The phone rang at midnight.
"Were you sleeping?" she asked.
"Not really. Just dozing. I miss you."
"I miss you, too. That's why I called. I can't stop thinking about you."
Her name is Patricia. She is my wife. She was out of town at a conference. It was only one night, but...
"You're up kind of late, aren't you?" I asked. " I thought the first round of meetings started at eight tomorrow."
"It does. I'm being naughty."
Even approaching middle-age, my wife is still a very attractive woman, spending her lunch hours in the gym, rather than in a restaurant. Her body is tight and strong; her breasts are small but firm, and her ass is gorgeous. And though we have been married for a number of years, we still love the physical part of our relationship, enjoying the quirks and surprises that a healthy sex life generates.
So when I told her, last year, that imagining her being touched by another man gave me a very excited erection, she began to surprise me with occasional stories of her extramarital exploits. She made them explicit enough to really excite me, but left them vague enough so that I could never be sure if they were fantasy or fact.
One evening she came home, her business suit rumpled, and tossed her damp panties in my lap with a story about a brief tryst in the parking lot. Another night she came home later than expected and spent a dizzying hour relating her adventure picking up a guy in a bar.
True? Or not?
It doesn't matter. The sex after these events was hot and passionate. God, this woman turns me on.
So, even though I wasn't expecting a call from her tonight, I wasn't totally surprised either.
"How naughty?" I asked.
"Only a little."
"I hear music in the background," I said to her.
"Yes," she said. "We found this incredible little roadhouse just outside of town. They even have a phone booth, if you can believe it."
"We?"
"Oh, yeah. I guess I ought to tell you that part. One of the accountants from New York, Kevin Prine, asked me out to dinner."
"And you went."
"It was only dinner."
"Was it?"
"Well...there was also dancing."
"Uh, huh. What are you wearing?"
"That little black dress you bought me, the one..."
" I know the one," I said. Short, tight and very sexy. She's a stone knockout in that dress.
"You shouldn't be allowed out in public in that dress," I said.
"You getting hard, aren't you?" she asked.
"You know I am."
"You know the rules. No touching."
"That goes for you, too."
"I don't need to. Kevin does enough touching for both of us. Remember that old saying about Roman hands and Russian fingers?"
"Yeah."
"That's Kevin."
"Are you allowing these...touches?"
"Sure, honey, it's called dancing. Ever hear of the Mohito? Lots of touching. Everybody does it."
"Do they?"
"Of course. Are you thinking about his hands feeling every part of my body?"
"How can I help it? You've planted the images carefully. What happens after this?"
