When my husband Jim came home with his friends, he must have thought I was at my yoga class, since I always was at this time of the day on a Tuesday. It had been cancelled, however, at the last minute because the teacher was sick, so in actuality I was in the basement, doing the laundry. Our daughter Hazel was at preschool. She's four years old.
The men went to the den, to talk, and to drink, even though it was 11am. They were the men of our social group, and I was good friends with their wives. I could hear them, because I had put the baby monitor in there. Our house is big, and if Hazel needed me when she was playing before it was time for school, I would hear her call for me via the baby monitor, if I were far away, such as in the bathroom doing my morning cosmetics routine. I still had the baby monitor with me, more out of habit than anything else, so the point is, I could hear every word they said.
The men were talking about sexy things their wives had done. I am a shy person, and have done nothing, so it was interesting to hear what the husbands thought sexy about their wives. When I heard their stories, I was shocked. Anyone would have considered such things sexy! Of course, Erin did not have kids yet, so greeting her husband when he came home wearing only panties was a possibility for her. To hear her husband Mike tell it, however, it was only the beginning of a lurid recounting.
Sally watched porn with her husband Brad, and when they liked a particular porn video, they tried to act it out themselves. Brad described in graphic detail just how flexible Sally can be. I consider myself flexible too, but I did not think I could touch my ears with my ankles to let Jim have "deep access." I'm sure you get the idea.
Matt said he had asked his wife Jessica to have some sexy pictures done professionally. Jess got carried away, and she posed for the photographer naked, and there was even a picture of her naked, with her legs splayed open, her pussy appearing to be soaking wet.
Matt said he had asked her if anything happened between her and the photographer, and she truthfully said no, explaining that the photographer was "over 50 years old," as if a man over 50 is incapable of sex! His wife later confessed that she got thoroughly stoned, and the photographer had her fuck his son, and he took a sequence of pictures of her getting laid.
"You were okay with that?" my husband Jim asked him, somewhat incredulously.
"Well, Jessica felt terrible about her infidelity. She said she simply got carried away," Matt replied. "She gets super horny when she's stoned, and she's capable of just about anything in such a state. Trust me, I know."
"What did you make her do to atone?" Brad asked.
"A lot. One hell of a lot. We now have a master-slave relationship, with bondage, the whole works. And I have one hell of a lot of sexy pictures of my wife on my computer, let me tell you!" came Matt's reply. Jesus Christ, I thought. Jessica is a sweetheart of a woman! Who would have thought?
When it came time for my husband to recount his tales of me, he had nothing to tell them. I felt bad for him, as if I had failed him, somehow. I could hear the preemptive sympathy in the voices of the other men, because everyone knew how shy, private, and uptight I was, and they all assumed we had never done anything even remotely like the other stories. I was happy that they thought I was a delightful person, at least. Kyle even said he thought I had a hot body, but I suspected he might have said that out of charity, to be kind to Jim.
To give you some idea of how uptight I was, I would not make love when Hazel was in the house, since I was worried she would catch us in the act and be traumatized for years to come. Jim told me she never wakes up when she is down for the night, and he was right, but still I could not do it. And when we did make love, it was straight sex, missionary position, every single time.
Our friends were right, but my husband surprised me. He surprised everyone.
My husband told them of one recent warm evening in the fall, when school was in session, and when we had a sitter and went to the movies, on a Tuesday. After the movie, he took me to the top of the local hill, called Lookout Point, where teenagers go to make out. We began to kiss, and one thing led to another and we both became hot and bothered. Since it was late on a school night, the place was deserted. We were alone there.
We both wanted to fuck, but the car was too cramped, especially because Jim (my husband) has a bad back, stemming from an old soccer injury. So, he took me outside the car, stripped me naked, leaned me against the nice warm hood of the car, and fucked me silly. When I came, I let out a scream to wake the dead.
His entire story was of course a fabrication, and I was aghast he would tell such a whopper, and about me, to boot. How would I be able to look our friends in the eye after a story like that? I was surprised, however, when all the men told him how hot his story was and how they would love to see his wife Rachel (that's me) naked and squirming in sexual pleasure. One man, Stan, said, "She's always so proper and always covered up. Inside that uptight woman there just has to be a sexpot wanting to go free. When you let loose a woman like that, look out! You're a lucky guy, Jim."
Matt said, "From now on, we're calling you Lucky Jim." I knew that was the title of some book I had once read in my college lit class. It suddenly came to me: Kingsley Amis was the author. I remembered thinking at the time that Kingsley was such a cool name. All the men chimed in, chanting, "Lucky Jim, Lucky Jim," until my husband had to stop them.
Matt, who has a deep bass voice, clamored for Jim to tell them another one. Jim told them of the time he took me to see one of those artsy movies they show at the multiplex on rare occasions. He knew I wanted to see it, which is why we went. It was the late show on a Wednesday night, and we had almost a private showing. One other couple was sitting near the front, and we were in the back.
He said he was glad he went, since there was plenty of sex, and lots of skin, and from now on when I want to see an art movie, he's ready to go! So far, the story was true, but I wondered where he was going with it? Then he said that I got turned on and randy, watching all the sex, and soon we were making out in the back row of the theater, while I kept one eye on the screen.
He slowly undressed me until I was wearing only panties, and then I gave him a blowjob, right there in the theater! Moreover, to avoid a mess, I swallowed his cum. It was the first time ever I had swallowed his cum. Well, he said I swallowed most of it anyway. Some of his cum dribbled down my chin and fell onto my boobs. Then he fingered me, and I stared straight at the screen, naked save for my panties, cum on my chin and boobs, and with my panties pushed to the side, his fingers deep inside my pussy.
At this point the men were amazed, but Jim said to wait, because there's one more detail. The man of the other couple watching the movie walked to the back to leave, presumably for the restroom, and I did nothing to cover up. He stopped walking and simply stared when he saw my cum decorated bare boobs hanging out. I still did nothing, I was just fixated on watching the screen while Jim's fingers were busy.
The man came to our row. We were seated near the aisle, so he got a close up and personal view of my boobs and my entire naked body, with Jim's fingers going crazy in my cunt. (Yes, Jim used the word cunt to describe my vagina to our friends.) He said, "Nice boobs, miss." And Jim told them I said, "Thank you," as a reply. Then the voyeur continued on his way to the bathroom, and a minute later I muffled a screaming orgasm.
I was stunned, even apoplectic, listening down in the basement. The only part of that story that was true was that Jim did indeed take me to the art movie as a present, and it was indeed sexy with lots of skin showing, and we were in fact alone with another couple in the theater. All the rest, the part about getting me naked, the blowjob, and the fingering, was a complete fabrication! I was horrified about what our friends would think about me.
I learned right away what they thought, because each and every one of the men said something to the effect of how amazingl I was, and that they only wished their wives could be like me. Matt emphasized that my behavior was especially "wonderful," since after having had a child and all, which often dampened one's sex life, it was all the more remarkable. The other men mumbled their agreement.
I was hopelessly embarrassed and equally furious at Jim. Even had his stories been true, it would have been an outrageous thing to do to tell them to our friends. I was beginning to plan out my tirade once our friends left.
Our friends stayed a long time, however, drinking and joking, and I was too ashamed to go upstairs and to greet them, and to view their eyes, which after Jim's stories, would inevitably be checking me out. They would probably undress me in their minds, imagining me in the roles Jim had described. So instead, I stayed in the basement, fuming. But all that time in the basement gave me enough time to cool off, and I began to feel sorry for Jim. I realized that he felt he had to go to extremes such as telling those giant whoppers, just to feel like a man and a macho husband.
The next day I called my sister and told her - in total confidence, of course - the story I had just related. She convinced me to change my behavior, but to do it slowly, and to try to get accustomed to things before I went too far. She had always wanted me to dress in a "more modern" way, as she put it. She described my style of dress as a cross between an Amish woman and a religious Mormon woman. "You don't have to dress like Lady Gaga, you know, there's an in-between ground," she said.
My sister suggested shirt dresses, and dresses that "looked as good when you're coming as they did when you're going," to wear plenty of lace, and a lot of red. Most of all, I needed better bras. My old, worn out, saggy bras did me no favors. She volunteered to take me shopping on Saturday. She also said I needed "courage pills" and she said she'd get some for me from her doctor.
I bought a whole new wardrobe that Saturday, one new outfit for each occasion. I was however much too uptight to wear them. On Monday, I wore the skin tight, red dress, to welcome Jim home when he came home from work. I had a taken a "courage pill," which was a prescription medicine called "Cebocap." It was about the only prescription drug on earth that claimed moderate alcohol consumption heightened the effect.
