"Nan, I got an interesting Facebook message today."
"Oh yeah?" replied my wife, not looking up from her book (something nonfiction, not important here), her tea cup steaming at her side, as is her usual posture on vacant evenings.
"It was from Tom Rasmussen - I don't think you'll remember them, but he ended up marrying my high school steady, Jane, a couple years out of school."
"Uh-huh, not sure I remember him," she sort of said, clearly not very engaged with my scintillating conversation.
"Anyway, he lives over in Greenville and was coming this way on business, he said, and asked if I might grab a cup of coffee with him. I said sure, even though I didn't really hang with him back then. So, anyway, I messaged back, he was online and we exchanged mobile numbers and ended up meeting at the Hut, and chatted. I hardly recognized him, as he looked sort of gray and drawn, but chalked it up to lean living - he's about my height, basically on the good looking side of unremarkable guy, but must weigh 20 pounds less now - of course, I should weigh about ten pounds less, so I guess we're even there."
"So far, you're not living up to the 'interesting' part - what did you chat about?" she said, the first indication I had that she was paying any attention at all. Ah well, in for a penny and all that, I forged ahead, tentatively.
"Various stuff, what had been going on with each of us, nothing at the beginning that would qualify as interesting on either side. He and Jane have done the family thing and the kids have flown the nest, like so many of us in our 40s, I guess. They were doing fine until a couple of months ago. But then he got diagnosed with some sort of cancer, and he's been going through the various treatments and shared that (1) he may come through this ok, or he may have only a couple of months of good quality life to go, and (2) regardless of the prognosis, he's currently impotent."
"Heckuva thing to share with someone he hasn't seen in years, isn't in contact with, but whose girlfriend he married. That's really a shame about his health, but now you've piqued my interest - what then?"
"Well, he said that he's always fantasized about seeing Jane get it on with someone else, and now that he may be checking out, he's made that a bucket list thing and has convinced her to go along with it."
"He wants to watch someone screw his wife? That's pretty sick."
"Not as uncommon a thing as you might think, my somewhat sheltered dear."
"And he called you?"
I figured she was ahead of me as usual from the tone of voice and look on her face, neither of which was particularly friendly at the moment.
"Well, he said that in talking it over with Jane, that she didn't want to do it, had refused to even discuss it for years, but in light of the whole situation, reluctantly agreed but only if she got to choose the guy, with no input on his part, and she chose me. He said that she said that we were both so innocent when we were dating - and we were - that I was the only man she'd ever really had feelings for that she'd never consummated, that she figured from knowing about our lives from mutual friends that I was a decent guy who'd keep it covert, who was likely clean, and with whom she might feel less cheap in the whole affair."
"Uh-huh, and you replied, Mr. Lothario??"
"I told him I'd need to talk with you, that I was flattered no doubt, that he was right in that I'd never even touched her beyond your basic hug and kiss thing - we never even 'petted' to use that beyond kissing but short of fucking term."
"OK, you've talked with me. And let me tell you, I don't really care about his bucket list, nor about some blonde's long smoldering hots for you, nor about any of this. If you're asking me, the answer's no, unequivocally. And if you're not asking, then you'd better never let me find out you've done it! End of discussion!!"
And with that, she iced over, slammed the book shut, went into the bedroom slamming the door, basically the whole cold shoulder routine. I was left to contemplate, and in retrospect, I'd never asked her so she'd never said no (boy, I can parse as well as any President!). That left it for me never to let her know, if I went along with it. I did note that she remembered Jane being blonde, while Nan's brunette - so she was definitely paying attention to something and had made clear her feelings.
Which left, in turn, for me to think about the rest of it. Jane was my first post-pubescent love, and we were mutually in at least puppy love. She was considered to be slightly above average in looks, but nothing like a beauty in our parlance back then. I, on the other hand, had enough sense to realize she was going to get better and better looking with age, to appreciate her slim build and lust after those budding breasts that I never even touched outside her blouse, and to love that she was kind and generous in her heart. I was smitten then, made all sorts of private plans to be with her, got painfully hard erections when we'd make out briefly in my car before she went in after dates - the whole teen thing. She went off to college across the state from where I did, and as is common with such things, we just sort of drifted apart - no big breakup, just less and less reason to stick things out. I hadn't seen her since our tenth high school reunion, which she attended with her new husband, Tom. She'd become a nurse and they'd just had a kid. I was working like a dog in my startup business, also was married, also a new father. We chatted amiably I remembered Nan being a tad protective (ok, no doubt an indicator of jealousy - without reason at the time), but it was all my old gang, and Nan grew up across the country from the rest of the folks there, so no doubt was feeling a bit outsider-ish anyway.
Being alone, I went to the computer and got back to Tom's Facebook message, which of course led me to his page and to some photos of Jane. She had, indeed, gotten better and better looking, was a couple of pounds heavier but would still be considered average by most accounts, with what appeared to be medium breasts, and from the photos of them hiking and skiing and such, with a derriere that reflected excellent physical shape. Best yet, she still had that open-hearted smile that had won me back in high school. A night with her was seeming to be tempting indeed, with all sorts of imaginings of youth fulfilled in the fullness of adulthood. Neither of us was innocent any more, and my parts were all functional, likely especially my dick, which stirred in my contemplation of an evening with her, no holds barred.
Tom had laid out a plan - something I neglected to mention since Nan had stormed out, I rationalized. Greenville was about an hour and a half from us. They had a big house, empty except for the two of them. He proposed I figure out a date and said I could come up in the afternoon, expecting to stay 'til the next day, giving us all plenty of time to avoid feeling rushed, yet not overstaying the situation. He admitted that he had long imagined watching Jane be made love to, and had always included himself in the scenario along with some other male, so that the two of them could make Jane's every sexual dream come true. Then he admitted that she'd never admitted to having any sexual dreams that were of that nature and had assured him that he was all she needed or wanted, and that even with the impotence thing, that they'd be fine, just would learn to do without sex, as if it were ever that easy.
I'd asked him if there were any prospects for resolution of the impotence if all the various medical procedures worked out, and he said that there was that prospect, but he thought the docs were just trying to keep his spirits up with the possibility and considered he was most likely not going to be around in a year, so that might be a nice dream but would be little more, at least for the time being. Waiting to see was just not an option for him - he'd made up his mind, and I'd begun to look at this as an unusual mercy fuck at worst.
I'd told Tom at the end of our conversation that I'd give it some thought, and to please relay my very best to Jane in any event.
If being obsessed about 20 hours a day (and I sleep 8) qualifies as giving it "some thought," I qualified over the next week, then less and less, as the reality of it just not happening seeped into my day (and sometimes night) dreaming. And so, life went on - for a while.
Two months later, in early June, Nan announced she was going to spend July Fourth weekend with her sister in Indianapolis. Nan is a fireworks fan, and they do things right over there. I can take 'em or leave 'em. Nan and her sister always were close, and while I got along with Sally, it was always pretty obvious that my presence was a deterrent to their times together. Not that I stopped anything, but just that plans would need to include me and sitting around for hours listening to opera CDs wasn't exactly my cup of anything.
Nan and I were getting along fine again by then - she has a conveniently short anger phase usually - with our sex life basically consisting of waking up on Saturday mornings, each taking a bathroom and toothbrush break with me running the electric razor as well then returning to bed, starting with nice wakeup cuddling and predictably progressing to nice wakeup fucking. Sometimes she sucked me first, as it always worked in lubricating her; sometimes I went down first. I'm a slow, once and done, type, while she comes easily and repetitively. Typically, I'd estimate she comes at least six, up to a dozen, times, and I do once, sometimes not at all (which, contrary to all the mythology, doesn't cause me discomfort, just keeps me horny which is great for me, as I can sometimes conjure an afternoon session as well if I play my cards right).
All in all, we have a fine sex life. But (and there always has to be that 'but,' right?), Nan pretty much refuses to cross some very set boundaries. Sexy lingerie? Not if it's not comfortable for her, which means pretty much no way. Watch/read porn together? Nope. Groupies: out of the question. Toys? Nope, not even toys. Anal? Ha. Role playing? Not even that. Talk about our fantasies, hopes, ways to get better? She says she doesn't fantasize, and one time called me sick for admitting I was aroused by images of her with former lovers. Talk about a damper. So, I've gotten used to a combination of vaginal intercourse + fellatio not to consummation + cunnilingus (which, fortunately, I enjoy as does she). She's not amenable to discussing any of this, won't even tell me when she's coming although the signs are pretty clear and she confirms it afterward. I have taken refuge in an active fantasy life, reading (and, obviously, writing) porn, and frequently thinking of something other than what's happening at the moment when I do get to orgasm myself.
Like, for instance, old girlfriends, watching, imagining Nan being taken by another guy and me in tandem - pretty tame for pornography, but life is ok, you know? I've got a good job, loving and solid kids, a faithful and sexy in her own way wife - what more could I ask? Now that I see it put that way, a lot or a little, depending on which side of the bed...
Oh, well, maybe a tryst with an old sweetheart. And the July trip sounded about perfect to me. Nobody around home would miss me if I were gone for a day - I could even manufacture an alibi if I wanted. Nan said just not to let her find out, right?
