As one rather well known writer put it, "If you write biography you get to make things up. If you write fiction, you have to tell the truth." Well, this is fiction. The incidents and facts have been altered a bit to make a good story but the essential truth is, like that famous orange juice, "un-fooled around with."
I had to grin in self-satisfaction one night, about a year ago, as my wife Alessandra and I watched Tom Ewell and Marilyn Monroe wind their way through THE SEVEN-YEAR ITCH. We had been married almost eight years and I had never even been tempted to roam. We had enjoyed a relatively quiet life after marriage. I had had a wildly irresponsible single life before I met Alex, as she prefers to be called, and she had hinted at some fairly interesting episodes in her early life as well. I never pressed her about them, knowing that she would tell me if and when she wanted me to know.
About a month after watching that movie, some people who had been friends of Alex before we were married invited us to a house-warming party. A committee meeting to plan the tenth anniversary of Alex's college graduating class was to precede the meeting. Alex would attend both. I agreed to meet her there after the committee meeting but was kept in the office at the last minute to deal with a crisis. I called Alex's cell and told her that I would get there as quickly as I could. At nine o'clock, the meeting seemed bogged down with the client as obstinate as any I had dealt with. There were more than a hundred thousand dollars at stake and in this economy it simply could not be surrendered.
When the client got up to go to the john I called Alex's cell again. She answered on the second ring.
"Babe, I'm really tied up here. I doubt if I'll make it at all. Please give Robert and Lisa my regrets."
"Oh, damn!" she replied, "I was hoping we could have a night out."
"Sorry, Alex. Really! I'll see you at home, sweetheart. Have fun! I mean it."
"Okay. Love you! Bye." And she was gone.
But, as sometimes happens in these business stalemates, the client came back to the table all sweetness and light and accepted our terms without further demure. I was astonished but grateful. I thought that he must have used his time away from the negotiations to make a call to his boss and received orders to complete the deal; after all, we were offering a terrific rate. The paperwork was quickly completed, dotted lines signed, hands shaken, and the client departed for the airport.
I called Alex back as soon as I cleared the office and got her voicemail. I left a message that I would meet her at the party around ten-thirty or so. I retrieved my car from the parking garage and made my way through light downtown traffic to the outskirts of town and ramped up to the Interstate that would take me to the small, exclusive suburban settlement where her friends had just built a house. On my way, I tried to remember all I could about the hosts, Robert and Lisa. One of them --- I couldn't remember which --- had been at college with Alex. They owned a pretty successful business and had become very affluent. I had mixed feelings about going; I didn't really know any of these people. But, like a good husband, I agreed for Alex's sake.
I got to the party just after ten-thirty and saw that it was at its peak. The house was huge, three stories set into the woods at the back and about as private as you could want. Money can do that, I thought as I approached the front. The door was open so I walked in unannounced. Not knowing any of them I walked straight in and set about finding my wife. I bumped into Robert and shook his hand.
"Is Alex still here?" I asked
"I last saw her dancing," Robert smiled as he said it, "but I don't know which room she's in now. Why don't you get a drink and she'll show up pretty soon."
The house still looked huge even with masses of people everywhere. The living room had a huge arch that led into the dining room. A den was off one side. The furniture had been cleared away to accommodate dancing and all rooms were packed as well as the hallways. The lighting was dimmed down and I couldn't see Alex anywhere so I headed to the bar for a drink. When I turned back to the crowd, bourbon in hand, I spotted my wife dancing with a guy among the gyrating couples. He looked familiar somehow but I couldn't place him. They danced and laughed and I decided not to disturb their good time. I've never been the jealous sort so I sipped bourbon and waited for her to finish before going over.
I watched her dancing with some degree of pride. Her shoulder-length, wavy auburn hair and very clear blue eyes were stunning the first time you saw them. Tall and slender and healthy, her waist so narrow I could encircle it with my hands, two firm, high breasts big enough that her clothes couldn't successfully mask them caused a lot of guys to notice her and come on to her even when I was present. If I were the jealous type I would have been in for a long, worrisome life.
That night, she was wearing a short emerald green dress with very thin shoulder straps. The skirt stopped four inches above her knees revealing smooth legs that swelled into round, voluptuous thighs. Her bottom is a little fuller than fashionable and was a constant worry to her; but it was delightfully, provocatively sexy and enhanced that evening by four-inch black heels. The dress was low-cut in front allowing a tantalizing glimpse into her cleavage. She was, I thought as I watched her dance, one of the hottest women in the room.
Suddenly, the music changed to a sensuous hip-hop number. The guy dancing with my wife quickly took her in his arms and whirled her away again. Clifford! That was his name, Clifford. Alex had introduced me to him at a picnic a couple of years ago. He was one of her college boyfriends. This didn't really bother me. I trusted Alex. She had had multiple opportunities to accept the invitations of other men but had never, so far as I knew, accepted even one. She had often danced with other men and had lunch with old boyfriends before, but she was scrupulously careful to turn aside any advance that seemed too familiar. But as I watched her dance with Clifford, something clutched my stomach. I saw him put both hands on her waist and draw her close. I watched my wife throw her head back, laughing, as she placed her arms on his shoulders and stroked the back of his neck and head.
Still, I pushed aside the flare of concern that rose in me. It was a party; they were old friends. I put it down to the sensuous music and had the bartender refill my drink. When I returned a few seconds later Clifford was behind Alex grinding his groin into her pert bottom. She bent forward slightly and pushed back encouraging him; my blood pressure rose again. Then my brain went blank as he cupped both her breasts and squeezed lightly. I fully expected my wife to move away or to at least remove his hands, but I was amazed to see her place her hands over his and smile at him over her shoulder.
If you asked me before that night how I would react if I ever found myself in this situation, like most men I'd say I would put a stop to it --- violently if necessary. But I didn't. Alex obviously enjoyed what he was doing to her and I was seized by a desire to see how much she would allow. It was a unique opportunity to see how far my wife would go with another man and most men, I think, never get that chance. So I stood back in the shadows and observed.
Alex loves having her tits stroked and squeezed, by me at least. They are, next to her gorgeous bottom, her most provocative feature. Most of the time she is extremely modest and dresses demurely but every so often when she's out for an evening she wears low-cut and revealing tops. I know she is secretly proud of her high, firm breasts and I know she revels in all the male attention they bring her. But she doesn't know that I know this and what I was seeing on the dance floor was several steps beyond anything I thought she would ever do.
Clifford pulled my wife up straight and back against his chest, using his hands on her tits, till his face was buried in her hair --- just like I do when I fuck her from behind. She closed her eyes smiling as he started to kiss her neck --- just as I do when I fuck her from behind. He nuzzled my wife's neck and let his hands drift slowly down her body until they rested on the tops of her thighs --- just like I do when . . .
The couples between us parted for a few seconds and I saw Clifford gently gather her dress up her legs. Just as the music ended, he slipped a hand under the hem of her dress and caressed her naked thigh. Another number started playing, Alex turned to him, smiling apologetically and pushed his hand away, not insistently, but as if she were afraid others would see. After only a few seconds of dancing, he stopped, stepped away from her and gestured for her to follow him outside. After a small hesitation on Alex's part she took his proffered hand with a naughty, knowing smile and they made their way outside to the patio, closing the French doors behind them. I waited a few moments before slipping out the front door and around the house.
When I entered the back yard, I had to stand while my eyes adjusted to the full moon and dim, reflected light from the house. The patio was empty, but I could just discern two couples sitting near the swimming pool talking quietly and kissing. I ignored them and looked for Alex and Clifford. I caught sight of them at the edge of the woods, just disappearing into the trees on a small path between two bushes. I followed as quietly as possible and soon came to a small clearing about twenty yards or so into the woods.
In the clearing stood a redwood trestle-type picnic table its glass-smooth surface sanded, coated, and polished to a high shine. My wife sat on the end of it her skirt rucked high on her legs. One leg dangled from the table's edge, the other was cocked up with her foot on the end of the bench. The smooth under curve of her thigh was sharply outlined against the gleam of the tabletop. Clifford stood between her legs; I could see his right hand slowly moving, caressing her bare thigh. She was not wearing stockings and he was touching her, feeling her warm bare flesh! Rage, like razor-sharp shards of glass shot through my brain and I gripped myself to keep from screaming at my faithless wife and her lover! But I held myself in check once more.
I stepped off of the path into the trees and undergrowth and found a spot behind and slightly to the right of Clifford as he stood between Alex's legs. It afforded a clear view of them; a gap in the scrub oak through which I could easily see them and remain obscured in shadow. Alex was leaning forward, eyes closed, smiling as Clifford held her face in his hands and softly kissed her. Alex had her arms behind her, hands flat on the table for support. Her position had the effect of thrusting her breasts out slightly. As Clifford continued kissing her face and neck, he slipped his fingers under the straps of her dress and slowly slid them off her shoulders and down her arms. My wife uttered a little sound of pleasure as she sat up, bending her elbows, allowing him to pull the straps down and off her arms.
He pulled her dress down over the tips of her breasts. She was not wearing a bra. She leaned back on the table again smiling with satisfaction as she enjoyed Clifford's reaction to her amazing bobbing, gleaming mounds. He sighed loudly as he cupped them in his hands and leaned in to kiss my wife again.
Alex wrapped her arms around his neck, her breasts flattened against his shirt. I knew how the heat of them would penetrate the fabric and warm his chest. Even as I thought it Alex quickly unbuttoned Clifford's shirt, spread it open, down his arms and off. He had shoulders as broad as an axe handle and rippling muscle told of many workout sessions. She nestled her bare breasts against his thick chest with eager, wanton movements.
They kissed passionately. There could be no doubt; she was returning the kiss with interest! He soon broke the kiss and his lips drifted back to her neck, her shoulders, down to the hollow of her throat, then onto the top of her chest, continuing with soft seductive kisses.
I can't explain my reaction. I was not aroused as so many men claim to be by scenes of their wives with other men. I felt cold all over, nearly shivering as I stood there calmly observing a stranger enjoying the ripe, full globes of my wife's breasts. The only sign of my true emotion was the heavy, knotted mass that was once my stomach.
