{ASSM} NEW: Butterflies on a Mirror (MF, cons)

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From: (Sidney Durham)
Subject: {ASSM} NEW: Butterflies on a Mirror (MF, cons)
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X-Original-Message-ID: ews.com NOTICE: This story contains detailed and explicit descriptions of sexual
activity. If you are not over 18 years of age, or if you are
offended by such material, or if this kind of material is illegal
where you live, then DO NOT READ THIS! This story is copyright 1999 by the author, all rights
reserved. With the exception of USENET distribution and archiving,
it may not be reproduced or distributed without express written
permission of the author. Comments are welcome at . If you
get nasty or otherwise waste my time, I'll ignore you. Butterflies on a Mirror by Sidney Durham Compared to my wife -- actually, compared to any woman -- Jackie
was the consummate source of brightness in my life. I was
captivated by her independence, her classiness, her beauty, her
smile, her poise, her maturity, her humor, her confidence, the way
she walked, the way she sat -- and by her breasts and her eyes and
her feet and her waist and her hands and her lips and her knees and
her shoulders and her ass and... Oh, was I bewitched by her! We had been a foursome: Jackie and Sam, Christine and me. At
their house or ours, in restaurants or bars, the four of us had
gotten a little drunk, laughed, danced and enjoyed each other. But
the pairings were wrong. It should have been Jackie and me, not
Jackie and Sam. When I was introduced to Jackie and Sam my first
reaction -- my first thought about her -- was that she was married
to the wrong man. It should have been me. Sam and my wife could
have had each other for all I cared; I wanted Jackie. I had been infatuated with other women in the past, often
imagining myself with them instead of Christine. My marriage had
been flawed for years. Christine and I were not a good fit. We had
married young, long before we knew enough about people to make a
good choice, long before we were mature enough to understand the way
a marriage should work. Our personalities and habits and
inhibitions meshed badly, grinding little bits of metal from our
emotional gears, wearing our relationship. But things were to be as they were. Jackie seemed content in
her marriage. I had a wife, children and debts. If Jackie wanted
change there were much better choices for her. I wanted change, but
the process that would be required to achieve it perplexed and
intimidated me. It was laden with complexity that I couldn't
unravel. It seemed all I had were my fantasies about her. Still... Things had happened, things I wanted to take as signals from
Jackie. There was the dancing. There had been moments when we
danced that the pressure of her breasts against my chest and the
feel of the small of her back under my hand aroused me, and on
several occasions, emboldened by alcohol, I pressed my hardened cock
against her. She did not pull away. There were the kisses. When we danced, the dance always ended
with a kiss -- even the times when I'd pressed myself against her.
I preferred believing these weren't "thanks for the dance" kisses; I
wanted to believe they were "I like you" kisses instead. They were
still quick simple little pecks, but my imagination made them into
something more than they might have been. There was my birthday gift. Jackie gave me a mirror with
butterflies on it. It was a little girl's toy, a music box, and the
butterflies moved when the music was playing. But the song it
played was "You Light Up My Life." I wanted to believe Jackie was
giving me a subtle hint with this gift. Were these signals real or imagined? I did not have the
perception to know, and I lacked the courage to find out. Instead,
I remained slumped in melancholy: a condition that characterized my
life in those times. One day something happened. I will never know what it was, but
for some reason Christine suddenly developed an intense dislike for
Jackie and Sam. This was a pattern; it had happened with other
couples. No doubt there was some real or imagined slight that
caused it, but once done, it seemed the effect was forever
irreversible, and Christine would steadfastly refuse to discuss the
matter. I was disappointed. I was sure it was my wife's own emotional
flaws that wrecked the relationship and I was resentful and angry
with her for it. Opportunities to spend time with Jackie were gone. I continued
my life, missing her. I thought of her often but I didn't call her,
afraid she would simply dismiss me. After several months Jackie called me at my office to tell me
she had mailed me a draft of her resume and she would like me to
help her with it. She felt her career was being stifled and needed
a change. When the resume arrived I called Jackie and suggested
lunch. It was a long lunch. Although we did discuss her resume our
conversation soon drifted to other things. In a quick simple
confession, Jackie told me her marriage was over. "I threw Sam
out," she said, "and I changed the locks. Our divorce should be
final in a month." I had never known of troubles between them. I immediately
imagined this as an opportunity to confess my feelings to her. If I
told her how I felt the worst that would happen would be a
continuation of the current situation: I simply wouldn't have any
opportunities to be with her. I suggested that we move from the restaurant to the bar.
Fortified by a drink or two I confessed my obsession, hoping to open
a door. Heart pounding, I said, "You know, all those times we got
together as a foursome were magical times, but for me the magic was
Jackie, not Jackie and Sam." When Jackie smiled she sometimes pressed her teeth together and
cocked her jaw a little, adding a delightful twist to an already
beautiful grin. After my blurted confession her light blue eyes
locked on mine and she made that smile. And then she leaned across
the narrow table and kissed me. This was a different kiss. Her
lips softened and opened as they met mine, in a simple but eloquent
signal. We kissed again when we parted that afternoon, a long full
kiss, tongues meeting briefly as we stood and held each other. The following day I flipped a coin. I remember standing behind
my desk, digging out a quarter and flipping it in the air. Heads I
would ask her out, tails I wouldn't. I don't remember how the coin
fell. The idea wasn't to let the coin make the decision for me; it
was to find out if I would be disappointed by the result. I called
her, of course. She agreed without hesitation and suggested a
restaurant. She said she would meet me there. I manufactured an excuse, a lie to tell Christine to free the
evening, and got to the restaurant early. I waited nervously,
sipping scotch. Jackie arrived, flashing her brilliant crooked
smile when she spotted me. We kissed quickly and I felt proud to be
with her. We sat side by side in a horseshoe-shaped booth, but don't
remember the meal. I do remember the warmth of her hand on my
thigh. Something might be about to happen between us, and we both
knew it. My upbringing told me this was wrong. Part of my mind told me
this was a sneaky, underhanded thing to be doing. Part of my mind
told me that it was unfair of me to expect Jackie, who was about to
become a single woman, to become involved with a married man. But part of my mind wanted to make her mine. And part of my
mind wanted to fuck her. Desperately. After dinner we stood in the parking lot outside the restaurant,
holding each other and kissing. "What are we going to do?" I
asked, frustrated. "Come on back to the house with me," she said. Jackie's answer was direct and simple, just as she was, while my
question had been laden with complexity. I wanted to know the
nature of our future before I could go where we seemed to be heading
at that moment. Jackie, more direct, more confident, seemed to be
content to take things one step at a time and see where they led. I followed her home. My heart was racing as I parked in front
of her house. She lit a candle and we opened a bottle of wine. Soon we were
side by side on a loveseat in her living room, necking like
teenagers. For the first time my timid fingers found her breasts,
those lovely breasts I had imagined touching so many times. Within
minutes I had her blouse unbuttoned and her bra unfastened and
lifted. All my dreams were coming true. At least, that was what I thought. Briefly. A veil of doubt began to enclose my mind. Jackie seemed to be
fully prepared for any direction our torrid activities might take
us, but I wasn't. I could think of a wealth of reasons why we
shouldn't continue, but there seemed to be only one reason why we
should. I moved away from her. "I think I need to talk," I said. "Ok," she replied. "What do you want to talk about?" "We're getting real close to falling into bed with each other,"
I said. "And?" "I'm married." "And?" "I have kids." "And?" "I have debts. Huge ones." "And?" "Christine would kill herself if I left her." "I don't think so. But if she did, it wouldn't be your fault." I was at a loss for words. "Do you like me?" she asked. "Hell yes I do." "Well I like you too," she said, "but I'm not making any
commitments tonight. You shouldn't be either." With that she
stood, took my hand and pulled me up. "We're here for tonight, not
forever," she said. "Let's go where we can be more comfortable." I followed her. My heart, already pounding, began to lurch and
lose its rhythm. We may have lain side by side on the bed and kissed for a while,
but I don't remember it if we did. My memory of that evening jumps
from the time I followed her down the hallway to the moment I hooked
my fingers in the waistband of her slacks and panties and pulled
them down. She raised her hips to help, a simple unreserved
gesture. I undressed, sitting on the side of the bed. I suppose I must
have spent some time lying next her, caressing and kissing her, but
I don't remember doing it. The only events I remember are
undressing her, undressing myself and rolling over her. I hovered over her and pressed, finding her warmth, her center. And I hesitated. I had been mulishly faithful to Christine. In more than twenty
years, this would be the first time I had strayed, even though I had
spent those years in a marriage where sex was resentfully granted;
in a marriage devoid of happiness and communion. I hesitated. I was about to open a gate. I was about to step onto a pathway
that could take me into a new life, but I couldn't see down the
pathway. It was twisted and overgrown. I hesitated. Jackie's eyes opened and a small smile came to her lips. "It's
time," she said as she pulled my head down and kissed me. I pressed. As I lowered my body to hers and sank further into her I heard
her breath, a whispered "Oh." I paused and looked at her face. Her
eyes were closed again but the small smile was still on her lips. I
pressed further and the corners of her mouth turned up more, and she
repeated the whispered word. I pressed again, easing fully into her
warmth, slowly sinking until our pubic bones met. "Oh," she said
for the third time. I lowered my head and kissed her quickly and her eyes opened to
meet mine. "Hi," she said, her grin widening, matching the one on
my face. There was a look of mischief in her eyes. * * * * * Even though nearly twenty years have passed I remember that
evening as if it had happened only hours ago. Even more, I remember
that kiss, the quick kiss Jackie gave me over the small table in the
bar, her signal to me that her interest was more than simply
friendly. I also remember the kiss she gave me when I paused, timid
and afraid to press into her. And I remember the impish grin that
greeted me when I arrived. Jackie led me to the gate; she showed me how to open it. She
put me on the twisted path and gave me a push. I don't know what happened to the little pink mirror with blue
and yellow butterflies on it. I am sorry about that. I am not sorry about anything else. END Copyright 1999, Sidney Durham Comments welcome!
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