The two weeks following Nancy's erotic video session were pretty uneventful. Nick (the large-dicked male model she posed with – see "My Wife's Night Class," chapters 1-8) called once, long distance and a little drunk, asking for date. She turned him down. In class the following two Wednesday nights, her handsome classmate John was overly attentive, so Nancy made it clear to him that she didn't want to take things much further (than fingerfucking?) with a married man. There were too many potential difficulties with his wife, she explained.
Nancy said that John seemed to take the rebuff in stride, especially when she told him she found him so exciting that she sometimes masturbated thinking about him. I asked her if this was true. She said no, that she was just trying to let him down easily. Also, that she hadn't masturbated since the video session but usually didn't fantasize about anyone in particular when doing herself. I guess women are different from us men in this regard.
Jerry, the balding guy in her class, had been almost shy around my wife. He'd gotten to watch the video shoot where Nick had eaten her cunt, fingerfucked her, and made her cum by rubbing the head of his cock against her cunt lips. He'd watched his more handsome classmate John fingerfuck her and Wendell, the photographer, stick a finger up her asshole. All this had made him cum in his pants. But, suddenly, he was shy. Go figure.
The most unchanged in his attitude toward Nancy was Dean, the stocky guy who (Nancy confirmed) had once been a college wrestler. He remained jocularly forward toward her. He complained about not getting to chaperone her video shoot, which John and Jerry told him was "great." (Both Nancy and I wondered what words they'd actually used to describe what she'd let various guys do to her.) And his tall friend Arthur felt left out, too, he said, though Arthur probably wouldn't admit it.
Nancy told Dean that if another video shoot happened, she'd invite him to supervise. Also Arthur. Teasingly, she asked Dean if his wife would like to come, too. He assured her that she would not and that she'd castrate him if she ever found out about him doing such a thing.
After the most recent Wednesday night class, Dean invited Nancy to again join John and him for drinks, but she told him that she'd found another ride home that would be leaving right after class.
What she didn't tell Dean was that the ride was with Arthur. During the class break, Arthur had taken Nancy aside and confided several things to her. First (and he had a very hard time, apparently, admitting this) he was having trouble with women. They didn't seem to find him attractive. And, when he dated women, they didn't respond to him as he wished they would. Maybe he wasn't attractive enough. Maybe he was too tall, too gawky. Second, he was very interested in her and wanted to talk to her alone, without the other guys in the class around. Maybe, since she was a sexually liberated woman, she could give him some tips on what he could do to make himself more appealing to women. Sort of like counseling. Could he drive her home so they could chat? But the others couldn't know, he insisted. They'd just make fun of him.
When she finished talking with Arthur, Nancy called me at a bar, where I was waiting as usual to see what might develop after class, and told me I may as well go home and wait there since he would be driving her home. She told me about their chat and said she was pretty skeptical about his plea for help. She suspected he was probably just playing her. But, so what? It might be fun. When they arrived, she'd invite Arthur in for a bit of "counseling" that might be worth watching and listening in on from my secret vantage point. (As the readers of my earlier reports know, I've drilled a peephole in the wall between the hall closet and the living room that allows me to see and hear nearly everything that occurs there.)
So I finished my drink and drove the twenty miles from the university campus to our house in the next town.
As I waited, I gave some thought to Arthur. He looked about six-foot-six and maybe 180 pounds. But he wasn't skinny; he had very powerful arms for his build. He was obviously a very physical guy. He didn't have a handsome face. His features were too sharp, too birdlike. But he was passably attractive. Then I remembered his hands, how large they were. I wondered if what they said about hand-size correlating with cock-size was true.
Then, after snacking and getting the closet ready with a piss-jar and some paper towels, I turned off all the lights in the house and sat down to wait. I didn't dare turn on the television set or the sound system. I needed to be able to hear Arthur and my wife arrive. It wouldn't do to have an erstwhile sexual partner stumble in on the reportedly estranged husband who was supposed to be living elsewhere.
Nervous jitters were building up inside me, and I couldn't help pacing around the house in the dark trying my best to discharge them. I decided there was no need to remain clothed, so I removed my shoes, dress shirt, trousers, underpants, and socks and put them in our bedroom. Then, wearing only my undershirt, I paced around nervously, occasionally peering out the front window to look for approaching headlights. Looking at the couch and carpeted area in front of it, dimly visible from the porch light shining through the curtains, I reconstructed in my mind what various guys had done there recently to my beautiful wife. Damn, my cock was already getting hard! Nancy's was the gift that just kept giving.
At about 10:30 the phone rang. It was Nancy, calling from a bar about a mile from our house. She said that she and Arthur had stopped for a couple of drinks and that they'd be at the house in about twenty minutes. She laughed and said something about "having to loosen up the big guy."
When I hung up I tried to find something to do to pass the time. I did some last- minute rearranging of throw pillows on and in front of the couch. I took another piss. I got a wet paper towel from the kitchen and, very unnecessarily, wiped off the top of the coffee table that stands in front of the couch. Finally, at about 11:00 o'clock, I heard Arthur's truck pull up in front of the house.
I walked quickly to the closet and shut myself in. A minute or so later, I listened as Nancy's key turned in the lock and she pushed the front door open. Then the lamps on either side of the couch came on (they're connected to a switch by the front door) and bathed what Nancy and I call the "action area" of the living room in a warm light. Arthur followed her inside and shut the door behind him. I was struck by how much he towered over my wife, who is five-foot-four and about 110 pounds, as she knelt on the carpet removing her boots.
"There's some pink Chablis in the refrigerator," said Nancy. "Why don't you bring it in here while I get out of these." By "these" she obviously meant the clothes she'd worn to class, a short jacket over a V-neck sweater and tight blue ski pants. While Arthur headed for the kitchen, she walked over to the sound system and put in several CDs. The first to play was a favorite of hers she'd been listening to for the past several days, some female blues singer. She turned the volume way down.
