The weather was warm for the time of year. The woman wore a dark print dress, dark stockings and matching shoes with a medium heel. Her partner was in an open-necked shirt under an expensive casual top, grey slacks. They were both in their forties, well groomed and seemingly slightly nervous. I wondered what the woman was wearing underneath the dress. Some of the couples who had come to us in the past had been surprisingly unconventional. If in this case I was not optimistic, I also knew from experience that the more defensive ones were often those who provided the greatest satisfaction during the progress from extreme initial caution to ultimate release.
All this happened nearly two years ago. It is a case chosen more or less at random from the file we refer to as The Ledger, the only record of our activities. Normally The Ledger resides in a locked safe but has now been withdrawn as a consequence of our big upheaval. By the time you read this we will have begun to settle into our new home in the Greek islands where Anna, my dear wife, was born. The combination of a homecoming for her, a warm sun in a blue sky and a less punitive tax system will have proved irresistible. Once we are settled, we will seek to offer help to needy couples in our new surroundings or, more probably, on the easily accessible mainland.
We try to avoid labels but I suppose you could best describe us as amateur sex therapists. It's a role we stumbled into by accident. The estate agency I set up with money my father gave me flourished through one housing boom after another to the point where I could afford to leave the daily running to my staff. I did make a point of frequent visits to the branch offices but eventually it became less than a full-time occupation. Which left ample opportunity for sex.
The agony columns will tell you that in a good marriage the sexual relationship is based on a loving foundation. Possibly they are right for most people. I can only say that in our case the reverse is true. Anna and I, many years ago, fell into what we both thought would be a one-night stand. However, the sex was so instantly explosive that one night turned into a number until we understood how much we needed each other physically. Only then did love - true love - follow. Now nothing could part us. And the sex remains central.
It was while we were dallying one afternoon, as we often did, that the idea was born. Anna had coaxed my cock to full erection, which she was able to do in a wide variety of cunning ways to my intense pleasure. Momentarily, she released the tip from her lips and leaned back to admire her achievement. It is admittedly larger than average; not monstrous but certainly big and capable of finding its way into most inner depths with rewarding results on both sides. "You know," she said, "this is so good I sometimes feel guilty about keeping it all to myself."
Even today I am not sure whether that remark was as spontaneous as it seemed at the time or whether she had already envisaged wider horizons and was subtly leading me towards them. Whatever the explanation, we fell into a long discussion about sharing. In particular, we faced up at the outset to the question of jealousy. "Could you cope," I asked, "with watching me fuck another woman?"
"Could you cope," Anna replied, "with watching me being fucked by another man? Or suppose it was me with another woman?"
We thought about it for a while, talked about it some more, until we were both so horny we had to abandon abstract theory for vigorous practice. Showering together afterwards, we returned to the debate. We were both turned on by the idea and were prepared to give it a try. My suggestion for a trial visit to a swingers' club was vetoed. Anna didn't want to get involved in any kind of mass activity, certainly not at this initial stage, probably not ever. The arms-length approach through the internet seemed a better bet but proved to be a delusion. Finding a couple who were 'our kind of people,' who didn't live on our doorstep and who were available at civilised hours without needing a month's notice was tedious in the extreme. After much trial and error, what seemed a promising rendezvous was arranged and we set off in a state of high anticipation. Only to be stood up. There was an apology and an explanation in due course - unexpected visitors - but it left us looking for an alternative approach.
Success came partly by application, partly by chance. We took to leaving a fairly general invitation on a variety of message boards. At the time we didn't foresee the possible consequences of a message that was, with hindsight, more than a little ambiguous. Role-playing has always been a lively component of our sexual repertoire so we thought nothing of vague references to 'deep examination,' 'special needs' and 'solutions offered by an experienced couple.' Harmless fun for pretend doctors and nurses was what we had in mind.
The first pair to respond - a married couple in their late twenties, call them Mr and Mrs A - simply said they had problems we might be able to help them with, which we took to be a coded indication that they were of a similar outlook. Over drinks at a hotel suitably distant from home we made small talk - the weather, traffic on the motorway - that took us no further. The first hint of a possible misunderstanding only became apparent when we went up to our room and asked them how they would like to proceed.
There was a good deal of nervous dissembling before the truth emerged. It transpired that Mrs A was frustrated by the lack of a more fulfilling experience than she could achieve with her husband's penis which, she said, was somewhat smaller than what she believed to be average. For his part, Mr A felt that he might have been able to respond more vigorously to his wife's demands if only her breasts had been larger. They had seen our message and hoped our experience and 'professional expertise' (Mrs A's words) would be able to suggest a solution. While I was still wondering how two people with such incompatible sexual desires ever got together in the first place, Anna read the danger signals and flashed me a look that said she would take over.
I have to say that, for an impromptu reaction, Anna could hardly have been more brilliant. First, she expressed at length her sympathy for the plight in which Mr and Mrs A found themselves. It was important, she said, they should not think themselves alone: many others suffered similar if not identical feelings. In the majority of cases they were simply responding to a superficial depiction of sexual desirability to be found in newspapers and magazines. All they were experiencing was the age-old misconception that the grass was greener in the next field. What needed to be established was whether that was Mr and Mrs A's problem.
So far, so good. But having prevented us from being exposed for what we were, Anna then produced her master stroke to salvage the kind of evening we had been anticipating. It was highly probable, she told them, that if they had the chance to sample the delights they believed they were being denied, they would find their expectations had been exaggerated. As it happened, Anna went on, Colin (the name I had chosen for the occasion) was possessed of a larger than average endowment; she ran her hand suggestively over my crotch. And she herself had been blessed with a bosom that, for some reason, men seemed to lust after; she opened two buttons at the top of her dress. Our 'professional expertise' was at their disposal if they wished to avail themselves here and now.
