The sensation was quite enjoyable. It was as if he were back on the school playground being pushed on a merry-go-round. Not the fastest speed a bunch of guys could get him up to, but the languid pace a girlfriend might prefer. It was rather pleasant, he admitted, to be a little wasted. He had forgotten.
Marcos lay there, naked and supine, wrists and ankles secured to the four posts of their bed. The music mix he was left with had segued through latin classics like Bésame Mucho to nuevo tango to now Tantric drumming. Incense was filling the room with an aroma of burning sage, and except for taste, all his senses were provided for. Especially so now, as brilliant orange, permanent rose, cad yellow deep, and vibrant turquoise, washed across the dusk sky and into their bedroom window.
"Where is she? Why hasn't she returned?" sputtered Marcos. His erection hadn't sagged any, even though his annoyance had risen as his buzz began to wear off.
"Realistically," he calmed himself out loud, "last spring, no one would have even expected me to be in this bind, so to speak."
After weeks of therapy, days of dialogue, hours of explaining, recounting, and contemplating, Marcos and Maria had something they could now call a happily-ever-after marriage--if anyone or any two, for that matter, could ever call it that, except in the moment.
For now, thought Marcos, he was happy. Not the ecstatic surge that being in love produces. But not the crazed worry, either, about whether his lover really cared for him as much as he cared for her.
He knew Maria loved him. Why else would she have put up with his ambivalence for two decades, and given him so much leeway to pursue his artistic passions. The greater mystery was how she had consented to staying married, especially after he had hurt her so by saying he wasn't sure he loved her any more.
And why had she changed? She had become a new woman--suddenly really interested in sensuality, in sex. Reading it, fantasizing about it, looking at his very sensual artwork, and initiating intimacy. For that, he loved her. All he had to do was to promise not to seek love outside their relationship. And for that, she loved him.
It seemed so simple. Too simple? Had the traumatic experience of separation been like an ECT treatment for marital depression? Perhaps it was best not to probe too deeply, as it might change things. "Just be thankful," thought Marcos, "that Maria still loves me."
In fact, she so loved him, she had said, that she wanted to give him a special gift--actually, a pair of gifts--for his fortieth birthday, today, the first of August. What's more, she had wanted to surprise him. He had only to make the house ready--clean it, which was his job anyway--and have dinner waiting for her when she got off at 5:00 p.m. Dinner was also his marital responsibility.
He complied with both wishes. He made a nice meal, which they enjoyed with perhaps a bit too much Chardonnay. They had showered together, and he agreed to her wish that he be tied to the bed and tickled. But that last act had not been availed of yet. The peacock feather was still in the bud vase across the room.
Sounds of the Tantric djembe made him restless, wanting to move, but stirring against the ties was limiting--and painful. Every several seconds, a woman's erotic panting sounded in rhythm with the drumming, and it made him long for Maria, but which also got him irritable with her for being away for so long. He wanted to call out, but kept his composure, and tried to content himself with just listening for her footsteps.
He was soon rewarded. But rather than the sound of shoes echoeing on a wood floor, it was with the sound of a trio of chittering voices down the hallway, growing steadily louder.
"Was it...Oh, my God!" thought Marcos, recognizing them. "What has Maria done, inviting Cassie and Tara to my birthday? And with me like this? My goodness, Maria. What will you think of next?"
As if saving his marriage was obstacle enough to overcome, Marcos had also suffered the double agony of reconciling with Tara and Cassie. Tara, his good friend and confidante for years, had herself secretly fallen in love with the very woman, Cassie, he was preparing to become unmarried for. And Cassie, with whom he had had some of the most wondrous experiences in his life, had rejected him for his best friend, Tara. Somehow, Cassie's Siren Song had had to be transformed into words of sincerity, and She-devil Tara had had to become an honest friend again. Both had happened, but had taken time--like all things originally forged from such molten emotions.
And he couldn't forget Maria's ordeal in forgiving Cassie. Fortunately, that was made easier by the fact that Cassie didn't violate their vows of marriage by encouraging Marcos to leave. In fact, in Maria's eyes, her estimation of Cassie had risen because of that.
So for all, the gauntlet of betrayal, anger, and depression had been run. For his part, he had purged the rage, worked through the grief, and emerged, he felt, a better man. He knew. Because the good memories of their threesomes were coming back to him now in the form of his tightening sac and aching rigidity.
The door flung open and Maria strode in, followed by Cassie and Tara, hand in hand.
"Happy Birthday, Marcos!" the two shouted. Then, startled at what lay before them, Tara added, wryly, "Maria warned us we might be surprised when we saw you, but I never imagined this."
She walked over to the bed, her eyes roaming over him, and laughed, "You're good at getting yourself into some compromising situations, Marcos."
Fingering one of the neckties used to cinch him to the bed, she turned to the other two.
"Very creative use for them, Maria."
Tara's mouth turned up at the corners, and her eyelids batted twice.
"Wouldn't you agree Cassie, my love?"
Cassie giggled.
Maria smiled back.
"I wanted him to dress up for his party."
"Happy to oblige, you, my dear," smiled Marcos.
"Then let the celebration begin!" shouted Tara. "We're playing party games, right Maria? Like what you told us about?"
"Yes, indeed," she replied with a broad smile.
"And giving presents! Where shall I put Marcos' gift?" asked Cassie.
Maria replied coyly, "We can give it to him in just a minute."
Marcos watched as Maria untied her new black kimono and dropped the silken robe onto the oak floor, nonchalantly scooting it with her foot toward the wall and out of the way.
Cassie followed her by lifting Tara's sleeveless top from her waist and peeling it over her head, letting Tara's ponytail flop down against her bare back. Tara's breasts gradually undulated to a stop.
Tara repaid Cassie's kindness, helping her out of her blouse, then unclipped the teal green bra to free those perky breasts Marcos knew so well. She slid Cassie's capris to her ankles, kissed her on the belly, then pulled her matching bikini briefs down as well, helping her lover to step out of them.
Cassie reciprocated, with long sweeps of her hands up Tara's arms, down along her trunk to the waistband, then unsnapped, unzipped, and tugged off Tara's skirt.
Marcos gasped. Not only was Tara not wearing any underwear, but her brown pubic hair had been completely shaved.
"Present time!" announced Maria, which sent Cassie to retrieve, from her bag, a package gaily wrapped in azure blue and burnt sienna.
"As you're a little tied up," chuckled Maria, stroking his now scarlet hard-on, "let's allow Tara and Cassie to open it for you."
Marcos stared wide-eyed as his former ménage members slowly pared away the tissue paper from a long glass rod with two smooth ends, one ribbed and of greater girth, the other long and gently curved. He felt a little uneasy over the gift, and puzzled the intention behind it.
As if to answer him, Maria announced the first game: "Blind Man's Bluff!" and then explained the rules.
