"At this point, I don't want a boyfriend," said Ann, finishing off her third glass of wine. "I just want someone to sleep with." She finished this thought with a slight smile, as if she was only realizing the truth of what she said in the exact moment that she said it.
My wife and I smiled and laughed supportively. We had been hearing the disappointing tale of Ann's latest relationship, with a 35-year-old man who in six months of dating never once tried to have sex with her.
"Six months and no sex?" I said, incredulous.
"Nothing," Ann said. "He barely kissed me. I told him early on, what's up with this? I have needs, damn it. But the months went by, and still, nothing. I think he must be gay."
"That is such a tragedy," I said. "Because -- and don't take this the wrong way -- but, I would totally have sex with you."
Ann laughed. "Well fine, I'll take that as a compliment," she said.
My wife smirked at me from behind her wine glass. She knew of my flirtatious ways.
"No, seriously Ann," I said, feeling the effects of the wine. "I've had a crush on you for like the last six years."
Ann was blushing now. We'd always had a very good rapport and the three of us always talked openly about all kinds of topics, but tonight there was a bit of additional energy in the room.
"OK, tell me more," she said.
"I just think you're an amazing person," I said, feeling bolder now, the words all falling into place. "You're so attractive. I love your spirit. You're generous, you're a great mom. Even when you were married, I used to think about you very fondly. I've just always respected you a lot."
Ann laughed. "It's nice to get some compliments from a fine gentleman like yourself," she said.
Ann was one of our favorites in a large circle of single mom friends, who often joined us for dinner and wine while our kids ran amok in the basement, leaving us at the dining room table for some precious adult conversation. She was a petite brunette with short hair, delicate features and intelligent eyes.
We always wondered why it was so hard for Ann and our other single mom friends to find a decent guy. Like the rest of our single mom friends, Ann was smart, sexy, hard working, well-educated, interesting, and engaged with the world. We enjoyed her company and hoped for the best for her.
During the early years of our marriage, my wife and I used to ask each other, "I wonder which of our friends will end up getting divorced?" We never wanted to get divorced ourselves, but we recognized that statistically speaking, at least some of the happy young married couples in our social network would eventually split up.
And then all of a sudden, it happened -- a flood of divorces. These were not orderly, amicable, "in the best interests of the child" divorces, these were dark, miserable, "Lifetime movie come to life" divorces, each more shocking than the last -- husbands getting caught with multiple affairs, husbands embezzling money and going to prison, husbands who had been living secret lives for years. The full spectrum of bad male behavior was on exhibit in the lives of our friends.
Not only did I feel terrible for our friends for what they had gone through with their divorces and all the attendant financial struggles and childraising challenges, but I also felt bad that, while their philandering husbands almost always went on to find new hookups, girlfriends or even get remarried soon after the divorce, so many of these attractive, intelligent women went on to spend the next several years without so much as going on a date. Maybe it was true -- maybe there were no good men out there.
The night Ann was at our house, we escorted her and her daughter out to the front door and waved goodbye as they drove off. My wife cuddled up to me. "I'm glad to have you," she said. "Thanks for being a good husband."
"You make it easy," I said. And it was true. Compared to the emotional wreckage of so many of our friends' marriages, my wife and I enjoyed a peaceful, contented union. We had our ups and downs, and sometimes we fought about stupid stuff, and sometimes we both said things that we later regretted, but for the most part we understood each other, we respected each other, and we wanted it all to work out.
And we still had amazing chemistry. I couldn't imagine having an affair with another woman. Every time I kissed my wife, I still felt a memory of that first magnetic kiss on our first date. Every time I saw her naked, even after 10 years together, I still remembered the first time I undressed her, alone together in her tiny graduate student apartment, loosening the knot on her bathrobe, sliding it down past her shoulders, exposing her breasts, seeing her taut nipples, running my fingers delicately up her thighs, gazing upon that perfect dark triangle between her legs, seeing how she had trimmed her hair to make herself ready for me.
Even as a married couple for 8 years now, with two young kids, every time I make love to my wife I remember that first time, both of us young and free, helping her over to the bed, both of us delirious with desire, running my tongue along her inner thighs, her body so responsive, she let out little gasps and sighs and moans, waiting with electric expectancy for everything that was to come.
How many times have my wife and I had sex? 10 years together, 52 weeks a year, twice a week on average? 520 times? It doesn't seem like much when you put it that way. Compared to the full scope of life, the duration of our lovemaking is such a small amount of time, but it has commanded such a large proportion of my mental energies.
In the early days, we used to spend the whole weekend in bed. We used to have sex 5 times each weekend, until we were exhausted and sore. We had an intense physical need that could not be satisfied, we could literally not get enough of each other, as if every new act of lovemaking was an escalating effort to more deeply envelop and absorb each other.
I loved everything about her, the way she tasted, her scent, her chemistry. Every move she made in bed seemed to perfectly anticipate my needs and my desires, an intimate choreography. I was 24 years old when we first met, and I remembered feeling like this woman was the culmination of all of my most feverish youthful fantasies. All those nights going home lonely from bars and nightclubs and school dances had led me to this moment and this woman, miraculously designed to fulfill my erotic imagination.
Of course our sex life had cooled a bit as the years went on. We had two kids and we had our careers and chores and bills to pay. We had all the regular challenges of a married couple embarking upon the early years of adulthood. But I still saw my wife as a conduit of youth and excitement. Even after 10 years together, after every climax, resting my head on the pillow and feeling her head resting on my chest, I felt as if we were the only two people in the world. And I knew that I was a lucky man.
A few days after Ann was at our house, my wife and I had just finished making love when my wife looked particularly thoughtful as she rested her head on my shoulder. She ran her fingers over my chest, kissing me softly on the neck.
"You know," my wife said, "You're pretty good at this sex thing. Maybe I should start loaning you out to our single mom friends."
I laughed, still enjoying those moments of post-coital bliss, not taking her seriously. My mind was elsewhere.
"You wouldn't allow that," I said. My wife was silent, pondering.
"Or would you?" I said, turning to look at her. She had a mischievous gleam in her eye.
Suddenly I felt a growing sense of focus on what my wife was saying.
"I can't believe you'd really be willing to share me," I said. "We know how territorial you are."
"Well, here's what I'm thinking," my wife said. "We know all of these single moms. They're amazing women. They're beautiful, talented, wonderful people. So why should they be deprived of pleasure just because they married the wrong guy?"
"So you want to loan me out?" I said. "How do you think our friends are going to react to this? And are you sure you want to share?"
"I'll consider it a community service," she said. "Charitable giving. There's only one thing that concerns me."