It was early that Wednesday morning and though barely awake I could hear my wife, Jill, moving about the bedroom. She was dressing for her day at the gallery. I didn't participate in that morning ritual anymore, I'd retired about five years prior. But Jill, being about a dozen or so years younger than me, was still gainfully and actively employed.
My wife is a small redheaded woman, trim and agile and still quite striking though well into her middle ages. She's been a landscape painter for over thirty years and occasionally runs a gallery for a friend in the nearby downtown area. I on the other hand was now a man of leisure, and loving it.
I felt her lean over me, softly kiss my cheek and murmur in my ear, "I'm leaving honey, it's time to say goodbye." I could smell her perfume lightly settle about me and felt her fingers sliding down my stomach into my pajama bottoms. Then she began caressing my flaccid penis. It engorged and began to stiffen with her touch.
Breathing softly she pushed the covers aside, leaned over and pulling back the waistband of my pants took my rising dick into her soft and freshly made up mouth. Sucking, licking, then rubbing it across her moist lips and the side of her face she slowly and artfully hardened the erection to an almost painful state.
Taking it deep inside the wet warmth of her mouth over and over, she stroked with her soft, delicate hand as suddenly awake, I moaned and arched my back. Then she looked up at me, smiled, snapped my pajamas back into place over my aching cock and said, "That ought to give you something to think about today," and walked out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
But I was used to it. The ritual always started on Wednesdays. It was Jill's theory that by keeping me in constant sexual tension for the latter part of the week my hormones and erotic impulses would be raging by the start of the weekend. That's when she wanted me. It worked.
With our children raised and on their own in distant cities and with really no further need to provide role model behavior nor sane exteriors, we had begun to re-explore our sexual ambitions. For Jill that started with a lot of weekend sex. With me it began with a pronounced effort to keep up with her.
At my age I was not exactly in testosterone overload, but I was definitely willing and with a little help from modern pharmaceuticals, a lot of time at the gym, her morning ministrations and our mutual eagerness things had definitely heated up around the old homestead. Yet the best was yet to come.
That began with an evening phone call on a Thursday. Jill had just returned from the gallery and I overheard her speaking to a New York gallery with whom she often did business. Apparently there was a big art opening that they wanted her to attend Friday evening and she had only found out earlier that day.
Jill turned to me and said with anguish, "I've got to catch the train to New York tomorrow morning. I won't be back until Sunday evening - it's important. Big clients, hot artists, important contacts. I can't miss it." "No problemo," I said, "I'll still be here when you get back."
"But I've got a special treat for you," she continued. "I talked Marnie into coming over and taking care of you while I'm gone. She'll be here tomorrow afternoon."
That was puzzling. First of all I have never needed anyone to take care of me. Jill saw the look on my face and said, "Silly - I don't mean it that way, I mean it the other way - the fun way." And she gave me her lewdest grin.
"You like Marnie, don't you? I know she likes you." Of course I did. Marnie was a good looking woman. A longtime friend of ours, she had become much closer since her husband had ran off with his much younger secretary some three or four years ago.
"It was supposed to be a surprise for you, our first a trois, but now I have to go to New York and I don't want to disappoint Marnie. You could really help her out of a funk, she hasn't had a decent boyfriend in months and months ... and I think it might spice things up for us too. Besides she already said yes."
We'd joked about other people to join our sex romps, but I had always dismissed the idea as too good to be true.
"You sweet talking devil. You convinced me," I smirked, still not sure she was serious. But she was and as she was saying goodbye to me and my eager johnson in her usual way on Friday morning, she paused and added one caveat. "I told Marnie no hankie pankie after Saturday afternoon - I want something left for me for Sunday night when I get back. I expect good sex and a blow by blow description of your little adventure." She emphasized that with an exaggerated wink and a smile.
I fought down a shameless grin that would have totally destroyed my composure. "You got it sweetie, dirty stories and hot sex for Sunday night." Dressed in black on black with a gleaming string of pearls around her neck and a last look of mock skepticism she turned and walked down the stairs, heading out for her appointment in Gotham. As she went out the front door she called back upstairs "You'd better be ready for me when I get back."