Guilt free

I turned out of our road and headed for town. She was 30yds ahead of me, but even at that distance she caught my attention. I picked up my pace to catch up with her. I had no intention of speaking to her, or engaging with her in any way whatsoever, nor did I have anything remotely nefarious in mind. She was just … what was it about her?

At about 5’4″ with dark hair pulled up into a pony tail, she was very much my type.
The tight fitting jeans were a definite plus and, Loyal Reader, you know my stance on calf length boots.
But there was something else. One of those things that’s difficult to put your finger on. Something about the way she carried herself? Maybe a certain confidence in her walk?
Whatever it was, she was sexy as hell!

wprsib

I never caught up with her, but just so you could appreciate what I was talking about, I’m afraid to say I did take her picture. Violation of self? Perhaps, and I do feel a little guilty about that, but …

I did not feel guilty about feeling sexually attracted to her.

Which was interesting.
Not because, as my marriage has slid even further into a celibate quagmire over the last year, any sense of guilt has prevented me from jerking off over porn, hanging around on dating websites, perusing escorts’ ads, or contemplating what it would be like to fuck almost every woman I spoke to. No. There was no guilt there.

Or so I thought.

As I walked down the street today, feeling sexually attracted to a woman who I only ever saw from behind, it felt ok.
Actually it felt far more than OK. It felt great. Legitimate. The antithesis of inappropriate. It genuinely felt like there was nothing wrong with it. There. Was. No. Guilt.

It’s quite possible that there are those amongst you, Dear Readers, that might disapprove. You might condemn me for objectifying a stranger, and I’ve attempted to justify my lechery before. Today, however, I realised that at some subconscious level when I jerked off over porn, flirted on dating websites, perused escorts’ ads, and contemplated what it would be like to fuck other woman, on some level there was guilt.

Perhaps it was because there was even the slightest hint of intent. I was on dating websites because I really did want to know how easily I could get laid should my Wife and I separate. I had not only figured out I could afford an hour or two with escorts, I knew which were local to me and which offered my prefered services. And if, as I’d chatted to a woman over coffee, she had suggested we get a room and fuck like rabbits, I would have had to think just as hard as my cock was when I was jerking off over porn.

This week, not even twice this week, but three times, I have had my fingers in my Wife’s cunt. As any red blooded husband might justifiably expect. I won’t go on about that again as such, but all of a sudden there is no need for me to look at other women. I’m still attracted to other women. Marriage does not blind a man any more than buying a bunch of flowers curtail your appreciation of an ornamental garden. But in that moment, as I followed this unknown woman into town, thinking what a siren-esque arse she had, that was absolutely fine. The guilt I did not know I felt had gone.

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