Please feel free to leave a public comment, email or vote.
Feedback always appreciated, positive or otherwise.
*********************
I was shocked: completely gobsmacked, but I guess I asked for it.
We were sitting in a little local restaurant and I was teasing Alana, my wife of 20 years, about what I had planned for our upcoming wedding anniversary.
I never could remember what gift was supposed to accompany each anniversary (you know; china, silver, golden etc.) so I had long ago given up, and instead I made sure that our anniversaries celebrated our love for each other.
Over the years, this had usually meant a nice piece of jewellery and a weekend somewhere, away from the kids and our daily lives.
This was what tonight was about. We'd have a nice dinner, and with a flourish I would produce the tickets to somewhere romantic. Next morning we'd be off.
I was feeling pretty pleased with my choice of gift: a jade pendant which matched her eyes; and airline tickets that would take us to a little known, but exclusive, Norwegian ski resort.
So I felt pretty smug when I asked her what she really wanted for her anniversary, but what she answered was: "Two of you."
I didn't get it, and told her so.
"You know, two: of you, ahem, at the same time. Don't make me spell it out."
She was grinning, happy to be turning the tables on my teasing.
"You mean...."
"Oh for god's sake Paul. I was kidding. You don't have a clone in that pocket, do you.?"
"Well, no..."
Somewhat sheepishly, I took out the tickets and presented the pendant. Alana was gushing in her praise of my choices, but I couldn't help being a bit miffed at her earlier comment.
I decided not to push it: no point in spoiling the atmosphere.
Later that night, though; languishing in bed after some energetic lovemaking; I brought it up again.
"What you said earlier, in the restaurant; what did you mean?"
She smiled: "Oh, nothing. It was just a book I was reading. The heroine was a bit wild and ended bedding two guys, you know, together."
I was shocked all over again. I mean, Alana is 45 years old and, in the twenty years we've been married, hasn't strayed as much as an inch over the line of propriety (as far as I know). We were dating pretty much exclusively for five years before that, and she was a virgin when we met.
"You mean, you'd like to try...swinging?" The word seemed wholly inappropriate: so 'seventies' and definitely un-Alana.
"God no. I couldn't. It was just that the sex scenes in the book were pretty wild and I'd been reading it before we went out. For goodness sake Paul, your face is a picture. I was just teasing you. You're always so bloody good at buying gifts, I just thought I'd take the wind out of your sails a bit. I shouldn't have. It was very ungrateful of me. Most of my girlfriends would kill for a husband as thoughtful as you. So would I, for that matter."
I was mollified, somewhat, but I still had to ask once more.
"So would you, then?"
"Look, I told you: no. It's very sexy in a book, as a fantasy, but the thought of doing something like that in reality is yucky. No way.
"So you fantasise......"
"GO TO SLEEP!"
Point taken.
We arrived in Norway at lunchtime the next day, and immediately went on piste. The afternoon's skiing was great: uncrowded and challenging runs, and winter sunshine on a beautifully rugged, snow-covered wilderness.
The luxury of the 'lodge' contrasted the wild landscape completely. We had every mod con in our spacious suite, the restaurant was first class, and the bar that night was lively and cosmopolitan.
We met people from all across Europe, and as the restaurant tables were german style, large communal wooden affairs, we soon were chatting easily and continued at the bar. The resort seemed to attract the well-heeled, but serious, skier and as a result it didn't suffer from the same snobbery as some of the Alpine resorts. I was delighted with my choice and we vowed to come back often.
The crowd was mostly couples, but there were a few groups of single guys and girls. It seemed to me there were more couples by the end of the night!
There was something really sexy about the place. I think the day's skiing made you feel all energetic and virtuous, and then a combination of great seafood, drinks, and probably the thin air at this altitude did the rest. The lodge also had a dress policy in the evening, which meant everyone had to make an effort to look their best.
Whatever it was, the crowd got pretty raucous.
I happily considered Alana. This is one of the great things about being married: here is this gorgeous woman, dressed to the nines, who is going to be in my bed later tonight.
She was looking great. At 45, she has grown into her beauty: she knows what works for her in clothes, make-up, and hairstyle and she makes the most of herself.
She is about 5 ft 8, a little curvy, but with a butt kept trim by years of skiing, and 34C boobs that still draw furtive glances - even from me!
Her dark hair is cut into a glossy bob and her clothes always hint, just enough, at what's underneath.
Christ, it's time for bed!
Alana always makes a special effort for our weekends away. It's our little private deal. I provide a first class, romantic destination, and Alana provides, well, Alana.
I am sitting on the edge of the bed, sipping a mini bar whisky which I clearly don't need, when she comes out of the bathroom. She stands, facing me, between me and the music station I'm idly watching on the tv.
She starts to undo the buttons on her shirt, slowly, swaying in time to the music. She pops them one by one. Slowly. Unveiling. Her. Deep. Cleavage.
Her shirt comes off and then her skirt slithers to the floor. Underneath, she has on something new from Agent Provocateur. She runs her hands up her thighs, brushing her tight little mound, then upwards over her body until she cups her swollen looking breasts.
This is her party piece. She drops to her knees and, looking me straight in the eye, unzips my chinos. She pulls me out of my zipper and slowly, way too slowly, lowers her mouth onto my aching cock.
About two minutes later, OK maybe 90 seconds, I'm grateful for the noise of the music as I loudly empty into her lovely wet mouth.
Alana shares my whisky while I recover, and then it's payback time. She is on all fours on the bed and I enter her from behind. She prefers this position when she really needs to come. She is clever, and has removed my urgency with her blowjob. She knows I can now fuck her, hard, until she comes: one hand steadying herself on the headboard, one kneading her clit as I pump her from behind.
We are only here for two nights, so we rise early for breakfast and are back on the slopes by nine, making the most of our day.
The resort has a cafe-bar on the slopes where we take our lunch, skis stacked up along the log walls. We chat with a few people we met last night, and are back on the slopes for the afternoon.
Alana is a better skier than I am, so she allows herself a few lone runs on the advanced slopes, while I potter about on the intermediate levels. We meet again at 4 pm in the bar and have a final run together before heading back to the hotel.
I try to entice her into some 'afternoon delight' as we change for the evening, but she likes me keen and tells me: 'later'.
She dresses deliberately provocatively in a little black dress, which exposes as much cleavage as she dares, and is slashed to the thigh. She also tells me about the young blonde Norwegian guy who tried to chat her up on the slopes until she took off her gloves and flashed her wedding ring.
This is no accident, of course. It's part of our weekend game. She teases me and dresses more revealingly than she ever would at home, and then she takes me to bed and finally relieves my frustration.
Her teasing is working even better than usual tonight. The communal restaurant tables make for lots of banter and flirting and we are all soon very merry.
As it's Saturday, there is to be some dancing and the waiters rearrange the table to make a space. The music starts and soon we are all happily, if not always skillfuly, gyrating.
Inevitably, as the night wears on we (slightly) older couples retire to the sidelines and let the younger crowd enjoy themselves. The DJ is good and, sensing the change, the music gets louder and faster.
Soon though, a young blonde guy comes over and asks Alana to dance. She raises her eyebrows at me and I shrug: sure, no problem.
After a few minutes I finish my drink and take the opportunity to go to the loo.
On the way, I make sure I skirt the dance floor (Jealous, me?) to check on Alana. God, she dances well. From this distance she looks 25 years old, and can easily hold her own with the younger crowd. She is dancing much faster and more intently than she would with me. I guess she makes allowances for my two left feet. I see the blonde guy has his hands on her hips as they dance and I continue to the loo before I really do get jealous.
I have to wait awhile to piss because I have become quite hard. On the way back I buy some headache tablets from the little kiosk at reception (I can't read the labels, but the girl on duty speaks perfect English and points out a brand. She gives me a little bottle of water and I take a tablet right away.
Christ, imagine getting a headache at a disco! I feel bloody old and slip the packet in my jacket pocket: no way is the gyrating Alana going to find out her old husband can't take the pace!
Back at our table, I chat to some Italians and I start to feel better almost immediately. Another track starts and Alana remains on the dance floor with her young partner.
She is buzzing when she returns and slips in beside me. She is keeping up her tease, whispering sexy little nothings in my ear and leaving her hand on my thigh. I ask her who the young blonde guy was and it turns out it was the bloke who was chatting her up on the piste this afternoon.
"Christ, I thought you'd flashed your wedding ring to scare him off."
"He's Swedish. I don't think they care about things like that."
