My wife is so innocent and naive. She's wonderfully beautiful. Despite being over 35, she looks like a college student, complete with the small frame, perky breasts, and smooth skin. I wish that I could say the same for myself, as I look every bit of my age, especially when I allow my grayish beard to grow out. However, regardless of her youthful appearance, despite her stunning looks, she is convinced that men have no interest in her. She bases this claim upon the fact that a man has never approached her at a bar. I try to tell her that most guys are probably just intimidated, or it could be the fact that she's been with me for years and had other long-term boyfriends before that. But she'll have none of my talk, chalking it up to me trying to make her feel desired.
That's why an idea popped into my head. We would be going out later that week for a date, which we tried to do monthly. Normally, I got restaurant reservations without issue. We would go, eat, drink a little, and come home to make love. This time, though, I decided to "forget" to make a reservation at one of her favorite places. I knew that we'd eventually get a table, but we'd have to wait a bit.
The night arrived. We got dressed up, as usual. She wore a tiny black dress that showed her legs, her neck, and just a little cleavage. She did her best to pretend that she wasn't annoyed at the absence of our reservations. Despite it being a Saturday in a very tourist dense area, we were early enough to get a spot at the bar along with a 45-minute wait for a table. As we ordered drinks, I scoured the room, looking for a man whom she would find attractive.
I spotted a table of men in suits. All of them appeared to be in their early 30s. A few were pudgy, a bit hefty. Two looked to be in decent enough shape, hard to discern totally across a room and through their suits, but good enough. One of those two was our guy. He looked stereotypically Italian, which is her type: olive skin, black, medium-length to longer hair with just a hint of curls, strong facial features.
I told her that I needed to use the washroom. When I was sure that she was looking at her phone, not me, I approached the table.
"Hey, guys. How are you?"
I ditected my next few sentences towards the Italian. "See that lady by herself? The tiny one with the dark hair? That's my wife. She is convinced that she's not attractive enough to be hit on in a bar. Would you mind just flirting with her for a sec? I'll be in the restroom to give you time."
After he eagerly agreed, Mario, which I learned was his name, promised to text me everything that transpired after he was done. We exchanged numbers, and we parted ways, with me towards the bathroom and him towards my sexy wife.
I never made it to the bathroom. I turned the corner down the hallway and spied on my wife and my new friend.
Mario approached. He chatted her up for a few quick minutes, placed his hand on her back, whispered in her ear, reached into his pocket and handed her a business card, and left. It was over much more quickly than I thought it would be, but I scooted back to my wife.
"Who was that?" I asked.
"Some guy who wanted a drink, I guess." She wasn't telling the full truth.
"Oh, I thought that he might have been talking to you."
She responded, "Not really."
I dropped it. Was my wife even more naive than I previously thought? Maybe she couldn't recognize when someone was hitting on her.
My phone buzzed. It was Mario. He texted that he told her how sexy she is. She answered that she is married. He acknowledged, but he told her that our marriage can't make her any less appealing to him. He told her that he whispered to her that he'd love to show her how excited she made him and handed her his card with his cell phone number on it. He asked her to text if she was ever interested. He then promised to keep me updated, which I almost laughed out loud at. As if my wife would do anything but throw that card out later that night?
After dinner, when we arrived home, my wife didn't even want to go to our bedroom before she needed sex. She was wet and aggressive and wild during our lovemaking. It was like we were young lovers again. And it was like that the next morning and night as well. She could not get enough.
Two days later, my phone buzzed. It was Mario. He sent me a screen shot of a text conversation with my wife.
"Hello, Mario. I just wanted to say thanks for talking to me the other night."
His response: "Of course. I never approach women at bars, but when I saw you, I had to. I knew that you'd text me. We have a connection that you can't deny. When you went home, I assume that you fucked your husband. Did you think of me at all?"
She answered: "That isn't appropriate. I'm married."
"You can't help the thoughts that cross your mind. Just tell me."
That was the end of the thread. I couldn't believe that my wife was texting this stranger, and I couldn't believe how happy I was about it. After all, she was fucking me; I was reaping the benefits.
A few more days of intense sex sessions went by before Mario texted me another screen shot.
"Mario, what did you like about me when you saw me?"
"I'll answer your question when you answer mine from the other day," he replied.
"I can't do that," she bemoaned.
"Either you answer my question or send me a nude photo of yourself, and I'll answer. Without either, I'm not returning your texts."
End of thread. That seemed innocent enough. That is, until about four hours later when another Mario text came through.
"Ok, I'll answer. I couldn't help but think of you a couple of times. Now, answer me."
Mario replied, "I loved your silhouette, your figure, your neck, and exposed skin. I liked the aura of class that you exude. Did you think of what my body would feel like with yours and how my touch would compare to anything you've known before?"
