My, My, My, Delilah. I should have known better.
I was a Junior at State U. To try to get some money for incidentals, I started tutoring the athletes, mainly the football players, a few basketball players, and the odd baseball or tennis player. The Athletic Department paid me by the hour. As a math nerd, I had a tuition scholarship. My parents were struggling to send me living expenses. I worked for the State Highway Department in the summers and was able to cover my books and car insurance. My parents had given me a car rather than trade it in for their new car. I guess I was doing better than the average student and with my Athletic Department largesse I was even to afford a little clubbing and dating.
I knew Rodney Darling from tutoring him in both Math and Physics. He was reasonably intelligent, but he just didn't like hitting the books. I told him even if he went to the pros he would have to study, but he preferred studying football plays to academic topics. He and I were the same age, but he was already an All-American quarterback, and I was a Junior Math major with a minor in Actuarial Science. My parents had spaced their children four or five years apart, so at least they only had one college student to support at a time.
I was meeting some of my nerd friends at a club on the Drag the first time I remember seeing Delilah. She and Rodney were seated at a table near the entrance, my friends were at a table nearby. At six-foot-four and 240 pounds, he and the movie-star-like Delilah were an imposing couple. She was dark, with coal-black hair, cobalt-blue eyes, and stacked like a you-know-what. Her skin was deeply tanned, unclear as to whether it was from tanning salons or fun in the sun, or perhaps a combination of both.
As I went by their table to the nearby table where my friends were sitting, I said, "Hi, Rodney."
He replied as was his wont, "Hi, Kid! This is Delilah! Nice seeing you!"
Politely, I spoke to both, "Nice to meet you, Delilah; Good seeing you, Rodney."
Knowing I had been dismissed by the great Darling, I continued on to my friends' table. I greeted them. We were having a pitcher, and they had already gotten me a mug, so we got into a discussion of our last video game night.
I and my friends were astounded when I heard the most melodious voice speak to me, "Excuse me, would you like to dance?"
I looked up into those deep blue eyes. A quick glance showed me that it was Delilah asking me to dance. Rodney was waiting in the not insignificant queue for the very busy bartender. I leaped to my feet almost turning my beer over. "I-I-I-I'd be happy to!" I managed to stutter out.
It was a slow dance, and it was like a dream. Her whole body seemed soft. We were almost identical in height; I think the only other trait we shared was blue eyes. We were soon dancing cheek-to-cheek. I let a hand slip from the small of her back to top of her buttock. Apparently, some dipshit was having trouble with his credit card, so Rodney was still waiting in the queue.
All I could think of was, it must have been my voice. I do have a resonant, baritone speaking voice. I could be a pop star, I'm sure, if I could only carry a tune. My eyes are good. But other than that, I'm ordinary, sandy hair, five-foot-eight, 170 pounds, certainly not in young Mr. Darling's class. I did play football in high school; however, the highlight of my career was catching a few passes totaling less than a hundred yards, when the starter was out with a groin pull. My limited success as a back-up end came from agility, not speed.
Unfortunately, the best dance of my entire life ended. I escorted Delilah back to her table, and noticed out of the corner of my eye, that Rodney was returning to their table with two drinks. I smiled and nodded and returned to my friends.
I think we were on our third pitcher, which wasn't that bad since there were eight of us at the table, when I heard, "Derek! It's me again." I turned around, not quite so klutzy as before. Delilah was as beautiful as ever; I and my friends were as astounded as ever. I noticed that Rodney, drink in hand was chatting with a thousand pounds or so of football player at a different nearby table, so I did my duty as I saw it and danced with her. It was as brave a thing as I have ever done, since I knew if Rodney took offense, I could easily be crushed with a half-ton or more of aroused football players.
Again, the song came to its end, but the evening was to take an even more bizarre turn when she said, "I'm bored. Do you think you could take me home?" As fate would have it, my clunky Trax was next to Rodney's Corvette. Delilah didn't seem to mind the vehicular difference. When we got to her apartment house, she asked me in for a cup of coffee. Would wonders never cease?
Apparently, she shared a two-bedroom apartment with a friend, who wasn't home. Instead of coffee, I got a mouthful of tongue. I promise, I did not complain. By the third or fourth breath between passionate kisses, I had my hands in her panties. We soon found ourselves on her couch, and I not only had my tongue in her mouth, but two fingers in her vagina. In spite of my well-earned nerd status, I did know how to use all my assets with the ladies.
After I finger-fucked her to orgasm, she suggested that we move things into her bedroom. She got no argument from me. She seemed quite pleased with my almost seven inches of male thickness. It might have grown a bit since I last measured it in high school. Undressing her was a pleasure of near perfection. Her dress was not particularly revealing but her underwear was of the nth magnitude. Black demi-bra and thong were out of this world. Underneath was a completely bare object of masculine lust.
In high school, I was able to develop extremely good ejaculation control. I suppose having been clipped while still in my birth hospital made it easier for me than for the unclipped. I also learned quite a few positions from the more experienced of my high school and early college lovers. I supplemented that information with what I could find on the internet.
We started off simple in the missionary position. She was ready, and after a few licks to assure adequate moisture, I penetrated her slowly. Then I began to increase the tempo and strength of my strokes. It couldn't have been much more than two minutes of slowly increasing stroking before I sensed several indicators of feminine orgasm: A sudden increase in natural lubrication, bodily convulsions, including the pelvic floor muscles, a gasped out, "I'm cum-m-m-ming. After the last spasm, there is an involuntary relaxation of the body. We moved onto the doggy position. My cock slid in smooth as silk, but I could feel a tightening response. Her pussy felt wonderful. Again, I increased the speed and power of my pounding and in another couple of minutes she was calling out her joy at climax. I then then helped her up into the kneeling prison guard with another outstanding result after only a couple of minutes.
I decided I would try one of my internet positions for the first time. It was her first time, too, but she loved the praying mantis. In it, the male and female face each other in near equality. Either or both can ram their pelvis against the other's. Our mutual ramming only took about two minutes for her to crying out her joy at cumming again.
I pulled her up into the standing prison guard and pounded her for the two or three minutes it took for another body-shaking climax.
I decided to use a position that a former lover had taught me. I only knew it as the Ultimate position. I sat with my back to the headboard and raised my knees. I had her put her feet by my buttocks and then slide down my thighs until she could impale herself on my manhood. I then told her to be completely still. I was able to just slightly move my penis to tease her in her quietude. She began to beg me to allow her to start moving herself. After just a little more teasing, I told her to go for it. She went wild. She lifted herself and slid back down three times before her first climax. Her next orgasm only took two of her pelvic thrusts. From then on, her pattern following an orgasm was to pause for a few seconds, then thrust her pelvis forward, and then experience an orgasm as she withdrew. A pause for breath, then a pelvic thrust, and another delightful climax. The whole time she was kissing my face and mouth. She only did this for a few minutes, before she told me she had had enough.
"What after only twenty orgasms," I teased her. I hadn't been counting, but that seemed about right. This technique can yield double digit moderate intensity orgasms per minute. She followed the pattern of relax, thrust, orgasm, while kissing me, two or three more times, and then I ejaculated. We relaxed, my softening cock still inside her. She was spent. She laid her head on my shoulder.
She softly whispered, "No one ever did that to me before."
I smiled and paused before replying, "We aim to please."
I helped her up, and then she lay down beside me, clearly satiated. I lay down beside her and softly stroked her, relaxing her from her exertions, preparing her for dreamland. We went to sleep in each other's arms.
I can safely say that after forty minutes, and more than twenty screams of erotic pleasure, Delilah was one well-fucked lady. Just to be sure, I gave her another ten- or fifteen-minutes' worth at dawn. After that the die was cast, and it was pretty much the same night after night, week after week, month after month.
I had some trepidation the next time I went to do some tutoring, especially when I noticed that Rodney was waiting for me. He shook my hand, "Hey Kid, I don't know what you did to Delilah, but I got to hand it to you. You're a better man than me."
All I could do was smile and say, "Thanks, Rodney! I always try to do my best." I wondered how much Delilah had told him about our nights of passion.
He replied, "You know, Kid, that's exactly why I'm an All-American. I always try to do my best. I guess we're alike in some ways. We just have some different attributes and objectives. Now, I'm having some trouble with delta-epsilon." He didn't mean something in Greek society, although both he and Delilah were Greeks, but was referring to the Calculus definition of a limit. We intently reviewed some basic principles of Calculus for the next twenty minutes or so, and then I moved on to a basketball player who was having the same difficulties as Rodney.
After graduation, and my marriage to Delilah, I all but forgot Rodney, except for the occasional reference to his NFL exploits on ESPN, where I sometimes satisfied my need for an NBA fix. Delilah and I continued to assuage our passion virtually every night. Working as a consulting actuary, I occasionally had to travel but I was never away for more than two or three nights.
Delilah worked as a marketing representative for a large corporation, and although I'm sure that she was hit on constantly I never suspected her of any infidelity with regard to our marriage vows. She took time off for the birth of Barbara. Two years later, it was Daniel, and only one year later, Andrew. I felt I was not only one of the most fortunate guys on the planet, but also that I was set for life. After three years, she was a little thicker in the middle, but that was offset by her having bigger boobs and a bigger butt. If anything, she was sexier than ever; there was just a little more of her now. Our bedroom adventures seemed to be just as exciting and intense as ever. I thought we communicated extremely well both in bed and out. If you averaged in our double sessions on the weekends, we were still making love almost daily.
Andrew was about eighteen months old when we went to a party on a Saturday night. It was at a college friend's house. A bit unusual was that there were a couple of football players from the visiting NFL team. Even more surprising was that one of the players was Rodney Darling, starting quarterback for our team's weekend opponent.
It seemed a little like old times, he greeted me with, "Hey, Kid, Can I dance with your wife?"
I acquiesced. After the dance they sat together and conversed intensely. I assumed they were talking about the good old days on campus and wasn't concerned. As the evening progressed, he began to get a little handsy. She seemed to be intently listening to his every word. I became concerned and asked her to dance as a way of getting her away from him, at least briefly.
She demurred with, "Honey, do you mind if I catch up on old times with Rod, a bit more."
I retreated to the other side of the room. I watched them dance with his hands all over her. At the end of the dance, he leaned down and kissed her on the lips; I couldn't tell if their tongues were involved.
I went over to them, and spoke directly to Delilah, "Can I have a word?"
She politely replied, "Sure, Honey, What's up?"
I told her point-blank, "I don't like what I'm seeing."
She gave me a dirty look and then added over her shoulder as she turned back toward young Mr. Darling, "If you don't like it, don't watch!"
I fumed for around ten minutes. They now had their hands on each other's waists, as they continued to converse with eyes only for each other.
I made my last gasp effort. I walked over to them and said, "Delilah, I think it's time for us to go home."
After a slight delay, she turned her full attention on me, "It's all right, Honey. You go ahead. I'm sure I can find a way home." She smiled and turned her attention back to Rodney.
Since I had been casually dismissed, I went home. Two hours later it was two am and I had drunk enough to go to a restless sleep. When I woke up at four, I knew it was all over between us.
Why, why, why, Delilah.
I went back to sleep. Around six, I woke up as she eased into bed.'
I greeted her with, "Have fun, Delilah?"
She pertly replied, "Yes, Darling, Rod and I had a great time, reliving our college days."
I asked, "But all night, Delilah?"
She explained, "We did our best to relive our college times."
I inquired, "Did you talk about your husband and children?"
She spoke calmly, "A little, but that wasn't really relevant to our college days. We didn't talk much about Rod's NFL career either."
I concluded with, "Was it as good as in college?"
She told me the truth, "It was better, Derek, but not as good as you."
She thought for a minute, "Derek, I love you, and I love our children. Rod's just an old friend."
I informed her, "Old friends sit and talk. They don't send their husbands home alone."
She simply said, "Sorry about that." She turned over and went to sleep.
I stayed awake and started planning for divorce. Damn, I thought. I should have recorded that conversation.
The team would be leaving Sunday night after they cleaned up from the game. I wondered if Rodney would be leaving with them. All it really took was a Monday morning call to Delilah's workplace. I discovered that she was taking a sick day. I guess she was lovesick.
I went to a camera shop and purchased their best low lighting camera. It was so simple. I parked across the street. I walked around the strange car in our driveway. I quietly entered the house. I crept up the stairs. The door to the master bedroom was open and the emanating sounds made it clear what the two lovers were doing on the master bed. This camera had the capability of taking photos while recording videos and I made maximum use of both capabilities. When they had a simultaneous orgasm, I quickly reversed my visit and returned to my car. I drove away and began planning my evening confrontation with the bitch.
She had cooked a nice dinner. She was a good cook. After a few mouthfuls, I asked her, "I guess Rodney's on his way home now?"
"Yes," she said. She belatedly realized her mistake. "He's probably already there."
"Maybe, maybe not," I replied and handed her a particularly salacious time-stamped photo of their morning tryst.
She apologized, "I'm sorry, Derek. It was just one for the road for old times' sake. You're my main man."
I told her, "Our wedding vows indicated husband, not main man."
She explained, "Oh, baby. I just had to do it. It was good with him, but not as good as with you. He showed me some new tricks. I'm looking forward to sharing them with you."
I replied, "I'm not your trained pony, Delilah!"
She responded, "I love you, Derek, you're the best. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?"
I spoke slowly, "I'm just the poor cuckolded husband trying to see my way forward."
She told me, "You're no cuckold. You're my loving husband. I love you, Derek, more than ever."
I told her, "I'm not so sure about the loving husband bit. I don't think I love you as much now as I did before this weekend!"
She explained, "It was just sex, Honey! He was good, but not as good as you. He's a little bigger, but you're still the best."
I concluded, "I still can't quite wrap my head around this, Delilah. I think it's better if I sleep in the guest room until I see my way forward."
At least she seemed disappointed, "Honey, ... , I love you. Don't stay away long!"
I wasn't sure if the last was a want or a threat, but regardless, I moved most of my everyday clothes into the guest room. Why, why, why, Delilah?
The next few days we were pleasant to each other. I wanted to feel reconciled, but I just plain wasn't there yet. There was a little stress, evenings, when she told me how much she loved me, and how much she wanted me. I wondered if she and I meant the same thing by love and even marriage. I wanted to be her best friend and only lover, as well as her husband. I was only sure of the last one.
I decided I was ready to talk. After the kids were put to bed one night, I told her, "I didn't know I was signing on for sharing you when I married you."
She explained her view to me, "All I'm sharing is my pussy. I'm not sharing our love, our dreams, or our future. I'm not sharing our children's future. I'm just a woman. I wanted to have some fun. I did and it's over. I know that my future is with you. You're a great lover, a good provider, and a wonderful partner. What more could I ever want in a husband."
I told her, "Delilah, I think we should be talking about what I want, too."
She agreed, "Absolutely. What is it that you want and you're not getting?" i
I replied, "I think the main stumbling block is that forsaking all others bit that we agreed to when we got married. You don't know what it feels like to have your wife go home with an ex."
She explained to me, "I have forsaken all others. I don't think spending one weekend apart every six or seven years is so bad. Cut me some slack, man. We're raising beautiful children together. If you're worried so much about it, I'll cut you a hall pass."
It seemed like she wasn't getting it. "Sweetheart, I don't want a hall pass. I want to feel confident that when I take you to a party, you're coming home with me."
She asked me, "Aren't I a good mother? Aren't I a good lover. You have to admit I even meet your definition of a good wife over ninety-nine percent of the time. I just cheated once. Derek, I want to be with you for the rest of our lives. Isn't that enough?"
I told her, "I just don't know. It hurts so bad when you go with someone else leaving me all alone. I don't care if you say it's just sex, it still hurts to think of you in someone else's bed."
She smiled at me. It was hard to resist that smile. "Come on, Derek. I'm not that bad, am I?"
I knew how much I wanted her. I begged her, "Please, Delilah, I don't think I could bear it if you strayed again. Please just don't do it again, okay?"