All's Well That Ends Well?

PART 1

I could tell something was on Marissa's mind as soon as I came in the door. "Hi sweetheart," she called from the kitchen, turning and giving me a big kiss as soon as I put my briefcase down. But she looked a little flushed and she turned away from me without ever quite looking me in the eye.

All through dinner, as she chattered away about her day, or listened to me sharing the latest gossip from my office, there was a nervous edge that was hard to miss. Marissa and I had been married more than four years, and I knew her well enough to know that something was up.

After dinner she brought me a second cup of coffee, then sat across the table with an earnest look on her face. "Honey, can I talk to you about something?"

I nodded and she said, "I need to ask you to do our 'thinking thing,' okay? Don't respond right away."

What she meant by our 'thinking thing' was something we'd learned during a counseling session we had, a few months before we got married. Both Marissa and I were a bit impulsive; we tended to react quickly and, at times, get mad quickly. Our courtship was passionate but full of arguments, some of them nasty ones. We finally decided that if our relationship was going to survive, we'd need some help. Our counselor, Dan Ellman, taught us to "take a moment": when we were angry, just sit back and wait, think for a few moments, before bursting out with an enraged response. Sometimes the 'thinking' lasted just a couple of minutes; at other times one of us would wait until the next day to reply.

He also taught us both to ask the question of ourselves, when we were angry, "What's more important? The thing you're fighting about right now, or the person you care about so much?" And of course, we both could see that the answer was always "the person." It may sound hokey, but these tricks had helped us a lot.

So I said, "Okay, Mare--tell me what's on your mind, and I'll think before I say anything."

She leaned forward and took my hand. "First, Simon, this is the most important thing. Don't EVER forget this. I love you, more than I've ever loved anyone. I love being your wife, and I will never ever leave you, okay?"

Jesus--THAT sounded alarming! But she pressed right on. "I've been feeling--thinking that--shit, I don't know how to say it. I've been feeling, uh, frustrated about our sex life, and--"

"YOU'VE been feeling frustrated? Wait just one minute, I--"

"Simon!" Her voice was sharp. "The 'thinking game,' right? You promised. This won't be easy, but please--sit and listen, and give me a chance."

"Sorry, you're right. I'll shut up," I said, swallowing my angry words.

"Honey," she said more quietly, "I know a lot of it is my fault; I know I'm not always as open or receptive as you want me to be."

I kept my mouth shut, but barely. Goddam right a lot of it was her fault! I loved Marissa with all my heart, and I never regretted marrying her; but our sex life was on the disappointing side of ordinary. She didn't want sex more than about once every ten days, and I had to work hard at it to get her up to once a week. Just as bad, she was firmly vanilla: I got a blow job twice a year, on our anniversary and my birthday, and even then she did it reluctantly and managed to make me feel thoroughly guilty about it.

She was equally reluctant to let me go down on her, which I would have loved to do at least three times a week. She'd either flatly refuse, or make me feel like I was mildly perverted for doing it. She'd never let me go on long enough to bring her to an orgasm; and then she'd never let me kiss her afterwards, claiming it was disgusting.

Look--as any happily married man knows (and probably the unhappy ones too), it's not all about sex. I loved my life with Marissa: her beauty, her great sense of fun and adventure (just not in the bedroom!), her loyalty and devotion to me, her kindness. Yes, I wanted more and better sex; but I understood that it just wasn't in the cards. And on balance, the deal I had was more than worth it, even if I jacked off to porn in my study a lot more than I wanted to, and fucked my wife a lot less.

So I sat and listened as she continued--and I didn't much like what I heard.

"I know I've always been a goody-two-shoes about sex, Simon. Hell, you know my mom, so it's not hard to figure out where I got it from.

"But lately, I've--I don't know, been feeling restless, not horny exactly but...something. Like needing to try something, get out of the rut we're in. Or the rut I'M in. I know it partly has to do with hanging out with Sherry and Susie and the others."

About a year earlier, Marissa moved to a new real estate firm, where she sold residential properties. There was a lively group of women there and in no time she had a new group of friends. They got in the habit of going out for a regular Friday happy hour, which seemed like the highlight of Marissa's week. I knew the women slightly--some were married, two divorced and two others single.

"Anyway, Simon, I--" She stopped, looking at me to make sure I wasn't about to yell at her.

"I don't want you to think this comes from them, because it doesn't. Although talking with them about, you know, sex, plays a part in it.

"What it is, is--Simon, I want to try to open up our sex lives a little. I want to try a little experimenting with other men, and I want to bring the excitement home to you and make our sex life together as great as it can be."

She stopped, no doubt waiting for my explosion. I opened my mouth to shout--then managed to shut it again. I'd promised to just listen and that's what I was going to do, though my blood was pumping furiously through my veins.

"I'm not talking about an affair, nothing like that. Just casual, no-strings sex with a few other men. One-night stands. Or maybe, if I find somebody I like, two or three times. But no romance, no commitment, nothing that could ever be a threat to what you and I have. I adore you! And remember the first thing I said: I LOVE YOU, totally, and I'm never going to stop being your loving wife.

"I think I could loosen up a bit this way, in a way I've never been able to do with you. And I think we'll both get the benefit of it. Baby, this isn't something for me alone--I know you're disappointed in our sex life and I want to put a charge into it."

She stopped, watching me warily. She actually seemed amazed that I wasn't tearing into her, or even stomping out of the room.

"One more thing--this isn't about cutting you off or anything crazy like that. We'll have at least as much sex as we do now. More, probably, because I think this is going to get me really revved-up. That's the point. I want to have more fun with sex, more fun with you. I love you, Simon!"

She squeezed my hand, and then sat back. She looked nervous and sort of exhausted, like she'd just hiked up a steep hill.

Silence. Then finally I said, "Okay, Mare. I think I better do quite a bit of thinking before I reply. Tomorrow after dinner, all right?" And without waiting for her answer I stood up and left the kitchen.

********

I sat in my study with the door closed for nearly three hours. Shocked, really. I loved Mare, but I would never have expected her to approach me about fucking other guys! I actually expected we'd live together our whole lives--with a boring sex life, but happily.

I knew that her "gang of six" from the office had something to do with this. Sherry and Susie in particular were pretty round-heeled. Sherry was single and seemed to go through boyfriends like Kleenex; Susie had been divorced twice, and the word was she'd been caught cheating both times. It wasn't hard to imagine their filling Marissa's head with the joys of new cocks.

You might think that my first thought would be an enraged "No fuckin' way--my wife is not going to make me a cuckold! You want to go that way, there's the door, bitch!"

And in fact that was my first thought; it was pretty much all I could think about for the first hour or so, until I started to calm down.

As I grew calmer, I had a few more rational thoughts. One was that I certainly liked the possibility of Marissa becoming a more open sexual partner. I liked the idea of sex more than once every 7-10 days, and oral as a regular part of the menu. I'd like to see her in sexy stockings or a bustier occasionally, and maybe to play with a sex toy once in a while.

I also believed Marissa that it would be "just sex" with the other men. At least, I believed that SHE believed that. But whether it would stay that way was an open question. What if she and some guy really hit it off? What if the sex was fabulous, mind-blowing? What if some great-looking guy decided she was the girl for him and put on a full-court press?

And I had another thought, somewhere in there: about Diana. Diana my boss's assistant--Diana, the 24-year with the long dark hair who flirted with me pretty much every time she saw me. Who liked to tell me she was between boyfriends, and sure wished I was available. Did Marissa's plan include me going out and getting some fresh pussy while she was trying on some new cocks?

I would absolutely never have touched her, or any other woman for that matter. Marriage meant faithfulness to me, period. But what Marissa had asked me pretty much blew up all my previous thoughts about what our marriage was going to be.

By the time I finally left the study and went to bed, Marissa was asleep. I'd sat up until well after 11:30 making plans. One thing was for sure: the unquestioned trust I'd had in my wife was now a thing of the past. Whatever we did or didn't agree to do, going forward, I was going to be a far more watchful husband than I had ever been before.

********

In the morning we had a slightly tense breakfast; I played it cool, sticking to neutral subjects, while Mare kept watching me, alert to any signs of how I was thinking, wondering if an explosion was coming.

I grabbed my bag, said, "See you tonight, honey!" in a cheerful voice, gave her my usual kiss--nothing more, nothing less--and headed to work.

My best friend from college, Rodney Dart, was a security consultant for one of the big oil companies in town. I took him out for a long lunch, explained about the Molotov cocktail Marissa had just tossed into my marriage, and begged for his help. I also gave him my keys: to the house, and my extra set to Marissa's car.

By the time I got home, extra-early to be sure I'd be there before Marissa, his guys had done their work. There were mini-microphones hidden in every room, linked to a recorder in the basement, and a tap on the phone. There was also supposed to be a recorder under the seat of Marissa's car--I'd check that later. Just as promised, my keys were under the mat on the back deck.

I decided on the spur of the moment I'd wait another day to talk to Marissa about her "plan." Frankly, I hoped I'd get something from the recorders to give me a better sense of what was in her mind. She had to know I'd be furious, at least at first. I couldn't help guessing that her friends had filled her head with stories about the joys of casual sex.

When Mare and I were at dinner I kept things light, as if there was no elephant in the room.

Finally she looked at me and said, "Honey, are you--are you ready to talk about what I said last night?"

"Mare, you were right to remind me about the 'thinking game,' and frankly I'm not ready yet to talk to you. That was a pretty big shock you laid on me, and I don't want to say something I'll regret."

She came to me and sat down on my lap, curling her arms around me. "Okay, I guess. But I don't want you EVER to forget the biggest thing of all, okay?"

I smiled and kissed her. "I know: you love me. No, you LOVE me. Right?"

She laughed and kissed me back. "Right. You and only you. And we are going to be together forever. Now come with me."

Smiling, she pulled me by the hand into the bedroom, sat me down on the side of the bed, and started taking my clothes off, interrupting her actions for some loving kisses. The sex that followed was a little less vanilla than usual: without my even asking Marissa kneeled between my legs and blew me for several minutes, taking her time more than ever before, even licking my balls briefly.

She didn't let me finish in her mouth, but that was all right; instead she climbed up on me cowgirl-style and rode me, letting me caress and pinch her breasts for a while until she fell forward with her head on my shoulder and fucked me hard. It was some of the best sex we'd had in a while.

When it was over and we were cuddling together, half-watching an old "Law & Order" rerun, I felt a tiny bit calmer. I knew that reassuring me was a big part of why Marissa had gone all out (or at least all out by her standards)--but that didn't mean it didn't work, at least up to a point.

But it didn't stop me from doing what I'd planned to do, late the next morning. I took a long lunch from work. First I drove over to Marissa's office parking lot. Making sure I couldn't be seen from her office, I took the flash drive from the recorder under her front seat and replaced it with a blank one. Then I drove home, got the recordings from the basement, and headed back to work. I figured there was a good chance Mare might have called one of her buddies, either from the house or from her car, and I needed to know if there was anything she hadn't yet told me.

********

There was. Quite a bit in fact. I heard a ten-minute call she made to Sherrie from the house after I left for work, and then a shorter one from the car to Susie. And the long and the short of it was that Marissa's "new cocks" plan was quite a bit further along than she'd bothered to share with me.

To be exact, it was precisely two cocks further along.

PART TWO

All of a sudden everything was different. I still loved Mare--at least I thought I did--but I didn't trust her anymore. It's one thing to come to your husband and say, "Honey, we need to charge things up--could we talk about me having sex with other men?" That's a lot to lay on a guy, but at least it's honest. And it leaves open the possibility of the husband saying, "fuck no--not on your life!"

But it's quite another thing to have that conversation when you've already begun your exploring, with the help of your slut friends. Mare had hooked up with two guys, both thanks to Sherrie who'd made the introductions. Mare had fucked them both, and given the second one a blow job. Seems the first guy was a selfish asshole who didn't take his time; Mare, being a nervous first-time adulteress, had hated it. But Sherrie had talked her into a second try, with Rowan, and that had been a big success. On the recordings I heard Mare giggle, telling Sherrie that Rowan had "rocked her world" and that she couldn't wait to do him again.

I was beyond livid. I spent the afternoon in my office with the door closed, ignoring calls and messages, occasionally cursing, thinking hard.

I knew that I could simply dump the fucking cunt. And that with the recordings in hand, a divorce would be no problem, on advantageous terms for me. The trouble was that I wasn't sure. I was too stunned to have any clear sense of what I wanted.

No, that's not true. I couldn't see past my immediate desire, which was to put the fucking fear of God into my whore of a wife. Who I still loved--worse luck for me.

And who clearly had been led down a particular garden path by some friends who had the world's worst judgment when it came to relationships.

So--as they say, one step at a time. No big decisions, just the small, immediate ones. I didn't have to figure out the next year or the next ten years of my life. Just what I was going to say to Marissa at dinner.

I decided to put all my rage and frustration aside. Or rather, since there's no way I could do that, at least to hide it. I'd try to be patient and thoughtful, and see what I could find out. I was going to do the world's best goddam acting job ever seen.

I left work a little early and surprised her at home with take-out Chinese, which was her favorite. I'd set the table and used the pretty napkins she liked, put out beer glasses, etc. Everything to set a warm, loving mood.

She thanked me with a big kiss and a hug and we enjoyed the dinner, smiling and holding hands a lot. I'm sure she wondered about what I'd have to say to her but was feeling good about the signals she was getting.

I led her into the living room after we cleaned up the kitchen, and we settled together on the couch. "Time for a talk, I guess--OK?"

She nodded, a big smile on her face. "Yes, Simon--and thank you for doing the 'thinking thing.' I know I must have really shocked you the other night, and maybe even worried you." She leaned forward. "But I want you to remember--"

I interrupted her. "I know, babe. You LOVE me, and you'll never leave me. Right?"

She nodded, and leaned over to kiss me, her arms around my neck. Then she sat back, looking happy and relaxed. (Maybe even a little smug?)

"Okay," I said, "mostly I have a lot of questions. As you can imagine, I've been doing a lot of thinking about this. So, first: is this 'experimenting' just for you? Or do I get to go out and have sex with other women?"

Silence. Mare looked uneasy. I couldn't believe this hadn't occurred to her, but she seemed totally buffaloed.

"I don't--wow, Simon. I don't know. I guess I, well--"

She leaned forward, earnestly. "I guess I thought that it was me that needed to do the exploring, to loosen up and open up sexually, so I'd be a better lover for you. We both know that I'm the more inhibited one."

This was certainly true.

"But is that really fair?" I pressed her. "For me to stay at home, or go bowling or whatever, while you're out having sex with other men? Would it be fair that I get less sex while you get more--plus the fun of trying out some new cocks?"

"But Simon," she said, clearly frustrated, "you'll be getting more sex too. I promise: this is really going to fire me up, and I'll want us to make love a lot more."

I smiled, as if this were just a friendly conversation. "But it would still be you getting more than me, right? I mean, all my sex would be with you, but in addition you'd be getting laid, what, 2 or 3 extra times a week?"

Somewhat testily she said, "No, it wouldn't be that often, probably. I really don't think you're focusing on the point, Simon. The POINT is that I need to open up sexually."

"And you can't or won't do it with me--yes, I get it, Mare. How about we try the 'thinking game' on this one, all right? I can tell you're getting upset, so let's just put this aside and come back to it when you're calmer."

She took a deep breath, then nodded. "Okay, yes--I'm sorry. You were so patient the other night; I'll try to calm down."

"Can I ask my other questions?" I said, and she nodded. The look in her eyes made clear she understood by now that this wasn't going to be a fun conversation.

"I know you said that the other guys were only going to be for sex, and only once or twice each. That they'd be no threat to us, to our marriage. But that doesn't mean I don't worry about it.

"I mean, what if you meet a guy and the sparks fly? What if he's a fantastic fuck, way better than me? What if somebody really rocks your world?"

Her eyes widened in alarm, as she heard me say the same words she used to describe Rowan to her friend Sherrie.

"Honey, it--" she stammered, looking hesitant. "It's not going to be like that, I promise. I love the way we make love, and nothing is going to change that. I mean, even if ... even if some other guy is, uh, good sexually, it'll still be just sex."

"Oh? And what if he's terrific? What if he gives you more pleasure, more orgasms, than I've ever managed? And your 2 or 3 times turns into 6 or 8, or 15, just because you're having such a good time."