Confession 48

I don't know what started me having the absurd fantasies about Gina-certainly nothing comes to mind when I think back to it now. We were just a normal couple: we were dating for a year before we moved in together; then lived together for two years before I asked her to marry me; then married within a year of that. There was never any doubt that we were in love, but there was no need to rush. We had our whole lives to spend together.

The wedding was a grand affair in the Surrey countryside, something we wouldn't have been able to afford on our meagre salaries. Her dad had put up most of the money. He was a lawyer and he'd done well over the years. "I'm happy to pay for it, and you guys would never be able to afford anything like this!" he'd said, a clear dig at me.

He had no problem at all that his daughter had become a teacher. He was proud of her for that. But he had expected more from her choice of husband: he had expected someone rich, powerful, important.

I was just an insurance salesman. I'd started in the company when I'd left school and it had never occurred to me to move up or move on, or even that there might be something better out there.

I could understand why he wanted better for Gina. And it was obvious she could do much better if she wanted to. She's kind and she's smart and she's sweet. She's also beautiful. She's short at 5"2', slender, dainty. Her hair is jet black-completely natural-and hangs around her shoulders. She has dark, lively eyes, a small nose and a thin mouth.

I've always thought she looks like Winona Ryder (or, for the younger readers, Krysten Ritter).

She also has an incredible body, lithe and supple. Her boobs are perfect little fleshy handfuls, her legs toned, her stomach flat and firm. She doesn't work out at all or carefully monitor her diet: she's just got great genes and an exceptional metabolism.

No one else knows any of this about her. She dresses for practicality rather than for show. She doesn't spend hours applying make-up (and of course there's no need for it at the primary school where she works). Most days, she throws on something comfortable, bunches her hair into a ponytail, and puts on her work glasses.

To most people who see her, she must look like a typical suburban mum (though of course we don't have kids, and have never wanted them).

Maybe that's where all the depraved fantasies started: me wondering what would happen if people knew how good she looked in her sexiest clothes. Or if they could in any way conceive how amazing she looked when she was naked, wearing nothing except the little pink butterfly tattooed to her hip.

It certainly didn't come from any kind of lack of sex. There was no problem at all with our sex life. We'd been together five years and still we were having sex once or twice a month.

I can't even claim that I'm after something more, or that Gina isn't adventurous enough. She's never said no to any of my suggestions in the bedroom-even the time I wanted to try out some unusual positions (which hadn't been great in the end-I never wanted to experiment again after that).

Any yet I found myself, less than a year after our wedding, the happiest day of my life, imagining what it would be like to see Gina being chatted up by another man.

Of course it was disgusting, depraved; of course I'd never want it to happen; and of course there was no way Gina would ever want to experiment like that in anyway. But I still found myself wondering, inventing scenarios in my head and then imagining how they would play out in real life.

I imagined how she'd react if someone tried to chat her up in a bar. She'd be shocked, embarrassed: her eyes would become wide and her face would darken to a deep shade of red. She wouldn't know what to do. Obviously, she'd be flattered, but likely more worried about what anyone around her might think. She'd want to put a stop to it immediately, but she was far too kind to tell a guy, point blank, that she wasn't interested. She'd probably sit there awkwardly, waiting to find an escape route.

And maybe it would excite her, just a little bit...

Whenever I thought about it, my erection sprang up immediately.

I began to dream about the scenario, and they would often get out of hand. Once I imagined she was dancing in a club and, too shy to push the guy away, he actually began to take it to the next level, leaning in to kiss her. Shocked, she couldn't push him away in time. Then he was kissing her, running his hands down her back and taking a handful of her bum. She wanted to push away but the whole situation was making her horny and weak. It was a half-hearted attempt to say no, and he kept going, his hands massaging her buttocks as he groped her...

There were dozens of other scenarios, all very similar, all equally depraved. Sometimes I would live the fantasies in my dreams, and would wake up sweaty and clammy, clutching my balls and clumsily trying not to wake Gina up as she lay next to me.

I didn't dare let her know about these dirty thoughts. No chance.

Then, a while after all this started-and before it began to grow into something unbearable-I read about a new app that had suddenly become popular. It was called "Confession"-it was an app where people could anonymously post things about their life, their thoughts, the things they'd done they weren't proud of.

I downloaded it and registered. Once registered, I then had to set up a profile and ticked a number of boxes related to my "interests." Once the interests were established, I was then able to see the groups linked with those interests: under the "Adult" section (the only interest I'd ticked), there were thousands of those groups.

I could join as many groups as I wanted, or even set up my own. Then, if I wanted to post a Confession, I just had to specify the group (or groups) I wanted to post to, and could then send out an update.

When I set up the profile, I chose a username-"DevotedHusband"-but then whenever I posted, the app would ask if I wanted to post anonymously. If I did, it would generate a new username for me and post under that handle. I could receive private messages sent to this random handle, and then any conversation under that thread would have me listed under this new name.

And, of course, I could post under my real username if I wanted to. I could add friends, and set up entire networks of friends. I could set up my own group, invite specific friends, and then send out updates that would be private among those particular people.

It was pretty neat, had a lot of possibilities.

But I only ever used it for one thing: to indulge in those fantasies about Gina.

Among all the adult groups I'd joined, there were hundreds of "wife appreciation" ones. The actual content varied widely: in some of them, it was guys who just wanted to point out how great their wives are; in others, it was about appreciating others' wives. The main groups I'd joined were: "Fuck My Wife" (bold, obvious, clear-cut); "Wife sharing"; "My Hotwife". These were big groups with thousands of members. Most posts were sexy pictures or memes related to the theme, along with a load of likes and sometimes some comments (most of the comments along the lines of "I wish that was my wife" or "You're a lucky guy.")

I didn't post often, but when I did it was always about Gina-about the fantasies I'd been having, about how I wished I could watch someone coming onto her. There wasn't a lot of discussion around these Confessions: usually a couple of guys offering to help out, and a bunch of others offering well-meaning but completely useless advice. However much they suggested I should just "go for it", they didn't understand Gina.

And besides, it was difficult to explain exactly what I wanted. I wanted guys to notice Gina, to see how sexy she was (and thus, I suppose, how lucky I was), and then to put her in an uncomfortable or awkward position. That was all.

I played along anyway, agreeing to any suggestion that I was desperate to see another man have his way with her. After a while, I even found myself wondering-was that what I wanted deep down? Would that turn me on?

I started posting in March 2018: I want to see if you can seduce my wife.

This elicited a number of comments: Of course I could. I'm sure she's a slut like the rest of them was one response; Show us a pic and I'll let you know was another. All other responses seemed to be an echo of these two.

The requests for pictures were annoying, but the other responses made me tingle somehow when I read them.

Over the next month or so, I posted a few more of these types of posts in various groups, always getting similar responses, and always in similar numbers-maybe a few dozen, at most.

Then in late April, I sneaked a picture of Gina when we were in bed one night, after she had fallen asleep. She was naked, rolled over with her back to me. No nudity, nothing to make her recognisable-just her bare, shapely back and her unkempt hair.

I posted that to the group with the caption: Luckiest guy in the world. If another guy out there was able to chat her up, you'd know what I mean.

This one drove people wild: there were hundreds of likes and hearts and responses. I began to get private messages-again, mostly lonely, desperate men asking for more pictures of her. I enjoyed causing that kind of reaction, but I didn't respond to any of them and moved on to the next auto-generated handle.

I kept on like this for a while. I remember spending most of that summer trying to find suitable pictures to post on the app. Flashes of her when she was sleeping, or a pic I'd caught of her when she was looking away.

It couldn't do any harm, I figured.

#

As Christmas approached, I realised how much these thoughts were taking over my brain.

It was my work Christmas party and Gina looked stunning. She wore a short black dress, her skin pale and smooth and translucent.

I'd been there ten years, and most of the team had met her before. We mingled among them. I could see how their eyes flicked over her, tried not to be too obvious at how they were drinking her in.

A year ago, I wouldn't have noticed; but now I could feel my heart leap every time she spoke to a new person, every time someone leaned across and kissed her cheek or patted her shoulder (no doubt using the greeting to take a sly look down her dress at the same time).

There was one guy from the office, Preston, who was new and had never met her before. He zeroed in on her right at the start. He backed away apologetically when he realised his mistake-though there was a dark cloud in his eyes that suggested he hadn't wanted to back away at all. That maybe he actually fancied his chances.

It was just a symptom of those silly fantasies, I told myself.

But the idea stuck in my mind for the rest of the night. I kept looking over at him, trying to catch him eyeing her up, wondering if he was thinking about her.

Later on, she got up to dance with one of the temps. I didn't know his name.

Gina loved to dance. I wondered if Preston was watching, what he would be thinking. Maybe he would dance with her next. Maybe he'd had too much to drink and he'd get frisky. Maybe he'd push it too far.

I wondered how she would react.

But then the song was over and Gina came and sat beside me. I smiled at her and kissed her cheek.

I got lost in work talk with some of the guys at our table. When I looked around at Gina, she'd gone. My eyes scanned the room-maybe she was getting a drink, or she was up dancing again?-but she was nowhere to be seen. How long had she been gone?

I got up and wandered around the room, looking for her. I asked a few people, but none had seen her. My mind revved into overdrive.

Eventually I found her, standing outside. She smiled awkwardly, knowing I'd caught her out.

I rolled my eyes and tutted.

It should have been my first thought. It wasn't uncommon, when she'd had too much to drink, to catch her outside with the smokers. It had been a habit she'd had back in university; now it was just a craving that resurfaced whenever she'd been drinking.

I stayed with her while she smoked this one, and offered my jacket-it was a cold December night, and she was wearing only that short dress-but she declined.

We went back inside and sat down. I wondered what Gina would have thought if she'd known what had been running through my head-the idea that someone was trying to chat her up and that maybe she was actually enjoying it. Or the crazy, chaotic thoughts I'd had about Preston pouncing on her somewhere and telling her that he wouldn't take no for an answer.

Or how sickened she would be if I told her how much those thoughts turned me on.

After a while, Gina got up and danced with one of the other guys from my team. I was lost in conversation with the guys-we were discussing the recent upgrade of the office software from Windows Vista to Windows 7, and the planned further upgrade to Windows 10. Not riveting stuff, but somehow the guys kept this conversation going for two hours. Even though I hated dancing, I considered getting up and joining Gina, just to get away from them.

But when I looked around, she was gone. Another cigarette, no doubt. That would be my escape, I thought, but then as I started to excuse myself she walked back in, a fresh drink in her hand, and sat down beside me. She gave me a cheeky smile.

The rest of the night whizzed by-a blur of sitting at that table and talking shop, of trips to the bar. But overriding all of this, constantly thinking about Gina: who she was dancing with, where she was, what she was doing, how many cigarettes she'd had...whether Preston had tried his luck with her.

By the end of the night, I was exhausted. Gina was hammered. We got a cab home, and it took the last ounces of my strength to get her into the house and up to bed. I dropped onto the bed beside her, both of us fully-clothed. I could smell the alcohol and smoke coming off her in waves.

I pulled out my phone as consciousness dwindled.

I couldn't go on like this. I had to correct this weird fixation in my brain, and there was only one way I could do that. I had to delete the app.

But my fingers wouldn't co-ordinate. My addled brain fought against sleep, but it was a battle it couldn't win. The darkness rushed up and washed over me before I could go through with it, and by the morning I'd forgotten that the idea had even occurred to me.

Things might have been so different if I'd actually managed to delete the app that day.

#

Then in May, Gina told me that she had a night planned with her old uni friend, Steff. They hadn't seen each other in over a year.

I only ever worried about her when she was out with Steff. Gina was usually sensible, but Steff seemed to bring out the worst in her. They were always out til late, and always drank far too much.

Steff was also a bit of a wild-child, usually going home with a different guy each time they went out.

She told me on the Monday, with the night planned for the Friday after work. I raised my eyebrows at her questioningly across the dinner table. She chuckled. "It's fine-Steff's a changed woman now. She's getting married next year. No more big nights out, no more partying."

But as soon as she told me, I found myself reaching for my phone and loading up Confession. My fingers moved automatically-I had no idea what I was about to do. I went straight to one of the groups-one of the smaller, local ones. My wife will be getting the train from Waterloo to Dover on Friday night with her best friend. 9pm. The two of them will be drunk and gagging for it.

I hit post and broadcast it to the group. A few people commented over the next few days, but nothing particularly exciting. No one thought I was being serious.

#

When Friday night came, I had forgotten all about that post.

In fact, I had forgotten that Gina was even going out. It was only when I came through the door, tired from a hard week at the office, and slumped onto the sofa, that I realised that she wasn't in. My brain whizzed and a second later I remembered-of course!

I texted her to tell her to have a nice time, asked if everything was going okay, and asked what time she would be home.

She replied that all was fine, and the plan was to be on the 9pm train. The usual routine.

You know I don't mind you staying out, I responded. It's not every day you get dressed up and go out partying! Enjoy yourself! Just let me know if you do end up staying out later.

It happened often when she was out with Steff: they'd drink heavily, go on to a club or a late bar. She'd completely forget to let me know what was happening. It was understandable, I suppose. They hardly saw each other and they were having fun, catching up. It was easy to lose track of time.

About half an hour later she sent something back. Not a message-a picture. I opened it and smiled. It was her and Steff, side by side, pulling silly pouting faces.

Engaged or not, Steff was dressed up in her usual attire: a tight black miniskirt and a tight white top. Her breasts bulged through the fabric, huge and ripe. Her blond hair was cut into a bob and her skin was tanned healthily. She looked sultrily into the camera. Her tongue was poked out at me and there was a small blue stud embedded in her tongue.

That was Steff. Loud, an in-your-face type. Always showing off. Which is probably why she was the type of woman who definitely did get chatted up wherever she went. Guys looked at her, figured that she was wild, and hoped she might be easy.

And often she was.

Gina was taking the selfie, her arm held out in front of her. She had her head tilted towards Steff and her mouth was also twisted into a silly pout. Her tongue peeked out from the corner of her mouth. She didn't have that same crazy, wildchild look that Steff had-but of course she was much quieter, more reserved.

Gina wasn't wearing the same kind of outfit, but she looked great. A plain orange top, cleavage on show (but not the same heaving bust trying to burst through the fabric as with Steff), and a dark tartan skirt, not tight like her friend's. Also, a much more respectable length, somewhere midway between her knee and the top of her legs. Her hair hung around her shoulders, silky and slightly curled at the ends. Her glasses were perched on the edge of her nose, and her eyes looked at the camera over the frame.

I chuckled. That was my Gina.

#

For me, it was just a quiet night in front of the Friday-night television. I wondered if Gina really would be on the train at nine, whether she would be feeling frisky when she got home. I smiled at the thought.

A sudden idea hit me.

I pulled out my phone and looked at the picture they'd sent me. Steff was no doubt hotter-I'm sure nine out of ten guys would have said that if they'd seen this picture. But Gina was cuter, prettier.

I tore those thoughts out of my head and opened the phone's picture editor. I covered their faces in a black scribble, protecting their identities.

Could I really do this? I wondered. Should I?

I didn't even think to answer myself-just loaded up the Confession app and posted the image, along with the following caption: Two horny ladies on the prowl tonight.

There were a few very quick comments-mostly smiley faces or guys saying how hot the two of them looked.

I smiled and put the phone to one side, then continued watching TV.

I had a bunch of comments waiting when I checked the app again a while later, most of them along the same lines. I also had one private message. I opened it.

Will they still be on the train at 9pm?

Confused, I re-read the post I'd put out. I'd made no mention of the train, or of the time they were due.