I Had the Best Intentions

My wife was standing naked in front of our bedroom mirror. Again.

This has become a regular occurrence over the last couple months, as her self-image has slowly but steadily plummeted. When we wed ten years ago, she was a certified ten: five foot eight inches, chestnut hair, a slender, toned body and a girl-next-door face that would soften the heart of the cruelest dictator.

But in her mind, breast-feeding our twin boys (now three years old and spending the week at my parents'), and motherhood in general, had severely impacted her body. I could not disagree more.

As I sat on the bed behind her, I admired her supple cheeks, not as firm as they were in college, but still shapely and fun to squeeze. Her legs had lost some of the definition they acquired when we would jog, but they would still draw the attention of a crowd when adorned in a miniskirt. Despite her negative opinion of herself, most people would still consider her a catch.

She ran her fingers over the lingering scar from the cesarean, and her palms slid over the stretch marks, faded but prevalent. I had tried to convince her in the past that she should be proud of these.

"Sweetheart, scars are pretty bad-ass," I had argued. "Especially ones from which life is extracted." But she wasn't having it.

Cupping her breasts in her hands, lifting them to where they used to rest at peak perkiness, her eyes closed in disappointment. I watched her reaction in the mirror.

"Honey," I said. "You know you are still as beautiful as ever."

"You have to say that," she retorted, turning back from the mirror and climbing into bed. She slid under the sheets and turned her back to me, a familiar sequence since our sons joined the family.

"Just because I have to say it doesn't mean it isn't true, Nicole," I offered as I slid behind her and put my hand on her waist.

"I'm sorry honey, but I don't believe you. And I'm not in the mood," she said, removing my hand and turning back into her cocoon.

I rolled onto my back and huffed loudly, my only way of expressing how frustrating our lack of intimacy was becoming.

"Just try to cheer up a bit before Heather and Mark come over tomorrow for dinner. You won't make much of a host in your current state."

She remained quiet, either because she was ignoring me or because she had already drifted asleep.

.....

Heather and Mark lived across the street, and though they were twelve years our senior, at 46, we were closer to them than any of our other neighbors. Since our kids were born, we did not have as much time for hosting them, or even visiting them, for that matter. But with our boys at my parents' house for the week, we decided to ask them to dinner.

After I had set the table and Nicole had prepared dinner, she ran upstairs to get dressed. I followed her, hoping to have a say in what she would wear.

"Honey, why don't you put this one on," I said, pulling out a simple but sexy black dress. "You have always been a knockout in this."

Nicole had already pulled on a pair of jeans and was picking out a low cut, tight fitting t-shirt. "I don't think so, love," she said. "It is not that formal a party."

"This isn't over the top, and it might make you feel a little sexier, don't you think?"

Nicole shook her head, visibly frustrated that I was trying to help her get dressed, and not wanting to think about her body image. "I'm happy with this," she said, pulling on the shirt.

She did look good. The jeans hugged her in all the right places, and her shirt and bra provided about four inches of cleavage. While her breasts had sagged a bit, they still looked ample when stuffed in a bra.

I returned downstairs as Nicole worked on her hair. Pacing, expecting Heather and Mark in a few minutes, I pondered ways to convince Nicole that I truly think she is sexy, and that others do, too. I picked up the phone and kept my eyes on the top of the stairs to make sure she wasn't on her way down.

Heather answered, "Hello?"

"Heather, its John. Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"Nicole has been incredibly down on herself lately. Could you make a big deal about how great she looks tonight?"

"Sure, of course I will. Do you want me to ask Mark to say something, too? It might seem obvious coming from me."

"OK, whatever you think," I said. "So long as you think he can do it without it seeming awkward."

Heather laughed, forcing me to hold the phone away from my ear. "I think he can manage," she said.

.....

Nicole had prepared roasted chicken with balsamic reduction, alongside mushroom risotto and ginger carrots. She had learned from her mother, the best cook I ever knew, and managed the kitchen so meticulously that her dinner presentations were flawless. Even if she was down on her body image, I knew she felt confident in the kitchen. Her meals commanded applause, were that kind of thing socially acceptable.

I, always in search of a new wine to pair with her cuisine, had decanted two bottles of negroamaro from Puglia. Dark, rustic and earthy, with oaky notes and leathery accents, it accentuated every nuance in Nicole's fare, which only inspired us to drink it faster. The manner in which the four of us consumed Nicole's cooking was a cross between scarfing and savoring. Her food flew off the plate to a chorus close-lipped accolades.

As we finished our meal and I poured the last of the decanter into our guests' glasses the customary compliments started flowing.

"Everything was delicious!" Mark exclaimed. "Thanks so much, Nicole."

"I second that," said Heather. "We never eat so well as when we eat here."

"I feel like I am the luckiest man in the world," I said. "A wife who looks like this AND can cook!"

"Honey, please!" Nicole blushed as I put my arm around her shoulders. PDA was not her thing.

"You really did luck out, pal," said Mark. He opened his mouth as if to continue, but stopped himself. I had a feeling he was going to say something borderline crude and thought better of it.

Heather, however, had clearly been impacted by the two bottles of wine we had consumed.

"I'm sorry to be so blunt, Nicole, but your tits look fucking amazing in that top!"

Nicole's eyes shot wide and her face reddened deeper, and I coughed the water I had just sipped back into its glass. The room fell silent for about three seconds, and then erupted in laughter. Even Nicole mustered a chuckle.

It was a contagious laughter, we all fed each other, around the table, it lasted minutes.

It ended abruptly, unfortunately, when, after taking one last swig of wine, Mark took things too far.

"Hell," he said. "I'd fuck 'em!" The room again fell silent, but this time no laughter followed.

Heather backhanded him across the chest. "What the fuck, babe?" she chastised.

"That is just a little too familiar, don't you think?" I said.

"Hey man, I was just trying to help you out," he defended.

I shut my eyes and my heart fell to my stomach. My well-intended ploy was revealed.

"What?" Nicole asked. "What does that mean?"

"N...Nothing," he said. "I've said too much."

"You think!?" I said in an elevated tone just short of yelling.

"Did you ask them to say things like that?" Nicole asked me.

"No, babe. Why would I do that?"

Nicole looked across the table, where Mark and Heather were confessing simply by avoiding eye contact with her.

"Unbelievable," she said as she slid her chair back and stormed out of the room.

I sat there breathing heavily, trying to calm my nerves.

"Sorry, man," said Mark. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"Me neither," I said. "I should have just left well enough alone. I'm not mad at you."

Heather and Mark excused themselves, officially ending the night. When I went upstairs, the bedroom door was locked.

"Go away," she said firmly.

"Honey, please. I did not ask Mark to say anything like that! Yes, I asked Heather if she would complement you, but I never intended for Mark to be so vulgar. I'm sorry!"

I sensed that this could be a pivotal point in our marriage, and was already stressing about how large a wedge might have been driven between us.

Nicole opened the door for a brief second, only to throw my pajamas and a suit in my face, and then slammed the door shut. I took the hint. Sleep on the couch and go to work the next morning without speaking to her.

Returning to the couch, I realized it wasn't all bad. Without her lying right next to me, at least I could masturbate now. I took advantage, closing my eyes and envisioning that one glorious orgasm I had elicited from her nearly four years ago now. It was all I needed. Finding release for the first time in nearly two weeks, I finished in to my sock and drifted asleep.

.....

The following afternoon is when this story really became interesting. I had spent all day at work fretting about the night before, and decided to bail early and try to smooth things over with Nicole. When I pulled into the driveway, I noticed the house seemed deserted, which was confirmed when I stepped inside and called for Nicole.

For a few minutes, I was worried she had taken off, maybe to her mother's, perhaps to the spa. I walked to our bedroom and, not finding her, leaned against the window sill and let my forehead fall against the glass.

What was I doing? If Nicole was so disappointed in her image, and she wouldn't believe anyone but herself, why was I so insistent on making her feel better? I was fighting a losing battle.

Still, I knew I would persist. I would persist because I loved her, and above all else, I wanted her to be happy. From the first time we made love to the last, I always made sure she came first. All I ever wanted from sex was to bring her extreme satisfaction.

My all-time greatest image was of her moaning beneath me, her arms wrapped around my back as her hips gently bucked off the mattress towards my thrusting, throbbing member. Our lips were interlocked, tongues dancing, my hand on her right breast. Together, we screamed in orgasm as her clasping pussy sucked the cum right out of me. It was incredible.

It was also the night we conceived, and we have yet to repeat it. My dream has been to bring that moment back to life, for me but especially for her. The passion and pleasure in her face that night was undeniable and ineffable. Bringing her to that level of elation once only made me yearn to do it again and again.

As the memory of that beautiful night passed, I opened my eyes and as startled to see Nicole scurrying across the street from Heather and Mark' house. Relieved, I ran downstairs to greet her.

She was walking in the house as I reached the living room.

"John!" she shouted, more in shock than in joy. "What are you doing home?"

"Babe, I came home to apologize for last night. I want to clear the air."

"Oh," she said. "It's OK. I realize now that you were just trying to prop me up."

"Exactly! There were probably better ways to go about it, but you never believe me when I say it. I thought I would have to bring in support. I just didn't expect Mark to go all perverted on you."

"Yeah, that was a little shocking."

"Did you just come from talking with Heather?"

"No," she admitted. "Mark, actually."

She could tell from the cockeyed look on my face that I needed more of an explanation.

"I needed to clear things up with him. I don't want one drunken comment to affect the strong relationship the four of us have built."

"I see," I said. "What did he say?"

"Well, it was a little awkward, I guess. He said that Heather told him you had called and asked her to be complimentary last night. And that she, in turn, asked him to back her up. He said that even though he was asked to say it, he meant it. I think he was just trying to keep up the charade, but it was nice of him to try."

The fact that he was so blunt last night, and that he would continue to press the issue today made me questions Mark' true motive, but I brushed it aside for now.

"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. Please just know it was well-intentioned."

"I know that now, Love. It's OK."

It was the first time she called me 'Love' in quite some time, and when she stepped in close to hug me and nuzzle her face in my shoulder, I was convinced that she meant it. .....

That night Nicole slept comfortably while I lay awake. The image of Mark fucking my wife's tits had crept into my imagination and was not going away. And there was something about the way Nicole had forgiven me so quickly this afternoon, as if she was compensating for something. The notion that she might be having an affair kept me up all night. It would also explain why she never wanted or needed to have sex with me anymore.

I resigned myself to investigate.

The following morning, I kissed Nicole good bye and jumped in my car. But instead of driving to work, I circled the block and parked down the street. As I sat there over the next three hours, keenly eyeing the front door of my house, my mind raced through multiple scenarios.

What if I caught her, with Mark or with someone else? What would I do? What if nothing happened? How long would I wait? I went through every angle of attack if I caught them together.

Would I start by throwing a punch, ask questions later? No, that would be stupid. I played out every possible strategy in my head, and no matter how I might fight Mark, it would not end well for me. Winding up beaten, on the floor in front of my cheating, half-naked wife would be the ultimate humiliation, and would certainly ruin any possibility of maintaining our marriage.

Would I hold both of them accountable, or just one or the other? I thought about who would be more at fault. Mark, for proposing it or Nicole for giving in?

I realized that I was getting way too far ahead of myself, and that I would let whatever happened dictate my response.

Soon, my fears were justified. I watched Nicole stick her head out of our front door and look both ways, before prancing across the street towards Mark and Heather's house. I knew that Heather was at work, and that Mark, a freelance writer, was almost always home. The chances of an affair mounted.

I quietly ran towards the house and peaked through the window, being careful to remain hidden. In the inner hallway, Mark was pinning my wife against the wall and kissing her hard. She had her hands planted flat against the wall behind her, almost in an unwilling fashion, but her mouth visibly returned his kisses.

He broke off their kiss and grabbed her hand, pulling her down the hall. I only now noticed that she was wearing the black dress that I asked her to wear two nights before. I was fuming, but wanted to see where this was going. Nicole still displayed a subtle air of unwillingness.

I moved around the side of the house so I could peak in the bedroom window. As I arrived, Mark pushed Nicole backwards into the room and right onto the bed. She lifted he legs onto the mattress and pulled her knees up, spreading them apart. Mark knelt down in front of her and drove his tongue right into her pussy. 'She's not wearing panties,' I thought to myself in astonishment. So much for the air of unwillingness.

Nicole never let me eat her out. She always claimed she was self-conscious or embarrassed. I thought it was because she hated giving head and was nervous that if I gave her oral, I would expect her to return the favor. Either way, as I watched her fingers interlace with his hair, my anxiety, my fury, escalated.

Part of me wanted to rap on the window and let them know they'd been had. Another part considered ringing the doorbell. But I froze. I froze not because I was scared, but because I noticed the look on Nicole's face. It was pure ecstasy. It was the look I had been trying to give her for the last three years.

As Mark brought her to orgasm with his tongue, she bucked her hips up and ground against his face. Whether this had started yesterday or years ago, Nicole clearly had found a source for sexual bliss. Isn't that what I wanted for her? Was I so altruistic that my anger subsided when I realized how happy Nicole was?

Then, something truly strange occurred. I noticed that my cock was stirring, growing quickly as it rubbed against my boxers. Was I turned on by this?

As Nicole came down from her high, Mark pulled her off the bed and onto her knees next. He dropped his trousers to reveal a raging erection, flopping in front of her face. Nicole obediently opened her mouth and he guided it inside her.

'What the fuck?' I said out loud as she wrapped her tongue around his pork and swallowed. She only did this to me before we were married, as if she was trying to win me over. Since our kids were born, it was vanilla sex and hand jobs. Now, here she was letting our neighbor, 12 years older, fuck her face.

Shamefully, I started rubbing my dick through my slacks, giving in to the fact that this turned me on. While part of me was glad she was enjoying herself, another part of me wanted her to suffer. I wanted him to jam his cock down her throat and make her gag on it. I wanted him to...

"Excuse me? What the fuck do you think you are doing?" a sharp voice distracted my thought process. I turned to see Heather marching towards me.

"Oh, John. What is going on?" she asked after recognizing me, though still clearly confused as to why I was pinned against the side of her house near her bedroom window.

As means of explanation, I stepped back from the window and gestured towards it. She craned her head inside and gasped.

"Mark!" she shouted in a whisper, her hands covering her mouth in an almost reflexive manner. "How could he?"

She turned as if to make her way to the front door.

"Heather, wait!" I said. "Don't do anything rash?"

"Rash?" she said. "Rash? Our spouses are in there fucking and you are stroking yourself in the backyard. What do you want me to do?"

"Look," I tried to reason. "If we remain quiet for now, if they think we don't know, then we have the power. We can use this against them."

Heather calmed down a little. "I want revenge, Heather, but if we burst in there right now we show all our cards. I want Nicole to suffer for this, not live with the satisfaction that she had an affair and I could do nothing about it."

Heather looked back into the room. "Any idea how long this has been going on?"

"I think it may have started yesterday, but it could be months. I am not sure."

"There is no way this has been going on that long. He is going too easy on her."

"That is taking it easy?" I asked as I watched him jackhammer into her mouth. Nicole's hands were at his hips, trying to slow his speed, but he was having none of it. Heather and I watched as Mark took Nicole's arms and guided them behind her back. He said something to her, and in response she grabbed her elbows. Mark grabbed her head and started fucking her mouth harder.

"See that closet back there? It is loaded with BDSM gear. He likes to play rough. He is one sick freak, let me tell you. There are days where I have to wear certain clothing to hide the marks."

"Geez, Heather. I had no idea."

"Well, don't feel bad. I'm the same way. We both like to be dominant, so we trade roles routinely. The reason no one outside our marriage has ever seen our basement is because it is a bona fide dungeon."

I looked at Heather, slumped beneath her bedroom window, sitting motionless like an extra bag of mulch, unneeded yet undisposed. A disorienting slurry of emotions was spinning through my mind. Anger, for sure, at my wife and Mark. Sorrow and pity for Heather. This infuriating arousal that I wished would relinquish its hold on me. It took a few seconds for Heather's words to penetrate this swirling emotional barricade, but once it did, it triggered a risky but potentially all-encompassing solution to this scanrio.