I look at the allegedly straight tourist, his cheek sticky and shiny where he wiped off my excess cum before licking it off his fingers, and ask, "Your wife ever let you fuck her ass?"
The more rulebound amongst us might consider it a breach of etiquette to not address him by name, but my ostensibly reprehensible behavior might be excused because we didn't quite get around to exchanging names before the ... festivities ... unexpectedly escalated. And by "festivities" I mean, "he only wanted to touch my cock, and I just wanted a blowjob, and we compromised on me shooting so much cum in his mouth that he couldn't swallow it all."
Or, if you want it described from a more feminine perspective, "He had marital difficulties from his failure to empathize with his wife's perspective on what constitutes romance and seduction. And so we used role playing so he could experience first hand his wife's POV when orally pleasing the man she loved, but felt emotionally estranged from."
And yes, that sounds like a completely bullshit rationalization of him cheating on her, but it's actually a reasonably accurate portrayal of recent events, albeit missing some of the more graphic and physical aspects of his emotional education.
But I digress. Take two. Interior, mid-range hotel room in Waikiki, laying on the bed, me naked below the waist, him wearing a moderately loud Hawaiian shirt and black Calvin Klein underwear. Scene!
I imagine the clack of that clipboard they show in movie outtakes, even though it's real life and I'm this nerdy hot smart guy whose head just won't shut the fuck up with the interior monologue already:
"Your wife ever let you fuck her ass?"
He looks at me with his green eyes, with golden flecks in his irises that match the sunlight reflecting off the tiny blond hairs on his muscular but lean forearms. He languidly says with a hint of a Southern drawl, "I'm not gonna let you fuck my ass. That's going too far."
I feel my penis stiffen a bit when he says, "fuck my ass". My dick only understands strong action words.
He stares at that stiffening, his eyes narrowing.
"No, I mean literally. Have you ever fucked her ass?"
"Yeah, once."
"Why only once."
"She said it hurt too much. Says I'm too rough."
"What did you do, just try to jam it in?"
"Well ... sorta. Maybe. I was excited. I was fucking her doggy, and when I switched holes she started making these squeaky porn noises, like she was into it. Then she did that thing where she was butthurt for like a week afterwards because I didn't read her mind. She coulda said 'no'. Just one word. Instead I get a whole week of 'we need to talk' and 'why don't you listen to my needs?' "
"Soo ... did you?"
"What?"
"Did. You. Listen ... to her needs?"
He just stares at me, like I'm trying to explain particle physics to a Corgi.
"Porn ain't real life," I say. "Porn is usually written by guys who are, like, emotionally stunted. Women need to feel special, not like some Stepford Wives fuck doll that has to say yes to your every perverted whim."
He sighs. "I know. I just don't know what the fuck she wants sometimes. Do you and your wife get each other?"
"Mostly. If she starts making unhappy noises because I did something stupid or clueless, I make her laugh."
"I wish I could do that with my wife. We argue a lot about pointless shit."
"You just gotta get inside her head, understand what she's feeling. Tell you what, let's role play again. You're her, OK? And I'm you, but ... you know ..." I wave my hand vaguely, to indicate a massive increase in having game and good objection management skills.
He gives me this wary look. "No anal. Promise?"
"I promise I won't stick it in you."
He nods. "K."
"OK, lay on your stomach, head on the pillow. Having a romantic evening, wined and dined, I gave you a thoughtful card with hearts and shit on it ... you're all wet and receptive."
"Mm-hmm," my faux wife mutters into the pillow, 'her' eyes closed.
I straddle her legs, my semi-erect cock nestled between her muscular upper thighs. I massage her back through the Hawaiian shirt while she sighs softly. I lean down and kiss her neck and then an earlobe. I whisper in my best deep bedroom voice, "Hey, beautiful. You're such a sexy wife."
"Mmm. Feels so good. Rub my back some more."
I slip my hand under her shirt, do her lower back and sides, mostly rubbing but sliding my nails along her skin at unpredictable intervals.
"Hey. That tickles."
"More?"
"Yeah."
I tease my way to her shoulder blades, massaging them deeply, then lean forward and lay on top of her while my hands slide and massage down her outstretched arms, all the way to her fingertips. I'm rubbing her palms and she's squirming a bit with pleasure, my weight fully on her, my cock fully erect and poking at her underwear, pushing at the cleft of her buns.
She turns her head sideways to look me in the eyes. "Hey."
"Hmmm?"
"Don't get any ideas, buster."
"Can I help it if my wife's sexy body gets me hard?" I murmur into her ear, planting soft kisses along the outside of the lobe.
"You know what happened last time you did this."
"I won't do ... that. I promise." I start kneading back up her arms, easing my weight off her in the process, but my cock pressing harder against her butt.
"Hey! You have a funny way of proving that."
I sit up so I'm straddling her upper thighs again. "Is it OK to rub it against your pussy, baby?"
"Just there. Not ... you know."
"OK. Can I take your panties off?" I say, already tugging them part way down her firm buns.
She reaches back and lightly slaps my tugging hands. "You gotta do exactly what I say, be a good husband."
