Robin and her husband Sam moved down the street nine years ago. Al and I met them at a neighborhood barbecue within a few weeks of their arrival. Robin and I quickly became friends, and I soon found myself talking to her about things that I’d only ever discussed with my husband. She felt more like a sister than a friend.

The one topic we rarely discussed was sex. We skirted the issue until last winter. We were sitting by the fireplace sipping wine while our husbands were out hunting when Robin mentioned that she’d recently cheated on Sam. I almost choked when she announced that she’d had a fling while her husband was away on a business trip. I didn’t want to ask her to give me details, but she told me all about her hookup with a coworker.

Four months after Robin told me about her affair, she dropped another bombshell: she hadn’t used birth control since she got married because Sam had had a vasectomy, but she was pregnant with her coworker’s child. It wasn’t long before she and Sam got a divorce. While she married her coworker and moved away, Sam hung out at our place feeling sorry for himself.
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I was quite nervous as I drove out to meet a longtime friend of my husband’s, as I was meeting him without my husband’s knowledge. Jackson had been living out of the area for more than two years, and he’d called me asking if I could meet him for lunch to talk about something important.

When I arrived at the bar, I looked around, expecting him to already be there, but I didn’t spot him, so I called his cellphone. He said he didn’t want to risk us being seen in public together, so he wanted me to come to his motel room. I told him that being seen going into a motel room with him was even worse than being seen at a bar together, but he insisted that he had to talk to me in private, so I got his room number and walked across the street to the motel to meet him.

I was really nervous by the time I finally reached his room, and I knocked softly on the door, almost hoping he wouldn’t hear me. I wasn’t quiet enough, though, and he answered the door immediately. I stepped past him quickly and rushed to take a seat in the desk chair, keeping my skirt down as I crossed my legs. He came right over to me as I sat and leaned down to kiss my cheek, asking why I seemed unhappy to see him.
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I’m a 46-year-old businessman, married with two kids. I run a small business with only about a dozen employees, one of whom is my secretary and bookkeeper, Keri. Keri is 44, married with three kids and, according to her, has a boring home life.

Keri has long brown hair, which she normally keeps pinned up, beautiful blue-green eyes and, from what I can tell, a nice figure. The guys in the office always flirt with her, but I don’t know if any of their efforts have paid off and led to anything more.
Keri has worked for me for almost six years now. She always wears conservative clothing; her skirts are all knee-length or longer, and she always pairs them with opaque pantyhose.

One day Keri and I were talking and she told me that she didn’t like wearing panties with her pantyhose. It was the most unprofessional thing she’d ever said, and it surprised me. But I was feeling rather naughty myself, and I told her that I didn’t believe her. She was feeling friskier than I thought, and she quickly pulled up her skirt, showing me a pair of light-colored pantyhose. Then she spread her legs to show me the reinforced crotch, her dark pubic hair visible through the thick nylon.
“What did I tell you?” she asked.
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