WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
(c) copyright 2002 All Rights Reserved
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I mean, what the hell would you have done if you had been faced with the same dilemma as I was last year? It was Sherry's doing, I mean she instigated the whole thing, I wouldn't have thought about doing anything so radical if it hadn't been for what she did. Oh well, I guess you can't tell me if I did right or not unless you hear my story, so here goes.
Who's Sherry, you ask? She's my wife, and at the time of the 'incident' we had been married for eighteen years, and we had gotten into the not-all-that-uncommon rut. Yeah, our sex life sucked, but with us it was more than that. We just got on each other's nerves much too often, we argued more and fucked less.
Even though we had had problems, I had never been unfaithful to her and I don't have any reason to believe that she had ever cheated on me. I didn't know about Sherry, but in order to keep some semblance of sanity, I jacked-off a lot, it had become easier and less complicated than trying to fuck her. Oh, we fucked, but it was very infrequent and decidedly uninspired.
After several years of frustration, I had reached a crossroads, I couldn't take any more of the then current state of affairs. Something had to be done, either we revitalized our marriage, or called it quits. Status quo was not an option.
I made the decision to take the initiative and make an attempt to give our relationship a much-needed shot in the arm. The week before the nineteenth anniversary of our first date, I stepped out of character and became a romantic. I phoned Sherry at work and asked her out on a date for the upcoming Saturday, which fell nearest the anniversary. I suggested that we return to the club where we had gone on our first date, for an evening of dining and dancing. She readily accepted my invitation and seemed very pleased, almost giddy. It was as if we were starting over again, on our first date, 'returning to the scene of the crime,' if you will.
On the big day, I finished getting ready before Sherry, and drove off alone. I'm sure that my departure had puzzled her, but I had a plan. I went to the local florist and bought a small bouquet of flowers. When I returned, I parked the car in the driveway, in lieu of pulling into the garage, went up to the front door and rang the doorbell. It was as if we were still single and I was picking her up at her house for our first date, trying to make a good impression with the flowers.
She was pleasantly surprised as I presented her with the flowers at the door, and she greeted me with a big smile and giddily invited me in. She said that she'd be ready in just a few more minutes - just like a woman, she kept her date waiting.
I waited for about ten minutes, and when she finally appeared in front of me, she was all smiles. I'll have to admit that she looked pretty damn good in her sleek black outfit with the tight pants, and I told her so. I stood, took her hand and we proceeded out the door, into the car and on to the restaurant, radiant smiles on both our faces.
Dinner went fine, but we didn't seem to have much to talk about. We each caught ourselves on the verge of saying something upsetting to the other - bad habits are hard to break.
After dinner, we moved into the lounge and sat at a table near the dance floor. I waited for the DJ to play a slow song, and when he did, I asked her to dance. We proceeded to dance to all of the slow, and even a few of the fast songs over the next hour, or so. I was beginning to feel that things were coming together, as I had originally hoped. I held her close and she put her head on my shoulder as we danced to the slow numbers. Both of us were feeling very mellow and romantic.
The mood changed in a hurry.
We decided to sit out a fast dance, and as soon as we sat ourselves down, a man that I didn't know came over to our table. "Sherry! It is Sherry Johnson, isn't it?" He asked as if he were an old friend of hers.
She recognized him immediately, "Ken, Ken Blake! Yes, I'm Sherry, but it's not Johnson any more."
She got to her feet and they hugged, obviously they were old friends. She introduced us and asked him to join us.
That was a mistake.
The two of them monopolized the conversation, as one might expect, after not having seen each other in many years. I gathered from what I over heard, that they were former lovers. He had been living out of state and was in town visiting his mother, and decided to stop in at the old watering hole for a drink or two. He said that he had spotted her out on the dance floor and waited until we sat down to say hello.
He complimented Sherry on how good she looked after not seeing her for more than nineteen years. She loved the compliments and attention he was paying her, I became oblivious to the both of them. Actually, I hadn't seen her glow like that in years; he must have stirred up some pleasant memories.
I felt a twinge of jealousy.
He went on to tell her what a big mistake he had made by not pursuing her with more vigor, way back when. He said that he had never married because he could never find anybody that could compare to her.
Boy! Did she eat that up! I almost puked.
After about thirty minutes of conversation, he asked her to dance. He didn't bother to ask if it was OK with me, nor did she. They merely ignored me and got up to dance.
I became a little miffed at the snub.
I watched as they danced and noticed that the gap between their bodies became progressively smaller as time went on. They stayed on the floor for the entire slow set, a fast set and then another slow set. By the end of the last slow song, they were in a very tight embrace (zero gap), and I felt another distinct twinge of jealousy. Her head was on his shoulder with both arms around his neck, and both of his hands were on her lower back just above her shapely buns.
As time dragged on, I became increasingly miffed, as I sat by myself with nothing to do except twiddle my thumbs and watch the two of them. Well, that's not exactly the truth. There were a few other good-looking women out there that I noticed and followed with my eyes, sometimes drooling a bit. I always have enjoyed looking, but as I said earlier, I never touched.
Ken and Sherry took a break for the next fast set, and I took the opportunity to ask her to dance, but she refused, saying she was tired and needed a rest. I waited for the next slow song, but before I had a chance to get up, Ken had grabbed her hand and had her up on the dance floor again. She beamed as if he had just rescued her from a fate worse than death.
I was pissed and bemoaned the fact that my wife was paying more attention to Ken than to me.
When the second slow song started, I decided that I needed to take some affirmative action. I got up, tapped Ken on the shoulder and cut in. Neither he nor Sherry seemed especially pleased with my action, but both relented so as not to cause a scene.
As soon as I had her in my arms, I asked, "why are you allowing Ken to monopolize you on our special anniversary date?"
"It's so good seeing him after such a long time, and we have a lot of catching up to do. You should be a little more understanding."
"I might be just a little more understanding if this wasn't our special anniversary date. Besides, you're my wife and it appears to me that his intentions aren't exactly honorable."
"You're way off base about his intentions, and I'll make it up to you some other time."
Ken cut in at the beginning of the next slow number, Sherry beamed and I frowned. I didn't get to dance with her the rest of the evening; I just sat and watched as they held each other close during every slow number. I even thought that I saw them kissing when they were on the far side of the dance floor, but I could've been wrong about that, the lighting was poor. Of course I tried to make the best of a bad situation by continuing to ogle some of the other lookers on the dance floor.
One gorgeous redhead caught my attention and held it for some time. Our eyes met several times when she and her dance partner came near where I was sitting. Her eyes seemed to sparkle when we locked gazes, or maybe it was my imagination, but I found some solace in that twinkle in her eyes. I noticed that she wasn't with anyone in particular and never danced with the same guy twice in succession.
The redhead danced out of my view, and I began to stew again, becoming angrier with Sherry by the minute. I tried very hard to maintain some self-control, but had a great deal of difficulty.
When they finally came off the dance floor, Sherry sat down next to me and Ken went off toward the Men's room.
I got up, took her hand, and told her, "we're leaving."
She pulled her hand away, and said, "no, not yet." She paused and seemed deep in thought. The look on her face was one of indecision, and maybe a little trepidation.
She looked up at me with pleading eyes, then looked away, and finally came out with, "honey, I have something to tell you."
"What might that be?"
"You know how you've been telling me about those erotic stories that you've been reading on the Internet, you know, the ones about husbands who want their wives to sleep with other guys?"
I had a feeling that I wasn't going to like where this was headed, "yes, what about them?"
