My wife Loren and I have been married for a long time, thirty-plus years to be not so exact, and counting, I might add. And for all of that time, she's been a fantastic wife in most regards.
Save one...
Though she's never really left me without the option to lay my horny old dick in her, I have had to endure some forms of sexual deprivation at times during our marriage. There were indeed periods when she and I would go through times of sexual happiness and plenty. But often, I have had my dick in my hand to curb my lust.
I'm a rather horny guy, always have been, and I can spend hours thinking about and craving sexual gratifications of many sorts. But I have a great and powerful love for her, and I go to great lengths to be discrete about my wanton desires. And I don't force anything on my loving wife, ever.
As my wife and I grew older, some things in our lives became more apparent. The cracks in the plaster were becoming much more visible, so to speak. The things that we used to tolerate started to become burdensome and were affecting our relationship in unexpected ways. None of them more so than sex.
I had always been the one who was the more adventurous partner by a long shot. As so I thought... I recently discovered that I wasn't nearly as adventurous as the woman I called my loving wife. Over the years, I thought I had learned how to approach her, I learned what not to expect, and I learned through trial and error what she liked and didn't. I abided by my education, and we had a good time when we could.
As a rule, my wife was there should my need arise, but for the most part, she had an "I'll be here just in case" attitude as if she could take sex or leave it, it was that simple. It went right past me if she had dropped a clue of her true nature during those years.
As I look back now, I admit I didn't understand why she was so resolved to wait for me to use her when I was horny rather than be an equal partner, often, sex was just a one-way street, as if I was treasure hunting on the high seas in a raft.
Loren was always eager to spread he legs for me, so long as I stayed within her comfort zone and abided by her rules of engagement. I was often left alone in my head, wishing I could hear her voice telling me what she wanted of me.
Nonetheless, she and I always enjoyed fucking, It was always very obvious she liked my dick in her, and I loved making her cum. Sex was always great once we got into it.
As I said, we got old, and I started to notice that she was becoming more ambivalent to sex, not quite anti-sexual, but I could feel her getting close. As a result, many things seemed more important than being sexual with me.
Hugs and kisses were always there for the taking; if I wanted more, I almost had to beg for that affection, even though she would tend to give in if I forced the matter, nearly as if she liked to be pushed into it. With that behavior, I would get frustrated at times, sad, and even a little despondent in the in-between times. I truly didn't understand her then.
But all that drama would fade away once I finally got a chance to pump my cum into her after a nice fuck, only to struggle again for weeks or months, not understanding why she seemed to lack any sexual interest in me. I was missing something I never knew was even a thing.
Now, I wonder if she had this proclivity to be shared all along or if this was something that developed over more recent times. She never even subtly hinted at it. If she had, I would be singing a different tune.
Last year, just after her fifty-ninth birthday, Loren and I set out to Las Vegas for an extended weekend. It was a long drive, though we lived in the high desert area of Southern California. It was a trip we had taken many times over the years but hadn't in several. Our trips are usually very fun. She loves the slots, and I love watching her win. We have drinks and get all buzzed up and carefree the whole time, and it's never been a dull trip. Oddly, it's a trip that rarely included sex for some reason, though we always enjoyed going.
On this particular trip, the room we had reserved was not available for some reason. And we ended up with a room that had an adjoining door to the room next to us. The couple we saw later that afternoon entering their room as we were leaving ours was a nice older couple as well. We all said hi to one another, and that was that. We had a great time that first night, visiting some old haunts and drinking a bit, so by the time we got back to our room, it was the wee early hours.
Loren was out like a light as soon as she hit the pillows, I, on the other hand, was feeling a bit buzzed still and more than a bit horny. The whole day we spent holding hands, embracing, touching, and playing. So, as I often would, I played with my dick for a while as I considered waking her. But soon enough, I knocked out naked next to my sleeping wife, as yet unsatisfied.
The next morning, my wife wakes me up, telling me to listen, in a fog, I do as she says, and I listen. Half asleep, I begin to hear murmurs from the next room, then a loud voice and yet more loud voices. It was apparent that the old couple next door were fighting over something. My wife and I got closer to the wall to listen, and it became pretty clear they were fighting about sex. And it was also clear he wasn't going to win that particular battle.
As we giggled at our neighbors for their struggle, I was a bit surprised that my wife sided with the old guy as we talked about it that morning. With our history, I would have guessed she would have taken "her" side. It was kind of strange that we both wanted him to fuck.
We embraced and kissed as we laughed in our agreement that having sex was better than fighting over it. As I thought about that old couple's argument that morning, it started to add to my horniness to think that my wife could possibly be thinking of that old guy fucking his wife, or maybe her.
I spent a long time that morning as I watched her dress after a shower, wondering if my wife might be thinking about that old guy in a sexual way. It seemed unlikely, but I couldn't shake that weird feeling that crept in.
As dumb luck would have it, Loren and I hit the buffet at our hotel and ran into that old couple in line. His wife recognized my wife from the hallway and said hello, we introduced ourselves again properly and chit-chatted while we made our way through the line to get in.
The wife's name was Betty, and her husband, Ron, seemed like a nice guy, though I could tell by the look on his face he was a husband on the edge after their fight earlier that morning. I've been there, and that was all I could think of as we talked.
Ron and I were about the same height and weight, both taller than my wife Loren by a good measure, but he was a couple of years older than I.
Loren is about five foot seven and a nice hundred thirty-five or forty pounds. Betty, Ron's wife, was a bit taller than Loren but was much more on the chubby side. My wife has great, full breasts and some soft, gentle curves, but she carries her sweetly curvy self well. However, she's very modest and demure while being very girly and desirable. Ron couldn't keep from staring at her, I had noticed.
Once we paid for our all-you-can-eat, we went in, and I thought we would be going our separate ways, Loren and Betty decided otherwise, and we all shared a table.
