I was nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Only my tail wasn't the one at the center of attention.
As I considered the sight before me - you on a hotel bed, on your knees, face down on a pillow, with a blindfold on - I still struggled to believe this was all real, and the idea of what was about to happen stretched even my curvy little mind. The idea that you were here, willing to do this, to trust me at this level...not knowing what was in store... The love that went into that trust was as mind-blowing as the sight. For the millionth time in my life, I recognized just how lucky I am.
With a huge smile on my face that you couldn't see, I turned and considered the new player in our lives.
**********
I've known all my life that I got a bit short-changed in the shorts, you might say. Not very long, not very thick, but the most cruel irony was the way that ED had made it hard, well, often impossible, to use my cock to love you the way I wanted to. The way a beautiful woman like you should be loved on. Oh, without doubt, I still take pleasure in giving you pleasure, and one of my hottest fantasies involves having you sitting on my face as I pleasure you; no, more like you taking your pleasure like that, over and over, until you finally rise up off of me, fully sated.
But nothing could replace the feeling of being inside you when you orgasmed, pumping my cock in and out of your wet womanhood, your internal silky caresses virtually pulling the cum and my soul out of the end of my cock. And even when I was younger, I wanted to fill you more, to give you more to squeeze on, more to cum on.
I know it probably didn't bother you the way it did me, but you are a woman, and you know there could be a difference. And as your husband, I wanted you to get that difference, even if it meant swallowing a little pride to get it.
And that's why Morgan was here tonight.
**********
Morgan was a teacher you'd known since your undergrad days. He was a few years older than most of the other students; you were the mom who went back to school in her 50's. You weren't looking for a paramour; certainly not in that crowd of young people. Morgan may have been older than the "kids", but our oldest son was just a little bit older than him.
Like us, Morgan was a veteran. He had spent his six years in the Marine Corps, and had decided he wanted to use his benefits to become a teacher, which explained why he was in several classes with you.
If the Marine Corps had needed a poster model for recruiting females and gay males, Morgan would have been an excellent candidate. He stood 6'4" tall, and still retained a toned, muscular physique and the erect posture of a proud Marine. His voice was an easy bass; the kind that made women a bit weak and wet just hearing him speak. To boot, he was a genuinely nice guy.
You admitted you found him attractive when I asked you about it; I'd heard enough about him to suspect you probably had more than a purely academic interest in him. We've always been good about that; discussing people we found hot (or not), from screen stars to bodies at the pool or beach. No jealousy, just an open understanding that there were some really attractive people in the world. (And some that should never, ever be seen in a Speedo or a thong.)
After graduation, you'd lost track of Morgan, and moved on to your teaching career and raising the kids who were still at home. Once in a while you'd see him on Facebook, and I could tell by your happiness that you missed him.
I was never worried about you running off with Morgan. It wasn't because I thought you were too old for him, which is what I'm sure you'd have said if I suggested that he may have had a bit of a "thing" for you. "Who, me? There's no way! I'm way too old for him. I probably just remind him of his mother or something," you protested the first time I joked about your new "boyfriend." I know what I saw; I caught him watching one day as you walked away, and his eyes were most certainly fixed on your delicious derriere as you trod away. My confidence that you wouldn't act on any desire for him wasn't based on a lack of desire on either part, but on your steadfastness and faithfulness. That just wasn't and isn't who you are.
None of which stopped ME from imagining the two of you together, of course. You know my mind has always been a bit more steeped in erotic fantasy than the average person, so you probably weren't too surprised when I mentioned his name a couple of times when we were intimate, trying to stoke a bit of a forbidden heat in the confines of our own bedroom.
The first time I did it, it backfired on me. "Why would you bring him up?" you demanded, and I immediately knew, as other men could understand, that I had done something wrong. I tried to explain that I was only trying to prod your fantasy life a bit, maybe excite you a bit more, but you seemed horrified by the idea of fantasizing about someone else while being intimate with one's spouse. That led to an Ice Age that lasted a month and a half.
Which you'd think would mean I'd learn that lesson, but...
A year later, as we sat beside a hotel pool during a very rare weekend away for the two of us, we were playing our game of spotting people. We'd often point out people for the other person; you'd spot a scandalously under-clad woman, or one who should have ordered a size or three larger, and I'd point out good looking - or ridiculous looking - men for your entertainment. And then I spotted a young man who looked a lot like Morgan. I pointed out the likeness, and your reply was eloquent and graceful.
"Who? Oh..." you trailed off as I pointed. "Uh...um, yeah,...he...well, he's certainly..." For the next hour, from my chair beside and slightly behind yours, I noticed that behind your mirrored sunglasses, you were taking note of this Adonis every time he got in or out of the pool, dried himself off, or spread sunscreen on himself. You weren't alone: Every female at the pool from 18 to 80 was ogling him. (I mean literally; the little grandmother from Connecticut was practically drooling when he was applying the Coppertone.)
WIthin an hour and a half of him getting there, you were dragging me off to the room where, in a wonderful reversal, you wasted no time in stripping off both of our bathing suits and pushing me onto the bed. I thought briefly about asking you what got you so hot, whether the young god by the pool stirred up your memories of Morgan, or whether you were imagining Morgan, or the pool stud, or both were ravishing you.
But I didn't open my mouth, other than to kiss your heated lips or to lick and suck between your legs. I just kept my silence, thanked God for the bounty without asking too many questions, and did all I could to give you a couple of orgasms before I finally slipped myself into your wet heat. Not surprisingly, this was not one of my best performances. By the time I got inside you, I was so turned on I was cumming within the first ten strokes. This time, though, I did catch just a momentary look of frustration on your face, even though I'd done my best to please you first.
And that's when this seed was first planted.
**********
When you experienced a resurgence of sexual desire, and a willingness to explore the world of erotic writing and pleasures with me, I was the happiest man in the world. I was walking a balance beam: I didn't want to scare you back into a shell, but I was eager to explore new things with you.
There were certain things I knew were off-limits: "Bathroom" stories, incest, violence, and a few other categories. We actively browsed sexual toys on line, and I encouraged you to find Literotica articles that turned you on, so I could get an idea of what I could write for you. I was finding my stride in writing erotica, and I was even more eager to write for you, my long-time lover and wife, than I was for strangers, And from a couple of observations, I finally deduced what might just fuel your fires, and bring your heat to the next level. That, with some careful coaxing, and a barrage of questions from you and assurances from me, led us to this moment.
**********
