Stacy's Real Coming Out Party

Note: This is an expanded more accurate account of Stacy's experience in the big apple.

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Even though it's now eleven o'clock on a warm summer morning, my beautiful wife Stacy is sleeping soundly in the bedroom of our suite here at the Plaza. When she returned four hours ago, it was very obvious that she was completely exhausted. However, as we had agreed, she valiantly stayed awake until a few minutes ago to share with me everything that happened to her during the twelve hours that we had been apart. I want to write this account now to preserve the unbelievable events of the exciting night while the lurid details are still fresh in my mind.

I travel to New York City nearly every month in connection with my investment banking business. A couple of times each year Stacy accompanies me. While I'm attending to business during the day, typically, she goes shopping, works out in the hotel gym, jogs through the park and visits museums and galleries. In the evenings we have dinner at a favorite restaurant and frequently see a Broadway show. When we checked-in at our favorite hotel three nights ago, neither of us had any reason to believe that this trip would be any different than the others.

Stacy and I came from similar middle class backgrounds. We were the products of strict moral up bringing and she was a virgin when she came to our marriage bed twenty years ago. My own sexual experience wasn't much greater than hers. You could say that together we discovered our sexuality. There is not a doubt in my mind that she had remained faithful to her vows until last night.

Let me describe my wife so that you might develop a mental picture of her to keep you company as you read on. Her face is stunningly beautiful and framed with luxuriant dark-brown hair that falls below her shoulders. She stands nearly five eight on incredibly long, perfectly- shaped legs and weighs a fit and trim 120 pounds. Very sensitive pink nipples crown her large, firm breasts. Stacy could have been as successful as any super model but instead she chose marriage, children and making a perfect home for us. To top it off, she's intelligent and usually succeeds at everything she sets her mind to. Her week before our departure to New York was spent at an exclusive spa. The daily sessions in a tanning machine and the time that she spent outdoors had turned every inch of her beautiful skin to a glowing bronze. When we boarded the plane to New York, she was flawless. I would soon learn that as perfect as I knew her to be, she was potentially far more adventurous and daring than I could ever have imagined.

The first night we dined at the hotel restaurant. After a sumptuous meal, we returned to our room and made love. As we cuddled, while still in the afterglow, Stacy caught me off-guard by asking, "Bob, do you ever think about making love to other women?"

"Stace, where in the world did that question come from?" I wanted to know because usually after sex we talk about each other. She'll ask, "Do you love me? How much do you love me? Do I satisfy you? Wouldn't it be great to make love at a beach at night?". . . and things like that.

"Trudy, the woman that I told you about from the Spa, we were talking one night and she said every man screws around or at least wants to. Well honey, do you think about sleeping with other women?"

Finally, in response to this different kind of question I admitted that, "sometimes I do." She seemed to be thinking about my answer when I asked her, "Do you ever think about sleeping with other men?"

She seemed to be as surprised by my question as I had been by hers, "of course not!" she emphatically denied.

For some reason, I decided at that moment to share my most secret fantasy with her. This was a continuing salacious dream that had lived in my imagination for years and that I hoped would someday become a reality. Cautiously, I asked her, "honey, do you really want to know what turns me on the most?"

Playfully, she prodded me in the ribs and said, "Tell me!"

"Are you sure, because its not about other women, it's all about you and probably not what you might think?" I warned.

With the eagerness of a child, she gleefully said, "Yes! Yes! Tell me! Tell me!"

With some trepidation, not sure how she would react, with a tone of caution I said, "Well, here goes then, I would love to watch or hear about you fucking other guys with huge cocks."

At first, she laughed and said, "you're kidding."

When I assured her I was very serious and when it finally sunk in, she seemed to be hurt by what I had revealed. "How can you love me and be willing to share me with other men?" Nevertheless, after just a few minutes of rest, for the first time in several years we made love a second time with the passion of newlyweds.

The next morning with her sleepy head nestled on my shoulder and her lips near my ear, she whispered, "Honey, I could never be intimate with a man who wasn't my husband."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because its wrong, that's why."

Her answer seemed lame to me and I wasn't going to let her get away with it. "Why is it wrong?"

Her brow was furled in confusion as she seemed to think about my question and came up with another stock answer. "Well, I would have to love a man before I could go to bed with him and honey you know I only love you."

"What on earth does love have to do with sex?" I challenged. While she was thinking about this pending question, I went on, "Look, let me be blunt. It would make me hot as hell if you had sex with another man and if it's okay with me, no not just okay, if I REALLY want it to happen, then I can't see what's wrong with it, can you?" I had to get ready for a busy day so I headed for the shower.

As I was tying my tie she came up behind me, pressed her naked breasts against my back, put her arms around me and said, "Honey, I could never risk losing you. If I ever had sex with another man, you would probably divorce me, take the kids and hate me forever."

"Hardly, I'd probably walk around all day with a giant hard-on just thinking about it."

"Well then, think about it all day," she teased.

"I promise I will, if you promise that you will too," I said.

"I promise," she said seriously as she gave me a goodbye kiss.

I did think about it all day. My mind wasn't on balance sheets, income statements, forecasts and contracts, It was on the change that seemed to be swiftly coming over my formerly inhibited wife.

When I returned, a naked, radiant and aroused Stacy enthusiastically greeted me with a passionate kiss. She had spent the day shopping and visiting a beauty salon; her long hair was in a sexy new style. The fragrance of a new perfume was intoxicating. It was as if we had been apart for weeks, not hours. She seemed hornier than ever as she eagerly helped me undress. After climaxing in her clasping pussy, I decided to wait and see if she would continue the subject of our conversation the night before and that morning. I didn't have long to wait.

She said, "I've been thinking honey, I wouldn't even know how to go about . . . oh, I guess you'd say seducing a guy. We were so young when we got married and . . . you know, I've never dated as an adult, I wouldn't even know how to make it happen."

So, she had been intrigued by the idea after all. I couldn't help but hope that if I played it just right, there was a possibility that before we flew home on Saturday, my fantasy just might have become a reality. "Does that really mean that you would be willing to fuck another guy for me?" I asked.

"Oh, I probably could never go through with it," she said without answering directly.

"If you did Stace, whether I was there to watch or if after you told me all of the juicy details and, I do mean juicy, I can tell you that I wouldn't hate it, I would love it!"

"Really? Are you sure?" she asked seriously.

I didn't want her to think that I wanted to keep this just a fantasy, so I held her shoulders, looked into her big blue eyes to emphasize the point and said, "Stace, I really want this to happen!" "Trudy said men want their wives to be ladies in the parlor and whores in the bedroom, is that what you want?" Stacy questioned.

"Trudy's right! I want you to be my whore." We continued to talk about it for several more minutes.

Stacy, with lots of qualifications finally said, "Maybe someday at home, if the circumstances are just right and if I was really attracted to a guy, something might happen. Until then honey, you'll just have to settle for your fantasy." I was disappointed because I heard a lot of "ifs."

After we showered, I asked her, "what do you want to do tonight?"

"Oh Bob, you'll probably think it's a stupid idea . . ."

"Try me," I interrupted.

With obvious reluctance, she hesitated for a moment and then said, "Well, I've been thinking, I'd love to do something that we've never done before, something that we can't do at home, like . . oh, maybe see a really dirty movie then maybe go to a strip club, or something like that, what do you think?"

"That's great! There are several theaters near Times Square that show pornos."

She seemed to be relieved by my enthusiastic response as she asked, "What does a girl wear to a porno theater?"

"Something very sexy," was my suggestion.

I watched with great interest as she proudly snapped a new white garter belt around her narrow waist, rolled sheer white stockings with lace tops up her long legs and attached them with the clips. Then, she put her pretty feet through the leg holes of wispy white panties and fastened a matching bra. Her hard nipples and dark triangle of hair were plainly visible through the transparent filmy material. Over her new lingerie she wore a beautiful, white silk, belted-dress of mid-thigh length that barely covered her stocking tops. White very high-heels completed her attire. Just before we left the room she raised her dress and slipped the little panties off. This was the very first time that she was ready to go out in public without wearing panties.

"Is this sexy enough?" she wanted to know.

We pushed through the revolving door and moved from the air-conditioned marble lobby into the warm summer New York evening. The doorman tried to be discreet as Stacy slid into the back seat of the taxi but when she allowed her dress to carelessly slip up her long legs he couldn't help but stare. During the short ride to At The Sign of the Dove Restaurant she confessed that she felt very sexy and daring. We didn't talk much during dinner. Lot's of dreamy looks, hand holding and private thoughts. After dessert I asked, "well, are you ready for your walk on the ‘wildside'?"

"Ooh . . . is that what this is?" she asked with a trace of amusement.

Ten minutes later, we stepped out of a taxi at the corner of 8th Avenue and 42nd Street. To describe this area as just seedy would be kind. Flashing neon lights and several marques on both sides of 8th Avenue identified theaters that featured a variety of straight and gay films. Stacy seemed to be excited by this foreign world located just a couple of blocks from the Broadway theaters we had visited many times. But, this was a very different world. We noticed very few women on the street and the few that we did see were obviously prostitutes. "What kind of film do you want to see?" I asked her.

"Oh, I don't know, but since were going to do it let's see one that's really hot!"

We selected a theater that featured a movie called Salt & Pepper. We didn't know it at the time, but for reasons that will soon become obvious, it was the perfect choice. We bought two tickets and entered a dark auditorium. The stench of mildew, urine, cigarette smoke, sweat and some other pungent odor that I couldn't place until I recognized it as semen assaulted our senses of smell. After our eyes became accustomed to the light, Stacy took my hand and eagerly led us to the middle seats of an empty row towards the rear.

On the screen, a very pretty blonde was sitting on the enormous penis of a black man. Stacy gasped and squirmed in her seat when she saw the juices of the blonde glistening on the shaft of her lover as she moved up and down and the hard cock slid in and out of her. Then the camera moved back and we saw that they were not alone, three more black men were with them each stoking his huge cock to keep it hard until it was his turn at the willing and eager blonde.

Stacy whispered in my ear, "My God Bob, I've never seen anything like that! Do you think this only happens in the movies?" When the first man came and his semen leaked out of the gaping freshly-fucked pussy as he withdrew, I heard Stacy gasp for breath as she squeezed my hand. She didn't resist at all as I rubbed her breast through her dress then reached inside to touch the bare flesh and rub the puckered nipple. When I reached under her dress she parted her legs to make it easier for my advancing hand even though she must have known that two or three men seated nearby could probably tell what we were doing. During the next hour, Stacy's eyes were riveted to the screen taking in every detail as two other pretty white women enthusiastically fucked and sucked huge cocks, all of them black. Stacy came several times herself and soaked my sticky fingers.

In the lobby she exclaimed, "that was the most exciting thing I've ever seen! But, I don't think that I could ever do what those women did."

"Why not?" I asked.

"I just couldn't honey, you know I've never been with another man." Then, she really surprised me when she came close and whispered playfully, "Why honey, I don't even know a black man and I doubt that my little pussy could ever take a penis as big as those enormous black ones in the film."

In a million years, I would never have guessed that she would be fascinated with black men with big cocks. This was an opportunity that I didn't want to pass up so I encouraged her by saying, "Sure you can. For one thing, you saw those girls in the film, they were very young, probably had never given birth and yet they didn't seem to have much trouble . . . You know that a woman's vagina can stretch to accommodate a cock of any size. And honey, think about it, because we're a thousand miles from home you can do anything that you dare to do, I do mean anything! Stace, only you and I will ever know what happens and I promise that I won't be jealous. As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, I would really love it if you did everything that the women in the film did."

"Oh you, you're embarrassing me," she said playfully, "besides, fat chance that we'll meet a black man before we leave." "Not that I want to." She added quickly.

Outside, she surprised me again when she said, "It's still early, what do you think about going to a club or a bar where the women dance nude?"

"That's a great idea, let's look for one on our way back to the hotel." The sidewalk was much more crowded than it had been when we entered the theater. Nearly everyone seemed to stare at this very beautiful, classy woman on my arm who seemed to be out of place on 8th Avenue. As we approached the corner, I noticed a tall black man with a shaved head leaning against a shiny black Lincoln Town Car. He had gold rings in his pierced ears. He was wearing a black silk shirt unbuttoned nearly to his navel and dove-grey slacks. Around his neck were several thick gold chains and, even though it was nighttime, he wore a pair of aviator sunglasses. He was smiling boldly and leering at Stacy. I had a feeling that she knew it too as she squeezed my arm more tightly as we got nearer to him.

When we got to within a few feet, he called out to me in a deep booming voice that sounded somewhat like James Earl Jones, "Hey man that's sure some purty lady ya got there! . Whatcha doin down here, slummin?"

At home Stacy would have passed by ignoring him and his crude remarks but here, away from home, she stopped, smiled at him and said, "We came down to see a movie."

He must have seen us come out of the theater and asked, "didja like the black n white movie baby?"

"Very much!" was Stacy's enthusiastic reply.

"Well now, ya live here or are ya from outa town?"

I explained that we were here on business.

"Where ya stayin?" he wanted to know.

"The Plaza," Stacy told him.

"Let me give ya a lift," he offered.

"No thanks, we're going to walk back," I said. I was very surprised, though with the way things were going I probably shouldn't have been, when she said by way of explanation, "we're actually looking for a strip club where the women dance nude, do you know a good one?"

"Baby, ya ask the right man. Come on I'll drive ya, ain't far."

I said, "thanks anyway, but like I said we're going to walk."

At the corner, Stacy stopped me before crossing the street and again caught me by surprise when she said, "Let's let him drive us to the club. I don't feel much like walking . . . besides, the theaters are just getting out and it's going to be hard to catch a cab."

"Stacy do you know what that guy is?" I asked in amazement.

"Bob, I wasn't born yesterday, of course I know, he's a pimp! You're the one who said we would take a walk on 'the wildside,' well, let's take a ride on the 'wildside' too . . . come on, it'll be fun." With that, she turned around took my hand and pulled me back.

"Does the offer of a ride still stand?" she asked him somewhat brazenly I thought.

He just smiled at her and without saying a word opened the rear door. As Stacy climbed into the dark interior of his car she must have known that his eyes were glued to her legs and ass as her dress rode up and that he could easily see the tops of her stockings and an enticing inch or two of bare flesh. As she slid across the leather seat, she didn't attempt to cover herself.

As he pulled into traffic he said, "I'm Tyrone, I guess my line a work ain't no secret, you might say I'm kinda like an agent for purty ladies. Does that bother ya?"

"Not at all and we're Stacy and Bob," responded my wife.

On 7th Avenue, he pulled in front of a club that had valet parking with a flashing neon sign identifying it as "The Runway - Nude Dancers." I expected Tyrone to leave us but he had a different idea. The doorman recognized him and greeted him warmly. The dark smoke-filled room was long and narrow. In the middle, raised several feet off the floor was a long stage about six feet wide surrounded by tables and chairs. We were led by a scantily clad hostess to an empty table. Stacy sat between us. I was seated on her left and Tyrone on her right. The stage was about the same height as our eyes, forcing us to look up at a pretty brunette with long legs wearing high heels, a gold chain around her neck and nothing else. After our drinks arrived, which Tyrone insisted on paying for, the dancer squatted before us, spreading her legs to reveal her vagina and asshole. She seemed to be wet and I couldn't help but believe that the glistening liquid wasn't sweat. Stacy seemed spellbound by what she saw. Tyrone placed a ten-dollar bill on the stage and the dancer rubbed her clit and opened herself with her fingers. Stacy squirmed in her seat as she had at the movie.

I glanced at Tyrone who smiled knowingly. "Ain't she summthin?" he asked as he placed his big black hand familiarly on Stacy's forearm and left it there. Then, I think to test us, he boasted, "Her name's Iris, sumtimes she works fer me, that pussy's really prime meat, I should know, I been in it enough, ha ha."

The next dancer was a redhead. I couldn't see much difference in their routines or techniques. During the redhead's performance, Tyrone turned to Stacy, put his left arm around her shoulder, rested his right hand on her thigh and asked, "ya like this baby?"