As a masseuse's husband, I long ago got used to seeing my wife's hands pleasing other people.
Ryleigh's hands are well-trained, which is good for our business and extremely good for our private life. No shortage of male clients at Wholeweal House have surreptitiously remarked on my good fortune to have a wife with such a skilled touch. I always give them a knowing smile, like yeah buddy, don't I know it.
And it's true. I am a lucky man. Ryleigh is a total babe, with curves in places most women don't even have places. She takes astoundingly good care of me, even after an exhausting day of kneading out stress spots and recommending herbal supplements, of which I am the guru.
Still, things haven't always been rosy. When we first got married, ten years ago, I really thought I was done playing the field. I'd sampled a pretty wide variety of female pleasures, all sizes, shapes, colors, and personalities—which matter, at least to me. Ryleigh blew into my life like a storm when I was 25, putting all the competition to shame. Beautiful, smart, funny, and of course those talented hands...a guy would have to be completely insane not to snap that up. Plus, I loved her. Still do. A lot.
But people are tricky. We have chinks in our armor that we don't even know about sometimes, until something creeps past our defenses. One of the most common is the old flame. And it was this that got past my perimeter during year two of our marriage, in the form of Jennifer Mabry, blonde bombshell of my teenage dreams, who I chased in utter futility all through junior high, until she moved away.
At which point she wrote me a letter, professing her unrequited love for me, and apologizing for being tied up with other guys all the times I was free. I think my dick ached for a month after I got that missive in 9th grade, and the fantasies of what might have been kinda ruined me for a while, at least until the carnal wonders of the marching band bus became apparent.
I more or less forgot about Jennifer, until one day at Beantown, a few doors down from our shop. Who of all people do I find standing in line right next to me, ordering the same coffee?
It's hard to explain, and sounds stupid when I do. Just...all of those old neural pathways opened right up, and my body started chanting 'Jen-ni-fer,' 'Jen-ni-fer,' like it had back in the day. Worse, she had blossomed, and was even hotter than before, which was quite a feat. We talked for like an hour there before I began to pick up a frantic pinging from my upper brain, reminding me that I had a super-scrumptious wife waiting for me to get back to the shop.
Ryleigh knew something was up the moment I walked in. And because I love her, I was totally honest, explaining the old crush and everything. She got it, and I was relieved. But over a couple of weeks, I kept getting these texts from Jennifer, and my imagination would go nuts. It became a problem.
Finally, I brought it up one night, after I'd done some massage of my own, deep in Ryleigh's sweet nethers, relaxing her mood. We had talked in abstract terms many times about the open marriage thing. It made perfect sense to both of us as a concept. We're broad-minded people, very socially progressive, with friends who get into all kinds of taboo in the bedroom.
Yet since meeting a few years prior, we had remained completely monogamous. I was so smitten with her that it barely even occurred to me to covet outside flesh. Ryleigh had never said boo about other men, and I knew her well enough to know she'd never cheat. But my mind had been so hijacked by fantasies of receiving Jennifer's pent-up passion that it seemed like a good time to put our open-mindedness to the test.
"Hey, Ryles..." I introed, stroking her warm belly, feeling stupid even as I said it. "Do you ever think about...you know, opening things up?"
My wife's big, brown-eyed stare was devastating. Not angry, really. 'Shocked' is a better word. Like I'd just pulled a rug out from under her feet. It took her a moment to respond.
"I...wow, Davi..." she stuttered.
RETREAT, RETREAT!! My brain screamed, but it was too late. This discussion was happening. 'In theory,' I wanted to add, but my wife is not stupid. In fact, it only took 3.5 seconds for her to sort it out.
"Jennifer," she said, nodding her head in comprehension. "You've been talking."
I kept expecting some explosion, but Ryleigh was more taken aback than upset.
"She hasn't proposed anything," I hastened to add. "She respects my marital status."
"No, I know," Ryleigh said, studying me. "This is you."
An interminable stretch of silence passed as she composed her thoughts, the jarring transition between orgasmic afterglow and major relationship decision rattling her usual quick grasp on things. She had not pushed me away, and remained still as I continued to caress her warm skin. That had to mean something. I said nothing, lest I fuck the whole thing up. Which, miraculously, I hadn't yet. At last, shifting a little in the sheets, she spoke.
"Davi, if you think it'll make you happy..." she said, with a half-heartedness that hit me right in the stomach. "I wouldn't want to stand in your way."
It was the answer I'd been hoping for. But not the emotion I wanted to see on her beautiful face, which was heavy now with uncertainty. Was I rejecting her? Had she done something wrong? Were all men really dogs after all? These thoughts and a million more flashed across her eyes, tugging here and there at the corners of her full lips, sowing doubt and negative energy into the bonds that had held us together so strongly up till that moment.
I'd fucked it up.
"It goes both ways," I offered, desperately. "Surely there's someone you've thought about."
Watching Ryleigh search her mind for candidates was painful. Like she didn't want to. I was clearly the only one inconstant enough to daydream about outside affairs. A piece of shit, was what I was. Lying there next to my faithful, committed bride, I hurled silent insults at my wanton penis, who'd caused this trouble in the first place. Ryleigh, ever attentive to my moods, picked up on my distress.
"Look, Davi," she said, calmly. "We're different. It's okay. I'm not really in that place, you know? I'm happy to be with you."
"And I'm happy to be with you," I replied, assiduously, reassuring her. She nodded, and gave my cheek a comforting stroke.
"I know," she said, almost as if she believed it, but there was a trace of worry she couldn't quite hide from me. "It's unfinished business. I get it. I'm not going to say it doesn't freak me out a little."
"You can tell me no, Ryles..."
She shook her pretty head.
"I don't want to be your ball and chain," she said, sincerely. "That kind of wife pisses me off. I'm a big girl, I know about sexual psychology, the myths that made monogamy and all that. Sex is just sex. What we have is part sex, but part something more. You're not leaving me. I understand."
We'd said these sorts of things many times before, in reference to other people's open relationships. I knew she believed all of it intellectually. But I could tell her heart was having a rough time making the leap emotionally. Ryleigh was a romantic. She wanted her forever prince, whether it was logical or not. And dammit, gazing into her deep brown eyes, as troubled as they were loving, I wanted to be that prince.
