Tina put on conservative clothes, and drove off to meet Phil at the restaurant the next evening.
Three hours later she came home elated. "I actually had a real dinner date with a guy! It was nice! I could get to like this!"
She got ready for bed, and met me there, and while lying in my arms told me all about her dinnertime adventure.
They met, she said, in the bar, and he was a perfect gentleman. They had a nice quiet dinner, and "I had to make up a lot of stuff. I pretended to be Betty again. He was a really nice guy, and he walked me out to my car after dinner. We just stood there in the parking lot for 15 minutes, talking, and doing a little flirting. He asked me if I'd go out with him again, Bob."
By now I had her nightgown completely off, and was paying intense homage to those wonderful breasts. I flattened one with my hands, had my mouth all over it, sucking, teasing her nipple, then lifted up enough to ask "What did you tell him?"
Her hands on my head forced my head back down again, as she answered. "I gave him my new phone number, honey, and told him I'd love to. I hope that's all right", she asked, as her hand traced down my body, to see what my penis thought, too. It was at full attention, and happy to begin getting attention from her hand. "I guess," she said between kisses, "this means it's very much all right. I just wish I understood why this stuff gets you so excited."
"I don't understand it, either, but it does. Like, thinking about you having sex with Joseph drives me crazy. . ."
"So I guess it's all right with you that when Phil tried to kiss me, I let him? He's a great kisser."
By now I had rolled onto her, and she guided my cock to her pussy. While we were making love - no, having sex - I looked down at her, looking up at me, and at her breasts, and stomach, with my groin and hers joined, moving together, and said "Do you realize that maybe if you like this Phil guy enough, you're probably going to have him doing this to you, looking at you, fucking you. . .?" and her legs wrapped around me like a vise, and she whispered "of course, and I'll bet you're going to be watching us doing this, fucking each other, and masturbating yourself while we do it won't you?" Our thrusts, our urgency, our orgasms, answered any questions about whether we thought it was a good idea.
Well, I had wanted her to be a better sex partner: she was getting there. And she was getting there fast.
Phil called the next day, asking for a second date. She agreed, gave directions to her "apartment", and confirmed a date for Saturday, five days from now. "I'll pick you up at 7, and I can't wait to see you again" were Phil's parting words. If he had wondered about how sexy Tina aka Betty sounded it might have been explained by my mouth sucking on her breasts and cunt while she sat there, spread legged, talking to him and her free hand directed my mouth to this place, and that place, and she managed to hang up just barely in time to not telephone the sounds of her orgasm.
Later she reminded me, "Don't forget I'm meeting Paul tomorrow night."
Tomorrow night came, and I got a quick kiss good-bye as she went out to have a drink with Paul.
Two hours later she came back, smelling of cigarette smoke and lipstick a bit smudged.
A few minutes later, again in bed, I heard of Tina's meeting with Paul, a handsome, light skinned black man, the manufacturing executive being transferred to Dallas.
Tina started out sitting across from, then beside him at the Smithtown Sheraton lounge. She told me of his arm around her shoulders, and a kiss, and another, and what it's like to kiss a man with a beard. She talked of how he suggested that since they were getting along so well, that they take a room "and get to know each other better" and how she declined and started to leave. Of how he asked if she'd go out with him again, and apologized for being so aggressive, and how she said "maybe" and how she gave him her "home" phone number. Of how she came home, and how right now she was seriously horny and how I'd better start doing something about that, and then I did start to do something about that only to have her "home" phone ring, it was Paul calling to be sure she got home, and could they go out again, and she agreed to see him again tomorrow, and gave him directions to pick her up.
Then we fucked like sex-crazed bunnies.
My wife was a very different person in bed, now, much more active, much more responsive, especially when she told me about her planned date with Paul. "This guy is a fast mover. I wonder if anything will happen tomorrow. . ." she muttered, as her mind focused on that thought while mine, well, mine was pretty much focused on that very same possibility, come to think of it.
The next morning, the morning of her second date with Paul, she awoke to find her cheeks reddened from being abraded by his beard. "I look awful!" she claimed.
Her date was for 7:30. I sat on the bed, watching as she chose a modest skirt and blouse, got that on over a bra and half slip, used lots of make-up on her cheeks, dabbed perfume everywhere (and I mean everywhere), and asked "Do I look all right?"
Now this is a very important moment, readers. My wife just asked me "Do I look all right?". The complete sentence, however, would have been "Do I look all right to go out and maybe screw some other man?"
Just how do you answer that?
The husband and the voyeur in me argued back and forth over it.
Guess who won.
I told her she looked great. And she did.
I watched as a late model Buick pulled up, and Paul got out, and walked around the house to the apartment door.
I could hear that door bell ring, and in a few minutes watched Paul and Tina leave the house.
I did a few things around the house, waiting, alert, until hours later the same Buick pulled into the driveway.
Tina and Paul had returned from their dinner. The question now is: would she invite him in?
Maybe: he opened the car door for her. She stepped out, and he took her into his arms for a kiss, but I saw her shake her head no, and took his hand, instead, and started around the house to the apartment.
I raced to our bedroom, and activated the monitoring channels. I looked into the living room in time to see her bring a couple of glasses of wine in from the kitchen, and hand one to Paul. He sat on the sofa, and she sat next to him.
Paul's wine was finished quickly, Tina's was going a little more slowly.
One of his hands went around her shoulder, the other to her cheek, turning her head turned toward him, and he leaned towards her: a gentle kiss. It felt so sexy, but a little weird, still, watching as yet another man kissed my wife, thinking she was single and available.
Well, he was half-right anyhow.
But - she pushed him away!
"Don't do that." The audio monitoring was as good as being in the room!
"Don't kiss you? What kind of bullshit is this?"
"My face got all irritated from your beard last night, Paul. Look at how red it is. Your beard is too rough for me."
"I don't need this crap."
He started to get up, only to have her pull him back.
"Paul, wait, don't go. I just don't want you to kiss my lips, that's all."
His hand went to her cheek, then to her throat, and hers covered his as it meandered.
"But are you telling me you're completely off limits?"
"No..."
The hand on her throat moved lower, until it was caressing her breast.
". . .I don't know," she answered, not stopping him.
Notice she *didn't* stop him!
"That's my girl" I thought. "On course and on time."
He got off the sofa, and knelt in front of her, leaning toward her, over her knees. She sat still, arms at her side.
His hands went to her shoulders, to her neck, and then met, under her chin.
His fingers were at the buttons on her blouse! There was certainly nothing subtle about this guy.
"Wait," I heard her say, and his hands dropped.
