Playing Along

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Harvey, my husband of six years was on our patio with his friend Gary. They'd just finished playing golf and were having a drink under the shade of our umbrella. I'd been working on my flower beds, and I was currently no more than a couple of feet from the corner of the house. The patio was just around the corner.

I heard Gary ask Harvey, "I didn't want to ask in front of the other guys, but have you had any luck getting Jill to loosen up any yet?"

"Nah" my husband answered with a sigh, "I keep throwing out little hints, but she just lets them fly by. I don't know if she doesn't understand, or if she's just intentionally ignoring them."

Hints? Loosening up? What hints? Loosening up how? What the fuck were they talking about?

"Sorry, buddy. I'm lucky. I didn't even have to say anything to Sharon. When our sex life started slowing down, she took matters into her own hands."

"That's, awesome." Harvey replied. "Our sex life is on life support. I hope you don't mind me saying so, but Sharon is hot as fuck."

Sharon? Hot as fuck? I'd known Sharon since she and Gary got married. She was about as sexy as a lobster. She was overweight; she had no sense of fashion, and she snorted when she laughed. What the hell was 'hot as fuck' about that?

"Mind?" Gary asked with a chuckle, "Hell, knowing other guys think she's hot and want to fuck her just makes it even better. We talk about it, and those conversations always end with us having incredible sex."

Sharon? Other guys think she's hot, and they want to fuck her? Who are those 'other guys'?

My husband chuckled, "Well, ole buddy, you can put my name on that list."

What? Harvey? My husband thinks Sharon is hot and wants to fuck her? No way!

* * *

That evening, I was still fuming. When Harvey came downstairs after his shower, I was sitting in the den having a Martini.

"What's for supper?" He asked me, obviously oblivious to my sour mood.

"I've been working in the yard all day while you were out playing. I'm having a drink now. Is that okay?"

He stopped in his tracks and held up his hands in surrender, "Whoa! What's got your panties in a wad? I just asked what's for supper."

"I'm not hungry. You know where the kitchen is, don't you?"

My husband had never learned not to push me when I was in a mood. He walked over to the bar and poured himself three fingers of Scotch. After adding two ice cubes, he swirled it around and sat in his recliner. "Okay, I give. What did I do now?"

I pointed to his drink, "Make me one of those and I might tell you."

He hadn't taken a drink, so he got up and handed me his glass. He took my empty Martini glass and returned to the bar to pour himself another. I waited until he was sitting again, "So, you want to fuck Sharon Mason, huh?"

He looked like I'd just nailed his cock to the floor. I could almost hear the gears turning in his brain. When it looked like he was just about to speak, I drove in another nail, "She's hot as fuck! Add your name to the list of men who want to fuck her! Am I misquoting you? Did I misunderstand? Go ahead. I can't wait for you to explain it to me."

"Okay" He finally said, "I guess this is as good of a time as any to have this conversation."

"I'm listening." I scowled at him with flames shooting out of my eyes.

I'll give credit where it's due. My husband is an Alpha Male and a lawyer—a damn good lawyer. That fact was evidenced by the income he generated. He was not accustomed to losing, and for sure, not backing down from a fight.

"First, Sharon IS hot—not like you though. She doesn't have your looks or body, but sexy is as sexy does, and she's got it all over you in that department. Secondly, the wanting to fuck her part; when a man says that or something similar to another man about his wife or girlfriend, it's metaphorical. It's the ultimate compliment. It doesn't mean they literally WANT to fuck her."

I didn't relax my scowl as I let his explanation soak in. I still hadn't decided how to respond, so I threw back the remainder of my drink and went to the bar for another.

While my back was turned to him, I pulled the 'sexy is as sexy does, and she's got it all over you in that department' dagger out of my heart. If it had been a real dagger, I may have turned around and stabbed him with it.

I stayed at the bar with my back to him. "Sexy is as sexy does, huh? What does Sharon Mason do that is so sexy?"

"For one thing, at least when you and the other snooty wives aren't around, she's not opposed to sharing a dirty joke now and then."

"Me and the other SNOOTY wives?" I asked him with as much venom in my voice as I could muster.

"You asked." He said as he got to his feet. He walked around to the other side of our small bar to pour himself another drink.

I didn't want to look at him, especially not from that close. I was tempted to throw my drink in his face, so I turned around and walked over to the picture window and stared out. "So, that's what she does. She tells dirty jokes. I didn't realize that was the definition of being sexy."

And then my husband threw me a curve ball. I expected him to give me a list of what else Sharon does to be considered 'hot as fuck', but he didn't. Instead, he asked me, "Jill, are you happy with our sex life?"

I tried my best to explain, "Our lives are . . . we've been . . ." I almost said that other things have taken priority, but I knew how bad that would have sounded. Finally, I bowed my head, "No."

In a much kinder, more compassionate voice, my husband said, "Maybe you should talk to Sharon."

I could only nod as tears began running down my cheeks.

* * *

In bed that night, long after Harvey had fallen asleep, I thought back over the last year. How many times had he presented me with flowers for no reason? How many times had I gone to bed, only to find a nice new piece of jewelry on my pillow? How many times had he suggested having a date night and encouraged me to go out and buy a new dress or outfit? The answer to all those questions was the same, many, many times.

I'd never equated those things with sex, only love. How many times had I pined all day for him to come home from work so that I could jump his bones and fuck him silly? Honestly, not in two or three years.

How many times had I woken him up on Saturday or Sunday morning with a blowjob? I couldn't remember the last time. How many times had I dressed sexy for him? Hell, I didn't even have anything like that left in my closet. For too long, I'd played the part of the prim and proper little wife.

I did stay in shape though. I worked out in our home gym three times a week. I ate healthy food. I swam, jogged, and power-walked miles at a time. Why did I do all of that? Was it to impress him? Was it to make him desire me? No, it wasn't any of those things. It was so his friends and business associates would see that he had a classy, beautiful wife—so they would see me as classy and proper—not sexy.

Damn! I said to myself. I hadn't done anything for him—absolutely nothing to make myself more desirable to him, to make him want to have sex with me.

It was difficult for me to admit, even to myself, but I'd turned on 'classy' and turned off 'sexy'. I finally fell asleep, but not before a question burned itself into my brain: Are those two things, classy and sexy, are they mutually exclusive?

* * *

"Would you like a drink?" I asked Sharon Mason when showing her into our den.

She laughed out loud, "For the conversation we're about to have?"

I had to agree, "I'm sorry, I don't remember what you prefer."

"Anything is fine. Whatever you're having."

"Scotch on the rocks?" I asked her.

"Perfect." And then she jumped right in, "So, Gary filled me in, sort of."

I decided to lay it all on the line. This was important to me, and important to my marriage. "I overheard a conversation between our husbands that I wasn't supposed to hear. According to them, you are 'hot as fuck', while our sex life is, according to Harvey, 'on life support'."

"Well, is it—on life support, I mean?"

"I didn't think so before, but yes, I guess it is." I answered truthfully.

"Okay, then we have a starting point." She told me as I handed her a Scotch. "Now, let's start with some basic facts: First, Harvey is a great catch, at least looking from the outside in. Secondly, you are a beautiful woman, and even though you try your best to hide it, you have a very sexy body."

"If you say so." I said, more than a little embarrassed about the praise of my looks. But then again, Harvey had said exactly the same thing, so maybe that's how others saw me.

"I only have one more question before we get into specifics."

"Okay," I told her.

She looked me straight in the eyes, "Are we doing this for Harvey or for you?"

"I want to save my marriage." I answered.

She was still staring at me, and then she shook her head slightly, "Jill, I know all women aren't like me. I don't just like sex, I LOVE IT. I can't imagine going two weeks without it. I do what I do for me—not for Gary."

I thought about her words for a minute before telling her, "When we were dating, and for the first couple of years, our sex life was fantastic. And then . . ." I showed her a shrug. "I don't know what happened."

"You became domesticated. That's what happened." She said definitively.

"Both!" I answered her previous question.

"What?"

"It's for both of us . . . me too."

She showed me a warm smile, "Alrighty then. Now we can get started."

* * *

"Would you be a doll and bring me a Martini?" I asked my husband. I'd timed things just right, jumping into the pool just as he was pulling into the garage. I was totally naked.

"Yes Ma'am", he said with a huge smile on his face.

When he emerged from the house with my drink, and while handing it to me, he asked, "How does it feel?"

I took a sip of the Martini and grinned up at him, "Sexy." I told him truthfully. "Why don't you join me?"

He frowned, "I'd love to, but I have some calls I need to make. Can I have a rain check?"

"Of course," I said, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice.

He nodded and then turned to go back into the house. And then he stopped in his tracks. I watched as he tossed his cell phone onto one of the lounge chairs. And then he began removing his tie, then his shirt, and then he kicked of his shoes. When he was totally naked, he turned to me and said, "Those calls can wait. I'm going to fix myself a drink. I'll be right back."

We'd owned our home for three years, but that was the first time either of us had been naked in the pool. And for sure, it was the first time we had sex in the pool. I made a mental note to remember to thank Sharon.

* * *

I sat back in a lounge chair and sipped my second Martini while watching Harvey cooking pork chops on the outdoor grill. He always looked so distinguished, with his broad shoulders on his solid six-foot two inch frame. He had salt and pepper hair, with just the right mixture of salt, mostly on the sides of his head. But now, he looked deliciously silly. He was naked underneath his cooking apron, his shapely butt sticking out of the back.

I'd thrown on a light shrug that covered my shoulders and upper arms, but I'd made sure not to cover my breasts or legs. It wasn't like he hadn't seen me naked thousands of times, but this was different. He hadn't seen me naked outside. Hell, I'd never even walked around our house naked. At the very least, I'd always have on a robe.

Every couple of minutes, he abandoned the pork chops to come over and lean down, giving me a tender kiss and running his hand from my knee to my crotch. And then he'd straighten up and smile down at me. "You're beautiful and sexy today."

I made a mental note of his saying 'today'. My husband didn't use words carelessly. I understood his use of that qualifier to mean, 'now that you're loosening up a little'. Who would have thought that an act as simple as skinny-dipping would elicit such a profound response?

We both went to bed nude that night, another first for us. I had him lay back, and then I kissed my way down to his semi hard cock. After licking and sucking him to full hardness, I straddled him and lowered my already wet pussy down onto him. I found it sad that I couldn't remember the last time I'd had my mouth on his cock.

* * *

I wasn't accustomed to talking about sex, but I found it easier with Sharon. When I called her and told her about the previous evening and night, she was thrilled for me.

"God, Jill, that's wonderful." She said into the phone. "And you haven't really even got started yet. I'm envious of all the fun you're going to have."

"Why?" I asked her, "You're way ahead of me in that department. Why would you be envious of me?"

She chuckled, "Because, Jill, it's new to you. There are so many things you can do, and they'll all be new. It takes me hours and hours to keep coming up with new things to do. It's worth it though . . . WAY worth it."

I understood, "I'll keep you posted. I may need some new ideas when I've exhausted this list."

"Maybe we're going to have to start having regular lunches to put our heads together."

For some reason, that idea made me laugh. Before overhearing that conversation between Harvey and Gary, I never would have dreamed I'd be talking about sex with anyone, and surely not actually meeting to plan sexual situations with someone.

* * *

I was more than a little nervous. I hadn't been out by myself at night for years. It was Friday and still fairly early, so the night club was only sparsely populated with couples and a few single men. It was a nice enough place though—one that Sharon had recommended. I sat at in a booth in the dimly lit back of the club and ordered a Scotch on the rocks.

At eight p.m. the band started. They were a country band, but they played some rock and roll as well.

"Would you like to dance?" A rather handsome man asked me with a wide smile.

He appeared to be in his early forties. I returned his smile and told him, "I just got here. If you give me half an hour or so and ask me again, the answer will be yes."

He nodded, tipped his imaginary hat and said, "I'll be waiting with bells on."

"Whew!" I said aloud in a low voice. And then I whispered, "Okay, Jill, that wasn't so bad. You can do this."

That man asking me to dance was confirmation that I'd chosen my new outfit well. I'd purchased a pair of western boots, snug blue jeans, western belt, a light blue push-up bra with half cups, and a light blue tank top that was cut low enough to show plenty of cleavage and was long enough to tuck in. While my C cup breasts didn't really need a push-up bra, I'd worn it for the extra effect. I loved the way it made my breasts bulge from the half cups.

Even though the growing crowd wasn't young by any means, for some reason I felt old. I was only thirty-two, but I hadn't been out like this in years. They all just looked so relaxed, shaking hands with other patrons, and waving to others.

"I'm sorry." I said to the next man that asked me to dance. "I'm not quite ready yet, and I've already promised the first one. I hope you'll ask me again later."

I glanced at my watch. Harvey would have been home for over an hour. He would have already read my note. It said:

"Hi lover. I felt like going out tonight. If you care to come out, I'll be at the club 'Borrowed Money' on Central Expressway. You don't have to come, and if you do, you don't need to hurry. I'll just be having a drink and dancing with strange men. Take a shower, dress casually, and leave your wedding ring at home. I did. Oh, and if you decide to come out dancing, don't arrive before nine. And if you have any ideas about trying to pick me up, you'll have to get in line and work for it. Someone will, and who knows, I might just pick you. Smooch!"

Of course, Sharon and I had worked on the wording for over an hour. When we had it nailed, we clinked our glasses and laughed out loud for a long while.

I'd just ordered my second Scotch when the first man showed back up at my table. The song was a slow one. I offered him my hand, and he helped me to my feet. "I'm David." He told me when I was standing.

I told him my name was Jill, and a few seconds later, I was polishing his belt buckle on the dance floor. He was a good dancer, about the same height as Harvey. I'm only five-eight, so I had to reach up to put my one hand on his shoulder.

When the song was over, I glanced around, but I didn't see Harvey. That was a good thing. It wasn't nine yet, so if he was coming, he was following my instructions. Of course, I knew he would come.

I had no sooner thanked David for the dance and sat down before the second man was there with his hand out. He was a little younger, perhaps mid thirties. The song was a lively two-step, which I hadn't done in years, although, it was always my favorite dance.

I was lucky twice in a row. Jeremy was a great dancer as well—way out of my league, but he didn't seem to mind toning it down to my level. "I haven't seen you in here before." He said immediately after spinning me around and then hauling me back in.

I showed him a smile and held up my left hand. He could clearly see the pale ring around my finger where a wedding ring had been. "Sorry." He offered.

"Thanks, but I'm over it, or at least I'm working on getting that way."

He grinned, "There's nothing like a good dose of alcohol and some boot scootin to make your troubles go away."

"And a handsome, virile cowboy to dance with." I told him with my best imitation of a sexy, flirting tone.

When the song ended, even before we were off of the dance floor, I saw David already heading to my table. I didn't have anything against him, but I liked Jeremy better. I turned and put my hand on his chest, "Why don't we wait and see what they play next?"

He beamed with a wide smile, "I'd love that."

While waiting on the dance floor to empty and the next song to start, I reached up and slid my hands around Jeremy's neck. "God! I haven't done this in forever."

He slid his hands around my waist, "Then I'm glad you decided to come out tonight. And I'm glad I did too. Please don't think I'm being too forward, but your ex is an idiot to let a sexy woman like you get away."

I chuckled, "Why, thank you, kind sir. You could have said 'fucking idiot'. I wouldn't have minded."

The next song was a slow one. It was obvious within seconds that my flirting was having the desired effect. Jeremy pulled me tightly to his five-ten slender body until my breasts were smashed into him. A minute into the song, one of his hands slid from my waist down to my butt. He didn't knead it or grip it. He just rested his hand there.

I didn't look around the club. I didn't want to know if Harvey was there and watching, but I hoped he was. That was, after all, the whole point. I wanted him to watch his sexy wife flirting and being flirted with. I wanted his blood to boil with jealousy and lust.

When it was time, Jeremy escorted me back to my table with his arm around my shoulders. "I'll let you rest for a minute or two, but not for too long." He said with a chuckle.

When I finally scanned the club, I saw Harvey sitting at the bar. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was five after nine. He'd been right on time. Even though he was facing away from the dance floor, it was obvious that he could clearly see it in the large mirror behind the bar. He was obviously playing along with the game, not sitting there overtly watching me, but biding his time to see what was going to happen.

Over the next hour, I danced with David again, Jeremy several times, and two other men. Jeremy was the only one who took liberties. Every slow song, he planted his hand firmly on my ass, but he'd moved past just resting his hand there. Instead, he kneaded my flesh through my jeans. I have to admit to it turning me on more than a little.