The breath of a whisper would have knocked me over.
My wife of six years, prudent, sophisticated, decorous and restrained had just uttered the ultimate four-letter word in a question that frankly astonished me.
We were having our weekly night-out date in an elegant restaurant. Her wine glass was three quarters full, so it certainly wasn't inebriation. The dinner had been served moments before; hers, a filet with a wine and mushroom sauce, mine, the more robust T-bone with a side of steak-cut fried potatoes and a small serving of asparagus. The food was, as always in this familiar haunt, excellent.
No more than three bites into the meal, my Laurie pointed in the general direction of the bar area and asked, "Do you think that guy would like to fuck me?"
In an involuntary reaction, the breath caught in my chest and a shiver ran through me. I looked toward the bar and saw a lone forty-something man, dressed in a gray suit, distinguished-looking, holding an Old-Fashion glass half-full of amber liquid.
"Uh," I stammered, "what did you say?"
Not ever had I heard that word pass her lips. Even in our love-making, Laurie had always been relatively silent, an occasional moan being the only sound to escape her lips when she reached her orgasm. We never talked about our sex. It was always spontaneous, initiated by me, tender, gentle and sweet. We were comfortable with each other and our sexual joining reflected that comfort.
"I was wondering if he would like to fuck me, Larry," she repeated. "I'm sure you heard me."
It was then Laurie told me of finding my stash of erotica in the back of our closet. When we agreed to engage in a cleaning binge, I'd forgotten about the stack of magazines that was, I thought, hidden deep in the recesses of the closet and covered by clothes I rarely wore. Laurie found them and, apparently, had read a number of them.
Lodged in the recesses of my mind was the fantasy of seeing and hearing my loving wife engaged in sexual congress that fired her passions to the point of abandon. I wanted, in this fantasy, for her to lose all control, surrender to the moment, and break her façade of restraint, becoming completely shameless in desire and passion. The vehicle for this was the not uncommon fantasy of sexual congress with another man. Each magazine or article I had collected contained some description of this activity, wives being lustfully engaged in sex with someone other than the husband.
After assuring me she was intrigued rather than irate, she offered an alternative that was within her comfort zone. That was how we began the routine of role-playing. I bought her mystery man a drink, found out his name, occupation and location. I brought the information back to Laurie who virtually ordered me to assume his persona and to take her home and make love to her in our darkened bedroom as if I were the stranger. It was the most amazing sex we'd ever had. Laurie was enthusiastic, engaged, vocal and vigorous as never before.
The following morning I found her at the table in our breakfast nook with a hot cup of coffee and several of my magazines in front of her.
"Did you enjoy last night as much as I did?" she asked.
"Very much," I said, drawing my own cup of coffee from the pot.
"You know, I'm starting to understand these letters," she waved carelessly at the stack of magazines. "When sex becomes a significant part of your life, things just get more interesting.
"Until last night I didn't know," she continued. "Thank you for helping me discover it."
"I'm not sure it's the sex, darling," I said. "What you may have discovered is the passion."
"Hmmm," she hummed, tossing aside one magazine and flipping through the pages of the next. "Still, I'm not sure why these women need these other men. Mine seems to be able to provide all the stimulation I need.
"Here's one," she said. "She and her neighbor decide they'll distract their men from watching a football game. They begin, each with their own husband. Then, once they're all naked, they switch partners."
"I remember it," I admitted.
"Was I in it? When you visualized it, I mean. Was I there?"
"Of course. I told you. You're always there."
Laurie sipped her coffee. "Who was the other couple?"
"I'm not sure I recognized them," I told her. "Sometimes it's just a fantasy without anyone specific."
"Except for me," she reminded me.
"Except for you, and me, sometimes."
There was silence for a minute or so. Then, she said, "You think Ken and Kimberly would entertain this kind of idea?"
They were neighbors, three doors down and close to our age. Ken did some sort of sales thing. Kim had a part-time gig at a local car dealership, answering the phone and making the announcements. The fact that she was cute had to have some bearing on how quickly she was hired and her ability to limit her hours to ones she wanted to work.
Still, Ken and Kim had not figured into my fantasy when I read the football story.
"I don't know, Laurie. Truth is, I never thought of them in that context."
"Maybe you should," she suggested.
"Maybe you shouldn't," I countered. "Remember, honey, this is the stuff of fantasy. It's not real. It's just a figment of my imagination."
"But, we both liked doing your fantasy last night, didn't we?"
"True enough, but it was still us. That's enough for me."
She stood up and kissed my cheek. "Me, too. I really liked it, though. I hope we can do it again."
The role playing became a regular activity of our Saturday night dates. Over the next four months I played Ben and Bob, Henry and Harry, Gene, Steve, Michael and Jeremy. Laurie kept throwing in new kinks that were unexpected and, for me, delightful. For Henry, my wife decided she wanted him from behind. She rode Gene like a cowgirl, and begged Jeremy to make her his cum slut, sucking me off until I squirted my come into her mouth and throat. She sucked me to hardness after a brief respite and then made me fuck her. This time, she wanted the lights left on. She leaned against the bureau, watching herself in the mirror as I pumped myself into her from behind.
The morning-after always included discussion of the previous night's activities. Laurie continued to read through my stash of magazines. That was where she identified the various activities and became determined to try those that appealed to her.
"Good morning, sweetheart," she said after the Jeremy experience. I chuckled as I drew my cup of coffee and joined her at the table in our breakfast nook.
"Good morning, my darling," I responded.
"Have I told you what a marvelous lover you are?" she asked.
"Really? Not so's I remember," I answered.
"I really liked last night," she said.
I nodded. "Okay. That's good."
"I never made you come in my mouth before."
"True."
"You know what it feels like? There's this tremendous sense of control. I've heard that whores do it and it makes some women feel like they're being demeaned. But, I didn't feel like that at all. I felt this marvelous power because I was able to make you come."
I chuckled again. "You're really amazing, you know that? I was afraid you'd be surprised and feel humiliated."
"The magazine said men really like it. It didn't say women do, too. Somebody should tell them."
"I think you'll find yourself in a minority, darling."
"Maybe so," she said. "But, I can tell you this. Now that I've figured out how to do it, I'm going to keep it up. I like doing it. I like the way it feels, and I like feeling the sensation of power when you come."
"What about the taste?" I asked.
"Sort of like a warm, salty yogurt," she said.
"It doesn't gross you out?"
"No!" she exclaimed. "When you started, I kept thinking, I made you do this. Squirt it! I want more! I was almost disappointed when you quit."
"You're really amazing."
"Does that make me a come slut?" she asked.
"I don't think so," I laughed. "Since it's only my come you've experienced. If you were slurping up come from a variety of men, that's what would make you a come slut."
Moments passed in silence. "You know what else I liked about last night?" she asked.
"What else, darling?"
"I liked watching myself getting fucked. I kept looking in the mirror, looking in my eyes, trying to see if I could see anything."
"What did you see?"
"Just that I seemed to like it. It was hard to keep watching, though. I kept wanting to close my eyes. Did you know I get a little slack-jawed when I come?"
"Do you?"
"It's like all sensation gets short circuited down to there, you know, where I feel your cock sliding in and out. My mind goes into a spasmodic series of thoughts, all of which center on wanting the fucking feeling to go on and on. Its as if I just want to holler, `Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,' over and over again, but I can't get the words to form." She shrugged.
I stood up and brought the coffee carafe to the table, refilled hers and mine. I leaned over and kissed the top of her head.
As I returned to my seat, I asked her if she was enjoying her exploration of her sexuality.
"So far, so good," she said. "Honestly, I didn't know there was so much I didn't know. Sometimes, I wonder, though, if it's all right."
"So far, so good," I chuckled.
"No," she said, "I'm serious. How come, if everything feels so good, it's such a big secret. Nobody seems to talk about this stuff."
"You and I talk about it," I reminded her. "Don't you and your girlfriends talk about sex? I'd be surprised if you didn't."
"Oh, they hint around the edges. From what I've learned, though, I'd say they're probably mostly bored. The most exciting thing was when Drew Needham came home for a nooner one day." Laurie's friend Tammy had married Andrew Needham about three years ago. Tammy and Laurie managed to talk twice or three times a week.
"And?" I prodded.
"She was doing the laundry. He backed her up on the washer and did her right there before getting a ham sandwich and going back to work," Laurie explained.
"A nooner," I laughed.
"Tammy thought it was very sexy in the middle of the day like that," Laurie said.
"Did you tell them about our Saturday nights?" I asked her. "That would give them something to think about."
"I would think so," she said. "You think I should?"
