This whole thing started when I decided to make cocoa. I make cocoa when I can't sleep. I have been making myself a lot lately. My sleepless night are all around frustrating emotions.

Lucien came home and I offered him some. My cocoa is hard to turn down but I'm sure that was that last thing on his mind. I've been married. I know by now how men think.

Fortunately or unfortunately, he did indeed have other things on his mind. I was taken aback when he abruptly pulled me in for a kiss. This was far from a simple kiss goodnight. My body was thrust up against him. My breasts made firm contact with his chest. I could feel the heat despite the fact that we were both fully clothed.

At first, the cocoa on the stove slipped my mind. I knew I was lost in the whirlwind of sheer passion. I never ever forget something on the stovetop or oven. My mind and body were fully consumed in the flames.

I had an extremely short lived fantasy of succumbing to temptation and making mad hot passionate love right there on the kitchen table as my pot burned on the stove.

I thought better of the table for two practical reasons. One we have young borders. It was be wildly improper considering they had not arrived home yet.

I just thoroughly cleaned the table today. I needs cleaning frequently because Lucien has a bad habit of putting parts of crime scenes on my kitchen table without a second thought. The most memorable was half a coin that was shoved down a mans throat and found in his stomach. He didn't think twice of putting that on my table. Making love on the table was rapidly losing appeal.

I fought against all my carnal urges and quickened pulses and abruptly pulled away. I could see a clear look of disappointment on his weathered face. I tried to lighten the mood by saying breathlessly, "I guess that is a no to the cocoa."

He asked me if I wanted to join him for a drink. Now, I am over forty NOT 22. I know what it means when a man invites a woman for "a drink." I said something irrevocably stupid. I said I could not because I had a mess waiting for me in the morning. How a woman over forty could come up with something so stupid is beyond me.

He left the room feeling considerable frustration. I could also sense his left the room in considerable physical discomfort as well. I felt a sharp pang of quilt as I observed his rather shall I say awkward gait

Why do I always pull back at the last minute? It is not for lack of physical desire believe me. I have been married before. I've had three pregnancies two of which resulted in live births. I'm far from a virgin. I know how it works by now.

The plain truth is I have never been with any other man other than Christopher. Feeling that same unbridled passion for someone else is unsettling at best.

I was married at just nineteen years of age. As much as I loved Christopher, I do regret not having a year or two on my own.

Another factor that influenced my early marriage, was a pregnancy. My shame has prevented me from telling anyone even Lucien.

I was never the type to do anything "wrong." I went to church and obeyed all the rules. However, Christopher was a handsome man. That attraction overpowered my lifelong desire to be "good" It was what he wanted and I was afraid of losing him.

We were married in the church. No one outside of my immediate family knew. We planned to claim prematurity if anyone did the math.

I ended up losing the baby half term. According to the Doctor, it was a girl. I was told by my very own mother that the miscarriage was a punishment from God for a premarital conception. I love my boys more then anything but I think at times my heart still aches for my little girl.

Perhaps the most important factor of all is that he is still a married man. The divorce will go through soon enough. Until it does, he is by law married. I am not now will I ever be an adulteress. Losing my daughter was painful enough. I shudder to think of the punishment for adultery.

If any woman, I know slept with a married man, I would be horrified. Committing such an act myself made me feel like a hypocrite.

I was getting ready for bed ALONE. I looked at myself in the mirror as I could not stop reflecting on our moment of passion. I realized I was wearing a nightgown that left absolutely everything to the imagination along with my ratty yet comfortable robe.

I began to feel the bubbling up of illicit temptation. I am tired of always being a "good girl" I'm over forty. I'm not a "girl" anymore.

Really, what would be the harm? What happens in the privacy of his bedroom would only be between us.

Who else would know? Well God of course. Damn! Maybe I couldn't go through with it.

I remembered a recent purchase I made out of sheer impulse and desire. I have kept it hidden at the bottom of my drawer. I could barely make eye contact with the clerk when I bought it.

It is a soft sleeveless lace nightgown that in contrast leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Ironically, it is an innocent soft pink color. I imagine that makes it even more enticing. I originally planned to save it for my wedding night. However, I was literally aching to wear it.

With that, my temperature began to feel almost fever like. My heart was pounding wildly. I knew I had to give in to the temptation. My thoughts were becoming too intoxicating to bear. My cheeks showed a rosy glow without a hint of rouge.

I slowly peeled off my ratty robe and head to toe nightgown. The soft lacy material felt smooth and airy against my skin. It truly left nothing to the imagination. Seeing it on made me wonder how I ever had the nerve to buy it in the first place.

Unfortunately, it also accentuated imperfections. Three pregnancies take a toll on the body of a woman my age. I took a long deep breath and decided not to let that weaken my resolve. I'm going to have to face it eventually. I was shall I say I say hastening the process.

The next and final step was to fix my makeup. I shudder to think that there may come a time when he sees me without makeup. I want to prolong that as long as I can.

I found the most provocative shade of lipstick I had. I applied it carefully and perfectly. I wanted to create the illusion of full provocative lips.

It took much longer to brush through my unruly curls. I didn't want to make mad passionate love looking like the bride of Frankenstein.

To inspire confidence I took one last look in the mirror. The nightgown looked wildly flattering even on my imperfect body. This brought on a rush of adrenaline that told me I was more than ready.

I walked out into the hallway with confidence. I wanted to run but I figured a slow stride would be more enticing.

My confidence as well all the color in my face drained when I saw Rose and Charlie in appear in hallway. I'm too ashamed to write down the steady flow of expletives that ran through my mind.

In a nervous haste to sneak back to bed and not to "get caught" I made too much noise and attracted Rose's attention. Why is is that we make the most noise when we are making an effort to be especially quiet?

I faced her paralized and muttered something utterly stupid about thinking I had maybe left my knitting downstairs. Was I incapable of saying anything sensible at that point?

My face turned redder than the tomatoes we had for dinner when I remembered what I was actually wearing full provocative makeup and all. I subconsciously folded my arms across my chest to hide practically exposed breasts. I was barely short of parading around the house completely naked.

Rose is young but not stupid. I could tell from the grin on her face that she knew full well my intentions. My nightgown and fire red face made it clear that I had more than my knitting on my mind.

On a positive note, I'm certain she understands. Based on conversation and what I shall we say have overheard, she and Charlie fulfilling what I only dream about.

I was finally able to escape mortal embarrassment and stumble back to my room. I roughly wiped the lipstick from my lips. There was no way I could back out there tonight. I felt a sharp pang of anxiety thinking about Rose seeing me almost naked. It was not worth risking "getting caught" again

I looked heavenward in a symbolic gesture of asking for forgiveness. I sat on my bed an collapsed in a puddle of tears. What kind of a person even considers sleeping with a married man? Perhaps "getting caught" was the warning I needed.

I decided I needed to fully cleanse myself of this dreadful ordeal. Guilty thought and feelings were eating away at me.

The only was to regain peace of mind was to ask for forgiveness. I went to confession and assured the Father that it would never happen again. I Intend to keep that promise.

I cannot weaken again. It is going be painful to require many sleepless nights. I know I will never wear that nightgown again. If/when our wedding night occurs, I shall purchase a brand new one for the occasion.