Why is sex the only thing you can't share? You can share stories, share favorite books, lawnmowers, sports jackets, cars you drive, favorite meals, jewelry, or even ideas. Why not wives? Some cultures do. Many do, in fact. A man in many parts of the world may share his bride with a houseguest, as a courtesy, a gesture of good manners. Why not here? It made no sense.
I've had this desire to share my wife with friends for years, and I told her one night after sex, but she got annoyed, indignant, offended, even hurt. "But I love you so much I want others to appreciate you," I said, not going into detail about my obvious cuckold orientation.
"I am not a whore," she protested.
"I am not proposing we charge a fee," I said with a awkward smile, trying for humor. "Just that you would fuck my friends. It would be like a common courtesy," I argued, repeating what I had thought before. "You would show them a good time, like you do when you cook a fine meal and have friends over, or offer to help them move, or loan them money, and we share something with them." But she didn't see the parallels. She was so pissed off that she didn't speak to me for a week, so outraged and insulted by my proposal, but finally she started to soften and she even brought up the subject a few days later. Clearly, she had been thinking about it a lot. I had planted the seed, and it had begun to germinate.
"I guess it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world," she said one night about two weeks after I had suggested that we share her sexual talents with friends. I found out later she had been thinking about it every night after I brought up the idea she entertain some other guys. She even confessed she had masturbated to the idea, imagining in her head what it would be like. It seems I had hit a weak spot and, in fact, she had thought about doing just what I had suggested even before I mentioned it, but it had been in the privacy of her sexual fantasies and my bringing it to the surface had threatened her, brought her secret desires up and even created the possibly of exposing them. When I finally got her to talk about it, she admitted that she had thought about it before.
It was simply the most liberating night of our marriage, maybe of my life, the evening I got her to acknowledge her sexual fantasies and desires. It seemed to liberate her, to make her happy she finally felt comfortable enough to share them with me. She explained she had started in college, thinking about sex with strangers. Then after we began seeing one another, she said she even thought of some of my friends, though she wouldn't tell me just who.
"Ever think about other things," I asked, "like sex with women?"
"Oh, god. I couldn't even be around Celeste," she confessed with a revealing smile, "without getting wet panties." She told me about fantasies she'd had about her roommates in college, about pleasuring herself to images of her friends while she was in bed, under the covers, telling me things that she never would have before admitting she may be open to being shared. It was remarkable how different she had become after I had asked her about the possibility of my offering her to other men.
Clearly the idea now interested her. She was like a new person. Her face was flush as we talked and her smile showed she was visibly turned on by the subject of fucking others. Her voice was also huskier and her breathing was elevated. My demur little wife was now unquestionably considering my proposal of sex with other people.
"So you may agree to let yourself be shared?" I finally asked, trying to be sure where she was going with it.
"Well, I am not sure, but it is not impossible," she said softly, grinning, looking more interested than not. Her smile and tone of voice saying clearly she might not be totally against it. "I am not a frigid female," she said. "There is some fire in the stove still. All someone has to do is blow on the coals," she said with a chuckle. "My bisexual fantasies seem to interest you. Am I right?"
I put my arms around her and pulled her close, pulling her pelvis against mine. "I love them," I said.
"You would share me with another woman?" she asked.
"Undoubtedly," I said.
"I hope that means yes."
"That means in a New York minute," I replied. "It means it would be the World Series, the Olympics, and the Super Bowl. It would be The Greatest Show on Earth, my dear. You offering?"
Her smile told me she was sincerely thinking about it. Her cheeks got red and her neck flushed, all the things that happened to her when she was in full rut seemed to come to the surface all at the same time. She was a sexual tigress and all at once remembering things she had done, exciting things, lustful things, uninhibited things that she wanted to do again.
I kissed her and we made love. It was the most exciting sex we'd ever had, and she cried out, orgasm after orgasm, each one exploding from her like a geyser, tightening her body like a spoke, creating groans in her throat and rolling from deep in her, causing her breathing to come in waves.
"Wow," she said when the last one subsided. "That was fantastic. Is that what it's going to be like?" she asked as we cuddled. I kissed her and said it might. "Well, what did I wait so long for?" she asked.
"Tell me about the best sex you've ever had," I said. She looked at me strangely, as if she could hardly believe what I had asked. "Really," I said. "What is the best you have ever had? In college, high school, what? Did he have a big dick, or was it with a woman? Tell me how many guys have fucked you? Have you ever let two guys fuck you at the same time?"
