The Revelation
Marcie
Bill and I made love twice more that night. After each climax we agreed that it was better than the last one. Finally, we reluctantly fell asleep and didn't get up the next day until two in the afternoon. Of course, we had to do it once again before getting on with what was left of our day.
Over the following months we continued to see each other at least twice a week. We often spent hours talking; mostly about our respective lives, personal histories and aspirations for the future. I learned that Bill was somewhat of an adrenaline junkie. He had been an Army helicopter pilot who volunteered for two tours in Viet Nam. After returning home he had joined the police department about three years before we met. He loved his work and preferred working nights because that was when the "action" happened. Before we met he had two serious relationships; but, the girls were too "clingy". He said he wanted an equal partner.
The police department had a program for wives and "significant others" to go on a ride-along so that they could see what their husbands did. One Saturday night I rode with one of Bill's friends at the station and he essentially followed Bill around so I could see him in action. I was amazed at how patient and compassionate he was when he was in uniform and responding to calls for assistance or merely talking to people. He truly empathized with their sad stories; and believe me, everyone had one. However, if he felt threatened or believed that someone else was threatened, he took quick and decisive action to end the threat. Several times that action included physically subduing a belligerent man or woman. He was completely comfortable deciding how people should act in emotionally charged situations and then enforcing his decisions. That was a side of Bill that I had not seen, but one that made me feel very safe.
We continued to date exclusively for the next several months when we decided that Bill should move in with me. I knew I had found my guy. The sex wasn't just good, it was fantastic; but, more importantly, he was thoughtful, kind and had a great sense of humor. I felt both comfortable and safe with him. He was easy to live with and didn't have any deal-breaking habits. He snored lightly, but I rather liked it. He told me he loved me and I reciprocated. In short, he made me feel special. Life was great and we were married within a year.
Our life together was truly wonderful. He enthusiastically supported my efforts to pursue an acting career; often spending hours at the theatre while I rehearsed scenes. We attended "cop" parties where I met all of his friends and he attended both teachers' parties and the occasional off-beat gathering of actors and neophytes. All of my friends loved him, especially the women, but that was OK because he made me feel like a princess. He and Steve continued to work as partners. Our lives together settled down to a very relaxed and mutually satisfying routine.
His work shifts alternated between "days" and "nights" every six months, so he often came home at three or four in the morning where I always welcomed him to our bed with kisses and an eagerness for sex. Invariably he responded with an aggressiveness that only reinforced my efforts to please him. I truly loved Bill and I knew he loved me. We decided early on that children would be delayed or perhaps foregone completely.
About two years after Bill and I were married, Alice and I were having lunch alone in the teacher's lounge. We were talking about our respective marriages and husbands when I impulsively told her that I was afraid that I wasn't enough for Bill.
"What in the world are you talking about?" she asked in surprise.
"I don't know. We really enjoy our time together. We share so many interests and love to do things together. It's probably just my imagination because our sex is outstanding, but sometimes I think Bill wants to have an affair."
"Oh, that can't be true!" She exclaimed. "He adores you. Steve says that you're all he talks about during their shifts."
"Don't get me wrong, I believe that he loves me but sometimes he just hints that he wants something more. For example, whenever we go out he urges me to wear things that show off my boobs or ass too much. It's like he wants the guys to ogle me. It just makes me feel uncomfortable. When we watch a porn movie at home, which doesn't happen too often, he usually chooses one with a theme of swinging couples or a husband arranging for men to have sex with his wife. I think he secretly wants me to have an affair so he can screw another woman. Not any particular woman, just any woman."
Alice laughed loudly as she exclaimed, "Girl, you're small town, mid-western, Catholic upbringing is showing. He doesn't want another woman as much as he wants to share you with another man. If the other man has a willing wife, all the better."
I was dumbfounded and must have had looked confused because she continued.
"That fantasy of 'swinging' or 'sharing' is nothing new. Steve has been trying for a couple of years to get me to try trading spouses with another couple."
"Have you done it?" I asked in a breathless whisper as I looked around to see if there was anyone else in the room.
"No, but not because I wouldn't, if I could. Like you, Steve and I are very happy and our sex life is exceptional, but we aren't ready to have any children; however, unlike you I can't take the pill. It has something to do with my period. I've tried an IUD, but my body rejects that too. Steve and I use a condom, and I'm afraid that, if I did it with someone else I might get pregnant."
"You could use a condom, couldn't you?" I asked.
"Maybe, I don't know. Steve and I have talked about it and he says using a condom just isn't as good as natural sex. I just assume that at those swing parties the guys won't want to use a condom. In any case, I know that Steve wants to try it, but I can't take the risk."
"Where have you heard about swing parties?" I asked incredulously, even though I knew they existed.
"Oh, Steve has told me about a couple of regular party places in Hollywood. He says that he's never been to any of the parties, he just knows they exist."
"Wow, I didn't know about any of this. I guess my small-town, Indiana sex education was sadly neglected," I giggled.
The bell rang and we went to our respective classes. The rest of the day I moved from one class to another on auto-pilot. I kept asking myself, "Is she right?" My mind was swirling with pictures conjured up by Alice's revelation and the insight she provided about Bill.
Several months after my conversation with Alice, Bill and I took a trip during Spring Break to visit the beaches north of Los Angeles. We stayed in a very nice, small motel and spent several glorious days and nights.
Bill was attentive, almost to a fault. He arranged a private tour of Hearst Castle and he rented a boat for us to paddle around the lake in the afternoon. It was warm and we fed the many graceful swans that dotted the water. That evening we walked along the beach to the most romantic little bistro where we sat on the deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean and enjoyed a magnificent sunset. At the end of a perfect day we returned to the motel and prepared for bed.
I finished my shower and, using a dry wash cloth, I cleared the condensation from the large mirror above the sink. I inspected myself and thought, "Not bad for a 35 year old school teacher". I brushed my hair until it shown and fell softly around my face and touched my shoulders. I inspected my eyes for wrinkles and was rewarded with only a few "smile lines". I applied lipstick and outlined them with a thin red line. I decided I didn't need any more makeup.
I continued to take inventory. My breasts were not big, but neither were they a size "A". Bill had once described them as generous. They were each tipped with a light brown areola the size of a silver dollar and a small, erect, reddish-brown nipple. My breasts were so sensitive, especially my nipples, that Bill could bring me to the edge of an orgasm without touching me anywhere else.
My gaze slid down to my flat stomach with the tiny indented naval in the middle. That was another place where Bill's tongue could raise my temperature just about any time.
Finally I cast my gaze on the mound of soft, thin pubic hair that barely covered my pussy. I had never needed a bikini shave. The hair was so thin I could see where my lips began and then disappeared between my legs. Unlike a "bottle blonde", the hair around my pussy was a light, honey brown color that perfectly matched my skin.
