Metamorphosis

We dated all through high school, as steady a couple as could be. Yet, I never got past kissing her. "I'm saving myself for my husband, Bob" is how Tina explained it.

Sometimes going to Catholic schools instills great will power - it certainly did for her, anyway.

"I'm going to be your husband, someday" I told her, not just as an attempt to get past that barrier, but because I really did love her. At least, I loved her as much as high school kids could love someone.

Then came that awful day in our senior year. "Bob, I decided I'm going to become a nun. I'm going to a convent, not to college."

Now, honestly people, just how does a love-sick 18 year old male virgin handle such a newsflash?

Very badly, as I recall. Needless to say, we didn't even talk to each other anymore after that.

I took Ruth Kantolowski to the prom, and that night she taught me that not all Catholic girls were like Tina. Not by a long shot.

God, how I missed her though, all through the rest of my senior year, all through college, and for four years after that. I made good constructive use of all that time. I dated a lot and I screwed around a lot. The women who shared my bed might have wanted more. I wanted Tina. They were just surrogates for the girl I really wanted there, and really, when I rammed into them, I was in my mind just grudge fucking Tina.

The good thing was these women usually knew much more about sex than I did, and were willing teachers, too. "Touch me there - a little softer, oh, yes, like that." I, on the other hand, was a willing, often eager student of all they had to teach.

I was living on Long Island, a four hour's drive from my home town of Pottsville, PA. My life was working out just fine, I guess. I worked on the technical side of an electronic surveillance company. (Want to know where the company trucks are going? Our GPS unit kept track, and our mapping software would show their route, almost to an individual address's resolution.. Visual/Audio monitoring in a noisy convention room? Come on, give me a challenge!)

Mom made her usual Saturday morning call (I called her on Wednesday evenings). "Bob" she said, after the usual family updates, "I've got some news for you."

"What's up, mom?"

"Tina left the convent. She came by to visit yesterday, and asked about you. I think she still likes you. Why don't you give her a call or something?"

Tina? Tina! You better believe I called and right away.

We set up a date for the next weekend.

Tina had changed from high school girl cute into something else, way past beautiful. 10, on a scale of 1 to 10, wasn't even close.

We started dating again during my monthly, then weekly, visits home. I was in love again.

"Bob, honey, I'm still saving myself for my husband" she said after I pushed a little too hard one weekend. Here we go again.

"Is it that religious crap all over again?"

"No, honey. I even stopped going to church. It's just that I still think sex is meant for marriage."

"Well, that's simple. Tina, will you marry me?"

Seven months from the date she left the convent, she did just that!

I guess I should have expected some kind of sexual problems. After all, even though she's awfully smart, anyone who had been in Catholic schools all of her life, then went joined a convent for eight years before deciding that being a nun wasn't the life for her could be expected to have at least a few sexual hang-ups.

And, boy, did she ever have 'em.

She was so shy it was coming close to us breaking up.

Again.

Even AFTER we were married.

She would always undress in the bathroom, and came to bed wearing stuff my grandmother would have worn: nothing at all sexy.

And speaking of sex: it was as about dull as dishwater. Cold, greasy dishwater.

It HAD to always be done in the dark and ONLY be done in the dark, and although it might have been "the highest form of expressing love" as she'd say, it sure wasn't erotic. Or anything even close. After a while, having my wife lie passively on her back, not moving, not responding to anything I was "allowed" to do, and my not being allowed to do some of the things I wanted to - going down on her, having her go down on me, for example - was becoming a huge problem. Think about it.

The sex really sucked, but you can bet nobody else did.

I actually told her, after yet another one-sided intercourse session, that " I love you more than anything Tina, but, frankly, you're really, really lousy in bed! It's almost like jerking off with no hands!"

Oh yeah, THAT went over well. Well, she was already crying so I decided to go on with it. How much worse could it get?

I told her I wanted more than she could seem to give in the bedroom! A lot more! I was so frustrated I then went on to tell her just how good some of the other women I screwed around with were while she was still in the convent. I made sure I covered all the bases and even made some stuff up. I made sure she knew in no uncertain terms just how much of a failure she was in the bedroom and just how much I resented it! Oh yeah, I let her have it all. Both barrels. Full volume. I was a real he-man. You would have been proud of me. I was horny and frustrated and she was obviously the cause of all my troubles, including global-warming and I felt she should suffer!

Surprisingly, she didn't take this well at all.

She sort of collapsed in on herself in tears and cried piteously for hours.

Yeah, I know, I know.

I'm a rat. I'm scum. I'm slime. And even that's probably unfair to the real scummy, slimey rats of the world. I probably owe them an apology, too.

She cried herself to sleep that night. As for me, I don't think I slept at all. The next morning we agreed to get some professional help.

Talk therapy didn't work for either of us. Neither of us were willing to use prescription pyschotropic medications, either.

"Sexual inhabitions are often a problem. Maybe 'flooding' would work, it does sometimes" Dr. Spann suggested.

He explained that flooding meant exposing the subject to an overwhelming stimulation of a phobia, in a safe environment. Once that was done, in some cases at least,

the phobia was controlled. It could lead to a breakthrough, if Tina wanted to change. I, on the other hand, could take sometime to reduce my own sex drive.

"Maybe something like that would make me less ashamed of my body, more willing to do what you want me to. I hope we can find a way. . ."

There had to be a way. I, I mean we, couldn't go on like this.

"If you trust me, I think I know how we can beat this thing" I assured her.

"I do trust you."

The following Saturday - it was July - I told her we were going to Fire Island for swimming and a picnic.

We went to Robert Moses State Park. We parked our car in the lot closest to the lighthouse and I insisted we walk east.

Finally we came to my destination, a nude beach - something Tina had never seen before.

"But they're all naked!"

"Yep" and I put down our pack, and spread out the blanket.

"Here? You want to stay here?"

"Yep."

She watched, open mouthed, as I stripped, wearing only sunglasses, and lay on my belly, for obvious reasons.

"Your turn."

"I can't. . . I can't. . ."

"Tina, if we can't get through this thing, I don't know what I'm going to do. I really can't deal with it anymore. I love you, I really do,but I will not go through life married to a woman who doesn't enjoy sex and who is so shy even her own husband can't even look at her body. This is flooding and it's still your turn. Now strip!"

She lay on the blanket, pulled the towel over her, and somehow squirmed out of her clothing, holding back tears as she did.

"Lay down!"

She did, on her belly.

"I'm so ashamed. . ."

"Don't be. You're not the only woman on this beach. Lots of people are naked here."

We lay for a while, me, ass hanging out, exposed, with an erection (why?) poking into the sand, and Tina, also on her belly, covered with a towel, on her blanket.

She lay very still, pretending to be asleep whenever anyone walked by. I knew, though, she watched men, some nude, and women, also some nude, go to and from the water, enjoying themselves.

"See, it's not so bad, is it?" I asked after an hour.

"No, I guess not" she responded, her voice not quivering so much anymore.

I noticed she had moved the towel covering her so it exposed her back. I could actually see part of the side of her breast! In broad daylight! A real first!

"How long do you want to stay here?" she wanted to know.

"A just little more, honey: I want you to get to be proud of how nice your body is!"

And besides, it had me as turned on as I could be. I DID NOT want to stand up!

I saw a group of three guys, fully clothed, probably just in their early 20's walking towards us. It was one of the problems with this beach - voyeurs of either sex came by, to ogle at the bodies. Hell, I had done it myself.

"Tina, do you see those guys coming?"

"Yes."

"Tina, take the towel off of your body."

"Bob, I couldn't. . ."

I rolled over and sat up, and took it off her, and used it to wipe perspiration from me.

We both watched, her on her belly, me sitting, as the three men came closer, altering their path so they'd walk within ten feet of our feet. I saw one nudge the other, as they looked at the pale body, the pale ass, of my wife, as they walked by.

Then, they were gone.

"Bob, how could you do that to me?"

"Honey, we're going to beat this shyness once and for all. We're flooding, like Dr. Span said. It'll work."

She was sobbing a little, laying there, looking at me, but after a few moments the tears slowed and then stopped. She looked again at me: the towel couldn't quite hide the fact I was aroused.

"You're enjoying this!"

"Yeah, I am. I don't often get the chance to look at your body, and I don't think any other guy here has seen it either. We're ALL enjoying it! You might want to get used to that, besides, it's therapy."

"Some therapy. You get excited while I get embarrassed!"

"You've got a nice body, honey, be proud of it. I'm proud of it, and I like you showing it off."

"Yeah, I see you're getting off on it!"

She knew, and I confirmed her suspicions. "Yeah, maybe I am a little. It's nice to actually *get* horny over something you're doing once in a while!"

She turned away from me, obviously stung by what I'd said. But you know, I was mad enough and horny enough so that I just didn't much care.

I watched as the threesome, off in the distance, turned, and began walking back.

"Tina, those three guys are coming back."

"So, I guess you want them to get another look at me."

"Yeah, I do. Show them more this time!"

"Bob, I can't do that!"

"I want you to show them everything this time. You've got to get over this shyness, damn it! So do it!"

They came closer, and again left walking the water line so they'd pass closer to us.

I rolled on my belly, watching them, my eyes still concealed by sunglasses. Tina had her eyes shut tightly.

They were twenty feet away.

"Damn it, Tina, roll over NOW!"

And she did. She rolled over, her arms at her sides, just as the guys were at the foot of our blanket.

"Oh, hi" one of them said, looking at legs, pubic hair, vagina, breasts. . . the whole enchilada, as they say.

"Hello" Tina replied, in a soft voice, seeing them, stare at her.

I couldn't help it. As they watched, my own erection became demanding, and untouched, I ejaculated as quietly as I could, shooting semen onto my blanket.

And then they were gone.

"Okay, that's it, we're leaving now." She wasn't asking. That was a demand.

Tina began dressing, and couldn't help noticing the stain on the blanket under me as I got dressed, too.

We gathered our stuff, and walked to the car. It was a long silent trip back home, and a silent walk into our house.

I went to the bathroom, and came out to find Tina on the bed.

Naked.

In the middle of the day!

???????

"Maybe now you'd like to see what those guys saw, and do what they wanted to do. What I think you wanted them to do. You want to?"

Did I ever!

"And maybe", she said, as I mounted her, "Maybe you can tell me what was so exciting when you watched those guys looking at me that you shot your semen all over the blanket."

I couldn't explain my excitement to her right then. Not even to myself.

She changed, after that, into a more willing sexual partner, still not a really good one, but better than before. And after all, there's more to a marriage than sex.

Well, there IS.

But there was still a lot of tension over what I had said to her about her not being very good at sex before we went for help, and for what I wanted her to do on the beach. That wasn't going to go away anytime soon I could tell.

All of which finally leads us to the real part of this story.

We bought a house in Northport, Long Island, New York. For those of you who live elsewhere, it works like this: a three bedroom raised ranch, real estate taxes of $7800 a year, electrical power bills of $300 a month! The house itself cost about $425,000.

We decided to put in a one bedroom furnished apartment. Her snowbird parents would use the apartment in the summer, and we would rent it furnished, including linens, almost like a hotel suite, to short term tenants the rest of the year. Because it was for parents, some nasty zoning restrictions about rentals in Northport were overcome.

The short term rental was a great idea, too. People who were transferring here needed a place to live until they found permanent housing. Professionals, visiting scientists at one of the nearby research institutions (Cold Spring Harbor Labs, Brookhaven National Labs, or the like) would pay $4000 a month or so rent for a furnished apartment if that price included the costs of a professional service coming by a couple of times a week to clean and change linens, too.

Since our house is on a bit of a hill (most of Northport is hilly ) one whole side of the basement is above ground. The apartment, with its private entrance, and patio, was really just right for a professional needing temporary quarters.

Finally, after a bunch of weekends' work, the apartment was ready for a tenant.

Tina told me about Betty, one of her co-workers, who had just separated from an abusive husband. She needed a short term place to live. She'd be an ideal first tenant.

Betty moved in with a two month lease at a discounted rental. It was a trial run for us.

It didn't take very long before we knew Betty was getting her 'social life' back together. We watched a stranger leave our driveway in his car on a Sunday morning, after being downstairs all night.

"I wonder what she does with them down there?" Tina wanted to know.

"You gotta be kidding."

"No, really."

"She fucks them!" I told her.

"Oh. You know,I kinda wish I knew just how she goes about that: maybe I'd learn something."

"You can't be serious. Are you?"

"Yeah, I am."

For God's sake. My business is security - I have cameras that look like six inch long dowels. I could video-bug that apartment in a heartbeat.

I told her so, and asked "Is that what you want? Remember, her lease's up in a week."

"I don't know. Maybe it would help. Could you do it so she wouldn't know?"

That would be child's play.

Now, being in the business I'm in, I of course knew that there were some serious legalities involved here. On the other hand, being as horny as I usually am, I found it no problem to overlook those serious legalities. Hey, you're not in trouble if you don't get caught, right?

That afternoon, when Betty was at work, I installed a camera in the living room, and another in the bed room. It was easy - the hvac ducts in the ceiling were ideally positioned, and I could run the cables out to my shop, and then A/B switch them to the cable TV serving our bedroom. Some wireless audio pickups finished the job.

They went to a receiver that talked to a really fast noise reduction software program. (One of our engineers used to work on designing sonar software. Picking voices out of noise is easy compared to finding a submarine.)

What a disappointment! The first night we saw her go into the bathroom - why do people close bathroom doors when they're home alone? - and come out dressed in pajama's.

That was repeated the second night.

The third night I was happy to see a strange car in the driveway. We went to our bedroom, and watched what I hopefully called channel 30. You know, XXX.

Our unkowing stars spent the time packing her stuff into boxes. At their bedtime we watched two people finally light a couple of candles in the bedroom, undress each other, and Helen went down on her date/helper. Soon they were screwing, and after that we saw them hug, kiss, and turn off the light. Ah, technology - the cameras worked in very low light environments. Betty and her cock-bearing helper rolled over, and went to sleep!

Tina, finished watching channel 30, rolled towards me, and insisted on hugging,

that changed to caressing,

and kissing,

so that, before too long, my hands were under her nightgown, holding her buttocks, and she found my groin, and a rapidly hardening penis,

and then her nightgown was taken off, and my pajama's, too,

and I was in her.

Her hands were on my hips, helping me with each thrust, and her eyes were closed, and I suspected - no, I knew - that she was thinking about what we watched only minutes earlier. My movements became uncontrolled, then my control went non existent, and I erupted, pushing hard into her.

After we both recovered, and were in each other's arms, and were falling asleep, I heard her whisper. . .

"I was imagining what it would be like to be like Betty, to do some of the things she does. That's bad to think about, isn't it?"

I knew what she meant, and it wasn't!

I couldn't help planting a seed for the idea I had. "Think about this," I told her. "Think about what it would be like to have a man with you in bed, a new man, a stranger. Think about what it would be like to feel this stranger's cock in your hand, and to feel it pushing in you, and opening you, and spreading you, and filling you up, and him coming in you, filling you with his sperm."

My words got me horny again, and her, too.

"I have been thinking about that," she said, "I'm thinking about what that would feel like. I guess I'll never know."

Maybe not, maybe she'd never know, but the idea was hot enough for us to postpone falling asleep for a while.

Finally it was time for Betty to move out. Tina, who helped Betty finish packing, had become friends with our channel 30 star. She asked Betty about her life as a new single, and repeated the stories to me. We both concluded each of them had something the other wanted. Tina's stable relationship looked unattainable to Betty, and Betty's swinging single's life style began to have a real appeal to my wife.

. . . . . began to have a real appeal to my wife.

Hmmm.

I thought about it. My wife wished she'd had more experience with different men. Well, well.

And why, oh cock of mine, does that thought start to make you get hard?