"With James? I wouldn't have minded, you two can't keep your hands off each other! But I wonder. If I hadn't been expecting you to be with him, how would I have felt? Don't know. And what if it had been someone unexpected? If it was somebody I didn't know. That could get interesting."
But it wasn't going to happen, I knew. Mary had set up her rule long ago, kept it religiously with my agreement: she would always inform me in advance of her sexual liaisons, get my 'permission.' (If she had a hankering to give herself to another man, I rarely objected. We'd opened up our marriage years before, and who Mary slept with was her decision, not mine.)
By the next day, I'd almost forgotten the conversation.
Seasons passed, we participated in our share of foursomes and orgies and threesomes. This was our shared hobby, I loved watching a man pleasure himself in my wife's body, I truly enjoyed bringing other women to passion.
I remember it was in hot weather, a weeknight. As was typical for me two or three nights a week, I had to close up the store, by ten o'clock I left the parking lot on my way home. I was thinking about nothing except an ice cold beer.
As I parked the car I could see from the street there was only one dim light on the first floor and candle light in the master bedroom. 'Hmm,' I thought, 'that's strange.' I walked in the door, from the upstairs I heard the groan of Mary's craze and the bumping of the headboard against the wall. I immediately knew exactly what was going on.
I paused in the foyer, wondering just what my emotions were. I wasn't pissed, hell, I knew Mary was a hotwife, she'd been in bed many times, once more didn't matter at all. There was a slight feeling she'd broken trust, that she hadn't phoned me to let me know it was happening, get my okay. I even checked to make sure I hadn't missed a call or text.
Of course, there was a rush of angst, the feeling of once again she's getting it, that's great, no it's not! I was used to it, I just savored the old familiar emotion similar to jealousy for a few seconds.
I quickly wondered if she was cheating on me, if she'd done this before, how many fucking times? Then I settled. She was screwing around in our own house, at a time when she knew damn well I'd be getting home. So no, not cheating.
All of these reflections took no more than a few seconds.
Then I wondered who it was. I figured it was somebody we already knew, maybe a last second booty call from one of our old friends. I climbed the stairs, the noises from the bedroom persisted. The upstairs hall was dark, turning the corner I found the bedroom door open a crack, maybe six or seven inches. A breeze of air-conditioning hit me, the noise cloaked the creaks of the floorboards below me. I could see the bed, Mary was on her back, catty-cornered on the mussed sheets. On top of her, lifting himself with his arms, was a man. I could see his cock, shrouded in plastic, merging with my wife's compliant genitals. This wasn't odd, many times before I'd watched as men screwed my wife.
The two things that were strange were, first, they were in missionary. Mary hates the missionary position, she allows it only when she's been satisfied again and again and she wants the man to complete and end the rendezvous. But she was keening as they screwed, they seemed a long way from taking a break.
The second odd thing was I didn't know her new boyfriend. I'd never met him, never seen him. He was stocky, a dark head of hair, at least ten or fifteen years younger than we. He had his strength, the muscles of his arms and legs were taut, as a basketball player's might be.
They couldn't see me, I was sure. I was in the darkness, a couple of feet from the crack through which I watched. Mary gave a particularly keen yelp, then seemed to settle. I heard them confer, they shifted position, the man's back to me, Mary's back to him, almost in the fetus position on her side. The man inserted his strength into her slit again, the bed was rocking with their exertions. Mary moaned, the man cheered in his pleasure.
I wondered, once again, what to do. If I'd known the guy the choice would be simple, I'd simply join them in a threesome. But there was now a crinkle in the mix. What if Mary hadn't told the guy about me? If I walked in I might freak him, and the whole thing would get weird. They were having too much fun, I decided not to disturb them. As silently as possible, I backed out, went downstairs, sat in my den. I listened as the sounds of love reached me through the hallways. For another twenty minutes, at least, the sex went on. I was able to hear Mary's shrieks time and again, at last I heard low masculine grunts indicating the man was being sated. Long moments went by when I heard nothing.
I heard Mary's footsteps on the walkway above me, the toilet flushed. A few minutes later I heard a double pair of footsteps leave the bedroom. I turned off the light in the den and listened as she said goodnight to the stranger. When he asked her if he could see her again, I caught an unsure, "Uh, maybe."
