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I fucked my way happily through dozens of men, and one very memorable older woman, over the next six months, reconnecting enthusiastically and unashamedly with my sexual mores.

Steve and I rarely spent any time alone together due to his roster and when we reunited for family occasions, we obviously carried out a convincing charade as neither our kids nor our close friends made mention of anything that could not be readily attributed to Steve's long FIFO swings.

Did I miss Steve and our marriage? Yes, constantly. I also missed our girls though and I looked upon the breakdown of our relationship in the same manner I viewed the change of our family dynamics as our kids began to live their own lives as young adults.

What I didn't miss was the depressing wasteland our sex life had become. Four weeks out of every five I was either socialising with girlfriends or workmates, or seducing and fucking, or being fucked, by a litany of men found in a wide variety of pubs and clubs.

I was fucked in cars and trucks, fondled in dimly lit bars and restaurants, kissed in deserted streets and had my cunt eaten on kitchen benches, in spas and hastily re-sheeted marital beds. For my own part, I became quite proficient at providing surreptitious hand-jobs under tables and in the back of taxi's and I could use my mouth and tongue to bring the average bloke from flaccid to ejaculating over my tits or down my throat in just a few minutes. Interestingly, no man I sucked complained I'd made him cum too soon. 

I came home from such a night as mentioned above and was puzzled to notice both the porch and kitchen lights on in the house. I looked nervously around the brightly lit street, but it was close to 2am and deserted so palming my mobile phone in one hand and my keys, the longest protruding menacing from between two fingers, in the other, I entered cautiously.

Steve straddled a kitchen chair, a bottle of beer in one hand as he gazed forlornly at half a dozen empty ones strewn across the table in front of him. He turned his head slowly towards me as I walked into the room and I was shocked to see the sadness in his red-rimmed eyes as he struggled to focus upon me.

"You're back a week early", I offered lamely, "Is everything okay?"

"Last minute shutdown", Steve slurred as his tired eyes took in my form fitting, short black dress, glossy black high-heels and sheer stockings, "Where have you been?"

"Out", I replied shortly, not the least because this was the most interest we had shown in each other for six long months.

"Are you okay?" I asked again with genuine concern in my voice, "Can I get you anything?"

Steve just flashed a desultory smile and raised his beer a little in answer.

"Were you with someone tonight?" he asked, his voice catching as he did.

I looked at him carefully as I deliberated how to answer. Steve didn't have a violent bone in his body and as I studied him now, I realised it was profound sadness or loss, not anger or jealousy that was prompting his questions.

"Yes", I answered simply, knowing I had nothing to feel guilty about under our current circumstances and loathe to lie to the man who was still my husband and whom I still cared for.

Steve turned his head away and clumsily wiped an errant tear away with the back of his hand.

"Did you let him touch you?", he whispered, "Did you let him fuck you?"

I straightened my posture to project confidence and kept steady eye

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