Married Woman Dates

I'm Kevin. Angie is my wife, I'm proud to say. Yes, that's her over there. The hot –looking one in the short, tight skirt. Not bad, huh?

Most of my married friends gripe about how bored their wives are with sex. They hardly ever get blow jobs, they tell me. Their wives rarely wear their sexiest outfits any more. And as for frequency, well, if Tom and Brad are good examples, sex is fast becoming a week-end affair, at best. More often than not, a monthly affair.

I can identify with them. That's how it was with Angie and me. Until recently. When Brad asked me last week how often I get laid, I lied. About once a week, I told him. Yeah, me too, he moaned empathetically. I couldn't tell him the truth. If he knew that Angie and I screw three or four times a week, he'd want to know my secret, and there's no way I'm going to let him in on that. I can tell

you

my secret. That's safe, because you don't know me or Angie. You don't know where we live, or anything. Besides, it's so bazaar. My friends might not even believe me, but I don't really care if you believe me or not.

Angie's attitude toward sex changed practically over night. Well, that may be a slight exaggeration. What I mean to say is, looking back, I can point to a single event that was responsible for her about-face. What was the event, you ask? A date. Yes. A simple date ... with another man.

The man was a business associate, Charles Metzger. Not a guy I really knew well. Not a bad looking guy, though. Maybe a little on the pudgy side, hair starting to bald in front. He was flying in to town to work out a big contract with our company. I'm not an executive with the firm, but I'm good buddies with a couple of the company's directors. One of them, Henry Pollack, was asking me if I knew any single women who'd be willing to show Mr. Metzger our fair city while he was in town. Henry was starting to get a little worried. He had asked around but hadn't been able to come with anyone and assured me that he would be eternally grateful if I could come to his rescue. I called a couple of likely candidates, but neither of them were available on such short notice. When I told Angie about it, she wanted to know why it had to be a

single

woman. "You're not trying to hook this guy up with a tramp or anything are you?"

"No, just someone to show him around. Someone who knows where to eat? What shows to go to. Stuff like that."

"Hell, if it's important to you. I could do that."

"Well it's not life or death or anything ... but it would score me some big points with one of the big bosses. But, honestly, honey, I don't think it's something I'd be comfortable letting you do. "

"Why not? I know the city as well as anybody, and I'm not bad to look at, right?"

I chuckled at that last remark. Angie is

very

easy on the eyes, as they say. A trim, petite woman with C-cup tits, great legs, nice ass, beautiful, shoulder-length red hair.

I had never considered the idea of Angie being Charlie Metgers' escort for an evening. But now that she's mentioned it-- why not? She'd be perfect. She's a great conversationalist. Charles would get an insider's view of town and get to be seen in the company of a fabulous looking female.

And that's exactly what happened. Angie took her assignment seriously. Like everything she does. She looked hot that night. Actually, a little too hot, I remember telling myself at the time. A little more make-up than I could recall seeing in a while. A dress that showed off her nice, firm tits and hugged her waist and hips and thighs very close. Stockings and high-heeled shoes. Charles would be thrilled, of that I had no doubt.

"You behave yourself," I joked with her. She frowned, as though she had just been insulted.

I told her I was just kidding. I knew she was just doing this for me. She had seen a photo of Charles, so she knew he was not a dog, but she also knew that he was no hunk either.

The "date" came and went. Angie told me that Charles had a good time and sort of left it at that. I would have too, except that I got a phone call from Charles the following Monday.

"Hey, man, that chick Angie that you hooked me up with is

incredible

."

I hadn't bothered to let him know that it was my wife that was showing him the town.

"God, she is one hot babe! But you probably know that, I'm sure," he chuckled.

I quickly learned that Charles had tried to get Angie to go back to his hotel room with him. She refused the offer, but thanked him.

" 'Maybe the next time you're in town, we can get a little better acquainted.' That's what she said. Damn! I can hardly wait," Charles told me, getting excited even as he spoke.

I told Angie about the phone call and what Charles said. She turned and looked at me, a big grin on her face. "Yeah, I said that. I didn't mean anything by it. I just didn't want him to feel bad about himself. He was hitting on me all night and I just wanted to let him down easy. You know, let him think I found him attractive. Make him feel good about himself.

"Oh, from the way he sounded, I'd say you succeeded."

"Well, it was harmless flirtation. Besides, it's not like I'm ever going to see him again, right?" Angie laughed. "You're not jealous, are you, honey?"

I assured her I wasn't and nuzzled my lips into her neck.

"Are we feeling a little amorous tonight?" she giggled, reaching down to check out the condition of my crotch. She found the answer as she closed her fingers around the bulge in my pants.

We made love that night with a passion that I had almost forgotten—so routine had our love-making grown over the last year or so.

It was about a month later that I got another call from Charles. He was going to be in town in a couple of days and could I see if Angie would like to get together with him again. I told him I didn't know if I could reach her. She travels a lot, I told him, trying to discourage him from hooking up with my wife again, especially after what he said about her.

"She wouldn't give me her phone number," Charles moaned. "I sure hope she wasn't lying to me. I hate that. When a woman tells you whatever you want to hear--even though she doesn't mean it. Don't you just

hate

that?"

"Yeah, I hate that too," I said and promised to see what I could do about getting in touch with "that hot little Angie."

"Of course I'll see him again, Sweetheart," Angie nonchalantly told me over dinner that night. "What harm could there be? Besides, he's an important client, isn't he?"

"He is. But, it's just that I think he's expecting you to go back to his hotel room with him this time. Didn't you let him believe that you would be up for that if there was a next time?"

"Honey, that was just girl talk. Every guy likes to be flattered, and teased. You do, don't you? I've seen you at parties when women compliment you or make passes at you. Remember Barbara Manning and how she invited you to take Roger's place whenever he was out of town?"

"She was joking and you know it."

"So was I, honey. That's my point."

I ended up calling Charles back and telling him that Angie could see him that Saturday. He was thrilled. And Angie, to my surprise, seemed happy to be going out with him.

"Is he a lech?" I asked her as she was dressing that night."

"Aren't all men?" she quipped, trying to decide which dress to wear.

Her back was to me. She stood there in just her panties and bra. A matching, skimpy, lacy set that was nearly transparent. Some lingerie I had almost forgotten she owned.

Usually, Angie wears pantyhose over her panties. Not this time. This time she pulled on a pair of black thigh-high stockings. I started to say something, but decided she would only take it as jealousy.

Once again, she looked stunning for her date with a man she hardly knew. Her dress was clingy and cut a little low, revealing just a hint of cleavage. Tasteful, yet sexy.

"You be careful," I told her, giving her a kiss as she admired her completed presentation—heels and all-- in the hallway mirror.

"Stop worrying yourself about me, honey. I'll be fine," she assured me, giving me a little hug that pushed her firm breasts into me. If Charles greets her with a hug, he too will feel those same sexy tits of Angie's. I thought about that the whole time she was gone that night. I also thought about her slender legs and those thigh-high stockings and the beautiful, sexy underwear she was wearing. The whole package was quite a tantalizing dish, and that was what worried me. But then I also reminded myself of the great sex Angie and I had that first night she went out with Charles. I was hoping for a repeat performance, that's probably why I didn't make a bigger deal about the way Angie had dressed for her "date," and why I even allowed it in the first place.

Well, as it turned out, I was right. Sex with Angie was again outstanding—if anything, it was even hotter than before. I had fallen asleep in front of the television in the family room and didn't hear her drive up. I did, however, hear the click of her heels as she came across the hardwood floor of the family room. I looked up. God, she looked hot! Her dress was a lot shorter than I recalled. She seemed to roll her hips as she moved. She was younger now. More alive. Her breasts seemed to bounce with every step.

"What time is it?" I asked her, sitting up on the sofa.

"One-thirty, I think."

"I must have fallen asleep waiting up for you."

"I'm sorry. Honey. I thought I'd be home much earlier."

"Me too."

Angie sat down beside me. "After the theater and dinner, Charles insisted on checking out a couple of bars."

"How did you keep from deflating his ego when he asked you back to his hotel? He did ask, right?" I knew I would have. Angie looked good enough to eat.

She put her hand on my leg and gave it a little squeeze. "Well, he was so persistent, honey, that I actually

did

go up to his hotel room."

I looked at my wife in amazement.

"Honey, it's not like it sounds. Nothing happened."

"Nothing ..."

Angie smiled at me and rubbed my leg. "Honey, if I had wanted to fuck him, I would have."

Angie hadn't used the "f" word in a long time. It shocked me at first.

"He wanted to. That probably doesn't surprise you, does it?

I shook my head.

"I told him sex was out of the question. I told him I was married."

"Really?"

Angie flashed me a devilish little smile.

"Did he try anything? Did he try to kiss you?"

Angie grinned again. "He did." And then, after a long pause, added"and I let him."

"You let him kiss you?"

"Yes, honey. I figured that since he wasn't going to get the sex he wanted, the least I could do was give him a kiss."

I looked skeptical. And she leaned into me, her 36-C chest pressing close, and then said "It was just a kiss, honey, like this." Her lips were warm and sensuous ... and slightly parted. Our lips lingered and soon her tongue was searching for an entrance into my mouth. The soft, erotic kiss progressed into a deeply passionate one that brought the blood surging through the length of my cock. Angie smelled great and her body was hot and inviting.

"Whoa! Like that?" I managed to ask when we broke from the kiss.

Angie giggled. "Well, not quite."

"Did he try to touch you?"

"Just my tits." More soft giggles.

"What did you do?"

"Honey, it was just my tits. It wasn't like he had has hand inside my panties... or something."

"So you let him ... put his hand on your breasts?"

"Baby, I still had my dress on."

I reached up and caressed my wife's breast. 'Hmm, just what I thought."

"What?"

"This dress ... is so thin ..... I can feel your nipples right through it."

Angie laughed. "And you think Charles could too?"

"I'm sure of it. Wasn't he excited?"

"As a matter of fact, he was."

"How do you know? Was it

showing

?"

"I could tell he was aroused when I did this--Angie then slid her hand the rest of the way up my leg and began fondling my hard-on.

"You felt his COCK!"

"Honey, I'm just teasing you. Of course not! You're my man. My o

nly

man!" she repeated, as she squirmed down to the floor and unzipped me. God! It had been so long since she had been so ... bold. Angie licked and sucked my cock until I was on the verge of coming in her mouth.

"Let's go to bed, Baby," I suggested. It was a suggestion my surprisingly horny wife eagerly agreed to.

The next day at work I get a call from Charles. "Hey, buddy, you didn't tell me that this Angie chick was married."

"I didn't think it mattered. Sorry."

"Oh, don't be sorry. Married or not, she's one hot little firecracker, she is."

Charlie's words rocked me. They didn't exactly square with Angie's version of the evening. I didn't want to seem nosy, but I had to ask: "So you two hit it off this time?"

"Oh, brother, did we ever! We were the main attraction everywhere we went. Guys were asking me if they could dance with my girlfriend. I told 'em 'no,' but she said I was being selfish. So, there she goes. Out on the dance floor with two or three different men. I'm not much of dancer, so she really got into it with these other guys. God, she

has

some moves."

I listened to him rattle on and on about how turned on Angie got from dancing and drinking. "Every time she'd come back to our table, she'd be all excited ... she'd squeeze my thigh ... and rub up against me ... had me hard as hell!"

"Really?" I replied, trying to contain my growing rage.

"Oh, yeah. And this time, when I invited her back to my hotel room, she was

all for it

."

"Well, I'm glad you had a good time, Charles."

"The time of my life, actually, Kev. How well. Do you know Angie, by the way? Have you ever dated her?"

Of course I lied.

"Ah, too bad. That girl's somethin' else!"

I wanted to ask him more, but it didn't seem appropriate. I tried to draw him out, get him to tell me

everything

, but he wouldn't go into any real detail about what happened at the hotel.

Was she good?

I wanted to ask.

Was she a good lay?

But Angie's words kept coming back to me. I was over-reacting. She had flirted, way too much, to be sure. But that was it. Charles was just thrilled to be hanging out with my sexy wife. And, considering how great our sex life has been since she's had those two dates, I'm sure glad I let her go out.

In fact, it may sound nuts, but I'd recommend it to any guy who trusts his wife in the company of another man. It sure has paid off for me.

PART TWO:

I'm Angie. And if I was good catholic girl, I'd have quite a confession to make. My husband Kevin asked me to show one of his clients around town. Innocent, enough, huh? Just have dinner with him. Maybe a few drinks. That's all. But the more I thought about it, the more it sounded like a real date. Like before I was married. So I said I'd do it, and I dressed up real nice for the occasion. And all my expectations were met. There I was scooting around town in a taxi with a man, maybe a couple of years older than Kevin, but a true gentleman. His name is Charles. He constantly told me how pretty I looked. How much he liked my hair, my dress. He was so flattering and treated me like I was a princess. It was a real treat.

Later that night, he invited me back to his hotel for a night cap. "Just a drink," he assured me. But I said no. I reminded him of how it would look if I went up to his room late at night, and he agreed that it would be easy to be interpreted as a willingness to have sex with him.

Sex with him.

I liked his company and wondered what it would be like to have sex with him. Kevin was only the second man I ever screwed, so I haven't had that much experience with the opposite sex. The idea was intriguing. Out of the question, but nevertheless, intriguing.

When I got home that night, I was really in the mood for some loving, and, fortunately, so was Kevin.

If the story ended there, there wouldn't be much to confess to, but it didn't end there. I had a second date with Charles, and for some reason the mere thought of a second date with him had me all energized—even a little excited. I chose a sexy dress and some of my naughtiest underwear, not that I had any intention of letting Charles see it. It just made me feel sexy wearing it, that's all.

Kevin was a little nervous about my having a second date with Charles. And, to be honest, so was I. But, Charles was, again, as nice to me as he could be, and in no time my nervousness was gone and I was completely relaxed around him. I probably had too much to drink, now that I think about it. After we ate, we went to a dance club. Charles wasn't much of a dancer. But some guys asked me to dance with them, and some of them really could dance. They inspired me. Them and the booze. If the truth were known, I'm sure I had too much to drink that night. I guess that's my first confession.

My second confession is the way I let these men dance with me. Most of the time, the music was fast and pulsing—the kind of beat where you just move with the music, keeping your distance for the most part. But when the music slowed down to a sultry crawl and they asked me to stay on the dance floor with them, I said "why not." One of them was a gorgeous college-age hunk who must have been six-foot three. He "accidentally" brushed his hand over my breasts several times. I know my nipples must have been poking through my thin dress. Another guy actually massaged the side of one of my breasts a as we danced. Another dance partner pressed himself up against me, wedging one of his legs between mine, and making sure I could feel his erection as we moved with the music. I didn't pull away. If anything, I pushed myself back into him. I never had so much fun dancing in my life. In between each dance, I went back to our table and had more drinks with Charles and asked him to dance with me, but he said he was having a great time just watching me on the dance floor. Kevin would never have let me do what Charles was letting me do—just be myself for once. I gave him a peck on the cheek and thanked him for not scolding me for my "dirty dancing." He laughed and then looked up to find yet another good-looking guy asking him if he could dance with me.

"If she's up for it," he told him, turning to me.

This one was an older, gray-haired executive type. Introduced himself as Henry. He had a great smile. I took a quick sip of whatever it was that Charles had most recently ordered and then accepted Henry's outstretched hand. This guy was a smooth operator. He didn't care much for the fast numbers, but when the music slowed down, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close to him, encouraging me to rest my head on his shoulder. His mouth was near my ear and he continually told me what a great dancer I was, and how good I felt in his arms.

"Your boyfriend is a very lucky guy," he told me, his lips grazing my ear. "I bet you make him very happy," he said. I looked up to see his face. His devilish look confirmed the sexual connotation behind his question. But I played dumb. "Do you mean in bed?"

"Yes, sweetheart, that's exactly what I mean. I bet you're enough to give an old man like me a heart attack under the sheets."

Normally I disdain dirty talk, but this night I was experiencing a new-found freedom and I found this stranger's rude language more titillating than offensive. (See, the confessions just keep on coming.)

"Thanks for the compliment, but it wouldn't be

under

the sheets, honey" I told him.

"What do you mean?"

"When I make love, I prefer to be on top." It wasn't true, but I thought it sounded nasty.

"Oh, Ba-by," he moaned in my ear. "You are sooo hot!"

The music stopped right after that, and I untangled myself from Henry's strong grip and thanked him for the dance.