for every Saturday night at 10.30 when the kids were asleep. Regular as clockwork, whether we felt horny or not.  I always instigated it and she obliged. Always me on top, always with the lights off and always under the duvet. She would do her best to tighten her pussy around me, but three kids and a weak bladder didn't make for a snug fit.

I managed to stay faithful for ten months, a record for me! Wanking over Penthouse eventually lost its appeal and my cock needed fun. I tried a few prostitutes at first. They were nice enough girls but their pretending to be enjoying themselves was almost as fake as Amanda's moaning.

When a new recruit started work in Accounts, I targeted her immediately. She ticked all the right boxes for the fling I’d planned in my head: about the same age as me, bubbly, but a little inexperienced at flirting, married with two young children and constantly bitching about her well-off but unromantic husband. She wasn't the most stunning of women in the looks department, but she had big breasts and a tight ass, which compensated for her chinless profile. But above all else she had as much to lose as I did if an affair became public, so I knew she would be discrete.

I fucked her for six fun months and it was great. We'd both work late and then screw in the office’s disabled toilet or hook up in quiet car park during the dark winter evenings for a quick blowjob. We’d have a proper three hour session in a Travelodge at least once a fortnight. She always booked it under her name and I paid in cash, so as to leave no evidence trail behind. It could have gone on for a lot longer but I started to see a misty look in her eyes every time I left her and she started texting me telling me she missed me and wanted me. She was falling for me and that was dangerous. I told her I was going to give things another try with Amanda and wished her well. Sure there were tears but that wasn’t my problem.

I’ve lost count of how many other women I targeted as likely-affair-candidates and then seduced over the next ten years, but if you pressed me it must be up in the high twenties. I love the chase you see; the flirting and persuading them there will be no consequences. It’s a powerful aphrodisiac to make some other guy’s ‘good and faithful' wife want to fuck me. And when it all gets a bit heavy, well, I dump them and move on to someone else; someone that I've already got primed and waiting in the wings.

I’ve practiced my technique to perfection, even down to the lines I use to make them feel special. A favourite was: 'I only heard your voice and I knew I had to get to know you better' or  ‘I don’t believe in affairs, but I just cannot help being attracted to you, you’re so special’ or 'my wife and I don't have sex anymore - I'm worried I may be impotent'. That one sets the challenge and they'd feel smug when they prove me and my ‘limp’ dick wrong! And when it all gets a bit too intense I can buy some time with the classic ‘I think you need to know someone for at least two years before you can see if you are compatible’.

For Amanda, nothing changed. The bills were paid, the family holidays and a new car for her arrived annually and I persevered, as I always had, with the Saturday night sex routine. Sometimes it was hard to get an erection, especially if I'd had a mammoth session on a Friday afternoon with someone else. Not that Amanda minded my 'softies' as she called them, as I reassured her that I was stressed or tired. She would simply smile sweetly, change the subject to something like ‘the new flat-bed steam iron I really want’ or 'would you like chops or sausages for dinner tomorrow?' I'd grumble a reply and she would then turn over and go to sleep.

In addition to my regulars, I had a few one-night stands when I occasionally stayed away on business. I'd take my wedding ring off and hit the hotel bar. You'd think that one-night stands would be easier to get away with, but you'd be wrong. Amanda was so insecure and paranoid that she'd ring and text me almost constantly throughout the night; that's how dim she was: it was all those times I was ‘working late’ or ‘caught in traffic’ that she should have worried about.

It was on one such business trip that I met Elizabeth George. We were both staying in Brighton for a construction industry conference. There were no more than fifteen women among the hundred or so guests and she was by far the prettiest there. She didn't fit my usual affair material profile one bit: no wedding ring, a lot younger than me, confident and a bit aloof. But I wasn't looking for an affair that day; I just wanted an uncomplicated conference fuck. I slipped off my own wedding ring and made sure I was seated next to her at lunch-time and in the lecture theatre.

I went on the charm offensive and by the end of the week we were inseparable. We even skipped the last day’s speeches to spend time together. We tossed pebbles into the sea, talked for hours and ate fish and chips from the paper, and as night fell, she was, as planned, in my bed.

Sex with Liz was different. It wasn't just a quick fuck. Surprisingly, she was deeply sensual, intoxicating even. The softness of her body, her smell, the way she kissed me and her tight young pussy all invited me in and made me want more. She made a nice change from the middle-aged women I had gotten used to. She had an innocent, fresh vulnerability under her hard shell, which I admit, intrigued me.

That's when I made a terrible error. I should have kissed her goodbye the next morning and left it at that. But I didn't. Instead I told her about Amanda (using my usual line ‘we don't have sex anymore’) and said how much I liked her and wanted to see her again.

We embarked on a full-scale passionate affair. For me, this was sex-on-tap and made so much easier by the fact she lived thirty minutes away from my office and had her own place, so there were no worries about anyone catching us. And I saved a fortune on motel bills. Liz was great in bed, super sexy, always ready and never afraid to make the first move. She became like a drug to me. I just had to keep going back for a regular fix.

Things went great for two years. She was setting up her own business so when not with me, she had plenty of other stuff going on to occupy her time. I don’t honestly know if it was love - I don't really know what love is, or if indeed I’m capable of it. All I can say is that while I was with Liz I never had sex with Amanda. Although looking back, that may have had more to do with the fact that Amanda was going through the menopause, had ballooned three dress sizes, constantly crying through her hot flushes, rather than with me suddenly finding a conscience.

Once, I did come close to telling Amanda everything and leaving her. Liz’s period was late and although I was at first shocked and terrified at the idea of becoming a father again (if it came to it, I wouldn’t have been able to deny a DNA test result would I?), I actually thought that fate had stepped in and given me the opportunity to do the honourable thing and start over again with a new, sexy and sassy young wife. I thought to myself that Amanda would understand, as I’d given her the same commitment when she got pregnant all those years before. When Liz started her period a few days later I was fleetingly disappointed before relief kicked in and I realised that I’d had a lucky escape.

I remember once, not long after that, I treated Liz to a day out at Alton Towers. Even though Thorpe Park was closer, I chose Alton Towers because it was far enough away to ensure I wouldn’t bump into anyone I knew. She was scared of heights and speed but I dragged her screaming onto Nemesis anyway. It was a great day; we flirted, kissed deeply and held hands on The Skyride. By the time we were heading back down the M5 towards Bristol I was so super turned on, I badly needed to fuck her. I didn’t have enough time to go back to her place or to find a quiet layby, as I had to get back to take Amanda and the kids to some fireworks party.

‘I need to fuck you, Liz.’

‘God, I need you too. I have done all day. Come back to The Lodge with

me?’

‘I’d love to but I have a report to write.’

She slid her hand across my thigh towards my crotch; my cock, already erect, responded and twitched under the denim.

‘Well we’ll have to be creative then wont we?’

Liz looked around for somewhere to go but we were now in the middle of a built-up area of Bristol.

‘I think you’re car needs a clean.’ She pointed to a supermarket and its automatic car-wash.

‘What…where?’

‘Make sure you get the deluxe wash. That’ll buy us at least five minutes.’

I couldn’t quite believe that she was suggesting us fucking in a car-wash. Not just any car-wash either. It was the car-wash at the supermarket that Amanda uses. But hey-ho, if she was game, then I was up for it. I bought a ticket, and punched in the code. As the buffers hit the bonnet she was climbing into the back seat of my 4x4, beckoning me to join her.

I shot over the central console unbuttoning my jeans and pulling at the zipper as I went; I knew I’d struggle to last two minutes let alone five! I sat in the centre of the back seat, my jeans and boxers around my knees and Liz straddled me, pulling up her dress as she went. I felt the warm heat of her pussy through her panties; I knew she was dripping wet for me. She kissed me hard, her tongue darting in between my lips and I cupped her breasts, freeing them from her dress and bra.

The rollers started soaping us up, thick white foam covering the car and hiding us from any prying eyes. She pulled her knickers to the side and lowered herself onto me, and her wet lips unfolded around my knob. I pushed up into her tightness and she gripped me right to the hilt. I held onto her arse, burying my fingers into her soft flesh and rocked her backwards and forwards along my length, faster and deeper, pummelling into her pussy.  Her breasts jiggled and rubbed against my face. She steadied herself by pressing her hands against the boot window. It felt so good to be banging up into her, hard and fast. I wanted to savour it, to enjoy her silky wetness over me; Liz was always so wet for me. But as hard as I tried to slow things down, I couldn’t. The possibility of being caught was driving me faster to the point of no return. My balls tightened and the familiar ache in the pit of my stomach overwhelmed me. I came hard, up into her. I brought her down tight onto me and shuddered inside her again and again releasing my hot cum deep inside her. I buried my face into her pert breasts and we stayed still for a moment, as my cock twitched and I shuddered once again with both of us now panting and dishevelled.

The rollers were replaced with clean water sprayers and as the dryers started to clear the windows she wriggled from of me. My cock slithered out leaving its trail over us both. She smoothed down her dress and climbed back into the passenger seat, grinning from ear to ear. I pulled up my trousers and followed her.

The car-wash light turned green and I started the engine. I glanced into my rear-view mirror and saw a perfect set of delicate handprints in the steam on the back window. I turned the car blowers on full to clear the glass and set off, making a mental note to wipe the back window before I get home. I didn’t want to have to explain that to Amanda if the car steamed up sometime again.

‘Are you sure your report can’t wait until later? It would be lovely to spend some more time with you’

I knew that if I missed the bonfire party there’d be hell to pay. I’d already had to sneak three texts to Amanda explaining that I was stuck in traffic and might be a little late, but should be home for 7.00.

‘I wish, but I’ve got to email it over by 9.00. That’s the price we’ve paid for a day out.’

‘We didn’t have to go out. We could have just stayed at The Lodge all day. All I wanted was to spend time with you.’

I detected a slight hint of something bitter in her tone and I didn’t like it. I knew all she wanted was me. The silent question of ‘will you ever leave your wife’ had been hanging in the air for the past six months. Every time I left her, I could see disappointment and sadness in her eyes. But I hadn’t intended for her to fall in love with me.

I can pinpoint the exact moment that I realised that she did love me. It was eleven months after our first encounter in Brighton. She’s just bought The Lodge, a small gatehouse in Wick, and she was renovating it. I met her there after the builders had left one day and she showed me around. We went into an attic room and we had sex among the dustsheets. After I’d finished, she announced that she was making this room into a study for me to use. What the fuck did I need a study for? I only intended to use the bedroom and shower maybe afterwards (after Liz had stocked it with the same shower gel I used at home).

I should have put down the marker then, and told her I’d never leave Amanda. But instead I used the ‘we need to get to know each other for at least two years before we can see if we’re compatible’ line, and she bought it.

‘Well, if that’s all the thanks I get for trying to do something nice, then I won’t fucking bother again.’

‘Don’t be like that, Steve. I just meant I hate it when you leave.’

‘Liz, listen, you know I have responsibilities. I can’t just do what you fucking want all the time.’

‘Steve, believe me I know you do. I’m not pushing you…come on let’s not spoil a nice day.’

I was so angry with her for making me feel bad. For the first time I actually felt guilty about having an affair, but bizarrely I felt guilty going home to Amanda; it was almost like I was cheating on Liz.

‘You’re the one spoiling everything; putting demands on me. I’ve had enough of this shit. Listen, I don’t have to write a report tonight. I’m actually taking my wife and my children out to a fireworks party and yes, I intend to have a great time. Satisfied!?’

With that I put my wedding-ring back on; one final gesture to send her a clear message. I knew she hated it, reminding her as it did of my other life. I deliberately fiddled with it on the steering wheel and didn’t speak to her for the remainder of the journey back to her car. We parted on cool terms. 

I pulled into a car park near home, wiped the back window, filled the car with air-freshener and sprayed myself with deodorant. Then I used a brush to remove all traces of Liz’s blonde hair from my upholstery. Next time, I thought, I must choose a woman with dark hair.

As I pulled onto my driveway my phone beeped with a text from Liz: ‘I love you, I miss you, I need you, x’. She was becoming far too needy and as much as I’d miss the sex, I knew I had to cool things down. The last thing I wanted was her turning up at my door and causing a scene. I figured if I slowly backed off, became more distant, she’d get the message and I could wean her off the Steve Brookman drug gently, without all the tears and the big ‘it’s over’ drama.

So that’s exactly what I did. And well, you know the rest...