DANCE LESSONS
When I asked my wife what she'd like to do on our next vacation, she didn't have to think more than a second, smiling coyly. "I'd like to go out and find myself the best looking man around, probably in Paris, the one who looked like he had the best package in the city, then bring him back to our hotel and fuck his brains out," she said with her customary haughty grin.
She had been getting more daring, bolder, sexier, more prone to the outrageous every week for awhile, and I wasn't totally surprised by her cocky declaration. Although we never had gone so far, we had joked around about extramarital exploits. I had been teasing, but she, I found out, had been dead serious.
"Sounds like you've been thinking about this for awhile?" I said.
"You've always said, 'If a man's not doing his part at home, he deserves what he gets.'" she said.
"You haven't been well cared for?" I asked.
"Let's just say, you could have done better," she replied with a grin. "You have been going to sleep awfully quick after the big moment."
"And you want a big guy?" I said.
"Well, your just over average is getting a little tedious," she said with a dramatic yawn. "So you going to accommodate your wife's needs, or you going to renege on your promise?"
"Well, if I said it, I have to stand behind it, right?"
"Right! And you definitely said it, numerous times," she said with a smirk.
So began the search for her perfect candidate, a man fitting all her requirements. There I was facing the task of finding my wife's ideal lover or face the indignity of talking too much without anything behind it. That was almost worse than being replaced between the sheets of my wife's bed.
We decided the vacation was too expensive, so we checked on line, perused dating sites, checked escort services, even shopped like buyers of merchandise at local bars and pubs, but we were coming up empty, at least by her standards of a worthy contender. Finally, after at least one of us had almost given up, we were coming out of the library, of all places, when she stopped me cold with an elbow and said, "There he is."
He was a strapping lad, as they say, with broad shoulders, a nest of blond hair on his head, a brown sport coat, and with a smile that would make any housewife wet. She nudged me, as if I should introduce her. "Hello, my good man. This is my wife and she'd like to fuck you." That did not seem like the best approach, so I searched my brain for a reasonable way to accomplish our goal. All I could come up with was, "Hello there, are you Phillip Westerly?" When he would say no, I would apologize and introduce myself, then my wife, then ask if he was not Phil, well did he know of a good pub close by. Then we'd chat, talk about the weather, or such, then I'd asked him if he wanted to grab a drink.
"No," he said. "Name's Will. Sorry, in a bit of a rush. Thanks anyway," he said before rushing off.