My husband and I needed to get away.
Between work, our three kids and other commitments, we hadn’t really connected as a couple in quite a while.
Sex? Well, I admit it was all a bit predictable — a couple of times a week in the bedroom with the lights out. Usually the only variation was usually whether he was on top or I was on top.
Honestly, I was fine with that. It was more than many of our friends had.
Sex hasn’t been front and center in my mind for years. Our kids are busy. Our careers keep us very occupied. We have a good group of friends and coworkers.
I thought we looked pretty good, too, for a couple in our 40s. I have long, dark hair and what my husband thinks is a cute butt. I do have a bit of a post-kid muffin top and I get self conscious about my D-sized boobs (which my husband loves) being too big, but I still didn’t mind a few gazes at my 5 foot, 7 frame.
My husband, about 6 feet tall, was balding and, at 200 pounds, about 15 pounds heavier than when we first met more than 25 years ago. But he was still an attractive guy with a short salt-and-pepper beard and gray temples.
Really, life was pretty good.
He wasn’t happy with our sex life, though.
*
A little more about our sex life from my point of view:
Our sex life is fine for me. Nothing crazy, but we have a good time. I’m fulfilled.
He’s far more obsessed/interested in sex than me.
He often asks me about what sex fantasies I’d been having. My standard answer is, “I don’t have any” — which is (mostly) true. Then, I go back to reading my book.
He likes sex toys, which I’m really not in to, but I’ll play occasionally when he suggests doing so.
He probably jerks off a couple of times a week. I might masturbate on my own once a month, but generally don’t feel the need or desire. I’m too busy, too tired — and I get what I want when I’m with him.
If I had a choice to do anything out of the box sexually, it would probably be to mess around with another woman — something my husband had said he’d be fine with when I shared that with him once. I could never see that actually happening while we were married, but I know he gets off at just the thought of it.
When we have sex, it almost always starts with some caressing, followed by him massaging my breasts and nipples as I lay on my back rubbing my clit.
I’m all about the boob-clitoris link. Having them rubbed, licked, pinched and caressed is one of the keys to my arousal. My husband is good at that.
I usually prefer he doesn’t touch me much between my legs until he puts himself inside me after I cum. Oral doesn’t typically do much for me, either. He likes giving and receiving, but it’s generally pretty rare for either to happen.
Usually, I close my eyes and concentrate on a sexy scenario and his rubbing and kissing of my breasts until I orgasm (once — I’ve never been a multi-orgasmic gal).
As for those scenarios, I picture random people — never myself or my husband. Sometimes it’s two girls playing together. Sometimes it’s a couple getting crazy in a dressing room. Sometimes it’s a threesome on a boat.
It works for me and only takes me a few minutes because I know where and how to touch myself much better than any man.
Once I cum, he fucks me, which I enjoy — it helps extend the pleasure of my orgasm.
The actual fucking is usually a two or three minute process. I never orgasm from regular penis-in-vagina sex, but I do love the feeling when he first penetrates me.
He’s got a fairly average size cock — 5 1/2, 6 inches long — although it’s on the skinnier side compared to others I had before we were married. (He’s the only one who actually had me measure it.)
After a minute or two of thrusting, I can’t feel as much friction because I get super wet after I cum and his lack of girth isn’t exactly filling me up (especially after 3 kids), so I’m generally content with him cumming inside me and the whole thing being over. I didn’t care much about penis size and I had told him that.
He’s self conscious about his dick, but that’s his issue, not mine.
To his credit, he always makes sure I cum first. It’s pretty rare that I fake an orgasm.
I don’t ask him about his fantasies — something he’s pointed out to me a few times.
But he sometimes shares his thoughts — unsolicited.
Lately he’d been talking about how much he’d like to watch me get fucked by another guy.
I admit I got turned on by the idea of having sex — or really, the idea of getting fucked — by another guy if only for a bit of variety. But there was a long way between idea and reality. In my mind, this would be bad for our relationship and potentially break our marriage.
I preferred to keep fantasy in the fantasy world, which I told him whenever he brought anything involving another person up.
His attitude is actually a big turnaround from when we met and he realized I had a bit more experience than him. I had had sex with 10 other guys before we started dating and I had plenty of other male partners for activities rounding third base, too. Most were short-term relationships — before I met my husband I had only one boyfriend who lasted a year.
My husband, who is a couple of years younger than me, was less sexually experienced than me when we started dating. He had a long-term girlfriend to whom he lost his virginity and a few other hookups, but I could tell when we first had sex (on our second date) that he — like many of my previous partners — didn’t know what he was doing.
He was extremely jealous of my previous partners for years after we met. I wouldn’t talk about those relationships with him because I knew anything I revealed would end up getting thrown back in my face.
So, fast forward through twenty-some years of monogamy he now was fantasizing about me messing around with other guys.
Men.
*
As we packed our bags for our weekend getaway, I could tell he was excited — oddly nervous — but I didn’t think much of it. His work life had been stressful lately, so I figured he was just happy to get away.
We had booked a room at a small hotel in northern Michigan near water, wineries and some pretty great restaurants. It was fall. There was a comfortable chill in the air. Leaves were turning. Cozy sweater weather.
When we arrived at the little hotel, the room itself was spacious — a king bed with a desk and a big cushy chair for reading the corner. We made love (see description above — him on top) within the first 20 minutes, took a quick nap and headed out to sample some wine.
Everything felt perfect — or at least fine — although my husband seemed a little quiet.
At the second vineyard we visited, we grabbed a small table and started sipping on a few red selections brought to us by a handsome, attentive 30-something-year old who told us he was the son of the founder of the place.
“What’s on your mind?” I asked my husband as we settled in. “You’ve been kind of quiet since we left the hotel.”
“Promise you won’t be angry with me if I tell you?”
“Depends,” I said. “What is it?”
“It’s sex stuff.”
Here we go. We had just had sex, so I was a little pissed off. “OK, tell me.”
“So, you know how I keep telling you about my fantasy of seeing you have sex with another guy?”
I blushed. “Ya. Fantasy. That’s fine. It’s not going to happen, though.”
He looked me dead in the eye with an odd smile. “What if I told you I had been communicating with a guy about getting together with us this weekend? Your rules, but with the idea that he might be able to sex with you with no strings — if you agreed. I’d be there, but would only participate if you wanted me to.”
I must have gone white, then red — a little light headed. I felt myself get a little wet, but also angry.
“No! I don’t want to be with anyone other than you!” I think a few people at the winery heard me, so I quieted down a bit. “Besides, there’s no way you did that.”
He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned across the table. “Look, I love you and only want to be with you. But, I need more than what our sex life is giving me. I find you the hottest, sexiest woman in the world, but I need you to break out of your shell. Maybe you don’t need this, but doesn’t it intrigue you at all?”
It did, but, “it’s not worth the risk to me, to our marriage,” I said. “I’m fine with our sex life the way it is. I’m trying to be more sexual, but I can’t be something I’m not. I don’t think bringing other people into the picture will help.”
He was frustrated: “I’m not fine with our sex life, though. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
I got up without speaking and went to the ladies room. I was mad. It did mean something to me that he wasn’t satisfied. It’s not like this was the first time in our more than 20 years together that he had told me he had issues with it. Sex was one of the few things we ever argued about.
He had never gone so far as to actually setting up a threesome or whatever this was — that is, if he was even telling the truth.
I cried for a minute in the restroom as I thought about the situation. We had seen friends and neighbors divorce at our age. They seemed to have a great life together until one of them decided the marriage wasn’t enough for them. I had no intention other than to live the rest of my life with the man I married — even if he was so obsessed with sex that he’d cook up this scenario in his brain.
Once I regained my composure, I almost involuntarily smiled at myself in the bathroom mirror. Ha! Some guys still love to get their hands on me, I thought. I noticed my panties were a little wetter than I expected they would be. I knew what I was going to do.
I was going to call his bluff.
While I had stepped away, the owner’s son had come over to offer a refill to my husband. They were chatting as I returned to the table. He was a fit 6 feet, 3 inches tall, slim and fit with wavy, thick, dark hair, blue eyes and a 5 o’clock shadow. He looked a bit like he had stepped out of an Orvis catalog.
As I approached the table he refilled my glass, turned, winked at me and walked away.
“You guys going fly fishing or something?” I asked, trying to avoid blushing over the wink, which my husband didn’t see.
