I think, especially with people who've been married a long time, fantasy plays a large part in the sexual relationship, and I'm absolutely convinced that many married women love to imagine all sorts of things, but would never even be unfaithful to their husbands, in real life.
We've been married nearly eighteen years now, and are well into the fantasy stage. Needless to say, my mind usually dreams up situations involving Mary with other men, something that turns me on more and more as the years go by. She goes along with this happily enough, in our own bed, but it all stops at the bedroom door.
In real life, until recently, I've only ever twice enjoyed a genuine experience of that type.
The first was four years ago, when we rented a holiday chalet for a week. We had glorious weather and spent a lot of time in the swimming-pool, with the kids. We got friendly with two other couples, and often sat together at the poolside.
On the first afternoon, as Mary pulled herself out of the water and walked towards me, I suddenly realised I could see her pubic hair through her swimsuit.
My first reaction was to mention it to her, but I stopped myself - and then began to get a hard-on, imagining other men looking at her.
Next time she went into the pool, I went with her, and went underwater to have a look. Sure enough, when her costume was really wet, her black hair was clearly visible, but it only took a few seconds after she left the water for the hair and the costume to separate, and you couldn't see anything.
But what a horny week I had! This kept me on the boil the whole time, and I was able to pick out the men who had noticed her, and who tried to keep an eye on her, so that they could have a good look as she emerged from the water. They included, of course, the two husbands with whom we became friendly.
Unfortunately, the exposure didn't work on her breasts, but my second real-life experience did involve them - and it was also when we were on holiday.
I had a late week last year, and we rented another holiday cottage on the south coast - just the two of us, as the kids are no longer very keen on going away with us, and, in any case, we wanted a bit of peace and quiet. There was no swimming-pool - anyway, she's got a new costume which is much less revealing! - but it was glorious weather and we spent most of our time on the fairly secluded beach with the rest of the cottage-dwellers.
There were about a dozen cottages - mainly one-bedroom - so most of the holidaymakers were couples and, over the course of the week, most of us got to know each other and shared a few drinks in the pub in the nearby village.
The weather continued fair all through the week and, even at closing-time in the pub on our last night, the night was warm as around sixteen or so of us wended our way back up the sandy track to our temporary dwellings. On the way back, someone suggested a midnight barbecue and, within half an hour, we had a fire going and sausages, chops, bits of steak and baked potatoes were sizzling away happily.
A bit of foraging turned up some bottles of wine and cans of beer and it all turned into a bit of a party. There was no music or dancing, but there was a lot of easy conversation, with jokes that got more and more risqué and, now and again, one of the younger couples would disappear into the darkness of the sand dunes beyond the fire, to the accompaniment of loud ribald comments.
At about half past one, the beer supply started to get a bit low, and Mary, who had had a bit more than usual to drink, "volunteered" me to go and raid our fridge to see what I could come up with. I trudged off happily to the cottage and liberated half a dozen cans of lager and another bottle of sparkly plonk . . . . . .
When I got back to the fire, though, there were only two people there - one of the young couples, Nick and Emma. I could hear sounds of running and laughter among the dunes, but I couldn't see anything, so I asked them what was going on. Nick wasn't very sure, but Emma said she had heard something about a "hunt". When they had come back from a walk along the beach, only the men had been round the fire, and they had all run off as the couple arrived.
I had a curious feeling of excitement as she told me this. Just before I had left, someone had been talking about a book they had been reading about eighteenth century France, when the local gentry, after a good dinner, used to summon the young women of the village to the castle, then release them in the forest, to be pursued on horseback, after a ten minute start, by the noble gentlemen - the prize for catching one of them being fairly obvious . . . . . . .
My mouth dried as I imagined what could be going on in the darkness of the sand dunes, as I dropped the beer and set off, trying to accustom my eyes to the darkness beyond the fire.
Able to see nothing, at first, I followed the nearest noise, then my eyes began to get accustomed to the night, and I saw the occasional shape cresting a dune, then disappearing into a hollow.
There was the odd shout, then a laugh, and then, excitingly, an indisputable feminine squeal. I set off in the direction of the squeal, then reasoned that if it was someone who had been caught, then it would be the catcher who was claiming the reward - not me!
In any case, reason told me, this wasn't eighteenth century France and the reward was unlikely to be more than a slobbery kiss - but I wouldn't mind one - or two - of those, particularly from one or two of the younger wives I had admired during the week.
Then I spotted another figure - definitely female! - running hard, over to my right, about fifty yards away, and I broke into a trot, veering towards her. She began to disappear down into a valley, then I saw, close behind her, two men, who were clearly running faster then she was, and were definitely on her tail.
They, too, disappeared into the hollow, then I heard a squeal and, with a shock, realised it was Mary! I put on a spurt and ran up the dune, dropping, instinctively, into the sand as I reached the top.
She was standing between two men, each of whom was holding one of her wrists. I recognised Peter - a chap of about thirty-five who, judging by his tan and his fit, muscular body was a building worker of some description - and Gary, one of the younger married men, whom I had scarcely spoken to.. All three were breathing hard, and laughing.
"Right, Mary," said Peter eventually, in his deep West Country accent. "We caught the fox - it's forfeit time!"
Mary smiled up at him, and nodded. "It's a fair cop, guv," she said, and, without hesitation, put her arms round his shoulders, and surrendered her mouth to him.
My penis stiffened uncomfortably as they kissed deeply. At first, Peter had his arms round her upper body, then he dropped his right hand and squeezed Mary's bottom through her beach shorts. She relaxed into him for a couple of seconds, then broke off the kiss and stepped back, laughing a little shakily.
"It's a good job for you I've had too much to drink," she giggled. "I only hope Alan isn't looking for me!"
