Author's note: The following loving-wife story really happened with my wife and me. Our married life began toward the end of the "sexual revolution"; therefore, along with millions of others, we discovered new dynamics between a loving, married relationship and sex.
Peoples' names have been changed, and I have taken poetic license in describing the sexual activities and dialogue; but, the factual situations actually happened.
This is my first submission. Please enjoy and let me know what you think.
Chapter 1- The Beginning
Bill:
I was introduced to the concept of wife sharing when I was very young. I lived with my younger brother and parents in a split-level house not far from New York City on the north shore of Long Island. Each weekday morning my dad and mom took the train into the city. He was an advertising account executive and she was a secretary for a large law firm. Each evening, they returned home on the train about 6:30. We'd eat dinner and then my brother and I would do homework while they watched TV in the recreation room. In addition to school I took French horn lessons (which I hated) and played baseball (which I loved). We were pretty much the stereotypical family, living in a stereotypical suburban home.
The details of how I learned my parents were swingers are not important. When I made this discovery though, my perception of the relationship between love, marriage and sex changed dramatically. "This is crazy," I thought. My parents have been married for many years and love each other very much. Now they are having sex with another couple. Why? What does this mean? This is all wrong. What is going to happen to my brother and me? Will my parents get a divorce? My friend, Jimmy's parents were divorced and he said his life sucked. Will my life suck too? I didn't know what to do.
The Sunday morning after I accidentally discovered my parents' secret, mom announced that she would fix "her boys" an extra special breakfast with pancakes as we sat around the table sharing the Sunday New York Times. Mom and Dad discussed the news while my brother and I read the comics. I was expecting a train wreck with lots of yelling and screaming. During breakfast I kept sneaking peeks at my parents, expecting them to be mad at each other, but if they were it didn't show. Everything was normal. I couldn't figure it out. It was very strange and confusing.
Before that weekend I had always figured that: (1) married people, who love each other, don't have sex with other people; and, (2) if married people, who love each other, do have sex with someone else they'll get a divorce. I knew, from Jimmy, that divorce was awful. I half-expected my life would fall apart like his, but it didn't. As the days and weeks came and went, my life didn't change either. My parents kept loving each other, kept going to parties and, stayed happily married to each other.
As I grew through high school, college, military service and eventually became a police officer in Los Angeles, I came to the conclusion that love, marriage and sex were not always dependent on each other. I realized that my view wasn't shared by most people, but that didn't deter me. I had come to strongly believe that two people could love each other very much, get married and, subject to certain limits, still have the freedom to have sex with someone else. In other words, monogamy wasn't an absolute requirement for a happy marriage.
I didn't want an "open marriage". I wanted a marriage that allowed my wife and me the freedom to honestly talk about our respective sexual fantasies; and, as long as both partners agreed, to experience those fantasies together. The key to such freedom was communication and honesty.
Marcie:
My story is not too different from many other girls from small, mid-western towns. I was raised with the same moral standards that my mother inherited from her mother. In my case, those standards were strictly dictated by the Catholic Church. I attended the Catholic school through junior high and then transferred to the public high school. During my teenage years, my mother dictated who I could date, where I went and when I had to be home. She treated me like I was 12. I was smothered!
I rebelled under my mother's rules, and discovered myself pregnant at 18 and about to graduate from high school. He was the school bad-boy, the very boy my mother had forbade me to see. My mother, more concerned with her standing in the community, shipped me off to the church run home for unwed-mothers. The nuns were kind but quick to remind me that I had sinned. As penance each of the girls had to work hard around the house. During those long months I was constantly reminded that I had shamed my family. In the end, my son was adopted by a very deserving and loving family. I never told his father I was pregnant.
I was indoctrinated by both my mother and the nuns at the home that sex had only two objectives: (1) procreation and (2) pleasing my husband (in that order). After my baby was born, I promised myself that my personal future path would not be controlled by their moral compass.
About a year after graduating from college and finding a teaching job in Los Angeles, I met Bill on a blind date. My best friend Alice, with whom I taught at a local high school, was throwing a Valentine's Day party and she was inviting a few of her husband's friends from work. He was an LAPD officer at Hollywood station and worked with another officer who she said I would like.
"Why not. You're still single at 28 and don't even have a steady boyfriend," she said.
Unfortunately, she was right. Between pursuing an acting career and teaching, I hadn't met many guys. She described Bill and so I thought, "why not". Besides I figured, if he was a dud there might be other cute cops there. I've always had a thing for men in uniform.
Valentines' Day arrived and I was actually excited about my date. He had previously called and we chatted a while. I liked it that he made me laugh. After a long hot bath I did my make-up...paying particular attention to my green, slightly almond shaped eyes which I considered my best facial feature. I combed my long blond hair and chose a pair of low-rider tight jeans with white lace trim around the bell-bottoms, a white scoop necked tee which showed just a little cleavage, and a jean jacket accented with white lace that matched my jeans. Finally, brown boots with 3 inch heels to accentuate my round, firm behind completed the outfit.
When the bell rang, I answered the door and there stood a tall, good looking...no, a handsome man with short brown hair and a mustache. He was over 6' tall, with a very good physique. Clearly, he spent some time in the gym. However, it was his eyes that captured my attention. They were a brilliant blue, alive, soft and filled with humor. He was wearing jeans and a light blue, button-down shirt.
At first he just stood there and didn't say a thing, so I said "Hi, I'm Marcie."
It took just a moment for his generous mouth to break into a big, heart-warming grin as he responded, "Hi, I'm Bill." His handsome face, generous mouth and warm eyes instantly created a fluttering sensation deep in my stomach.
I invited him in and offered him a glass of white wine.
He was seated on the couch when I handed him a glass. I sat next to him when he said, "I saw two names on the mail box outside, are you 'Ferrell or James?' ".
I laughed slightly embarrassed and said, "Both."
The fluttering inside me returned when his mouth recreated that warm and inviting smile.
