High Infidelity

Winfred Peppinck

Description

Why do men cheat? How do they start? Why do they go on, knowing the risks? Carson Benning has been through fumbling relationships, through self-denial even when opportunities were there for the taking, yet he has remained loyal and true. He has a marriage and lifestyle others envy, a sex life too, full of vigor, his virtues full of grace. And then ... there is that moment, when looks are no longer enough, carpe diem becomes his mantra, the dangers merely heightening the thrill, even as the stakes get higher. Soon travel presents even greater opportunity, no longer is he a submarine, cautiously popping a head up to look for targets, now he is a battleship! The targets are plentiful, and the hunting is good! There is a whole world of lust and steaminess, full of stolen freedoms in exotic locations, and always the thrill of the chase, again and again! And each time, the conscience easier to assuage, the acts easier to rationalize, friendship to sex in a lazy spiral, then the self serving relief of "getting away with it" once again. But as the years pass, so too, do the 'bits on the side'. Then one night in bed with his wife , Carson Benning smells the scent of sex ... and it is not of him! The worm has turned ... and as with all things, there are consequences!

Sujets

• Erotic literature

Informations

• Publié par: M-Y Books
• Date de parution: 01 mars 2011
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781907759475
• Langue: English

Extrait

HIGH INFIDELITY
BY
Winfred Peppinck
AN M-Y BOOKS HARDBACK
© Copyright 2010 Winfred Peppinck
The right of Winfred Peppinck to be identified as the author of This work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All Rights Reserved No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with the written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
EISBN 9781907759475
INCLINATION
Most would agree there is about women an indefinable allure that attracts men. It is an air that at first intrigues, then attracts and creates a desire that in an instant can negate all rational thought, cause exceptional inspiration or be responsible for utter destruction. All forms of art have made attempts to give expression to it and it is a subject of constant discussion amongst all men. Certainly Carson Benning would subscribe to that assessment of the fair sex. He had always loved women; thinking about them, looking at, talking and hearing about them, being with them. There was something in his genes that sent little "attraction endorphins" through his body at the merest thought of them. In an instant his mind assimilated every detail of a woman that attracted his attention.
The look that so intrigued him, it should be understood, need not mean that she was the one who would generally be regarded as the most attractive in a group, the prettiest, or most glamorous. He of course admired the popular beauties in the pages of magazines he saw whilst awaiting his turn to have his usual short back and sides, and in the movies. But what appealed to him might compare to the way another man might marvel at a painting, a Mini, or a Maserati or a sleek carbon-fibre yacht in the harbour at Antibes. There was just something singular about her that, for him, set her apart from others. He acknowledged that his taste had changed over the years. Once he had admired Doris Day, now it was Paris Hilton. Some, like Diane Keaton and Susan Sarandon who were not classic beauties, he had loved for many years and they still held that look for him, even as they had grown older. To him their laugh lines and wrinkles made them even more appealing.
Carson was practiced at spotting a woman that appealed to him. He would see her in a bustling street, a full aircraft, by the sea, at football matches, even across the proverbial crowded room at a party. Wherever he was he recognised her instantly. The fact that he had identified her would not have been detected from any change in his facial expression… well except perhaps for his eyes. There the close observer might note a slight narrowing as he scanned her from head to toe. He had realised long ago that this interest in women was a part of his make up that at once intrigued and excited him. As he grew older he became infinitely more appreciative of what constituted real beauty and often discussed the subject in depth with his male friends. Their declarations that they were "boob men", or "leg men", or "bum men" amused him. The look that attracted him comprised much more. True, one significant aspect of her might predominate; a smile perhaps, a raised eyebrow, the way she ran her tongue over her top teeth, or a slightly crooked tooth that offset an otherwise perfect configuration. Perhaps it was the way she walked or sat on a bar stool, maybe the way she wore a particular dress, or simply the bob of her hair when she pushed it aside with her fingers. It could be any or all of these things that attracted him. He had occasionally tried to discuss these things with his female friends but in these politically correct times, his sexist views were quite properly derided. It "reduced women to their most basic attributes," he was told, "An object that one compared to cars or boats, or with each other; it was insulting!" With such remarks he had been dismissed.
Even though he knew it was facile, Carson had what he called his "root-meter" assessment. It was a lustful, in-the-mind scale, rating women he passed in the street on whether he would like to spend his last hour on earth with them. A ten was "Oh Baby!" while a four or a five was a "Hmmm". The women in London rated low, Buenos Aires and Berlin high. It surprised him that in Paris he was drawn by the many strong female faces, the bold engaging eyes, the lack of make-up, that flair for dressing described as savoir faire ; they definitely rated high off the scale! Then again, overall beauty was more overtly on display in New York or on the beach at Bondi, so that the "root-meter" sometimes felt like a Geiger counter near uranium! He often laughed to himself at the idiocy of the "root-meter", but it kept him amused and engaged when he walked the streets, and helped to pass the time and the miles. And besides, he regarded them as harmless inner thoughts and he kept them very much to himself. But he knew that other men had such thoughts too. "Get a load of that," said Harry in an admiring tone, and they had both looked at a passing blonde with an out-thrust chest. Oh yes, Harry had his root-meter going as well.
Carson became aware of That look at an early age, a time when boys were rough and tumble, and girls played with dolls. Sometimes the boys would have to take part in games with the girls, in particular rounders and relay races, it was part of the recently introduced socialization process, but it served little purpose when the boys coach often criticised them by saying. "You fellas are playing like a bunch of girls." No! With a few exceptions, sport was a boy’s world when Carson was at school, although tomboys were grudgingly admired.
Primary school dances were another thing altogether! On Friday afternoons, the entire senior forms would go to practice "dancing" at the Town Hall. Inside the cavernous ballroom there were shouts from teachers. "Boys to the left, Girls to the right." Some of the bolder boys found seats, pushing and shoving to be near mates. When it became too rough teachers intervened and delivered sharp cuffs over the ears. Only then was order re-established. The girls, more demurely and rather less noisily, found their seats on the opposite side of the hall; the two groups looked across at each other in the manner knights might look at each other before a joust.
Debbie Moss sat opposite Carson and he looked across at her, fascinated. Her head of blonde curls, her high forehead, her darting, shining eyes, and the slightly up-turned nose above her sweet, smiling, slightly opened mouth. It was the first time he felt attracted to a girl. Debbie had that look. He found that he simply could not stop staring at her, turning away only when she looked in his direction, but soon turning back to stare at her again. She wasn’t as pretty or as well dressed as Nell or Mara, but she had something that drew him in, he felt a thrill just to look at her. He was never able to engineer a meeting with her but it was a thrill that he would feel many, many more times in the years ahead. And as he grew older and more experienced, he became increasingly adept at giving rein to his feelings and living his life at a gallop.
FIRST STIRRINGS
1963
After three years in a boys-only high school, Carson changed schools and was thrilled to find himself in a co-educational college for his final two years. He quickly became acutely aware of girls, and while sport remained the Pantheon of his world, he conceded that female distraction was now ever present. There were revealing magazines, (He had seen Playboy magazine once!) and television programmes featured beauty contests with young women in bathing suits. There were also his excursions to the beach, where daring women wore increasingly briefer bikinis. He often lay on the hot sand, his face resting on his arms, the sun frying the coconut oil that he had rubbed onto his skin to get the dark tan he desired. In this position, from behind his dark sunglasses, he slowly surveyed all before him, almost like a lizard looking for a fly, only tiny movements of his head revealed that he wasn’t asleep. His eyes flickered and narrowed slightly to focus when a girl got up, there was always the prospect of seeing an extra bulging of breast, or a glimpse of inner thigh.
Carson fancied Kerry the moment she walked into the classroom. Although she wore school uniform like the other girls, there was not all uniformity. Hers fitted tightly, like the pictures of "sweater girls" that Carson liked to look at in Pix and Post magazines. The school uniform was an altogether drab affair, a navy blue jumper with the thin trim of sky-blue and pink, the school colours, at both the v-collar and cuffs. The skirt, also of navy blue, was pleated all the way down to a few inches above the ankle, and thick black stockings covered the remaining inches, ensuring that a glimpse of leg was as rare as an appearance of Halley’s Comet. A white shirt, with a high collar, and the diagonally striped pink and sky-blue school tie, broke up the drabness. Not an ounce of sexiness or titillation that was sometimes associated with "school-girls in uniform" was in evidence. With a high school full of testosterone-fuelled lads, all on the point of discovering sex, it was the way the Headmaster wanted it. He made it quite clear during his regular addresses at assemblies that any "funny business" as he labelled it, would not be tolerated. Pupils who " indulged ", and he waited a suitable time to let the word sink in, would be ignominiously expelled he told them, and remained oblivious to the titter and nervous chuckles in the ranks of both the boys and gi