I don't know what this says about my self-confidence, but I've often noticed that what attracts me to a woman is how she looks at me. Give me a look that says "you're kinda nice" and I'll do anything for you, it seems. Or so my wife, Jill, has pointed out on a few occasions, and she should know. I practically wrote her papers for her our senior year in college, and all because she tugged a stray lock of long blonde hair over one ear and told me, in so many words, that I looked like I was a smart guy.
Fifteen years later, I was apparently staring at another woman at our son's basketball practice, because Jill startled me by whispering "She's kind of cute, isn't she?" into my ear.
I quickly looked away. "Who are you talking about?"
"Who else, Doug? The young little blonde cutie on the bleachers over there. She looks sorta like me: I guess I should take that as a compliment."
I tried to deny it, but we both knew I was busted. I'd been stealing glances at the bleachers, and at the young woman, ever since the game started. She did look a bit like Jill - blonde, athletic, well-dressed. Squared away. Her white blouse was tailored, but not too tight. Her jeans flattered her figure, especially her trim little ass, which I got a chance to admire when she walked down to the court to give her son (her step-son, I later learned) a water bottle. But they didn't look like she was poured into them. And she was wearing neat little brown loafers on her feet, not fuck-me heels like a desperate housewife or beat-up tennis shoes like some of the women who'd given up on life and kept the fifty pounds they'd gained after their third pregnancy.
And then she'd smiled at me, which was when she really hooked me, and I didn't even know her name (Not that I'd wanted to - Jill was my one and only). A smile that indicated there was nothing more natural in the world than that one of the team dads would make appreciative eye contact with one of the team moms. Nothing pervy about it at all, even if she was 8-10 years younger than us.
It was another two weeks before I had a chance to say hi to her. Jill had been teasing me about my renewed interest in William's basketball practices, but one night she had to go grocery shopping and I volunteered to take him. Her name was Anne, and her step-son Charles was becoming one of William's friends on the 12 and under team. My heart nearly stopped when Anne said "we should have a play date." I must have done a bit of a double-take, because she laughed softly and said "that is, I could bring Charles over. He's told me all about your basketball goal in the driveway. If you think that would be okay."
I controlled my emotions enough to say that I thought William would love it, and that I'd check with Jill about a good time. Later that night, I made it a point to give Jill the task of calling her to confirm details, although it didn't stop her from teasing me. "Oh-ho, got her to come over, have we?" Jill talked to Anne quite a while on the phone, in the kitchen while she stirred soup. I strained to hear some of their conversation, but William had the Wii cranked up with some noisy game and I didn't hear much.
After awhile she came in and sat down next to me. "Soup's on, when you're ready."
"What did they have to say about Charles coming over?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
"She. Feminine singular. 'They' is a plural neuter pronoun, and sometimes used as a cop-out."
"Okay, grammar Nazi," I hissed into her ear, laughing, not sure why I was whispering. "What did
she
say?"
"I invited the whole family over Friday night. Charles and William to practice until they're worn out, supper to follow, Charles staying over because they have a game that Saturday morning."
"Okay, so her husband's coming too?" I said, neutrally.
"Don't sound so disappointed. She's not sure, really. He's got to get his other son over to the ex-wife; technically they're both supposed to be there but Anne doesn't think it's a problem. Usually the ex-wife is reasonable, and they all get along great. Anyway, her husband, Charles Sr., has to work until 6 and then get his other son across town; Anne said he'll probably tell her to start without him."
"That's what she said," we both whispered to each other flatly, giggling. I stole a kiss from Jill while William wasn't looking; I needn't have worried that he would look away from the flat screen TV and the explosions occurring there.
***
That night, lying together in the dark, Jill decided to play one of my favorite games in bed, which we call "I'll tell you mine if you'll tell me yours" -- what stray sexual thoughts had plagued us that week. As usual, I had to go first. I told her about one of our new contractors in my I.T. firm, a shapely young lady from India who likes to wear saris. I told her the thought had crossed my mind that I'd like to ask her to show me how she puts that thing on, preferably while we were alone in my private office.
"You're sure that's the main thing you're thinking about this week?" Jill asked as I caressed one of her nipples and she rubbed my cock through my underwear.
"Your turn," I said.
"The whole time I was talking to Anne, I was fantasizing about you with her."
"Really?" I said, hoping that the immediate perking up of my erection wasn't too obvious.
"Yep," she half-whispered, half-moaned as my fingers trailed down her abdomen and curled through her trim bush. "Kind of narcissistic, really. I thought it would be as close as I could come to watching us together, not counting those videos, of course. Like an out of body experience for me. Poor you, though. Not much of a fantasy. She looks so much like me; it would be a busman's holiday."
"I think it would be okay for me. In our fantasy world, of course."
"Of course. Darling, could you go
down there
for me first? I promise to make it up to you."
Actually, I love giving my wife head; she likes to talk like it's a chore because she's just a little bit on the dom side in bed. I eagerly scooted down and began to cover her thighs with kisses as she squirmed into position; her sock-covered feet on my back. As I began to lightly tongue her outer lips, she began to squirm; she was way more turned on than she normally was at this stage. I went very quickly to inserting my tongue in her. I could have sworn that she had a bit of an orgasm from that, but she didn't seem to want me to stop, so I pressed on, gently stroking her clit with my thumb, which was covered with her juices. When she began to buck against my hand I gently inserted two fingers and lightly pinched it all together; thumb and fingers on a slippery slope. She threw her head back and moaned. She thrashed so hard I was afraid I would hurt her, then she shuddered and stopped.
"Oh, sweetie, I know I said I'd return the favor," she said when she caught her breath. "But can you fuck me really hard first?" She pulled my underwear off of me, then turned over and stuck her ass in the air.
"That's returning the favor, in my book," I said, caressing her ass and running my hands down to cup her breasts as I easily slid into her wet pussy.
"Oh, god, faster and harder. I know, baby, but I know how you like your blow jobs, too. Pretend you're fucking Anne; you've bent her over the side of the hot tub..."
I nearly came on the spot; as it was I had to stop or it would have been all over. "Oh, you do like that idea," she laughed as she pushed back on me mercilessly. "Oh, fuck her hard, baby, fuck her hard."
That took me into that plateau where, strange as it sounds, it feels so good you can't quite come. I took Jill hard and fast for about two minutes after that, our bodies slapping together, Jill cursing and telling me to fuck her harder. She started coming, and then so did I; I wanted to pull out so I could spew it all over her back, but she kept me trapped, receiving my spunk deep up in her pussy as she sighed with satisfaction.
***
