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To my delight Susan said she thought I was her kind of guy. The deal with Alan was I kept him up to date with my exchanges with Susan and how we were progressing. He was clearly enjoying the attention another man was giving his wife and I could tell it was turning him on … me too!I lived about a 3 hour’s drive from their patch but that wasn’t a problem because back then I regularly travelled around the UK on business. We corresponded for a couple of months and must have exchanged dozens of increasingly intimate messages before they were happy for me to meet Susan. That was in the bar of my hotel and we chatted freely for a couple of hours before a kiss on both cheeks continental style in the car park and safe home to hubby. Without either of us actually saying so we both knew the sexual chemistry was there for both of us and agreed to meet again and take things to the next level. When I got back to the bar I got a text from Alan … ‘Well’? I replied saying I thought Susan was. I must have made a small sound, because he turned and fixed his eyes on me, cozy and green as the ferns. He couldn’t be older than mid-thirty. I could see now his short spiked bangs, strong jaw and cheekbones. He stopped fiddling with the cell phone in his pocket and held up his hand to stop me from further entering the room. He didn’t speak, but looked me over, as if he were memorizing every visible detail of my appearance, my black blunt bob, dark brown eyes, the scar on my upper lip, my natural tan. How my Porn Star baby tee stretched up, unveiling my navel piercing and the strip of my belly when I breathed in and my ribs expanded, his eyes lingering on my breasts. There was that small sound in the back of my throat again as his eyes drifted down to the low waist of my olive urban cargos, and my breath easing as he removed his gaze from my fly. I shifted my feet restlessly, tapped the square toes of my metallic silver Doc Martens. His lips creased briefly into a smile. He turned.
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