Sandy and Frank Ch. 01

My name is James MacAndrew, know familiarly as Mack. I'm about 6 feet or a little less, depending on who's measuring. I'm about 180 pounds and of regular, reasonably good looks. My wife is Sandra MacAndrew, addressed by most as Sandy. She's about 5' 2" or 5' 3" and I'll estimate somewhere between 110 and 115 pounds. She is quite pretty with very nice features, not beautiful but very nice. She has a very good but not spectacular body. Her breasts are, her bra says, 34B. Not large but very firm and with very little need for that bra. When dressed professionally, she usually wears one, but not in the evening. In the same manner, she wears pantyhose when working, garter belt and hose when dressed up. Actually, she is quite modest in her behavior and it would be a rare person who had any idea as to what she did or did not wear beneath her clothes.

Still, Sandy's biggest virtue is not her body or her face, nice as they are, but her personality. She often is described as "bubbly" and has a real talent for making friends. It's been said that when she visits a doctor's office, she comes out knowing not only the receptionist's name, but also her family, her background, her children, etc. And, she remembers it. That's a quality I admire because I'm the opposite.

She and I met in high school, went to college together, graduated, married and went to grad school together. The only time that we were separated was her junior year when she spent a full year in Spain. We both received our M.A.'s but there our academic lives separated. I went on to get my PhD while she taught school to support us. I joined a large northeastern university and began my professional career while she enrolled in the grad school to start her own PhD program and to work as a teaching assistant. We both had always loved school and education so our path, while unusual, suited us perfectly. All of this takes time, of course, so we were each about 30 when the circumstances in this story occurred, making her somewhat older than her grad student classmates.

We had moved to the small town where the university was located - actually a separate suburb of a fair-sized city. With a substantial mortgage we had been able buy a nicely remodeled four bedroom, two-story house with a walk-out basement. It was considerably larger than we needed, but the price was right and we anticipated adding to the family. In addition to the regular living space, the house also included a "mother-in-law suite" which we had intended to rent out to a student, but we, so far at least, had passed on that because of the lack of privacy. The only change that we had made in the house was to turn one bedroom into a combination office-study-library which was necessary for people in our fields. That bedroom was over the two-car garage and had several large windows overlooking a long driveway and front door and giving a very pleasant view of an expansive, treed front lawn. That vantage point turned out to be quite significant in a totally unexpected way. Our own bedroom was in the back of the house, well away from our "working" area. The backyard opened onto an alley which were common in earlier times for a rear entrance and contained a small building which originally was a carriage house. As I said, it was far more than we needed, but it was very nice.

Sandy's field of interest and her major was Spanish and Spanish literature. She had a real aptitude for languages and dove into the coursework with enthusiasm. Classes and seminars were small, the material interesting and the professors well versed in their specialties. Her first year in the PhD program went very well and with excellent grades which she honestly deserved. Now in her second year, she continued that success. You always worry about someone you know socially being in your class for if they don't do well it can be embarrassing. This was particularly true in this case because Sandy was a student and, at the same time, a faculty wife, and it would have been embarrassing for her professors, socially as well as academically, if she has been a poor student! We did socialize with other faculty and made real friends, but Sandy's main pleasure came from her relationships with her fellow grad students.

Language majors, at all levels, see each other regularly in and out of classes and usually band together against a parochial world (U.S., at least) which doesn't feel the need to learn foreign languages; they are too hard, they are not practical in getting a job, everyone should learn English, etc. Actually, those attitudes are changing now, but, when the acts this story is about were going on, those feelings predominated. In any case, there was a closeness that developed, particularly among the teaching assistants (or TA's), leading to get-togethers one or twice a month, usually a Saturday night, when they sat around "talking shop," discussing professors and courses, papers, articles and their own classes and students and all the other minutia that graduate students and teaching assistants revel in. Frequently, one of the fellows played classical guitar and entertained with Spanish music while everyone lay back and let the ambiance overcome them. They were pleasant evenings of bonding, sharing their learning and experiences and unwinding.

Sandy, of course, loved these parties and I attended several of them with her but didn't find them to be entertaining. In addition, I really didn't fit in - I wasn't involved in language studies, I certainly wasn't interested in the gossip about their professors and students and, in any case, I was a professor myself! It was a very nice, very compatible group, but I just didn't fit in with a group of graduate students. I liked them as individuals but I wasn't a part of the group. Consequently, we quickly developed a system in which I drove Sandy to the place where the party was being held (usually a house which one of the women assistants rented) and someone would bring her home. There always one or more drivers who served as transportation for those who didn't have cars or who didn't like night driving, so that worked out well.

The parties frequently ran into the small hours of the morning, but I didn't need to wait up or worry because she would be delivered right to our door. If I was working late in the study (which I often was while grading term papers, exams, etc.), I could see the car pull in and greet her at the door. The truth is, I enjoyed watching for the car to pull in and see Sandy get out, wave to her friend or friends and hurry in to tell me how her evening had gone. Actually, for each of us one of the best parts of any activity, or any day, for that matter, was to get home and tell the other about it. That type of sharing was something that we both enjoyed and valued because, even after years together, we each was really interested in what the other was doing.

In any case, even if I had gone to bed I couldn't really get to sleep soundly until she came in, somewhat like a parent waiting for the sound of their teenager getting home. So the pattern developed: she would be taken to the party, have an enjoyable evening, be delivered to our door and come into the bedroom, her bubbling personality lighting up the room as she saw me. I would receive a précis, long or short, and, as she finally ran down, we would go to sleep. That was the pattern that developed during her first year and through the first semester of the second. Then, suddenly in one night, everything changed.

Classes were over and papers had been completed and turned in so the grad students were free except for graduate assistants like Sandy who still had the boring task of proctoring the final group exam for Introductory Spanish on Monday morning. Naturally, they had an "end of semester" party to celebrate and unwind. Sandy was really looking forward to an evening with her friends with no pressure, no deadlines, to concern them.

I reclined on the bed, watching her dress, a very pleasant occupation, before I had to return to my own boring duty, reading term papers and exams. She walked around the room wearing only her hose and garter belt - pantyhose were practical for daily wear, but garter belt and hose were for dressing up. She added a brief pair of sheer pink panties that really hid very little. Then, she picked up one of her favorite skirts and donned it. It was a long wrap skirt in the dark blue and green Black Watch plaid over which she slipped on a dark blue silky blouse that buttoned up the front. It was a very attractive ensemble and I said, in complete honesty, "Lovely!"

She leaned over and kissed me, saying, "Thank, you." Then, looking at herself in the mirror, she asked, "Do you think that I need a bra with this? I love the feel of the material against me and the color is dark. I think that it is ok. What do you think?

I, of course, gave the answer she wanted, "It looks fine, Honey." Then I added, "In any case, a hard nipple sticking out never hurt anyone yet."

"Now you stop it! Anyway, I don't want to wear a bra, but I just don't want it to be too obvious." She looked at reflection again and, satisfied, announced, "I guess it's all right. Ok, I'm ready."

So, all of that settled, I delivered my happy wife to the door of the party house, said, "Have a good time," kissed her goodbye and returned home to grade some bluebooks.

I read exam papers for several hours and finally quit. There are just so many of those things that you can read without becoming bleary eyed and terminally bored. So, I turned out the study lights and went to bed, planning to read awhile until Sandy got home. After a time, I fell asleep, actually lightly dozing, until I was wakened by the sound of the front door shutting. Glancing at the clock, I was surprised to see that Sandy was much later than normal. I looked to the bedroom door expecting to see her smiling face as I heard her coming up the stairs. However, she wasn't smiling as she came in.

I can still picture the expression on her face, but I really cannot adequately describe it. It was an unreal mixture of excitement, fear, anxiety, shock - I don't know. It's one of those times when the statement "a picture is worth a thousand words" applies. Other than having her hair somewhat disheveled, she looked perfectly normal. Her face was flushed but otherwise ordinary. She still had her coat on, which was unusual, and she just stood there, obviously at a loss as what to say or do. Finally, obviously forcing the words out, she blurted, "Oh Honey, I've just been made!"

I just stared at her, unable for the moment to comprehend her meaning and all that came out was, "What!"

"Frank Jackson just screwed me!"

As the words penetrated, my mind roared off in all directions as, I suspect, anyone's would on hearing such a completely unexpected statement. The first words that came out of my mouth were, "Are you all right? Are you hurt?" The thought that the screwing was consensual didn't hit me at first. I felt fury as the thought of my wife being forced, even raped. Instant rage calling for revenge.

Sandy immediately saw the meaning of my question and quickly reassured me, "Oh, Mack, I'm fine, I...I...let him do it." Her face began to crumble as she made her confession, not knowing my reaction to an admission of adultery.

Now, to many people, my reaction to that statement will be surprising. I have never been a jealous man and I felt absolutely no jealousy at that moment - or later for that matter. I got out of bed and put my arms about her, hugged her tight, and said, "I'm not mad, dear. I'm not upset at all. I know that you love me and all I care about is that you are all right!"

I could feel the tension leave her body as she realized that I wasn't devastated by her totally unexpected confession or that we were facing a crisis in our marriage. Of course, she had had solid reasons for her fear for, even knowing me as she did, there is simply no way to know how a man will react to hearing that his wife had, to put it bluntly, been fucked by another man.

Finally, after returning my hug, she pulled back and said, "Look." With that she opened her coat to show me her unbuttoned blouse with her breasts completely bare, her nipples red and swollen. She shrugged off the coat and removed the blouse, the increased exposure revealing marks that undoubtedly would be hickeys by tomorrow. She undid her skirt and let it fall and stood there, naked except for her garter belt and hose. Obviously my lack of negative reaction had reassured her for, with a shy, tentative smile, she added, "My panties must still be in his car!"

As I looked at her standing there I was shocked anew as her nudity confirmed more graphically what she had told me. Then that confirmation was made even more explicit as a drop of what could only be sperm dripped from her cunt onto the floor.

Gasping, "Oh my god," she blushed beet red and hurried into the bathroom calling back, frantically, "I've got to take a douche!"

Almost fifteen minutes passed before she came back and stood before me, now completely naked. She just stayed there, embarrassed and not knowing what to say. Finally, she gasped out, "Oh, Mack, I'm so sorry and ashamed. I know you said that you weren't angry with me, but I feel awful, so guilty. I can't believe that I just sat there in the tub and washed another man's sperm out of my cunt. Up till then I wasn't feeling too bad after I told you and you weren't mad, but that just seems so awful, so depraved."

I reached up and pulled her down beside me and hugged her tightly saying, "Quit worrying, sweetheart. You're not depraved and what you did may have been immoral but it's not a sin against me. I'm not in the least bit angry or hurt. I'm not jealous or upset. I think that you are a lovely, wonderful woman that I've loved for years and nothing you have done tonight will change that in the least." Those words were all absolutely true and, to my considerable surprise, I realized that not only was I not dejected by her confession, I was aroused.

Obviously, this naked woman in my arms was my wife of many years, but she also was someone new. It was the same body that I knew so well, but it was not the same. I didn't take time to analyze my feelings then but I certainly had an unexpected reaction to my wife's confession of infidelity. I held her against me as I felt the tension gradually fade from her body. Then an almost prurient desire led me to say, "I want to look at you." She obviously knew exactly what I meant for she pulled away, lay back and raised her legs and displayed her adulterous cunt.

It was clean, of course, after the douche, and the hair was curly and soft as always, but the cunt lips were swollen and open. Her clit, which normally was mostly hidden, was prominent at the top of the slit. The hole into her vagina was visible and open and the flesh was engorged and red. There was no physical evidence of Frank's entry, no cum clogging the walls - that had all been washed away - but his cock's route was clearly evident. Surprising myself, I leaned in and ran my tongue over the lips and as deep as it would go into the hole. Finally, I flicked the tip over the clit and pulled back. I had done that many times before but, somehow, this was different.

"Ok, now that the preliminaries are out of the way and I have absolutely no bad or censorious thoughts, tell me how on earth you were, I guess, seduced. Start at the beginning and tell me every detail, step by step. Wait, first tell me about this Frank. I know that you've mentioned his name a few times, but I don't remember anything special.

"I don't think that you've met him. He's new here this year. He's a grad assistant in Spanish, teaching 101 as I do. We have Dr. Bowman's seminar together. He's like me, older that the others because he was teaching at a small school in Maine for several years after graduating from Middlebury. He was living with a woman there and, when they broke up, badly I guess, he decided to go back to school to get his PhD so he could teach at a college. He's probably 29 or 30, has his master's and some additional work from Boston U. I learned all of this from Ruth when she gave me the low down on him when he joined the group. He's about your size, maybe a bit shorter, and is attractive. Several of the other girls are smitten by him, but, while he's dated a couple of them, he's unattached and, seemingly uninterested. More gossip. Certainly, he is the most eligible bachelor in our group.

"We've been quite friendly, but nothing more than that. We do have a few things in common which bring us together. I think that the fact that we are both older does separate us from the others a bit, although I don't think that anyone in the group feels a real age gap." Grinning a bit at me, she ruefully added, "I don't act any more mature than anyone else."

"Probably the biggest link between us has been that we both have the same major interest, Spanish literature of the Golden Age. We have one course and one seminar together and we do talk a lot. I really do enjoy 'talking shop' with him in the office or lounge - it is fun having an intellectual conversation, but there never has been anything the least bit personal. I like him and I know he likes me, but I honestly had no idea that he even thought of me outside of the academic setting. That is why, I guess, I was totally shocked when he did something last night.

"I was sitting on the couch talking with him and Judy about our Lope seminar - Lope de Vega - and the papers we were writing. Actually, I was leaning back against one of the pillows between them, half listening to each of them. There was a break in the conversation as someone dimmed the lights as Tom started to play the guitar. We shifted over to make room for Andy on the couch, leaving me right up against Frank. He had his left arm up on the back of the couch and, as I moved up close to him, he let it fall onto my shoulder and arm. It ended up with us sitting there with his arm around me as we listened to Tom play. It felt very nice, sort of cozy and warm with no connotations other than that we were comfortable with each other.

"I had my arms crossed in front of me with my forearms under my breasts, not thinking of anything but the music. I had my left hand resting on my right elbow and Frank had his hand resting just below my left elbow, occasionally moving his fingers, lightly, side to side on my arm. Then, slowly he just moved his hand upward from my arm onto the bottom of my breast, and then cupped it gently. I was startled and shocked as he did it, but I also felt a wave of heat flash through me. I suppose I should have pulled away and that would have ended it but, and I really don't know why, I just didn't. Actually, I do know why - I was excited! Of course, it wasn't much, just a hand on my boob, not really feeling me, just resting there, but my mind froze up like that of a sixteen year girl being touched for the first time! In any case, I didn't pull away and he just left his hand there, cupping my breast, as Tom played on. Actually, I didn't even hear the music, I was so caught up my own little drama!"

"You mean that he just let his hand stay there and didn't actually feel you?"

"Oh, he moved his fingers a little bit and squeezed lightly, and, with only that thin blouse in the way, he didn't have to do much to know what I felt like. He certainly knew that there was very little between his hand and my bare breast! He definitely knew where my nipple was because it was sticking straight out. Regardless, I think that we sat like that for a good ten minutes with that going on before I suddenly came to my senses and realized that anyone glancing over would see where his hand was. So, reluctantly, I straightened up and moved my arms, causing his hand to fall away. Nothing was said and the whole incident was finished without, I think, anyone seeing anything. Still, he had felt me to some degree and I certainly hadn't stopped him. I swear that my heart was still fluttering the rest of the evening.