27 [FF] How I ended up cheating on my husband with a girl from his church

**Sorry about the length. I started writing and then couldn’t stop. I should be clear that lots of details are changed to avoid the storm of trouble it would bring if I or Clara’s identities were discovered.**

(Go to **SEXY BITS** to find where the sexy bit starts, though it might be meaningless without the emotional context?)

–

You can call me Hannah. I am an accountant. I am married, with no kids. My husband is a pastor in a large evangelical church in our city. He is not the lead pastor and he works a lot with the young people. Now, I must be clear that I identify as a Christian. In part, I feel a need to write about this because here is conflict within me about what I have done. I want to be a good wife. I want to support my husband’s ministry. I also have other wants and desires and the conflicts sometimes seem … incommensurable. Maybe if I get it off my chest, it won’t feel so bad?

As I have said, I don’t work for the church. But some events are held in our apartment so I do play an active supporting role at times. Inevitably, when you invest in the lives of young people, especially around topics of such monumental importance as faith and hope and the meaning of life, you develop meaningful relationships with them. I suppose I served as a sort of unofficial mentor for some of the young women that have come through the youth and student ministry in the church. Clara was one such person.

Clara is an outstandingly gifted student. She was also the star of the neighbourhood’s soccer team. If I was her peer, I would have seethed with jealousy. But I was ten years older than her and instead I could just marvel at how this bright, beautiful girl could so earnestly and seriously wrestle with spiritual matters while also maintaining all her other interests at such a high level. I don’t know how to measure on the Kinsey scale, but I know I am not *completely* straight. But I have never acted on it, partly out of religious restraint but mostly out of a lack of opportunity. Untested virtue and all that. And when I met Clara, I did not first have any strong romantic feelings for her. I would have recognised she was strikingly beautiful, in an abstract kind of way.

(I realise here I should do more to describe myself – I have black hair, quite pale skin, and am slim and fit. My best feature are my eyes, I think. But my husband likes my breasts! And while I am not in Clara’s league, I am not being arrogant to say I am not unattractive.)

So Clara would come over to our house twice a week or thereabouts. There was a bible study that my husband facilitated in the mornings before school, for the very eager students. She was always there and even in the darkest winter months would be alert with sharp questions. You could never be lazy around Clara. She would mercilessly identify the weak points in your argument. But she would do it warmly. She carries her intelligence so gently. The other visit would be for a group of young women who would have what they call “accountability” group with me as the leader.

(I should be clear here that what follows happened *after* I was formally in any position of spiritual authority over Clara!)

This was a space for the girls to talk honestly together about their struggles and joy. It sounds cringe, but it actually is a really healthy and good thing for young women to have – I wish I had that kind of context as a younger person. Clara would often stay behind and help me cook, or we’d go for a walk, or just generally hang out. It was here that my friendship with her really developed. We would talk about our families, our hopes, our problems, the things that excited us, frustrated us. She never came right out and said it but I knew enough to understand that she was struggling with her sexual identity. In retrospect, I can see that there is a real gulf between her passionately held Christian beliefs and the fact that she only finds women attractive.

I was really quite sad when it came time for her to go to college. She was accepted at a prestigious university in a different state and on the last night I saw her, we went for a long, long walk and had the most wonderful, gentle, vulnerable conversation. Outside her family’s home, we bid each other goodbye with a hug that even then I knew lingered longer than it should have. But I didn’t think much more about it.

Once she left, we stayed in touch by whatasapp. She was the one who alerted me to the existence of Reddit – she’d always send me memes from r/me_irl to explain how she was feeling. And I was excited when I heard after six weeks she was coming home for a long weekend. Because that overlapped with a break in school here, my husband was away at a camp, so we planned a bit of a girly’s night in, the first time when we were formally equals, peers, one-to-one.

–

She arrived. I had pasta ready to serve. We shared a bottle of wine for the first time. We started to catch up instantly. Before he had left, my husband and I had had a fight. Clara could sense my unease and asked me about and before long we were discussing partners, romance, and sex, topics that we had discussed at length in the abstract in the past but never like this, as friends.

She told me that she was feeling at a loss because while the first few weeks of college had been very exciting in many ways, they were also deeply unsatisfying. I wasn’t trying to be nosey or anything but she confessed that she had been with a few people and it was actually really underwhelming. She said people, but she slid the pronouns in so I could understand it was women that she had slept with – sensitive to not shock me too much?

She blushed, a deep red, that I had never seen before. I was able to quickly communicate to her that she was not about to be preached at about how wrong that was! Relieved, she asked me if I had any advice on how to make sex, well, better. I confessed then that the fight with my husband had been about how we had such different appetites for sex. It wasn’t just that I had a greater libido, meaning I wanted more sex, but that I wanted more when we had sex. Three years in and we were already in a twice-a-week missionary rut. We laughed at how inept we both were in this regard. She wasn’t getting good oral, but at least she was getting some!

So this was definitely not the kind of conversation we would have had when she was involved in the church’s youth ministry. I thought it might be the right time to move the conversation into a safe zone when she oh-so-casually said, “It sounds like we can solve each other’s problem.” Now it was my turn to blush as my mind struggled to comprehend the plain meaning of what she had said. Before I could brush it away, she said, quite solemnly, “Seriously, this makes perfect sense.”

**SEXY BITS**

What followed was one of those charged moments that can’t have been more than a few seconds long but that felt like an eternity. We were looking – and really seeing – each other. Finally, she leaned to close the gap between us and whispered, “You are unsatisfied. I want to know how to satisfy. What’s stopping us?”

I wish I was a better writer because to say that my stomach fluttered doesn’t describe the gut level at which my body responded to this question, this invitation. It was the briefest of fierce battles between my mind which rationally knew this wasn’t wise or good or faithful and my body which just wanted this magnificent, beautiful person on top of me.

“Well, we’re not going to be interrupted until the morning!” I said, jokingly. But as the words came out, I realised that what I had meant as a joke was in fact an acceptance. “Right?” laughed Clara, absolutely calling my bluff. Honestly, I had never even dreamed of this, even up to just a few minutes before the conversation went this way. I know now that she had. But lest I give the impression that I was the one seduced, I must declare that I turned the chair around and I spread my legs while holding her gaze. I went from joking unbelievably about it to brazenly summonsing it in seconds.

With a broad smile, Clara whispered, “Cool.”

Another eternal second passed between us in total silence; we must have both been holding our breath. In that stillness, I realised how wet I was. I had not been aroused like this in years. I was wearing a summer dress. It was thus easy for me to give her the green light. Holding her gaze, I grabbed the hem of my dress and pulled it up to my hips, exposing my black knickers. Just as I did this, I thought, I should really have deadlocked the door in case my husband came home. But I was able to put such paranoid thoughts aside. The desire, at this stage, was overwhelming.

With a confidence I would never thought I would have, I slid those boring H&M knickers down as seductively as I could manage. The seat was cold on my buttocks. I liked the contrast. I liked even more how drenched was the fabric of my knickers. I held them balled in my fist, as a sort of comfort device to keep me brave, to remind me that this was something I desired.

She moved with her customary athletic grace, closing the distance between us in what felt like one elegant movement. On her knees between my legs, looking up at me, I felt such a surge of power and arousal that I was shocked. I had never experienced a scene like this but it felt like coming home, like stepping into my destiny. She placed one hand on my knee and with the other, gently massaged my glistening pussy. While my husband prefers me entirely shaved, I have always wanted to keep my hair – trimmed, I grant you – because it seems symbolically significant. If he finds the reality of my body inconvenient, Clara saw it very differently. She clearly was reveling in her freedom to touch, caress, explore. Then she pressed my knee out further and slid a finger inside me. I moaned, profoundly. Like, imagine a moan that begins in your *pussy* and rises from there. This gentle, patient fingering was unlike anything I had experienced with my husband or the two other men I had let get this far. Then, that was about their pleasure. This was clearly directed towards my pleasure. I was almost embarrassed by how wet I was. I half wanted to apologise for the mess I was making. But such thoughts were interrupted as I felt her mouth draw so close I could feel her breath, tantalising me.

Assertively, she pushed both my knees apart and then I felt her tongue, firm and warm push into my pussy like she had sovereign rights over it. I had felt supremely dominant when she was first between my knees; now I felt entirely at her mercy. My body shuddered with delight. I clenched my fist around those soaked knickers and moaned her name out for the first time. Whatever had gone wrong with her past encounters was definitely not going happening with me. Clara, reading my intensifying pleasure, wrapped her arms up around my hips and pulled me gently into her mouth. Her tongue danced with my clit, as if my moans were the melody line.

As if a signal had been sent, she transitioned in her approach. Repositioning, she began to slowly but assertively lick me, managing each time to hit just the right spot. The momentum now felt inevitable. Am I using the phrase right to say she had terminal velocity? Whatever, what I am trying to say is that there was a deep pleasure, and a kind of playful joy, in the fact that both of us could sense that this was now inexorably building to a stunning climax. Before it was even over, I could declare that this was the best sex I had ever had. With deep breaths, and loud, unself-conscious moans, I let the waves of pleasure enrapture me. Had someone walked in they would have found me in a state of utterly slutty deprivation. And I loved that. My eyes clenched shut, my head titled back, and my mouth moaning Clara’s name in a whispered prayer, begging her for the release I had faith she would provide. I have had orgasms before, of course. But this was so different, it needs a different name. The pleasure was blinding. The sheer physicality – the wet, sticky, scented bodiliness of it – was overwhelming. I have no idea how loud I really was, or how long it went on. But she laughingly told me that I just kept repeating her name like a mantra.

What had built with delicious patience ended abruptly. My body felt spent and satisfied, if that’s not a contradiction. I had soaked the chair. I was drenched in sweat. And most arousing of all, I had covered Clara’s face with my juices. The shine on her skin was perhaps the sexiest thing I had ever seen, up to that point. I pulled her up and kissed her firmly, greedily, and then surprised myself to find me licking her cheeks, carnally taking a share in the phenomenon she had incited.

Beaming, she asked, “Satisfied?” All I could do in response was nod amidst my laughter.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/w3py0j/27_ff_how_i_ended_up_cheating_on_my_husband_with