Paul and Jan were the archetypical perfect married couple. Twenty years earlier, while in college, they met, dated, and married. They had the two (but no more) children required to replace themselves on the planet. Perhaps the only thing missing from the quintessential "yuppie" marriage was that neither had strayed outside the bounds of married life.
Both were writers. Paul was an English professor at the university and had been published in magazines – scholarly and popular – across the country. Jan was a features writer and associate editor for a large, regional magazine. And, like Paul, she freelanced frequently. Both were often guests on TV programs in San Diego. Their sex life was the sort generally described as healthy and vibrant by marriage counselors, at least those who counseled monogamy. Ironically neither considered their own monogamy to be the only, or even best. They just couldn't afford the publicity if an affair was the subject of gossip magazines.
On their twentieth anniversary they opened a bottle of fine Champagne and celebrated before having more of the exciting, but after two decades, a bit predictable, sex they both loved so much. Paul broached a touchy subject for the umpteenth time. "Still not interested in trying someone else eh Jan?'
She smiled back at her husband and lover, "Oh I didn't say I'm not interested. I just don't think I'm interested enough. It's not worth the trouble."
"You're probably right. It's enticing but I haven't strayed either."
"I know that, but you've thought about it?" The question wasn't devious or even accusatory. She was merely curious.
"Oh yes and I've even fantasized about it."
As she'd often do when asking a question in an interview, she raised an eyebrow, and asked, "I know it'd be pointless for you to fantasize about me. I'm there for the taking almost any time. So, who do you visualize about when you're alone and want to get your jollies?" She loved slipping into the popular vernacular.
The wine made it easy for him to be frank. "You know how often I've watched our old VHS tape of Cleopatra?" Well the 1963 version of Liz Taylor was the sexiest woman in the world."
Jan flushed and asked, "Did you ever get yourself off thinking about her."
"Not while you were around, but while alone, yes, and she was wonderful." Paul grinned and continued, "Now that I've bared my soul, what about you?"
"Oh god, I was infected with an incurable case of lust for Tom Selleck when I was young. It started when I was in puberty and he was the Marlboro Man. I can conjure him up on a moment's notice. Mostly I think about his hard body, but he is also intelligent and talks well. If we had an affair we could have a stimulating chat between fucks." Words were the tools of her trade. She used any of them for the most effect.
"Would you, with him? " asked Paul.
"I don't think so. He would be even more trouble than just any old hard body and if it became an item of gossip it could wreck everything we have, even if you and I aren't jealous."
Her husband asked, "Is that the only reason you wouldn't do it with Tom Selleck or anybody else."
"Frankly yes. It just isn't worth the hassle. But as much as we are in love, I don't want either of us to feel we own each other. I think that respecting each other's peccadilloes is a requirement and the end result of love. We must be understanding no matter what. But if either of us wanted to go after a Liz or a Tom . . . "
She left her sentence hanging. Paul had been hoping to open up some sort of new perspective of their sex life. He came close but still short, not that he minded. Their marriage was close to perfect and he didn't really want to spoil it.
At any rate it was their anniversary, and they were alone. Jan gave Paul that special smile he loved so much. Then she unfastened the zipper at the back of her dress and let it fall to her waist. Then she unhooked her bra and her breasts were bare She pulled up her skirt. and slipped off her panties, noting the crotch was wet. Did the thought of Tom Selleck have anything to do with that?
Paul slipped off his shirt, and dropped his pants. He started to get on his knees to bury his face in her but she lay back on the chair. "Do it to me here Tom. Take me right now, hard and fast."
With no further foreplay, Paul buried it in her. "Oh Jesus Liz. Finally I get to fuck you."
With squeals, grunts, and cries of "Cleo, Liz, and Tom," they consummated their first fuck of the second twenty years of their marriage. Within a couple minutes Paul shoved it to her hard and held it tight. She writhed in ecstasy as she felt it happen. She said, "Oh my god darling that was awesome. Our talk was better than any foreplay and I love doing it in extemporaneously like that. It's all most as hot as in the back seat of our car."
A few weeks later they, along with journalists from across the country, were at the university in Lincoln, Nebraska to attend a seminar. Lincoln is a town so pedestrian it doesn't bother to call itself the "capital" of anything. Although the town was stodgy, a friend came to the rescue. He gave them directions to a fun joint on the outskirts, a Country and Western dinner club with good old shit-kicking cowboy music and romantic ballads. Paul and Jan found it wonderful. Both were decked out in appropriate western garb. She was lovely in a full skirt that whirled when Paul spun her around. Her red and white checkered shirt with a red bandana was unbuttoned enough to give a good, but not obscene, view of her breasts.
It was enough to make a gal giddy. After dinner, they found room at the bar and took a couple seats there. "Oh Paul," exclaimed Jan. "I love this place. I feel like I did when we were dating. If you ply me with enough drinks, you can have your way with me in the back seat." Then, she gave him a big hug. That was her second reference to their favorite spot of lovemaking in their youth.
After a bit a tall, rawboned guy sauntered over and said, "Howdy folks Ah'm Hank." Then he looked at Paul and asked, "Y'all mind if ah ask the lady to dance.?"
Paul decided to play the role. "Hell fire man ah think that'd be a fine idée, but she jes told me she felt like a young filly, not a lady. But y'all go right ahead. Do yer best, both ya."
Dance they did, a couple fast ones and a couple slow ones. She had to ask him what he did for a living. "Ah'm a rodeo cowboy Maam." He did indeed look it. His clothes weren't as deliberately western as Paul's, but they were indeed made of well worn denim, scrubbed clean. He wasn't affecting a "look." He was just wearing what was comfortable.
