02 Infidelity & Learning

Ten days later, John and his wife moved into the NCO housing.

By chance, I ran into John at the barracks, and we exchanged a few words—brief, yet warm, like old friends reconnecting after a long time.

A few evenings later, I spotted John and his wife quietly sharing dinner at a nearby restaurant.

When they saw me, their faces lit up with genuine smiles, and from across the room, they beckoned me to join them.

The invitation was simple but heartfelt, carrying the comfort and warmth of true friendship.

Their table was set for two, so we shifted to a larger one for four, creating space for our small reunion.

The gentle clinking of cutlery, the soft murmur of other diners, and the warm glow of the restaurant's lights wrapped us in a peaceful, intimate atmosphere.

John said, "We haven't even placed our order yet. What shall we drink first?"

Lisa and I answered in unison, "Wine."

When the waiter came, John confidently ordered for all of us—a variety of mezes and a bottle of ouzo.

"I'll have some ouzo too," I added.

Soon, the table was filled with plates of colorful mezes, glasses of wine, and the unmistakable bottle of ouzo. Laughter and stories flowed freely as we enjoyed each other's company.

Time seemed to slow. We lost ourselves in conversation, sipping our drinks, savoring the food. The warm light, clinking glasses, and soft music all combined to make the evening feel like a treasured memory in the making.

By my second glass, John had nearly finished the bottle on his own. His words grew slurred, tumbling into incoherence.

Lisa leaned close and whispered, concern softening her voice, "He wasn't supposed to drink with his medication—just one glass would have been enough." But John was beyond hearing now.

When it was time to leave, the cool night air greeted us like a refreshing breath. Streetlights cast golden halos on the cobblestones, and the world felt hushed, as if holding its breath.

John swayed beside me, unsteady on his feet. His arm rested heavily on my shoulder, and I felt his full weight. Each step was a small struggle.

"Come on, my friend," I whispered. He mumbled something in reply.

Lisa followed behind, her steps light, eyes filled with quiet sadness. She watched us with a mix of gratitude and worry.

At last, we reached their home. The door creaked open, and we stepped into the warm stillness inside.

John, swaying like a ship in a gentle storm, muttered something unintelligible. His eyelids drooped, his breath slow and thick with the sweetness of ouzo. I guided him carefully through the dim hallway.

Lisa followed, quietly busy—tidying, folding, preparing—her every movement a silent act of love, weaving care into the fabric of their life.

I eased John onto the couch. He sank in with a sigh, as if the cushions had been waiting for him. His body, once full of stories and life, now lay heavy and still.

Lisa brought a blanket. Together, we draped it over him, tucking it gently around his shoulders.

For a moment, the three of us stood in the hush of the room—John breathing softly beneath the blanket, Lisa beside me, her eyes reflecting the soft lamp light, and me, feeling the weight of the night settle deep into my bones.

As I glanced toward the window, a shadow flickered outside.

"There's someone out there," I said.

But Lisa remained calm, almost too calm, her expression unreadable. She placed her hand on my arm—a subtle gesture of reassurance—and with a quiet intensity in her eyes, she replied,

"I know who it is... and I have a plan."

She walked to the window and drew the curtains closed. Then, almost without a word, she reached for my hand, her fingers delicate and warm as they intertwined with mine.

Her touch sent a slow current through me, a silent, unspoken invitation.

We crossed the threshold into the bedroom, the space dimly lit by a single lamp casting long, warm shadows across the bed.

She turned to me then, her eyes catching the light, and for a moment, we stood in a pause so delicate it felt like holding our breath.

Then, slowly—wordlessly—she guided my hands to the buttons of her blouse, her fingers resting lightly on mine, as if giving me silent permission to continue.

The fabric of her clothes felt warm under my touch, sliding away inch by inch to reveal the warmth of her skin beneath.

Her breath quickened—barely, but enough for me to notice the subtle change in the air, like the first stirrings of a summer breeze.

The quiet hum of the night seemed to hush even further.

Her eyes never left mine, a gaze deep and searching, as if asking for something and offering something in return—all without a single word.

Each layer of fabric that fell away felt like shedding time, expectations, everything but this single, breathless moment.

As I bared her shoulder, the light caught the curve of her collarbone, the soft line of her neck, the delicate rise and fall of her chest.

The tension in my hands—gentle, yet wanting—mirrored the quiet heat blooming between us.

She guided my touch with a soft, barely-there nod, and I felt the weight of her trust settle into my palms.

And in that small, dimly lit room, under the quiet gaze of the night, it felt as though the world had narrowed to the space between our bodies—the soft brush of skin, the warmth of breath, the delicate, aching closeness of two people standing at the edge of something new and unspoken.

Lisa's hands came up to cup my face, her palms pressing softly against my cheeks.

She bent her head slightly. Her soft, full lips pressed against mine, her mouth finding mine with increasing hunger.

Our tongues waltzed inside, the warmth, the softness, the silent trembling between us.

Lisa said ,"Now you will learn to vagina lick."

She turned the waistband of her skirt, brought the zipper to the front, and when she opened it, it fell onto the carpet.

I unclasped her white bra.

Lisa sat on the edge of the bed. Slid her butt back a bit.

Put her feet on the edge of the bed, bent her knees, lifted her butt, and took off her panties.

Then, she lay down on her back.

Lisa said, "I don't think you need to worry, it's always the gestures , attitudes and words of women that guide you."

She paused for a moment. "First, use the same finger I used last time for me, then you can lick it."

When I got down on my knees, Lisa put her legs on her shoulders.

I wet my middle finger in my mouth and put it in her hole.

This time when I did it back and forth.

Lisa said "Use your mouth too".

When I started moving my tongue up and down, Lisa shouted "That spot, lick it" a little below.

As I licked and sucked there, Lisa was writhing, squeezing the sheets with her hands.

Then she was burying my head in her pussy with her hands.

I could hardly breathe. When she took her hands away, I had taken a little breath.

When I looked at her, she was squeezing the pillow with her teeth. She took the pillow out of her mouth with her hands and pressed it to my cheeks, saying "Give me your lips, I'll kiss you".

While we were kissing, she grabbed my penis and placed it in the wet hole of her pussy. I started pumping. Lisa was moaning, suddenly she said "Stop, stand up "

Suddenly she turned on all fours and said: "Doggystyle"

I took my wet penis and placed it in her pussy, I hit it inside.

I was hitting it fast while holding her waist. She moaned with each hit.

I bent down and grabbed her breasts.

She leaned her head on the pillow. She lifted her ass a little more. This allowed me to fuck her fast and hard.

After a while Lisa screamed and gasped, "God I'm close to coming". And we both cum at the same time.

We dressed and went into the kitchen. After a strong cup of coffee, Lisa said, "You can come home while John is on night duty."

I began to believe that she needed me just as much as I needed her, that our dependence on each other was equally intertwined, a delicate balance of mutual necessity.