Camilla - 1 - I cheated on my husband with himself

It was a Thursday afternoon, and I was just restless at home.
It started when I was in the waiting room of a doctor who - like all irresponsible doctors - was almost an hour late for every appointment, and reading one of those women's magazines that had been half-unloaded from being flipped over by women tired of waiting on this clown who couldn't meet his schedule.
The woman in question was unhappy with her marriage and unable to attract the attention or desire of her husband, who always seemed tired and preoccupied at work.
The reading of the text made me practically forget about that rude doctor who never met his schedules and obligations. Suddenly I found myself wearing an unknown woman's skin.
Like me, the woman in this text was 40 years old; her husband 45 - not much different from Paulo's age of 42, and she has a 16-year-old son; mine is 18.
Even our names are similar: her name is Karina, and mine Camila. I couldn't help smiling alone with all these coincidences.
She said that her dissatisfaction was making her tense. There were no gestures of affection from her husband; the son seemed to have forgotten he had a mother and devoted all his attention only to an overwhelming girlfriend; her parents, like mine, demanded care and attention but were excessively concerned with mourning their own old age in order to repay what they required...
She also felt very much needed. And she, too, was like a piece of furniture in the house -- sad and withdrawn -- but from talking to my friends I knew that these feelings were more common than people think; most of them expressed pretty much the same feeling about their married lives.
But my friend in the story had at least taken a stand. She once stood up and warned her husband that she wasn't going to work for his company on this day, said she was taking care of herself; went to a shopping mall and bought new clothes which were more flashy and cheerful; made sure to choose outfits with some sensuality attached to them; got into the most sophisticated beauty parlour and demanded all that was rightfully hers. She took care of her hair and skin, gave herself a massage... then volunteered to be waxed by this big, cheerful, nice, very intelligent mulatto woman... who seemed to have guessed what she needed. And between the waxing and talking... made her come out feeling much more sensual.
Her purpose in doing all this was to arouse her husband's interest and lust, but as she went back into the corridors of the mall looking like a new woman, she was approached by a man with whom they ended up having coffee. She became afraid to give him her phone number, but eventually gave away his email address. After some meetings, Ala finally surrendered herself to him. They became lovers, and she would text how her life had changed.
I had no interest in picking up a lover, far from it!
But I found the article interesting and did not criticize what Karina had done.
The article was so interesting and well-written that I had almost forgiven the doctor when he came to see me, nor did I show too much of my displeasure with this clown who thinks himself better than others just because he is a physician.
On my way home from the doctor's office, I decided that something had to be done about it so I wouldn't end up in a depression like Mom was going through on and off since we were very young.
The next day, while having breakfast with my husband, I did as the woman in the text had done and said:
I'm gonna take care of myself, go to the mall or a beauty parlor... decide that I deserve one day of selfishness.
I thought that my husband would show some concern, which was actually my main goal - to get Paul's attention. It almost devastated me when he showed no interest in my decision. After finishing his coffee nearby and already getting up from the table, he did not even look at me as he prepared to leave while saying:
If you want to take a few days off, just let me know.
Without even looking at my face he gave me a distracted kiss on the forehead and walked away. I felt sad and despised. And this feeling was made worse when my son, who I hadn't seen yet that morning, ran past me to take his father for a ride to college without stopping or having breakfast, just said "Hello" and left without ever looking back.
I started crying a few minutes later, walking into the shower.
As the daughter of a woman who had suffered bouts of depression my entire life, I decided to go see a doctor and make sure that this wasn't what was wrong with me. I crawled from the bathroom in the suite into the bedroom still naked and opened up the closet to pick out something to wear. I imagined myself wandering around the house all day doing nothing and already thinking about going to work after lunch when anger began to replace sadness. She cared for her husband and child even with certain sacrifices, refusing to be treated as a mere "equipment" of the home or family.
Still standing naked in front of the open closet, I turned to my full-length mirror at the wide-open door beside her and began assessing what I saw. My hair was cut for practicality rather than beauty; it looked half lifeless; my breasts were still beautifully patterned and had a firmness far superior to that of most women my age; my belly is still pretty; there's a small - very tiny even - protrusion inherited from motherhood, and one or two spots with some stretch marks and a little cellulite. But my body is still beautiful, for sure.
My face is the best: The only part of my body that I've ever really taken care of all these years. Of course, I moisturized all over my skin after every bath; but for whatever reason I had always been very careful with my face - soaps, creams, sunscreens...
I gave up on the idea of going to work in the afternoon. I was actually looking out for myself, and inspired by Karina, decided that I would go into Garden City Shopping Center near my house and forget a little bit about being mother and wife -- just be female; it'd be kind of selfish -- and conclude that I deserved this deference.
Wrapped in a towel, I sought out the housekeeper and told her that my head was hurting (that's not true) and didn't want to be disturbed. I locked myself into the suite and walked naked for some time between the bathroom, closet and bedroom doing things nude which always gave me a special pleasure that I had rarely given up on before.
I applied the moisturizer on my body much more carefully. It took me over 40 minutes to do this, and it gave me a special pleasure when I remembered those sensual scenes described by Karina in her story for the magazine: she told there that her lover treated her like a prostitute in bed; something which her husband had never done but which was giving him a particular pleasure. And she enjoyed noting that soon after starting an affair with another man, he seemed to have started paying more attention to her. She said that she never understood what had happened, but was even afraid of ending her extramarital affair and the husband losing interest in her again.
I imagined for a few moments what it would be like to have been treated as a prostitute by some man, and before marriage I had sex with only two boyfriends who were in love with me.
The first one lost his virginity with me. I was fifteen and he was seventeen, and we were discovering sex together. Then I realized that compared to the descriptions of full trances in stories I read in women's magazines, sex with him was just mediocre. I lost interest in my boyfriend and remember how almost contemptuous it felt when he cried at being dumped by me. So I realised I would never be able to love a weak man; ever.
The second said he had a lot of experience. He was almost 19 years old at the time (I was 17) and kept saying that I didn't know how many women he slept with, implying they all ran after him. When we started our relationship I thought I would learn so much about sex but it ended before I even got a chance to warm up.
He justified himself by saying that he loved me too much and therefore couldn't control it, but I knew - every woman knows this is just incompetence indeed. I broke up with him shortly after the third intercourse because of my disappointment and frustration at the guy; I had already made love to two different men on several occasions without ever reaching orgasm myself in bed before going to sleep imagining sex more like what women's magazines described. For a while I thought masturbation was better than any man.
My husband was the third man I had sex with, but he's the first one that got me to orgasm. Right from the very first intercourse he has been really affectionate and taken care of getting me excited a lot in foreplay before penetration. He only penetrated when he realized I was on the finish line for an orgasm and we both arrived there together.
Even though I hadn't heard the Fourth of July fireworks as they say in Hollywood movies, I was totally infatuated with him and our courtship was wonderful.
I've always really loved and admired him. He was a serious man who had been very studious in the college he attended when we met, finished his studies; did postgraduate work; worked since 16 years old at his father's company where today is director after starting from scratch as his grandfather did with his father before that. Always competent, extremely intelligent, born leader within the company, adored by all and hard worker.
I love him very much and am too proud of that man.
But marriage was distancing us a little bit. The routine and the browning problems of everyday life: weekends always spent shopping in supermarkets; brown pizza on Saturday nights; lunch at his parents' house on Sundays; waiting for our son to come back from dances, always worried about his safety; my son's courtship that seemed to try to take him away from the family... We had so little time for ourselves; what does it mean to have time for each other?
At first it was the Saturday night and Sunday morning naps. Little by little, they started happening only on Sunday mornings until those bureaucratic steps to keep up with a calendar became scarce. There came a point when I went to caress my husband and he quickly got out of bed saying that we had to go somewhere before going to his parents' house.
And I can tell you that he didn't have any mistress, worked all day at the company and came straight home.
It was like we'd just lost our hard-on, and who knows if a boutique bath and some beauty treatments would rekindle any romance in my husband?
Immediately after lunch, I went to the mall and made a point of dressing as well as possible and trying to look attractive in order to improve my self-esteem.
I went straight to a beauty institute that we'd always come across when going into the shopping mall food court. It is an enormous, bright, beautiful, elegant and pleasant space, and I have always wanted to try out their services.
I was greeted by a very beautiful brunette at the reception desk, and when she asked me with all sympathy what kind of services I was looking for I simply replied, somewhat tense: "Everything! Hair, manicure, podiatrist... Everything! Not to mention complete hair removal.
The girl smiled with great sympathy and replied: "You can leave it to us!" Her smile immediately dissipated all my tension. I think she is accustomed to cater for every desperate housewife in São Paulo.
I was immediately taken in by a wonderful "hairstylist", and I could see right away that the people who worked there were all beautiful and well-treated.
In about an hour and a half I was with completely new hair. Combed differently and bold, but admittedly very beautiful. They advised me to go through the waxing before going for "make up". I would accept all their suggestions that day.
Served by a "mignon" type depilatory, I almost laughed when recalling the description of Karina's epilator in the article that I had read. The girl was very nice and could make me feel completely at ease. It seemed to have read my thoughts when she came to shave my groin and asked if I wanted a really intimate hair removal, referring to the sides of my skirt.
- You don't need hair removal to make your husband crazy. But I will give you a treat, the lady who is going to cause him to lose his head. And if he does not lose his mind, arrange a lover! - She laughed. - Every man seems to understand when a woman is giving her escapades, and gets much more affectionate! - she blinked with a look between naughty and funny.
I've heard of it, but I don't think I want a lover no.
- That's why so many women are becoming lesbians!
With her calm, gentle voice she was able to completely relax me during the entire service. I had never undergone a treatment by being totally naked in front of another person. That girl made everything easier.
I went to the makeup parlor and left feeling like a different person.
I went to other stores, where I bought sexier clothes. I walked into a shoe store and purchased a pair of high-heeled sandals that propped up my legs and accentuated my buttocks. They came out slightly shorter and blouses with discreet transparency. Even bolder lingerie was given as gifts: panties, bras and 7/8 embroidered socks which I thought were outrageously beautiful and valued my legs like they had never been seen before.
Crazy to think how I'd feel wearing all that stuff.
On my way out, I looked in the mirror and even freaked. My face was the only familiar thing there, although it had been greatly enhanced by different "make-up" according to schedule.
I felt taller and more confident.
I went to the car where I had left all those bags and clothes that I'd taken off, came back looking for a place to eat something.
It was after seven o'clock in the evening, but I made up my mind not to even bother calling home and telling them that everything is fine. This was MY DAY.
I was choosing where to eat when I noticed a handsome, elegant man staring at me. As soon as I felt myself being looked at, I automatically faced him and he smiled back at me and said hello. It stirred my ego so much that I nodded in response, hoping the makeup would hide the blush on my face.
I walked away and went to eat something at a snack bar called Italian, and shortly after sitting down for lunch this man came up carrying a tray just like mine.
Can I sit here with you?
I looked around and saw that there were countless empty tables.
- If I'm going to bother you, just talk; I'll leave her alone. But this is the most beautiful place in the whole mall and I am dying to sit here. It's your fault! Who wants to be a person who turns any desert into an oasis?
Trembling and not knowing what to say, I remained silent while he sat down in front of me.
- My name is Luciano, but you can call me anything.
Camila. - I replied regretting it right away, because I'd never been in a situation like that before or as an unmarried woman had experienced anything similar to this and he seemed too used to the kind of conquest game
I didn't know anything about this place, so I decided to risk the same restaurant as you.
Not knowing how to respond, I just smiled. But I'm sure my smile was a bit contrite; it felt like playing the fool.
- Do you work around here?
- I live nearby. - Once again, I regretted too quickly for having opened the wedding. I didn't have to say anything to that man. I am a married woman. I decided to tell him right away. I continued: "I always come to this mall with my husband and son".
"Two very happy men, constantly enjoying the presence of a beautiful woman like you". He seemed to have an answer for everything I said. It was straightforward: "Please don't feel embarrassed by my presence. I do not want to disturb her. If she wants me to go away, just say Camila. I am already a happy man who has spent these few minutes near the most beautiful women that I saw since birth. And look it is 51 years looking for someone with beauty such as yours.
I looked at him and realized that he was tall (certainly over six feet) and athletic. He wore thin, well-cut clothes with classic designs. His voice was firm, strong, deep and sensual. Even speaking softly made me vibrate all inside.
What's the harm in meeting someone with no sexual interest at all?
Intelligent and cultured, he led the conversation and made me let go. In a few minutes of our dinner together he managed to make me say several things that I had never even talked about with my friends.
After we finished eating, we decided to have a coffee. We went into the cafeteria on the ground floor and I was slightly afraid of being seen by some acquaintance there in the corridors with that very tall attractive man stirring up malicious comments. His conversation however made me quickly forget this fear.
When I saw that it was after 8:30 at night, I got a little scared.
I have to go home, Luciano.
May I walk you to your car?
We walked along and when we got there, he grabbed my hands and said:
- Will you give me your phone so we can repeat this meeting in a less casual way?
No, Luciano I'm a married woman like I said and can't give my number to...
Understanding what I was going to say, he replied without leaving any room for my embarrassment:
What about your e-mail?
Not knowing how to say no to that handsome, charming and interesting man, I decided to write my e-mail on a notepad which is always in my glove compartment.
The car next to me had left a little distance from mine. It was a bit tight there. I opened the door and did some real gymnastics to get into the car. With the movement, my skirt went up showing the lace on top of my socks seven-eighths and maybe even the tip of my panties at an angle where he stood.
"Now you've made my heart beat faster!" he said with a silly face. "You have irretrievably conquered my heart". I am in love and sure that every night before going to sleep, as an adolescent, I will remember you.
The implication was clear, and I'm forced to confess that it excited me a little.
I quickly typed my e-mail, and the handwriting came out horrible.
Discreetly and skillfully he put the paper in his sport coat pocket, shutting the door while I turned my key to open the window and say goodbye.
I'll send you an e-mail with my phone numbers and leave all communication doors open.
I don't know if I can answer that.
He took my hand and kissed it. His security knocked down my defenses. I closed the car window, got out of there before he did something beastly like a teenager who doesn't know how to behave. On the way I lifted up my skirt and looked between my legs, trying to imagine what Luciano had seen with the complicity of my indiscreet skirt. Looking at the lace on my French panties in the exact colour of my skin, I wondered if he didn't see that and imagined me without underwear. That excited me so much that I walked home stirring through my thighs. I was about to jerk off when I got home.
When I came in, my husband was alone.
When he saw me coming in like that, his eyes widened and he measured from top to bottom.
If you spent less than a million on this transformation, it was cheap!
I got cocky, he stood up and came over to kiss me.
- Have you had dinner yet?
Afraid of saying something that would expose what I had done the other night at the mall,
- I'm not that hungry.
He embraced me and was soon passing his hand on my hips, raising the skirt little by little and feeling the laces of socks 7/8. His hands searched for my ass and scoured it looking for underwear. When I felt her swallowed up with my urine he squeezed my body against his and made me realize its erection.
- What did you do, Ca? You're a hard-on! Not that I didn't like it; quite the contrary: I loved it. But let's go inside right now because I want to mess up your whole body.
As we locked the bedroom door, he pushed me into bed and turned my back so that I would curl up against the mattress. He lifted my skirt, admired my ass, knelt down on the floor and stuck his face in my pussy while pulling his panties to one side. He found me super wet there. Did he think part of it had been because of another?
He hadn't sucked me in years. It was too exciting for me, and I almost joked when he got up and started to strip off his clothes all over the place, so I decided to take some initiative that night because it would be my first time ever taking any kind of initiative with sex.
I turned my husband over and threw him on the bed, belly up. His heel was very hard and I stroked it a little bit, milking the fingers that I licked, looking into his eyes. I put one of my legs on him, tucking in the thin heels of the sandal on his stomach just above its toe.
I commanded with a voice that came low, hoarse and hot. Never having given him any orders before, he seemed to be worshipping me.
- He said and hesitated, not knowing how to continue.
- Today I'm not Camila. I am a classy whore. My husband opened his eyes. He wasn't at all used to hearing me talk like that.
I took off my blouse and was left with only a bra, unbuttoned the skirt and let it fall to the floor. Unbuckled the brassiere which had its clasp in front of it, when I bought it I imagined what it would be like to take it off looking at my husband, and found that I'd correctly inferred his reaction.
Seeing my breasts loose and still firm, my husband spoke with a little wonder:
How long have I seen you like this?
I turned my back and was slowly lowering his panties, showing him the ass that he had been pushing towards me. He sat on the bed and began to kiss my butt. Licked my arse and was already going again for my coochie when I turned around and shoved it back onto the bed.
- Did you like my waxed skirt?
How did you do that?
- I was talking rubbing my fingers there, as if it were (and really is) exciting me in a masturbation.
- Was it a man who did this?
Of course it wasn't a man, but I decided not to say anything and see how he would react.
I turned around on the bed and climbed into it to do a 69. deliberately spreading my legs, pushed myself over his face as he started sucking his dick that looked harder than in adolescence.
A few licks later he insisted:
- Was it a man, Ca, who shaved you?
If you can call that a man, I implied he was gay.
When you said that, my husband's dick jumped and I could tell he was excited about the idea.
- And I think even he got a hard-on.
- He asked with a groan.
I responded by taking his pin out of my mouth, and he was loving the idea.
Why do you think he got a boner?
I left it to his imagination.
He pushed me aside and stood up, standing beside the bed. His pin was so hard it almost touched his navel. His face made it clear that what he felt was horny rather than angry. I felt safe enough to sit on the edge of the bed and shove his pin back into my mouth. I sucked increasing pressure.
- Why do you think he had a hard-on, Ca? Tell me for God's sake. His voice was desperate in tone and came out moaning with great hardness. I kept sucking looking up to see his eyes shot by the horn.
I don't know, Paul... he was wearing trousers.
"But what about the volume in his trousers?" he asked, looking into my eyes. Without answering or emptying my mouth, I just tried to make a whore's face.
I only winked with a whore's face, to him who almost in despair moaned loudly:
- Say it, for the love of God!
With my hoarse voice and sleazy face that I never imagined myself capable of doing, just answered slowly, prolonging the moment:
- I'm going to get you!
He couldn't help but mock me in the face, writhing and groaning like I had never seen him before.
Oh, how I love you!
And this was just the beginning of that wonderful evening, where we talked a lot more and I got to know my husband like I'd never seen him before.
The Commission shall be empowered to adopt delegated acts in accordance with Article 4a.
Written by Mar: - mar000002@gmail.com