Fun House Mirrors

Author's Note: The primary version of this story, "Why Don't You Just Fuck Me?" was written from the husband's perspective: what he saw, what he felt, what he thought he knew. The following three stories mirror the primary, but are from the female's perspective. They go to the facts that there is a lot going on that we (guys) don't know, and that what we see may represent entirely different things depending on what is going on in her head.

Each version shows the wife going through the same motions as described in the primary, but in each "the wife" is a different woman based on her mental state. The "A" Version presents a woman who is conflicted going in and who comes out the other side still conflicted. The "B" version shows her more open than she appeared to be, and less conflicted at the end. The "C" version, in which out heroine discovers what some guys would like to think of as her "inner slut" (but which I prefer to see less perjoratively as her inner wild child), is suggested by a comment from one of the readers of the primary:

Spreading her legs

For other men, what was yours alone now is not, the things she said and did just for you are not just for you. Other men make her come,who will she think about late at night,who will she say "just fuck me"too next? If this life style turns you on,than you got it,hope you can handle it.

So, there is quite a lot in each version that is verbatim identical, which can make for tedious reading. Sorry about that, but it is necessary for developing the point that much of what is perceived as fact can be interpreted only with reference to what is in some (particular) one's head. Consider

Rashomon

. Or, better yet, see the pre-release and released versions of

Baby Face

to find what changing only a few lines of dialog can do to change a movie.

I would like to thank KaeDoll for her comments on earlier drafts of these stories. Writing from a woman's perspective is, at least for this guy, daunting, and KD's generosity in helping me get into the head of my heroine is greatly appreciated. She got me to fix some of my more glaringly wrong-headed guy-think but, since I am pig headed, we are still not in complete agreement on all points. What I have gotten wrong is in spite of, not because of, her help.

Please send feedback, good or bad (except along the lines of "I loathe myself for reading Loving Wives stories, so I have to flame you and your story to make up for having read it in the first place"). Ladies, especially, I am wondering whether or not you see a credible female in any of these versions.

Why Don't You Just Fuck Me? -- Mirror Story A

I recently came across Richard's "Why Don't You Just Fuck Me?" so-called "story" while going through his old papers. Of course it wasn't a story at all, but his account of what happened not too long after we had been married. I wish that he's asked me about it at the time he wrote it, so many years ago. I'd have been able to set him straight on a few things. Better late than never, I guess, so here goes.

As Richard said, we were young back then, and had been married for just 3 years. That we were virgins when we met was more or less true. He said he was and I am pretty sure that he was telling the truth. His love making certainly got better over time. As for me, while I'd never consciously slept with a guy, I am pretty sure that my former boyfriend had date raped me one night when I was passed out drunk at his place. All I know for sure was that the morning after my pussy was sore and he kept going on about how we "were one," with this big shit-eating grin on his face. He wasn't my boyfriend for much longer after that.

When Richard and I had sex for the first time, he was surprised that he was able to enter me without any resistance. When he asked me about it, I told him about my ex-boyfriend and my suspicions about that night. I could have lied to him and made up some story about a bicycle accident or some such; that sort of thing really does happen. But I didn't feel like lying, and I wanted to know up front if this was going to be a big thing for us, so that I could dump him if he was that sort of asshole.

He said that it wasn't a big deal, and it never seemed to bother him as he never brought it up after that first time. I guess that since he said in his "story" that we were both virgins when we first went to bed with each other, he figured that being raped by my ex-boyfriend when I was unconscious, if that's what really happened, didn't count.

Richard was right when he said that from not long after we got married, he had been trying to get me to go to bed with other guys. I think he wanted to feel that it was okay for him to tomcat around, but he wasn't sure that I would be okay with it unless I was playing around too. Maybe also he was just too insecure or too lazy to go hunting for sex on his own, and he figured it would be easier to swap than to swing solo. This hurt my feelings, because I felt that sex was something that you did with someone you loved, and I didn't want either of us loving anyone else. But Richard was way different on this, and I was smart enough to understand that he could separate the sex from love in a way that I couldn't, or at least didn't want to.

You've got to remember that this was the early 1970s, right in the middle of the sexual revolution that had been helped along greatly by the introduction of the birth control pill in the early 60s, and that it was a decade before anyone had heard about AIDS. Sex was everywhere. Playboy had been around since the early 1950s, and its circulation peaked in the early 1970s only because of the advent of Penthouse, Hustler and other magazines, not because people were less interested in sexual liberation. Sexploitation films were being churned out like mad, and serious cinema included the likes of "Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice" and "Last Tango In Paris." What I'm trying to say is that if you weren't young then, you probably can have no idea of how much pressure all of this generated on people to see sex as play rather than sex as love.

As I said, this caused a problem for Richard and me, because what he saw as liberating I saw as an assault on the values that I'd been raised with. Maybe I was just more naïve then, but I felt that I should be enough for him, and he should be enough for me, and that sex without love was cheapening. Maybe I was just a prude. In any case, it's true that about a year or two after we had been married I finally let him talk (nag might be a better word) me into going to a bar by myself. But I felt hurt that he's asked, and cheap that I went, and I chased off the first guy who wanted to buy me a drink, and then I left. Richard didn't hide his disappointment very well when I cam back early, but at least he gave up on that idea. He's always been pretty straight about "just try it and if you don't like it we'll drop the whole thing."

Now we come to the Robert and Donna part of the story: dinner, their place, downstairs from our apartment. Richard was doing most of the talking from our side, while Robert and Donna were also very chatty. Mainly I ate (the food was actually quite good), answered when someone asked me something and, as the course of the conversation progressed, drank more and more of the red wine that kept finding its way into my cup. Richard was clearly impressed with Robert, not just because he was older and more self assured than Richard was but, of all things, because he was a maintenance man in some apartment complex.

Richard's dad had died when he was young, and he and his younger sisters had been brought up by his mother, so he never had worked on a car or fixed a lawnmower or built anything with his hands outside of a shop class he took in the ninth grade. All he'd ever done was go to school, and now he'd finished his Masters and had just started working on a PhD. He was good at what he did, but it seemed like he had this notion that what Robert did was better because at the end of the day you could see the results and get paid for it. Then there was the matter of sex. As the evening went on and the wine flowed, the conversation got more and more into sex and Robert and Donna's sexual escapades. Poor Richard; since he was so shy as a teenager he'd only had me to sleep with, while it sounded like Robert had had dozens or maybe hundreds of women. Richard was a Robert wannabe.

If Richard was clearly in awe of Robert, he was even more obviously in lust with Donna. As much as I resented it at the time, I guess he had more than ample reasons to be. Where I had small breasts and a shyness almost as deep as Richards, and sexual experience that had progressed slowly from zero all the way to one, Donna oozed sexuality, had a sexual history as big and even more varied than Robert's and, as the old joke about the Pope sort of went, "she'sa gotta ... beeg tits."

Richard says that he wasn't sure how much I was picking up on the hints about swinging that Robert and Donna were dropping into the conversation. Well, I was picking up plenty. And I was picking up how Donna was playing up to Richard's ego by comparing his education to her lowly status as a secretary and a bit player in the local rep theater. And I was picking up on how she kept grabbing his arm when set talked to him, and how she let those big tits of hers brush across his arm when she reached across the table to fill my wine glass. I would have had to be passed out already not to pick up on it, things were so thick and obvious.

So, yeah, by the time we finished supper and things moved to the living room, I was more than "clearly pretty woozy;" I was more like pretty drunk. But I wasn't so drunk that I didn't notice that Donna sat down on the sofa next to Richard, and that she soon had her hand on his thigh and continued to brush him with her big tits from time to time. I decided that if I didn't get myself out of there pretty soon things might get nasty, even though I'd never been a nasty drunk before then. So, I let my head fall forward and when Donna noticed this she got up and took me to the bedroom. After she'd put me on the bed she left and I got up and groped my way to the bathroom to pee, because my bladder was about to burst from all the wine I'd consumed. Then I got back in bed and drifted off.

At some point I was awakened by someone kissing me on the lips. At first I was confused about where I was and I thought I was back in our bed in our apartment, and that it was Richard who was kissing me. When I got my senses around me enough, I realized that the person kissing me was Robert. What's more, I noticed that we were on a bed in a dark room and that we seemed to be the only ones there. I don't know what my first thoughts were after I figured this out. What does a deer think when the headlights first shine in its eyes? I wasn't sure what to do at this point. I was still pretty drunk and I was startled to find myself in this situation. So, for a minute or two I just lay there and let Robert kiss me, without kissing him back, but also not doing anything to stop him. When I felt Robert start to unbutton my shirt, I figured that doing nothing wasn't going to be an option for long.

Maybe I'm remembering this in way more detail than it actually happened; certainly it takes longer to write it out that it took me to reach a decision. Maybe I wasn't even thinking as clearly as I say here, and was just reacting emotionally. But this is the way I remember it. I figured that if I did nothing, I was about to get raped -- again, if my suspicions about my old boyfriend were correct -- and I knew that I didn't want that. If I started crying for help, it might or might not do any good. I didn't know where Richard was; probably off somewhere fucking that cow Donna seemed like a good guess based on the evening so far. At best, even if he were close enough to step in, it would produce a very messy situation, maybe even a violent one. Then I thought about all the times that Richard had tried to talk me into sleeping with other guys. It had occurred to me earlier in the evening that maybe Richard had known that Robert and Donna were swingers, and that this evening's dinner was a set-up. That had really kind of pissed me off, and probably led me to drink as much as I had. In any event, the booze was a factor, not just in getting me onto that bed, but also in lowering my inhibitions. I wouldn't be the first or last woman to find herself with more than a hangover in the morning because of drinking the night before. After all, Robert was a good looking guy, he was clean, he was articulate, he was educated way above what his job indicated, and he'd lived so much more than either Richard or I had to that point. So, for whatever reason or reasons -- the booze, social pressures to be more "liberated," revenge, or just being chicken -- I finally decided that "Okay, Richard says he wants me to fuck other guys, I'll let this guy fuck me, and then we'll see how he likes that." At that point I started kissing Robert back.

I'll say this for Robert, he was a pretty decent kisser. When he got my shirt open, he started licking and sucking on my nipples, which was okay, even good, until he started using his teeth a little too forcefully. I've never been into pain much, and apparently my nipples are very sensitive. I was happy when he returned to kissing me and started to use his hand to unbutton my jeans. When Robert got my jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, he slipped his hand inside my panties and I felt his finger slip easily into my pussy. I guess I was kind of wet, and I got even wetter as he slid his finger in and out of me and rubbed it around my clit. I guess I also forgot that I was supposed to be angry at having maybe been set up, or at least about this guy taking advantage of me when I was supposed to be passed out drunk. Actually, I don't think I was doing a lot of thinking once his fingers -- he now had two if them in me -- kept working slowly on my clit while he continued to kiss me. Like I said, he was a good kisser, and he also knew how to finger a girl.

After a little while Robert got up and started to undress me. After he'd gotten my shoes off, he started to pull on my jeans, and I raised my ass up off the bed so they could come off more easily. Then I dropped back down on the bed and lay there with my legs a little open, waiting to see what he would do next.

What he did next kind of surprised me. I'd never had my toes sucked before. It felt kind of interesting, and gave me a little tingle in my pussy kind of like having my nipples sucked, but not as strong. Then he started licking his way up my legs, first one leg up to the knee, then the other all the way up to my pussy. I was about to tell him to stop because for some reason I've never liked it when Richard licked my pussy, and I didn't want Robert to do it either. But before I could say anything he tongued his way back down my thigh and then started up the other thigh. All of this felt okay, but it worried me that he was going to start lapping at my pussy, so when he was almost there I said "Why don't you just fuck me?"

Apparently he couldn't think of a good reason not to, because he immediately hopped off the bed and started getting undressed. There was a little light coming into the room from the hallway, so I was able to look at him while he was doing that. When he dropped his boxers, his cock was standing straight out. It was circumcised, like Richards, but it didn't look as long or as thick. Maybe this was because Robert was shorter than Richard, I don't know. Anyway, I was halfway expecting Robert to try to get me to suck his cock. Richard certainly likes this and my earlier boyfriends had asked me more than once to do that when I wouldn't let them have intercourse with me, so I guessed it was something that all guys wanted or even expected. But I'd turned them down and, at least as far as I know, Richard was the first guy to get his cock into my mouth.

Robert didn't want a blowjob though. He just spread my legs out more, raised my knees a little and climbed between them. Then he lowered himself onto me and I could feel the head of his cock pushing against the lips of my pussy. I don't know what I was thinking then, waiting for that first strange prick after my husband's to enter me. Probably I wasn't thinking anything, since I'd done all my thinking earlier. I don't recall any sense of dread or of elation. I do recall that Robert had fingered me nearly to the point of orgasm, so I was probably wanting him to get on with things so that he could get me over the top sooner rather than later. All I know for sure is that he entered me slowly, and that it felt good, even if his prick was a little smaller than Richard's. Richard says in his "story" that I gave out a little sign and a moan. Probably he's right, I don't know. For better or worse I'd made my decision to lie back and enjoy it already, so that by that point I was not unhappy to be getting fucked by Robert.

Richard described Robert as an experienced cocksman. I'd have to say yes, he was. He might not have been as big as Richard, but he knew how to use what he had to the best effect. He continued to fuck me slowly, and I soon experienced a little orgasm that I muffled by biting his shoulder. It was a surprisingly gentle fuck, almost like making love, rather than the self-centered, pussy-stealing date rape that I had expected when things started out. By that point my body was responding so that I had no trouble getting into it, wrapping my legs around him, kissing him, swinging my hips up to meet him thrust for thrust.

This must have gotten to him, because Robert then began sawing back and forth fast across my clit, slamming his prick into me so hard that I could hear his balls slapping against my ass. I was getting closer and closer to a really big orgasm, moaning and gasping loudly. After the first couple of times that Richard and I had sex, I'd had no trouble achieving multiple orgasms, so if Richard says that I had two more of them before I hit the big one and Robert came in me, I'm not going to argue it. I wasn't counting. All I know is that the last one was mind blowing enough that I wasn't thinking or emoting or doing anything but feeling every nerve in my body.

Robert slid off and held me as we both lay there gasping to get our breath back. After a little while he got up, put his clothes on and then helped me get dressed. After he left, I went to the bathroom. I'd been on the pill for the past four years so I wasn't worried about the cum that he had left in me, but I still needed to pee again, and I wanted to clean up my pussy that was pretty sloppy with my juices and Robert's cum. Then I went back to the living room where I found Richard and Donna sitting on the couch, with Robert on the love seat, just as I'd left them. Richard asked me how I was doing and I said fine. Then he said it was late and it looked like I needed to get to bed (some joke, I thought), so we said goodnight and headed back to our apartment.

We got ready for bed and then hopped in, naked as usual. I didn't know at the time that Donna and Richard had been watching while Robert fucked me, but I felt pretty sure that there was no way that Richard could miss the fact that I'd just had sex. I hadn't showered, and in spite of my washing off my pussy twice, I could still smell the sex on me. My face was still puffy and flushed, and my nipples were as hard as M&Ms. So, to clear, or at least clarify, the somewhat musky air I just told him straight out that I'd let Robert fuck me, and asked him if he was okay with that. Not only was he okay with it, he was instantly hard and excited. He asked me if I was okay with it and I told him I was, which was more or less true at that point. I certainly couldn't say that I had not had a good time once I'd decided that this was something I was willing to do, for whatever reason. I'd just gone with what turned out to be a very pleasant flow. In fact it had been a good fuck, and at that point I wasn't having any real strong feelings of guilt or resentment.