Jess is the perfect wife. She's loving, supportive, funny, smart, interesting—and goddamn hot, too. We've known each other for seven years, been married for five, and I swear to God every day she just gets sexier.
So I'm nuts about her. Who wouldn't be? But that means other guys go nuts about her too. When she walks into a room the testosterone levels start to rise and their eyes all lock on her. It used to bother me, but not anymore, because I know Jess is all mine. She might enjoy being looked at by other men, might even flirt a little, but her heart belongs to me, just like mine belongs to her.
Which was why I was triple-thinking the whole idea as we sat down at the bar. We'd talked it out till we had cramps in our tongues and I'd approved...in theory. But now that it was happening, I was apprehensive. I mean, a little flirting is one thing, that can even be exciting, but she was here to do business.
It isn't what it sounds like. I'm not pimping my wife--that's in my fantasies only. But Jess and I had a problem, and we were here to solve it.
Having kids was going to be the icing on the cake for us. We'd planned on a few years of living large, then starting a family. Both of us had always wanted three kids, and a year ago the time was right for us to start having them. Problem was, she wasn't getting pregnant, and it wasn't for lack of trying. So finally we went to a fertility doctor, where we found out that my childhood case of scarlet fever had left me sterile. The dream of having kids was over.
So we had to decide what to do. We thought about adoption, but the waiting list was so long and the procedure so complicated we'd be old enought to be grandparents before we were ever parents. We could've paid some pregnant kid to give us her baby, but that was pretty shifty and if the girl stiffed us we'd be out some big money. So I brought up the topic of artificial insemination.
Jess wrinkled her nose. She wasn't for that at all. Number one, it just seemed so impersonal, and number two, you didn't really know whose sperm you were getting: the donors could be lying like rugs on the profiles they gave. I had to agree.
Then she said, "What about
real
insemination?"
I must've really looked stunned. She explained she didn't want to have an affair, but we could pick a guy and she'd let him fuck her and voilà, we'd be pregnant. She kept emphasizing that she didn't want to hurt me, till finally I blurted out the truth: I'd fantasized for years about watching her with another man. Then she was stunned, and then she told me she'd always fantasized about doing it with a black guy, and how did I feel about that?
I felt like a black baby would be hard to explain, that's how I felt. But there were ways we could make it work. We could say she'd chosen the guy's sperm and gotten artificially inseminated, or we could say she'd gone to be with the mother of the upcoming child during the pregnancy. Nobody had to know the mother would in fact be Jess.
So here we were in a posh dance club, staking out a place. Jess was dressed for success in a short black skirt and sleeveless white silk blouse. She wasn't obvious about it, but I knew every man in the room could tell that under the skirt were only her thigh-high stockings, and that the tits under the shirt were just ready to spring free from the skimpy bra that barely smoothed out her nipples. I had a hard-on and I had been looking at her the whole three hours I'd driven to get us here...I could imagine what it would be like for a stranger to see a hot bitch like her walk into the club dressed like that. Anybody who'd thought he needed Viagra before he came to the club had wasted a pill.
The people around us were dressed for a night on the town, most of them way more blantantly than Jess. But she had that aura about her that just screamed sexy, and she made all the women look like they were filmed in black-and-white. The guys were dressed for clubbing too, and some of them were pretty sexy. Jess was discreetly looking over them when an African-American man walked into the room and sucked the air right out of her lungs.
He was something else. Light-skinned and immaculately groomed, he was toned without being overly muscular. His facial features were handsome, but not bland. But it was his clothes that told the story. His white, short-sleeved shirt fit him like a caress, showing off his strong physique; a heavy gold watch--if it wasn't a Rolex it was a damn good fake--encircled his broad wrist; and he had on the most insane pair of pants I'd ever seen. They were black and vaguely shimmery, and the side seams were open, laced up with black laces, showing the smooth skin and contoured muscles underneath. The pants were tight across the front, too, letting his package speak for itself. It didn't seem like he was ridiculously hung--which was a stereotype anyway--but it was so put together that even a confirmed straight guy like me wouldn't have minded running my hand over it.
Jess's eyes flitted sideways to mine. I nodded, keeping my head straight forward, and watched out the corner of my eye as she pretended to need a napkin and leaned over the bar. Her nice round bottom raised up into the air, and--gotcha!--he saw it. I knew the rest would be cake.
The man sat a few seats down the bar, and it wasn't long before he was giving Jess the eye. She cast a little smile in his direction, and I muttered through my closed lips, "Buy him a drink."
"What? No way," she whispered like a ventriloquist. "
He
needs to buy
me
a drink."
