I gave Claire the choice. "Where would you like to go or what would you like to do for your 25th wedding anniversary?" She didn't hesitate, didn't blink, didn't even have to think.
"Paris, Jamaica, or Denzel Washington," she said without even pausing and just the hint of a smile. "If you can't get Denzel, I'll take your college friend Henry Jacobs," she said with the same grin. "If you can't afford Paris or Jamaica, just go right to Big Henry," she said, still beaming. "I been faithful for twenty-five years," she added, this time with a smirk. "That's long enough. A girl can't wait forever," she said.
I was stunned by my wife's boldness, and must have looked like I was just hit by a train, because she quickly added, "Oh, put your teeth back in your mouth, you know you would give your right arm to fuck any one of ten housewives we have flitting around you in their tight and brief little outfits. Don't even try to deny it, because just the look on your face tells me it is true. Right?"
Sheepishly, I accepted it privately. Probably both arms, I thought. "Of course not," I protested weakly. "I only dream of you, baby," I said, trying my hardest to be convincing but failing.
"Horse pudding," she scoffed. "You gaze at those men's magazines like a horn dog in heat. You'd sell my soul for a handjob," she quipped with a stare that said she knew I was bluffing. "Paris, Jamaica, or Henry," she said with a poker face that I knew was serious. "Oh, and while in Paris or Jamaica, I want a hall pass that enables me to do a Frenchman or a big Jamaican with no limitations, no interference, and no conditions. Henry is the cheapest of the three," she added with a leer that could cut glass.
It must have been the look on my face, but she then said, "Twenty-five years of cooking your meals and cleaning your house should be worth a rump in the hay with a black man, one gifted in the manhood department," she said, "don't you think?"
I could not even stutter out an answer. She had never been so assertive, so sexual, so candid, so much in control. She sounded just like her friend Olivia, I thought, and I pictured my wife's best friend standing with her fists on each hip, daring me to object. I knew the two of them had been together many times lately, so I figured her new attitude had a little help from her strong-willed friend.
But she was right, my fantasy world was certainly active, lusty, and uncensored. Yes, she had talked once about how some people open up their marriages these days, how that might be interesting. I didn't take her very seriously, however, because she didn't pursue it, but I realized after her anniversary request that she had been a lot more resolved than I had thought. Yes, she always was very willing to try new things, even more than I was. She is more liberal, even more sexually adventurous than I am, and she's much more inclined to accept contemporary ideas than I will. Claire just is simply more of a hedonist than I am.
It shouldn't have surprised me, but it did hit me like a bolt of lightning, made me think I didn't really know my wife like I thought. She had, over the years, kidded about sex with men with large equipment, but I just thought she was joking around, but now I realized she wasn't kidding at all. Interracial sex did seem to interest her more than I had ever realized or admitted. That was now evident. It clearly seemed just that simple. Her requesting sex with my friend Henry was no gag. She was not fooling around, not kidding, not just being facetious. I had to understand that my wife really wanted sex with him, yearned for a big black dick and she seemed determined to get one.
"You're serious?" I said inanely, sounding like an incredibly dense and clueless husband who was the last to know.
"As a case of cancer," she said. "Get on the phone, tell Henry your wife wants a little black cock," she said. "More correctly, a big black dick in her little, lily white pussy." I had never even heard her say the word pussy before. I was stunned.
A strange thing began happening, however. I starting thinking about it constantly over the next few weeks. Her with Denzel, or Henry, or anybody else became my favorite masturbatory fantasy. More than me with her hot sister, my usual go-to fantasy, or Michelle Williams, or Charlize Theron, or anyone else, in fact. Thinking of her with someone else dominated my dreams, my erotic musings, my imagination.
I couldn't stop thinking of her fucking another guy, especially someone of color and with a very large salami in his pants. I would picture her white pussy with a big, black, erect cock sliding into it repeatedly. I had never realized I was the kind of guy who would be turned on by thoughts of his wife getting fucked, but the evidence was clear, and it was undeniable. It became a constant turn on. I thought about it in the morning, during the day, as I was laying next to her at night, even as we were having sex I pictured her fucking someone else, usually Henry.
I had wanted her 25th to be memorable, and here was the obvious answer staring me right in the face. She would never forget it, that was sure. I would never forget it, that was indisputable.
