///My first one got some hate for being a loving wives story despite me submitting it to the loving wives category. Figure that one out. I’ve got another longer one in the works, but cranked this out as a way of taking a break. Please remember that any negative feelings of anger or sympathetic jealousy are part of what makes a story like this hot for me, so if that isn’t your thing, you don’t have to read it. Regardless…
Dear Peter,
I know letters are a bit old fashioned, but I don’t think I can tell you this to your face, and I feel it’s too important to send as a text or a phone call. Still, I have some things to say.
I’ve been missing you so badly over here in Paris, I miss your smile, I miss the way you take care of me, but maybe I miss your cock most of all. I can’t count the number of times that I’ve touched myself in the hostel bed thinking of you.
I’ve missed you so much in fact that in order to ease my aching heart I may have done something to risk losing you forever. Ironic, I know, but please try to understand what I’m saying to you.
I’ll guess I’ll cut the bullshit and just tell you. I slept with another man. His name is Michel (not Michelle, no gay jokes please). We met at a wine tasting a week ago. At first it was just a friendship, he was helping me improve my French and I gave him an opportunity to practice his English. I have to admit he was charming from the get go, though I didn’t fall for him right away. I thought his name was a bit silly, and he was tall and slim, where I usually opt for bigger men. It was the small things that added up, the way he smells whenever he greets me with a kiss (that’s normal here, for the record) the way he seems to hang on my every word. At first we stuck to cafes with price points that suited my student’s travelling budget, but when he started picking up the tab we migrated to fancier establishments, with wine that costs more than the meal!
Well, last night after going on a tour of a gallery together we had dinner and I might have had a little too much to drink. We’d planned to cycle together along the river afterwards but it started to rain! Michel suggested we meet up with his friend Pierre at a club downtown (Pierre is a DJ). I wasn’t sure what an engaged girl like me would find at a club, and I really wasn’t dressed for it, but there didn’t seem to be much else to do, so I agreed.
The club was definitely not the kind of place that you’d enjoy, but the music was good and some of the dancers were really talented. We sat with Pierre and his girlfriend Jeanne in a booth for a while. They chatted loudly in French, but I couldn’t keep up with most of it. Then suddenly Pierre got very excited and hopped up because I guess it was his set. His girlfriend asked me if I wanted to dance. I really couldn’t say no. After a few songs to hype up the crowd, the music changed in a way that I can only describe as “dirty” and suddenly Michel was dancing with me and Jeanne was nowhere to be found. As I mentioned, I’d had maybe a little too much to drink with dinner, so when Michel started getting in close I just let him. He had his hands on my hips and his moves matched the mood of the music. The other dancers around us were getting more and more raunchy and I swear I saw more than a few girls lead their men off to the bathroom to go even further.
Michel is a great dancer, by the way, and I felt like he was in total control of my every move. Before I knew it his lips were on mine and I didn’t want them to ever leave. He tasted like expensive wine and cigarettes (I know I quit smoking for you at home, but as they say, when in Rome, do as Romans do).
After spending I don’t know how long dancing and making out on the dance floor, he pulled me into a back hallway of the club. I probably would have let him have me right there, but he’s not that kind of man. We french kissed and he touched me under my dress, I slipped off my panties to let him and I’m afraid I haven’t been able to find that pair since.
Now, I know already that what I’ve told you is far too much, but I need to say a bit more. Please try to understand that I was away from home and missed your cock so much, so in my mind it seemed like I was filling the hole that you left. Still, I have to confess that it was me that suggested we find some other place to go.
Outside the club I sobered up a bit (I sent you some texts, and made sure to tell you how much I love you, remember?). But the taxi arrived before I could find some way to stop what was in motion. It was as if Michel knew I was anxious, because in the cab his kisses transformed from lustful and aggressive to sensuous and comforting, he really has a sweet side to him.
When we made it to his artist’s loft he poured me another drink of some excellent wine. I only took a sip of it, though, as my mind was on other things. We began kissing again and he resumed touching me like he had in the club. When he stopped to pull off his shirt, I thought once more of you and what you’d think of me there. I was filled with shame. I got up and ran to the bathroom crying. Then I thought to myself that regardless of what you might think of me there, you were not there, and he was. When you decided not to come on this trip with me I was so disappointed, but I decided to make the best of it. And if you weren’t around to show me a good time, I’d have to find someone else who would. In a last ditch effort, I masturbated furiously, right there in the bathroom, trying to relieve myself and avoid losing myself to him. I couldn’t do it. I needed more than just physical pleasure, I needed intimacy.
Michel was waiting patiently for me on the sofa when I came out. He caressed me and comforted me and I confessed to him that I had someone waiting for me back home. He made it extremely clear that we didn’t have to go any further than we’d gone, and that we could always go back to just being friends, but I’d made up my mind.
I told him no, and unzipped my dress.
Je te veux he said to me and undid his pants.
I’ll spare you the explicit details of what happened next, but I think you can guess most of it. I have to confess he was amazing. It must be the language, as it seems that the french can do remarkable things with their tongues. His cock was maybe shorter than yours, but thicker, I won’t say better than you, but the way he filled me up was just different. I must have cum half a dozen times. I don’t think I’ve ever done that many in a single session before. The last detail I feel obligated to mention is that he came inside of me. I haven’t been taking my birth control since I left the US, so I’ll have to see if they have Plan B in France. I feel it’s important for you to know, I don’t want you to think I’m hiding anything.
Afterwards Michel was very sweet, we cuddled and he spooned me until I was asleep. In the morning the guilt returned and that’s why I’m sitting in a cafe alone, writing to you.
I miss you Peter and I want you to know I don’t love him. I love you. I’ve just been so lonely and missing you so much. I know I’ve made a mistake, but I hope I can make it up to you when I’m home. I still have two more weeks in Paris, so this letter should arrive well before I return. That’s all I have to say, I’m so sorry, please forgive me.
-Jennifer