I married my first husband, Paul, when I was 22, back in 1982; he was a sergeant in the army and I was bowled over by the idea of living abroad - in Germany - and being with this smart soldier. My parents disapproved - looking back I think they thought I "could do better" but I thought that was old fashioned snobbishness. So after our honeymoon we moved into the married quarters in Germany; Paul had managed to get a hiring away from the main patch and I quickly settled into the German village; then I saw an advertisement for a receptionist at the local army surgery, and was pleased with myself when I was appointed. The doctor who interviewed me looked too young to be a captain, and he was married with a little daughter. The job was easy, and gave me an opportunity to get to know other wives as well as earn some pin money. And over those first few weeks, I began to understand what my parents had said. Whilst I liked nearly everyone I met, only the doctor, James, and I did the cryptic crosswords, and when we were discussing politics and the world, I was surprised how uninterested most people were in life outside the regiment. I know that sounds a bit snobbish of me, but if you read on, you will see that I was about to learn a lot - and only recently have I found this site, and decided it would be cathartic to tell my story, and perhaps let younger women make better choices than I did. James, the doctor, was coming to the end of his posting with the regiment and his replacement was due. We (the staff at the medical centre) gossiped about what the new boy would be like. I remember that day Jeremy, the new Regimental Medical Officer, arrived as though it was yesterday; James introduced him, and I had to do a double take. He looked like my husband, but he was about 6 inches taller, and slimmer, and his uniform looked so much better tailored. And when he spoke, he had a lovely voice, and he smiled to show lovely even white teeth. I blushed so much I had to pretend I had an urgent job to do, and go off down the corridor. That evening, Paul asked about him, and I had to lie and pretend I had hardly noticed what the new doctor looked like. Over the next few days, I managed to get used to Jeremy, and laughed at myself for my initial reaction, and the crush that I obviously had on him - but even though I tried to deny it, I still got occasional tinglings down below when I thought about him. After about a week, Paul came home from the gym, and told me he had played squash against Jeremy, who had beaten him soundly. He said how much he liked him, but that Jeremy had inferred that he thought I was a bit distant with him - Paul asked why... and of course I couldn't say that it was because I had a crush on him. So over the next few weeks I tried to be normal around Jeremy; I encouraged Paul to make love to me more often, to try and put other thoughts out of my mind, but when I had an orgasm, my mind was thinking more and more about Jeremy. I was frightened. And Paul talked a lot about Jeremy, and their sporting contests - I gathered Jeremy always won. And then one day Paul mentioned how big Jeremy was, meaning his cock. That was the last thing I wanted to be told, it just added to my fantasies, which I knew would never be anything more. Two months later, and the patients for morning surgery were lining up, and Jeremy hadn't arrived. When he was half an hour late, the medical orderly went off to the officers quarters, and came back telling us he was poorly. The nurse and I were told to go and see what was the matter; I hadn't (of course) been to the officers mess before, let alone the bedrooms, but the nurse knew her way around well. Jeremy was in bed with terrible tonsillitis, and he was feverish, dehydrated and a bit delerious. The nurse arranged for him to be admitted to the local military hospital, and we bundled him into his dressing gown and into the ambulance; he looked dreadful, but I couldn't help noticing as we helped him that his willy was hanging out of his pyjamas, and it was huge and thick, event tough of course it was very limp as he was ill. Paul cam home that night and told me he had visited Jeremy in hospital, and how weak he was. The next afternoon the nurse and I visited; I was surprised how worried I was, but when we went into his room, he looked much better, though still very pale and sweaty. He had a drip in his arm, and I felt a rush of motherliness towards him; though he was three years older than me, he looked like a lost child. So when, a couple of days later, Paul aid that Jeremy was being discharged, and that Paul had offered for Jeremy to stay with us for a few days to recuperate, I was relieved that he was better, but suddenly horrified that he would be staying in our hiring in very close proximity to us. At that time, I had no idea at all that Paul had sensed my feelings for Jeremy, and that he had plans in his mind. So when I arrived home on Thursday to find Jeremy fast asleep in our spare room bed, that I had made up that morning, I simply told myself that I had to behave normally. Jeremy slept right through; the next morning he got up as we were leaving for work , and thanked us profusely for letting him stay to recuperate. He still looked absolutely washed out. Paul got home for the weekend first; when I came home they were chatting in the living room; Jeremy was dressed and looked a bit better. We had supper, and then played cards (our hiring didn't get the BFBS television service). Jeremy went to bed; and that was when my life began to unravel. Paul had poured me far more wine than I usually drank (Tomorrow's Saturday, he kept saying) and a few minutes later, he said that he had forgotten to leave water and tissues in Jeremy's room; he told me to take them in. The door was slightly ajar; the sidelight was on; Jeremy was in bed and obviously feeling well enough to be having a wank. He looked at me guiltily and stopped, but then muttered "Oh God I'm cumming - please pass me a tissue" The lid was on the tissues, I fumbled and knocked the water over as I tried to open them; he had pushed the sheet off and I could make out his enormous erection. "Quickly" he said desperately. And I don't know what possessed me, but all I could think of to stop him staining the clean sheets was to put my mouth over his cock to collect his sperm, which is what I did. Immediately I felt a spurt hitting my throat, then several more. I was gagging, and heard him command "Swallow" which I never did for Paul, but again it just seemed the only thing I could do. Then I felt his hands on the back of my head, and he was grunting and thrusting his cock up and down in my mouth. After half a minute or so, he slowed down. I sat up and wiped the remnants of his cum from my lips, and shakily turned to leave his room with my mind in a turmoil. As I did so, I saw Paul standing in the doorway. I nearly vomited through fear and the taste of the sperm in my mouth.