He came right out and asked me if my wife would fuck other people, and I told him no. "Don't be so sure," he said. "Often the husband is the last to know. I told her a few days later, as we lay in bed, what Jake had said, and she was quiet for a minute.
"What did you tell him?" she asked quietly. I told her I said she would not. "He said the husbands were often the last to know," I told her.
"He is right, you know," she replied softly. "You are the last to know. We wives keep it from you on purpose. Some of us don't know ourselves," she said without emotion. "Some of us learn we will when it happens," she said. "Most women will," she added. "Many of us want to, but we keep that hidden from you and even ourselves. You would be surprised what we think about, wonder about, and secretly want to do."
"Do you?" I asked.
"Of course," she answered quietly. "With the right man. I think about it often," she confessed honestly. "My secret garden is just like every other woman's," she said as open and honest as she had her ever been. "I even have a few candidates," she said turning to face me. "You want to know who they are?"
I hesitated, then told her I did, although I wasn't sure I actually wanted to hear. "Randy," she said.
"My brother?" I said.
"Always have," she said. "I usually fantasize about him about once a week."
"Why are you telling me this now?" I asked.
"Because I thought it was time," she said without hesitation. "I decided you deserved to know the person you married. I figured it was only fair. You should be able to understand how I really feel about things." She paused. "You deserve to know what I am thinking. What I really want to do. You telling me what Jake said was the perfect excuse. He is right. Most women want to be fucked by a handsome stranger, to be taken and ravished, to be fucked and desired and romanced by someone other than their husbands. Most women dream about it. I know I do. Usually every night. I have wanted to be fucked by Randy since before we were married. How are you taking this?" she asked.
I told her I was surprised, even shocked. I said I wasn't prepared for it. "So you want him to fuck you?"
"Oh yes," she offered honestly. "I would tonight if he were here. I would fuck him in front of you, kind of like an initiation, to let you see who I am, who I have kept you from knowing. I would like to be ravished, to be fucked hard and fast. I'd like to suck him off for you to see, to show you what I want." She paused. "I'd like you to know what kind of slut you married. I'd like to fuck many men, try many dicks. I have kept her hidden from you. I have been the good wife, the shy lover, but I want to be the whore who fucks whoever she wants, as many times as she wants, and as often as she wants."
Over the next few weeks it was all I thought about, my wife saying she wanted to fuck other people. She had named my brother, but she had also gone on to include other people: my best friend, some men from her work, and a friend or two from her past. She had calmly said she often fantasized about fucking men who made her panties wet, men who made her pussy tingle. I could not stop thinking about what I didn't know about her. She had said she wanted to be fucked by a black man, a fellow with a large cock, and someone she had just met the night they went to bed for the first time.
She had confessed reading stories about shared wives, about women who had affairs, and women who fucked other women. I was stunned, astonished by what little I knew of the person who slept next to me each night, about what was going on in the privacy of her mind. Were most women as duplicitous, as secretive about their inner desires? Was I? Of course i was. I fantasized about secret things that went on in my private thoughts, and I didn't share them with the world, with my wife, or with anyone.