I was surprised because our marriage was good. We had sex. We had nice things. Good jobs. Everything was fine. Late thirties. It was, as they say, living the dream. But without the usual negative undertones associated with that phrase.
"Have you ever thought about like, an open relationship?" It wasn't what a woman in my situation wanted to hear. God, I thought, He's bored. Bored of me. Bored of our life. This is his way of proposing a sort of soft divorce. I told him I had heard of it, but had never really thought about it. We were happy, right? "Right. I mean, it wouldn't even really be for me. Maybe you?" I didn't know what to say.
I did research. Cuckold. Hotwife. Swinging. Polyamory. None of it outwardly appealed to me. I read, and read, and though, but I really couldn't see my husband's angle in it, either. Aren't you supposed to want your wife to be faithful?
Over the next few weeks we talked more. It wasn't about cuckolding or humiliating him. Sex was good. he was happy. He just had read something on the internet, and it had peaked his erotic curiosiuty. He had processed it, and, after much thought, had proposed it to me. According to him, I wouldn't have to have sex. He just wanted me to go on a date. Alone. With another man. I had to think about it.
It had been my experience that sometimes men didn't know what they wanted. Things sounded appealing to them. Maybe in the heat of it, they thought it was a good idea. I suspected that's how my husband felt. This was a new idea for him. Something in his psychology was now finding the idea of me, sitting alone sipping coffee or wine with another man to be "hot." It was doing it for him. For now.
More talking. He was sincere. And mellow, and, even when I pushed it, and asked him, well, what if something happened? What if, I don't know, I gave a blowjob? Have you thought about that? I'm human. The guy could be hot. My husband didn't back down. "You know, I've thought about it, and, I'm ok with it." Fine, I had told him. Fine. I didn't know where to begin.
It was funny how much my view of the world changed in the next couple of weeks. I began to see men differently. My co-workers, men I interacted with. Would he be a good date? Would it be worth it to flirt with him? Do I even know how to flirt anymore? Should I tell them I'm married? That my husband is ok with this?
When it finally happened, I guess I didn't even realize it. Did I want to get coffee? Sure. I said yes. It was a guy I knew through work. I didn't work with him. And, nothing he did, or I did, had any bearing on anything the other had going careerwise. It was safe. He was my age, cute. I thought he was married, but then I had never seen a ring. He just seemed like a married guy.
We met on a weekday, mid-morning. I was dressed for work, so business casual. Entering the shop, I felt a twinge of anxiety when I saw him. There was my date. I ordered, felt like his eyes were on me the entire time, and then sat down across from him. We drank coffee, and talked about anything but work. Hobbies. Interests. Family. I found myself mentioning my husband. It didn't seem to throw him off. Towards the end, I was flirty. I laughed maybe too hard at his jokes. I playfully insulted him. All of the things people do.
But he wasn't the one who really did it for me. Sure, we had coffee a couple times more. It tapered off. We stopped talking. ust before that happened, I met the one that, in a few months, I would be pulling my thong down for.
He was at the gym. I normally didn't notice guys at the gym, but he caught my attention. Immediately, it was like my breasts were magnets and he was iron. They were hardening, pulling towards him. And then I felt the attraction lower, in my stomach. I watched him. I had thoughts.
Every night I went to the gym, which wasn't every night, I would hope to see him. I wanted to know his routine. I had to position myself. I did. I noticed that he came in, a few days after work, and usually about the same time. He was big on the treadmill. Not so much on the weights. Stamina, I thought. Did he notice me? Was I stalking him?
One evening I was walking past him, and, with courage, I looked at him and said "hi." He greeted me back. It was funny how quickly it developed from there. We began to greet each other. And then we started to talk. Had picking men up always been this easy? My 20-something past self didn't recall it being so simple.