You know what they say about sweet kisses and the taste of wine. Well, I will tell you my wife's kisses are genuinely intoxicating. I know it sounds cornball, but I do actually get drunk on those sweet, sweet kisses that she gives me while our bodies are pushed tight against one another and I can feel her heart beating against my bare chest. It was not the kisses that did it, but the view that came just before them. Like a painting of the Rockies, her scenery is spectacular and her topography is magnificent, and like Julie Andrews sang, her hills are alive with the sound of music.
Yes, I am smitten. Claire is what I have always thought the perfect marriage partner would look like. She is a couple of inches above five feet tall, with long blond hair, a Michelle Williams smile, a body with just the right amount of curves to keep your attention, and a playful attitude about sex that makes her a perfect bedmate. I knew shortly after first meeting her that I wanted her to know me better. I knew her well enough from just a few minutes of being around her, but I was sure I wanted to be around her quite a bit over the next few decades.
I asked her to marry me after six months of learning about her strengths and good points, her temperament and character, and she said yes, on one condition: that I promise to love her as she is, accepting her flaws and foibles. I said she would have to work at accepting mine more than the other way around. She said she had a blemish that would be hard for most men. I waited to hear about this terrible flaw. "I love sex and can't imagine not having intercourse with men I am not the wife of. In other words, I can't promise I will be faithful."
I listened, nodded, and said, "That's not a problem. It would be a shame to deny other men the pleasure of your sexual company." She looked at me a long time and smiled.
"How did I find someone like you?" she asked. "Are you sure?" she said. I told her I had long felt sex was not a good reason to marry, and that I felt feeling possessive was a catastrophe and it worked against a good trusting relationship.
"If you will love me," I said, "I can tolerate a great deal of latitude, and I can give you the liberty you want. Just promise to come back to me," I said. She kissed me, we cuddled, and made love. It was a gentle love, the kind that loving wives and husbands share. "I have read about Hot Wives and husbands who share, and I am willing to try it," I told her.
I asked her to tell me about some of the men she'd been with. She paused, thinking about what she was going to say. "Well, what do you want to know?" she asked, looking serious and introspective. I thought about it.
"Well, who was your first?" I asked, deciding on a way to go.
She quickly smiled. "That would be Marcus," she said. "He is a very nice person, good in bed, but he just isn't husband material. I had fun with Marcus," she said. "He taught me a lot." Then she looked away, dreamily. "He loved oral so very much. My, I had forgotten how good he was at eating pussy," she said with a wistful expression on her face. "He really did make a girl come nicely," she added.
"If you could have anyone of them, tomorrow, who would it be?" She thought for a minute and then looked at me and smiled.
"Wilson," she said thoughtfully, without even having to think about it. "Yes, Wilson. He is a very virile man," she said. "Wilson is very tall, very strong, and very black, but he can make a woman scream out her orgasm and cry for more. He is, what do you say, gifted in the equipment department," she said with an nostalgic smile. "Yes, Wilson would be my choice, if I could pick one to have again."
"Where does Wilson live?" I asked.
"Jamaica," she said. "I was on a holiday, and I stopped in Jamaica for a.... break. He was my break," she said with a laugh.
"He probably couldn't come here," I said. "You want to go to Jamaica? We could tour the islands and, see Wilson," I said. She brightened immediately.
"You would do that?" she asked. "You would take me to Wilson to fuck his West Indian brains out?"
