Freedom to Explore Sexuality

I will never forget the rude-awakening night when my wife told me she wanted the freedom to fuck whomever she wanted. Yes, she did use the correct grammar. She actually said, "I really would prefer more than one man. No offense, darling, but fucking only you is more than a little boring. You think you could handle my branching out in the sex department?" She looked at me with that how-could-you-refuse-me face and smiled coquettishly.

Of course, I was frankly stunned. I had no idea she was a libertine who wanted to have sex with multiples of people and would even come right out and ask me if I could manage such a thing. "You once said that monogamy might be somewhat overrated, right?"

I had once made such a statement, not realizing that my words might come flying back to haunt me at two hundred miles an hour like a runaway freight train. Being that I consider myself an academic, working as I do at a university, I began reading all I could find on open marriage, swinging, wife sharing, Hot Wives, and anything having to do with a woman's right to fuck whomever she likes, whenever she likes, and of course, for as long as she likes.

I read about cultures where the men share their wives with houseguests as a matter of courtesy, an offer of friendship and hospitality no man can turn down: the wife of the host. I read about cultures where men had multitudes of wives and traded them back and forth with other rich men like pieces of lended farm equipment.

I watched videos about desperate housewives who bedded the other wives' husbands like trading recipes or favorite outfits. I "studied" porn that dealt with husbands who, like football fans on Sunday, watched their wives being fucked by young bucks or black studs with organs big as salamis, and I read articles on monogamy and it's faults and flaws. I even studied polyamorous relationships and societies that practiced polygamy, religions and cults around the world.

What I learned was, if someone could think of something, there were people somewhere doing it. There were multiple person marriages, people who swapped partners, cultures where prostitution is legal, and communities where sister wives is the norm.

It was clear that sexual mores and activities vary from place to place and from time to time. Even within the groups that maintain they believe in fidelity, marital duplicity runs unchecked, almost as common as in societies that allow it. In other words, it pretty much doesn't make a difference what the society believes in regarding unfaithfulness in marriage. People do what people want.

I decided the most important thing was whether I could handle it as a husband, having my wife have the freedom to have sex with as many people as she wanted. Studying the issue didn't help me to decide what to do, it just seemed to confuse the matter and came down to whether I personally could cope.

When I told her what I had found out, she said, "Then there are other wives who want a license to fuck around?" I nodded and said there were quite a few. "So, are you up to it?" she asked. I told her I wasn't so sure. I then promised to try. I had told myself and I promised her that I would do my best 5o find a way to allow her the freedom to be who she was.

I vowed to do my best to find a way to accept what she wanted. I pledged my extreme effort to work hard to accommodate her desires. She kissed me and pledged to help me see the light. We slept in each other's arms without talking for the night, hoping to have the strength to get to where we needed to be.

When I finally came to the decision to tell her I was aboard, I whispered to her during sex that, "I was ready."

I wasn't absolutely sure that I was, but she needed me to be and I would do my damnedest to be there for her and be strong enough to handle what she wanted of me.

It was a week later that I got my test, when she brought her "choice" home to meet me. He was all I feared: tall, embarrassingly handsome, articulate, and disgustingly charming. His name was Grant, and he was, of course, a Harvard man. Disappointedly, he was also likable. She kissed him when she brought him into the room, then she took his arm and stood with him as we chatted.

He liked sports, played rugby, golf, and volleyball, and to my relief he was a Rams fan. She couldn't fuck a Patriots fan. I couldn't handle that. When they left the house I watched them get into his car, a Corvette, and kept watching until they turned the corner and disappeared from view. My wife was on her way to fuck throughout the night and I turned on the television to lose myself in football or some other mind numbing sport where I watched other people do what I no longer could. Almost like satisfying my wife. I realized it was a metaphor for doing what I was actually about to do: letting someone else takeover doing what I was no longer able to do.

During the game I could not concentrate on first downs, touchdowns, or extra points, and I simply couldn't keep my mind off what she was about to spend the night doing. If I closed my eyes, I saw her being fucked and fucked well. I saw her being eaten by a Harvard man who probably ate pussy like no one had ever done, probably fucked like a world champion about to win a gold metal in copulation. I began to find myself getting turned on by the images of my sweet little wife having her pussy filled by a man who undoubtedly had more than his share.

I browsed through a few old copies of favorite fantasy publications showing happy housewives being fornicated with by handsome extremely physically gifted men like Grant. I replaced the women in the pictures with Claire, imagining her being filled with cock extraordinaire, being eaten to explosive orgasms, and sucking huge cocks that produced buckets of pearly-white cum.

I saw my wife in the pictures with Adonises and I began letting them take me to fantasyland, hearing the squeals of my wife being pleasured by said Adonis and bitting on her lip as she tried to suppress an all-out scream. I imagined her sucking him to a world-class climax that had streams of semen shooting towards her mouth, which she caught and swallowed with artful, practiced glee.

What Claire did, Claire did well, and I knew she would do him like few could, and I knew he would want more of her. I also knew Claire wouldn't be satisfied with a one-night stand, and it would go on for many times until she tired of him and looked for a replacement. There would, I knew, be a replacement. That is what he is for her to me, a relief pitcher to take over in the ninth, to clean up for me when I couldn't get the batters out, when I couldn't do the job.

Claire came home at two and, of course, I was still up, still trying to "enjoy" her time away from me, to accept that another man's penis had been where up to now only mine had been. She smiled at me from the door to the bedroom, a smile that said, "Wow, I've just been thoroughly fucked by a Harvard man with the penis from heaven." I smiled back and put out my arms.

She came to me and undressed on the way. "I love you," she said and at that moment I knew she did and it was all all right. I was going to be okay with her fucking other men, as long as she returned to me. That was the secret. It all came down to her coming home to a husband she loved. I knew at that moment that I was fine, that I could allow my wife the freedom to fuck. I understood that she was still mine, even if other men were allowed to pleasure her in ways I no longer could.

It has been ten years since she went off with Grant, and yes, there have been other Grants, more than I want to remember, but for all those years she has returned to me every time, and we have made wonderful love after another man has left his seed in my loving wife's pussy.

It was not as hard as I feared. You can allow your wife the pleasure she seeks from other sources, and you can get her back as good as she was before, maybe even better.