Loving a Married Woman Ch. 01

Author's Note: This story was uploaded previously under a different pen name I have had. Some things are altered, but ultimately, the story remains the same.

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I am a simple man motivated by simple pleasures. While some people need to "have it all," I find an easy, modest life to be more enjoyable. My job as a romance novelist, poet, and freelance writer and editor allows me to cover my living expenses and have a decent amount of savings.

A man writing and reading romance is an alien concept to some. This could be because of how the books are marketed, or it could be how men are socialized. Whatever the reason, I find romance writing to be fulfilling, and challenging in some respects. Writing about love forces me to connect with women and understand their wants, needs, and desires.

Though in my opinion, that's one of the perks of being a romance writer. I've always enjoyed interacting with women and learning about the things they like in men, the things they want in men, and the things they find irresistible. When women discover I write love stories, it does intrigue them.

Naturally, that led to me dating some, though I was far from being a Casanova. For one, the ideal man according to women is over six feet tall, has huge muscles, and a six-figure salary. I am a black man standing at an average 5'9," am more on the skinny side, and even though I make decent money, I'm nowhere near the six-figure mark. Since I didn't measure up, I decided to focus on writing for a few years in and after college. Now, in my twenties, I was single and ready to date once more.

However, a large number of the women whom I interacted with were taken, mostly with boyfriends, though some were married. I remember a friend lamenting that all the most beautiful women were taken. I dismissed his statement at first, but soon, I found his statement to be true. Even many of my female friends found boyfriends or husbands. It pained me to approach a beautiful woman and establish rapport, only for her to say she had a boyfriend, or for me to notice a wedding ring, or seeing a gorgeous woman on the arms of someone else.

The moral side of me told me to leave those women alone, but I couldn't lie, there was a part of me which wanted to seduce a taken woman. Some of my deepest, darkest fantasies involved having a passionate liaison with a woman who was already spoken for. Most of the taken women I've encountered were all beautiful, and, as they say, the forbidden fruit is always the most tempting. Of course, I never thought I would attempt to fulfill that fantasy.

I spoke with a friend who dated taken women before, and he told me that just because a woman is taken doesn't mean she's happy. Sometimes the guy may not satisfy her physically, he may be unavailable in some way, or she may "love him" but not be "in love with him." Also, the man may have cheated on her, and she's looking to get back at him. In his own words, "Hey, she's going to cheat anyway. May as well be with you." He added that taken women are some of the best lovers you will ever have.

His words resonated in my head for weeks on end. Was it possible that many of the women I interacted with liked me and wanted me to pursue them? Could it be true that some of those women were with those men just out of convenience? Were they being satisfied? Did some of them think about having affairs also?

Little did I know I would soon gain firsthand knowledge as to why some women choose to stray from their relationships.

One Tuesday morning in the middle of spring, I woke up, did my usual writing, then decided to go grocery shopping for a few things. There were a few grocery stores in the city where I lived, but some of the better ones were located in the suburbs, so I went out there on occasion.

After I finished shopping, I decided to get some lunch at one of the sandwich shops near the store. As I parked my car, I saw a blonde-haired woman wearing workout clothes jogging up to the store. Immediately upon seeing her, my eyes widened.

Despite wearing clothes suited for a workout, the woman's sex appeal was evident. Her sweatshirt did little to hide her buxom frame. Her gray leggings were cut at the knees, showing a pair of tanned and toned curves. Her blonde hair came down to the upper part of her back, going from straight at the top to curly on the bottom. I stared at the woman as she walked inside, her shapely ass swaying ever so slightly as she entered the sandwich place.

Steeling myself to approach her, I got out of my car and entered the restaurant.

I am a big proponent of being honest and direct with women. Small talk is okay, but I don't like engaging in large amounts of it. Not only that, but I rarely ended up being with a woman by taking things slowly. Plus, I've found that even though being directed leads to rejection sometimes, being straightforward tends to turn some women on.

While I have no issues with approaching women, I had to admit, this woman's beauty and sexiness did make me somewhat nervous. Still, I was able to give her a warm hello as I stood in line behind her. The woman returned my greeting, a gentle smile on her face. My heart hammered in my chest as I initiated conversation with her.

"How are you today, miss?" I said, noticing her eyes were an icy blue which almost seemed to glitter. I swallowed hard as I looked at them.

"I'm great," she said. "I just walked my daughter to school, then went for a jog, then figured I'd stop and get something to eat. How are you?"

"I'm doing well, also. Just ran some errands of my own" I paused for a moment, then said, "Honestly, if you hadn't told me so, I would never have guessed you were a mother. You're in great shape, if I may say so."

The woman's smile broadened and I heard her laugh. "Thank you very much. I do work out a lot. I like to look good, and I have to set a good example for my little girl. She's only six, but I have to model good behavior for her, right? How about you? Do you have any children?"

"Oh, no. Not yet." I shook my head. "I'd like some in the future, but not right now. I'm only in my twenties, after all."

"Really?" She paused, and looked me up and down. "You seem a little older than that."

"A lot of people say I'm mature for my age." She laughed and told me she could see that. I decided that now was the time to introduce myself. "Listen, my name is Martin, and you are one of the sexiest women I've ever laid eyes on. I like those gray pants you're wearing, they show off those amazing, toned calves of yours. How often do you run?"

The woman's face began to turn red. "Oh, I run a lot. A few miles every day. Wow Martin, you sure are forward."

I shrugged. "I prefer to be upfront with a woman. If I find a woman sexually attractive, I have no issue with letting her know that. By the way, what did you say your name was?"

"Oh, right." I could tell she was nervous now. "I'm Rachel."

"Rachel ... it suits you. Very beautiful name for a beautiful woman. It's a pleasure to meet you." I extended my hand, which she clasped. I took hers and gave it a light kiss, which made her shudder.

"Mind if I join you for lunch?"

"Well ... okay. That's fine."

"Hey, there's no need to be nervous. We're just having lunch, right?"

She nodded. We went to the counter and ordered some food and drinks, then took our seats at a table at one of the corners of the eatery. I found it hard to believe that a woman as beautiful as her would be tense around any man. Surely this buxom, blonde, blue-eyed beauty would get approached by men all the time? Yet, from the blush on her face, and even the speed at which her chest rose and fell, she was nervous as could be.

To lighten the mood, I made some small talk, mostly about the weather and current events as we ate. She particpated in the conversation, but not to the extent I expected. Still, she appeared to be having a good time with me.

Nonetheless, I had to ask her what was wrong. Before replying, she gave a forlorn sigh, then looked at me, those icy blue eyes penetrating my soul.

"Martin, I have to be honest with you, I am married. But still, I find you very attractive and I appreciate your compliments, and I'm enjoying talking with you. It has been a while since a man has admired me and had a real conversation with me."

I looked at her hand and noticed a silver band on it. In previous years, I would have excused myself, but today, something told me to keep talking to her. It might have been the mixed emotions evident on her face. It could have been her beauty. Or maybe I wanted to see if I could get this woman to stray.

Either way, I continued.

"Wait, a woman as sexy as you doesn't get complimented every day? That's hard to believe."

She laughed. "Trust me. I don't get as much attention as you'd think."

"I see." I put my hand on my chin. "What about your husband? I'm guessing he tells you you're beautiful all the time."

"Well ..." She thought for a bit, then paused. "Yes. Yes, he does."

Rachel put her hands in her lap and glanced downwards. From her hesitance, I could tell she was lying. I thought back to my friend's words about women being neglected in their marriages. Though she didn't say so, it's obvious she wasn't getting enough attention from her husband.

My mind raced. As my friends have told me, women who are neglected in their relationships or marriages are in many cases open to affairs. They have a strong desire for male attention and affection, and if their husbands or boyfriends fail to provide it for them, there's a high chance they'll seek it elsewhere. The same is true for women who aren't being physically satisfied. It's clear that there was something missing from Rachel's marriage, and I was eager to discover what that was. And if I filled that need for her, would this breathtaking blonde be open to an affair?

"Is that so? It doesn't seem like he tells you that enough," I said matter-of-factly. She locked eyes with me, shocked that I'd make that assertion. "I heard the hesitation in your voice when you said he did."

"Oh," she said, glancing down at her hands again. "I guess I could stand to hear it more often."

"Listen, Rachel," I said, putting my hand on top of hers. I swallowed and fought back some nervousness as I locked eyes with her. "I agree with you wholeheartedly. I believe you deserve to hear a man tell you that you're beautiful on a regular basis. It's a shame that isn't happening.

"Right," she said, her chest rising and falling.

"Rachel, I'm going to be straightforward: I want to see you again. I enjoyed spending time with you. Not only do you look stunning, but I think you're a good conversationalist as well." I took my hand off hers, reached into my pocket and pulled out a business card, and placed in her hand. "Give me a call tomorrow night, we'll see when our schedules line up, ."

The blonde beauty stared at my card for a moment, then at last said, "Martin, I think you're a very attractive man and you're intelligent, and if I was single, I would definitely take you up on that offer, but I'm married, so ..."

"I understand," I said with a nod. I rested my hand gently on her arm, then stared into her icy, blue eyes.

"You don't have to worry." My voice was just barely a whisper. "Let's meet up for lunch first, and we'll take things further later."

Without waiting for a response, I took Rachel's hand in mine and planted a kiss on it, amazed at how soft her skin was. I heard her shudder some, and for just a brief second, I could have sworn I saw her eyes roll.

"Sure," she said. "That sounds ... great."

I stood up, then told her I was looking forward to hearing from her. After one final goodbye, I left the restaurant and continued on my walk, unable to believe what transpired. Our interaction went much better than I thought. I was very nervous when interacting with Rachel, but I managed not to let my nerves bother me. Not only that, but I was direct, letting her know that I found her attractive and I was interested in meeting up later.

As I got further away from the sandwich shop, my mind began to race. What if she didn't call me? What if she wasn't as interested in me as I was in her? What if she threw away my number after I left? What if her husband found my card? It's possible Rachel could get in trouble if her husband got wind of what she was doing, if she planned to contact me.

But as nervous as I was, Rachel was likely even more afraid. She was the one who would be risking a lot if she was caught talking to me or in my company. If someone she knew saw her, they'd tell her husband and trouble would soon follow. Fearing this, she may not want to get in touch with me.

Still, sparks of desire were evident in her blue eyes, and when I kissed her hand, I noticed the sparks grow into full flames.

Not only that, she didn't refuse my number or advances. If she really wasn't interested, she either wouldn't have taken my number, or she would have told me she wasn't attracted to me.

I reached my home a while later, and went inside. I wrote for a couple hours, then ate dinner and went to bed early, all the while thinking of the blonde beauty I met earlier.

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That evening, starting around seven, I began to look by my phone every few minutes, wondering when or if Rachel would call. I began to wonder if fear overcame desire, preventing her from reaching out. If she refused to call me, it would be understandable, since she would be risking a lot, but it would still be a letdown. Rejection was never something to forward to, but it's better to express your feelings to a woman and be brushed off right away than to be indirect, then rebuffed slowly. Or worse, never say anything at all. With that knowledge, I got up to do something else.

As fate would have it though, my phone began to ring. An unfamiliar number appeared on screen. I answered it with a curious "Hello?".

"Hello, may I speak to Martin?" A feminine voice was on the other line.

"Speaking. Who is this?" I asked despite knowing who it was.

"I-it's Rachel." For some reason, I found her apparent nervousness endearing. "How are you this evening?"

"Just fine. How about you?"

"I'm okay, just relaxing. Today was pretty hectic for me."

"I imagine," I said, putting the phone on speaker and setting it down next to me. "You being a mother and all. I'm sure you treasure any amount of downtime you get."

"Mmm-hmm. I do have a busy schedule sometimes."

While I enjoy conversing with women, I was never partial to prolonged small talk. I always found it best to get to the point in my dealings with the opposite sex. Whenever I did that, the results were usually better. It wasn't that I lacked interest in Rachel as a person; I found her intriguing, but my intent was to date her, not become her friend.

Admittedly, I was nervous about pursuing a woman who was already married. However, I didn't allow nerves to prevent me from asking her out. Besides, she was just as nervous as I was, and she still contacted me in spite of that.

"Well, let's talk about your schedule. We should have lunch together soon. We can meet up tomorrow. Or should we do it the day after that? Which works better for you?"

She responded with "Hmm," then paused. I stared at my phone expectantly, waiting for her response.

"Martin, may I ask you something?"

I shrugged. "Sure, go ahead."

"Why do you want to have lunch with me?"

"Well, Rachel, I'm interested in having lunch with you because you are an extremely beautiful woman and I'd like to get to know you better and see how well we connect. Mentally and physically, of course."

"O-oh. I see." I could tell she was taken aback by my sudden boldness. "Well, you know I'm married, so ..."

I expected her to respond that way. Still, I pressed on.

"And how is your marriage going?"

"It's great ... couldn't be better."

I shook my head and put on a half-smile. "Are you sure? There was some hesitation in your voice."

Rachel said nothing. I continued.

"That, and if everything was going as well, why did you call me?"

"I guess it was because I was curious," she said. "I wanted to learn more about you too."

"Why?"

She paused. "I think you're attractive also. Even though I probably shouldn't, there is a part of me that does want to see you again."

With a nod, I said, "So I'll repeat the question: are you free tomorrow or the day after?"

"We can meet tomorrow. Where did you want to go?"

Almost unable to believe she agreed, I told her we could meet at a cafe near my apartment. I gave her the address, then told her we could meet at 11 o'clock and that I looked forward to seeing her. To be cheeky, I asked her what she would wear. But she told me I'd have to wait until tomorrow. After that, we said goodbye and I ended the call, exhaling and slouching.

While it was exciting to have a date lined up, I couldn't help but be nervous. Not only did I have the usual pre-date jitters, but I also had some other concerns. Even though the prospect of going out with a married woman was enticing, it was also dangerous. Even though I picked an area closer to where I lived, it was possible she may run into someone she knows. What would they say? Would they tell her husband?

Even worse, what if her husband just happened to come in that particular coffeehouse? There were hundreds, if not thousands of them in town, but still, it was possible.

I relaxed. Those situations weren't too likely. Besides, as many anxieties as I had, she probably had them tenfold. I did my best to keep that in mind.

Later, I went to sleep, eager for the next day to begin, and wondering just where and how far this interaction would go.

The next day, I showered and brushed my teeth, put on a dress shirt and slacks, then shined my shoes and slid into them, then headed to the cafe. It was less than a mile from where I stayed, so I got there at 10:50. The workers behind the counter greeted me, and I responded in kind, then picked out a table in the back. I figured it would be best to arrive early to secure a table.

I checked my phone and noticed it was close to 11 o'clock. To pass the time, I checked and answered some emails while immersing myself in the light jazz coming from the cafe's speakers. Some other people came in, and every time the door opened, I perked up, only to look back down when I didn't see Rachel.

However, three minutes past the scheduled time, the door opened, and a blonde woman clad in a black leather jacket, blue shirt, tight jeans, and yellow high heels. Her hair was curled at the bottom, hanging just below her torso. My eyes widened. Quickly putting my phone away, I stood up and met her at the door.

"Hey, Rachel," I said. "Great to see you."

"You as well," she said.

I took her hand and laid a kiss on it. She giggled. Continuing to hold her hand, I led her to the counter and we placed our orders: some wraps and lattes. I offered to pay for hers as well, but told me I didn't have to worry about it. When the sandwiches and drinks were prepared and handed to us, I guided her back to our table. She hung her jacket on the back of her chair, then we took our seats and started eating.

"So, how has your morning been so far?" I asked after a sip of my drink.

"It's been going well." Rachel took a bite of her sandwich then continued. "I dropped my daughter off at day care, then went to work out. Just a regular morning. How has yours been?"

"Not bad. I slept in, actually. Which is weird, because I usually like getting up early to write."

"Oh, you're a writer?" I nodded. "What do you write about?"

I paused. "Since I'm a freelance writer, I write a little bit of everything, but I've written some romance novels. I know that's surprising, since men don't usually write about love."