It's Never Too Late

By Jay Cameron and (Ms. X)

If I had to tell you how it all started, I don't think I could. Maybe it started in that two-bedroom one bath house in the almost good neighborhood where I grew up. My upbringing came in a house where never was heard a civil word or even the word "thanks." All I remember was it was five, maybe six or seven years ago when I met my present husband. I'm wife number two.

My husband and I, Dr. Phillip Tungsten, age 42, and Sasha Tungsten, age 31 came to an understanding more than a marriage. My husband Phillip is a very intelligent man. He is a doctor that doesn't write prescriptions. He's one of those guys that looks at numbers and tells everyone when and if the sky is going to fall. He does this all day long. I have lived these past years knowing and believing my husband was an integral part in the life of someone who needed to know if it was falling or not.

About me? Well, let's face it, I am not a pleasant person. Normal people think of me as an overbearing, loudmouth, pretentious bitch. Because of Phillip's position and his public and private responsibilities, I guess you could also add hot, brunette arm-candy. Let's face it, I certainly have; I'm a trophy wife and as far as this town is concerned, I wear the blue ribbon.

I'm getting off subject. My husband and I had been married slightly less than nine years. He had two children from a previous marriage that spent every minute of every day being a pain in my ass. The oldest, our daughter, was getting laid more than I was, as hard as we tried to keep her legs glued together. Our son, Phil Jr. was out to break the state record of gluing pages of Playboy together with his cum. I can't remember how many times that kid went to the bathroom during the day, but the smell wrenching out from under that door would make you either sick or jealous; really disgusting.

The ex-wife got the house and all the stuff that goes with it, and Phillip got stuck with the kids. With the expense of a hot sexy new wife and college loans, the only place we could afford was a two-story drafty, one toilet home. In time, we moved to a bigger house with ensuite bathrooms in all four bedrooms, plus a couple extra. All the changes made a major difference in everything; except those two monster kids.

Phillip Sr. was moving up in the financial part of the company. He was taking on more and more responsibility. With the responsibility came fewer hours at home with the family. Fuck the idea of hours, his time at the house with me and the kids could be measured in minutes.

Sex with my husband had become so routine, I stopped looking forward to those rare occasions of lust-less blah, blah, blah. Oh, we kissed, but I kissed my grandfather with more passion. I couldn't remember the last time he even touched my lips with his tongue. The length of our oral sex could be measured on a broken egg timer. Intercourse got so bad I think even he was faking his orgasms. We just wanted to be done with all the fake fucking and go to sleep.

Don't get me wrong, it's not that I was mistreated as a housewife. I wasn't. I had my duties and my own responsibilities. I had to prepare the children for their new lives away from good old stepmom and dad. That took about fifteen minutes out of each day. I mean let's face it. I could run my mouth for hours, but they didn't hear a word I said. I wasn't even sure I wanted them to hear my nonsensical advice.

One night, after a party of friends and fellow workers, my husband seemed a little more receptive to some of that sex we used to have. It was almost like we were kids in the back seat of his old Chevy, that's if he could afford an old Chevy. We didn't just hold each other that night .... we clung to each other like we were kids. The smell and feel of indifference had been replaced with lust. Lust that had been just a long-ago memory. Nothing from that day or that night, or even that year would lead you to think something new or long overdue was about to happen.

What happened that night when we were alone, and in many ways screaming for the freedom from responsibility that had haunted us from the day we said "I do" to an Elvis want-a-be in Vegas. I felt a closeness to my husband that I hadn't felt in ages. We connected in so many ways.

For the first time in forever we had anal sex. Something I had enjoyed in the past and had completely given up on ever experiencing again. We had sex in the shower that night. I felt his cock grow hard again in my mouth, one of my favorite events of days in the past. But the most important thing that happened wasn't on that Saturday night, but what happened during the afternoon the following day.

When I joined my husband on the covered patio with my cup of coffee, I could see the smile on his face grow when he heard the sliding door open. "I was wondering when you were going to drag your ass out of bed today?"

"If your butt was as sore as mine, you would be taking your time too." I responded following a sip of the hot liquid from the cup in my hand. "I will admit, I wasn't expecting what happened to happen, but I won't complain if you want to do it again."

His grin turned into a full smile. "Maybe we should talk about that." There was a pause that seemed a little strange at this point in time. But I was in no condition to argue about when we would discuss our next coupling. "When do you have in mind?"

He stood and took a step or two toward the patio door. "How 'bout the next time you come into the house."

Now it was my turn to smile. It was a smile that went all the way to the center of the soul. I hadn't felt this warm inside in a long time. I took one final sip of my coffee and followed my husband inside to what he promised.

When the day was done, so were we. My husband and I had visited lust and other places in the sexual universe we had only seen or visited in our dreams and fantasies. After a long and exhausting session, the shower just seemed to renew our energy. With his cock growing in my mouth, and his tongue and lips treating my body to one convulsion after another, I could finally go no further. Through the pain of pleasure, and the need of the soul, we rested.

Weeks passed. The pleasure was still there, but the excitement was beginning to fade again. Why would the routine of something so exciting and so essential to our lives turn from bliss to boring? But it did and the speed at which it was changing was heartbreaking. I had nothing of true importance in my life other than to care for and excite my husband. He was the knight in shining amour that came to the rescue of the damsel locked in a routine that would destroy their idyllic world.

It finally happened on a Wednesday. Nothing special about this Wednesday, but in the life of me and my, husband it was a major turning point.

He arrived home from his day, a little later than usual. When he came into the house, he passed me as though I wasn't even there. Oh, he offered a kiss as he passed, but it was far from the kiss I usually get at the end of his day. In fact, I noticed something new had been added. That something new was what turned our world into something crazy...crazy good, I think, and crazy exciting. (Wait for it....)

Because of the beginning of nice weather, we had started eating outside on the patio. This evening would be no exception. Phillip came down from his shower dressed in "comfy" clothes, as he called them, and tried to be the same old Phillip. Small talk became the same boring daily conversation that seemed to crowd into our evening lives. But tonight, I decided to step up to the plate, as the guys say, and swing for the fences.

The conversation had died, and I had a feeling my marriage was about to die too. "Who is she," I asked?

His head jerked, and that look of denial men get when they are confronted with the truth.

"Don't you dare.... don't you fuckin' dare lie to me. I smelled her on your clothes two weeks ago. And I'm not in the mood to hear you start lying to me now after all these fucking years. Years of picking up your shit, washing your clothes, cooking your meals, babysitting those two ingrates we call children, and you want to sit there and make me believe I don't know what I'm talking about?" I stood and pushed the chair away from the table. "If you want to talk to me, you better get your shit together in one sock and fess up buddy, cause I'm not in the fucking mood for you to lie to me."

I could hear him get up from the table on the patio, but I didn't hear him come inside. When I glanced out, I could see him staring off into the cosmos. Pitiful, this man I married was trying to conjure up a story I would buy and let him slip away into the bed of another woman.

Under my breath my mind was screaming. "Well, fuck you buddy, I'm the one to slip away; slip away with your money, your house and everything else. You can have all the pussy you want, because I've got a vacancy sign ready to post to the world."

It was over an hour before my soon to be ex-husband came into the family room as I was waiting while watching TV. The first words out of his mouth made me want to vomit. "Sasha, I love you, you know I love you, and have loved you since the day we met."

"Do you want to tell me the name of my competitor?"

The look on his face changed dramatically. "Do you think that's the best way to approach this?"

"You can do whatever the hell you want. Do you want a divorce? I'll give it to you. Do you want to move in with your girlfriend?" Pausing only to allow my mind to clear and take another breath. "Then get your shit and go but remember this, I will NOT take those two brats of yours. I didn't bring them in to this world and I'm not going to take care of them. They don't like me, and I don't like them."

With his hand in the air in his lame attempt to calm the beast about to devour the both of us. "Sasha, please listen."

I took a very deep breath. My mind still reeling from his "I love you" comment. I gestured to him my concession to his request by holding my hands with palms up and dropping them to my sides.

He seemed surprised and ill prepared to speak. Then..."I think we should have an open marriage."

"What do mean....an open marriage?

"I mean that it has been more than one, more than one woman. Just remember, I was married when I met you."

"Yes, but you told me you weren't in love with her, and you had already started divorce procedures." Pausing as if a light bulb came on in my mind, "So all this is a lie....you have been lying to me our entire marriage?"

"No, no, I wasn't lying all the time. It's just like a disease, I can't cure. I didn't want to lie to you about what I was doing. I do love you...I really do. But this is just something I have no control over. I see a beautiful woman and I can't help myself. Somewhere in the back of my mind I think I have to seduce her; I have to prove to myself that I am what I think I want to be." He paused with the appearance of unwanted moisture in his eyes. With an open marriage, I can continue without the guilt I feel tearing at me, and you can go forward to discover what you really need in your life."

I was taken completely by surprise. I couldn't believe what I heard coming out of his mouth. I knew that wasn't even close to what I expected him to say. Confused as hell, I turned my body in a complete circle. My hands vacillating between a fist and an open hand. It must have been a minute or two of silence before I could get my blood-pressure under control. When I did, I just looked at him. Still breathing hard, my eyes begging in disbelief for a better explanation; there was none. He just looked at me with a strange stare, like I had already agreed with his plan.

Filled with frustration, I turned and walked, with purpose, out of the room and went to my bedroom. I didn't throw myself on my bed and cry. I didn't throw pillows in the air; in fact, I didn't do anything. I plopped on the bed and revisited his words in my mind over and over. Why would he even consider such a thing? I have been such a perfect wife. I worked out every day just to look good for him. When he needed me to let one of the old codgers in the firm get a little handsy, I never objected. I even made an effort to take care of the demon children of his. It was all for him.... everything.

The sun had already slipped away from the horizon when I patted myself dry from the shower. My nighttime routine would not change. I believed nothing would change. I had suffered through his dismissive attitude our entire marriage. I had gone ages without a sex partner that knew how to truly make love to a woman the way she needed. Maybe, just maybe, he had something worth exploring. If he did have a cock-a-meme solution. Who am I to give up all the perks my marriage to Phillip gives me. I'm not certain I could do better, but everyone with half a brain knows it certainly could do worse. But what about the hidden dangers. What if he finds a pussy, he likes better than mine. What if he finds someone with a tighter ass, gives a better blow job, likes being smacked around better. Oh, hell I could what-if this to death.

Before my eyes closed that night in sleep, I had made up my mind. Phillip and Sasha were going to find out how this open marriage idea was going to work. One thing I needed to know about was what were the signs, and how did I miss them. But most of all, I wanted to find out where he came up with this idea. Who was the person whispering in his ear that turned this snowball into and avalanche? Someone gave him the courage to just blurt out this idea of an open marriage.

That all happened on Wednesday night. By the time Hubba-bubble was leaving for work on Monday, he was armed with a list of rules that took up two-and-a-half pages. I wasn't happy with his suggestions, and he wasn't happy with the lack of control I was willing to give him. But what the hell, if rules aren't broken, then we don't know if they were any good to start with. I guess that's just my way of saying, fuck you and your rules. If my panties get wet, someone is going to get fucked, and he'll have nothing to say about it. Aftercall, it was his idea. Okay, Okay, Okay.... It may have been his idea, but I didn't put up a fight at all.

That night, when Phillip came home, there seemed to be a little more, 'fuck me aura' in the air. Dinner with the kids was quiet, they went off to do their thing and without a how-do-you-do, I found myself being pulled to the bedroom with a hard dick leading the way.

You can believe nights like that are a rarity; in fact, I think I've never had one. We were ripping our clothes off, and before I could find the catch on my bra, Phillip had me on the bed with his tongue doing its work on my rapidly moistening pussy. He licked and kissed his way slowly up my body and my fancy silk bra was wrapped around my neck. He twisted my nipples and kissed them lovingly. He kissed my mouth and licked my face. I wasn't certain who I was in bed with. This was a Phillip I had never seen before.

His cock felt no resistance when he held it in his hands and teased me with a gentle search for the inside of my rose. Up and down the head of his cock moved, and with one final, yet gentle push, we were joined. Bodies that moved as one. Thrusting and twisting in unison. I had felt the peak of my lust more than once.

Phillip slowed the pace of his attack as he began to whisper in my ear. My mind wasn't ready to hear his words. I knew he had cum inside me; I could still feel the warmth of his love. But he stayed on top of my body, pressing me into the bed.

Lifting his face to look into my eyes and to take some of his weight from my tiny frame. "Have you been with another man while we were married?" He asked.

Shocked back to reality by his question, I began to wonder why that particular question. What if I lied and said I had been with another man. As far back as I could remember, I had never lied to Phillip. I couldn't say that about the kids, but I had never lied to Phillip.

"What would you say if I said yes, I had been with another man?" I felt his cock jerk inside me.

"Did you like it?"

I was stunned again. He didn't ask who or when, he just wanted to know if I enjoyed cheating on him. "Yes, I enjoyed it." His cock jerked again.

"Tell me ... tell me everything about it. I want you to tell me every detail of what happened. I have to know."

He was begging for details of something that never happened. I had never been untruthful or unfaithful to this man. I again was taken aback by his persistence. With his cock jerking in my pussy and him working his way into a sexual frenzy, I suddenly didn't have the nerve nor the desire to cast a shadow over this fantasy.

I told him about a man I met on a shopping trip to Dallas. He knew of my extravagant tastes in clothes, so there was no way of him catching me in my lie. I told him I went to his room in a hotel and how we made love all afternoon. And with each revelation my husband grew more and more aggressive.

I told him how this stranger kissed me, how he undressed me, how he felt inside my body. I told him of reviving him with my mouth and how before the afternoon was over, he had made cum so many times I could hardly walk.

The most important item I omitted from my story, was that I had dreamed and fantasized so many times of doing exactly what I was whispering into my husband's ear and into his memory.

It was then that I realized, I was falling under the same sexual spell that consumed him. I was just as guilty as he. I was succumbing to the same illness that he fought. I was now as unfaithful to him as he had been to me. The only difference was, I was not guilty. On the surface I was not really the slut I had described. But in my mind, I had committed myself to my fanaticizes that were just as though I had actually committed these crimes against my marriage.

From this time forward, any attempt on my part to deny what I told him would be an untruth. Because in my mind, I had done just as I said. I have laid in my bed and dreamed of all the things that happened during my confession. Not just once, but many times, many nights and even many days.

The following morning came, and I was alone in my bed. What was going on in this house? What was happening to my life as a loving, yet hateful woman?

If to say the sex with my husband for the next few days was something special, it would an understatement. Sex with Phillip was something from another world. Every time we were engaged, he was asking silly questions that I had to constantly make up lies to satisfy his fantasies. Each sexual event was even more exciting than the one before.

Finally on Friday night, he reached out to touch me in the most tender way. He just wanted to cuddle, to hold me in his arms. Then he said he wanted to go to a party the following night. We were going to go to a swinger, or lifestyle party. Even with his detailed explanation about the events that go on in these parties. I felt numb. Now my countless lying could be revealed. Anxiety gripped my body like a vice. I may have fantasized about a life of free sex, but how would I handle the reality? Would I be able to actually allow another man or woman to touch me, let alone make love to me.

If we were just going to meet people and ask questions that would be great. My problem was, Phillip had already asked me all the questions. He acted like we would fit right in. Fit right into a liar's dream, a fantasy, a falsehood that never happened.

Strangely enough, the more my mind shook with fear, the more my body was telling me it might be exactly what I needed.

When the sun was barely over the treetops, I had convinced myself if Phillip wanted a whore for a wife, I would be his whore. If he expected me to find not a single lover, but many, that is exactly what I would do. I would be the wife he wanted and enjoy the benefits of his perverted mind.