Pillow Talk, Not Just Pillow Talk

For me, the summertime was our season for pillow talk. Ripe with erotica, maybe it was the warmer weather that necessitated wearing fewer clothes and my wife, Gloria, walking around in a bikini and attracting the leering looks of men that inspired my dirty thoughts about her. For whatever the reason, during our pillow talking sessions, I told Gloria all that I sexually imagined about her having sex with others, while I watched.

I don't know why that fantasy excited me so, but it did. It excited me to think about her interacting sexually with another man, a woman, a man and a woman, or multiple men. Sitting in the dark, while stroking my cock, I wanted to watch. I wanted to see her reaction to the sexual pleasure that others gave her.

In hindsight, perhaps, I over did it, but I talked about whatever was sexually on my mind at the time and maybe I smothered her with too much pillow talk. How much is too much? Without having an instruction manual, there's no measure and no way to know. Unfortunately, much like normalcy and insanity, we may not know until we cross the imaginary line and then it's too late.

Unfortunately, now that we've upset the balance and broken the fine line that separates erotica from perversion, it's difficult to return to how it used to be. Once, you've crossed the line, once you've put yourself out for the sexual inspection of others, it's too late. Sometimes, it's for the better and sometimes it's for the worse. This was one of those times that it backfired and blew up in my face. Be careful what you wish for because this could happen to you.

Being much older than my young, trophy of a wife, clearing the air by sharing my sexual thoughts with pillow talk was necessary for me to get romantically excited with her. Only, believing she was stimulated by the same erotic thoughts and the same whispered dirty words, I discovered that I didn't know what she was thinking, until it was too late. If I knew then what I know now, I never would have started the foolishness of pillow talk and confessing my desires for her to have sex with others, while I watched. I like to watch.

I thought I knew my wife. I thought she loved me. I thought we were totally compatible. Base on those beliefs and sensing that I could totally trust her with whatever we discussed and all that I confessed; I thought she enjoyed pillow talk, as much as I did. Little did I know how tragically this story would end and had I known, I would have appreciated what I had with her and never would have risked our relationship to start this pillow talking nonsense.

I wished I had listened to my wife when she said that she didn't want to have pillow talk. Only, I ignored her figuring that she was just shy talking about such things and would enjoy it more, once we started it and continued it on a regular basis. In hindsight, I can see now that she was clearheaded and not driven by the lust of pillow talk in the way that I was. Thinking more of my sexual needs than hers, being sexually selfish in my need to push her to explore an extramarital affair with others, I should have tempered my need for pillow talk with more physical sex from me and only from me, that more satisfied her sexual needs, rather than just verbalizing my sexual thoughts in wanting her to have sex with others.

"That's all you want to do, Paul, is to have pillow talk. You used to want to have sex, now you just want to talk about me having sex with someone else, while you watch."

She was right. I can see that now. Yet, it was exciting fun to think about the possibilities of her with another rather than to face the realities of me having a difficult time getting aroused enough to sexually satisfy her. If my sexy wife, Gloria, was to have an affair, and after insisting she give me all the sordid details during hot pillow talk, would I end the relationship and kick her to the curb? Or would I be so excited that I'd want her to have more affairs, just so she could whisper to me what she did with whom, while stroking my cock before blowing me?

"How was your day, Gloria?"

"Well, I went shopping at the mall and tried on some shoes."

"Tell me, did you give him a show?"

"I did. You should have seen the look on the man's face when he saw that I wasn't even wearing panties."

"Tell me more, Gloria, what else did you do?"

"I bought a dress at that boutique you so love."

"I do love that boutique. Their dressing rooms are the only ones at the mall that still have curtains, curtains that never close all the way."

"I was thinking of you, pretending it was you standing outside the curtain, while watching me remove my blouse and skirt to try on a dress naked, instead of the two gentlemen, who were there waiting for their wives and/or girlfriends, while watching me undress."

"Do you think they saw much?"

"Oh, I made sure they saw everything, Paul, taking my time parading around in front of the opening naked. I'm sure they saw my ass, my tits, and my shaved pussy."

I don't know, but how could I leave her? She still makes my knees weak; she's so sexy and so beautiful. It doesn't matter what she does or doesn't do, so long as she gives me hot pillow talk. Just being with her, with her on my arm and with her lying in bed beside me naked, while spooning her and feeling her big tits, is enough for me.

I couldn't help but wonder about her with her best friend, Sheila. Gloria was a blonde, a natural blonde and Sheila was a redhead, a natural redhead. Sheila was hot, as hot as Gloria. I never had sex with a redhead before, and I'd do Sheila, if I had the opportunity. Certainly not for the lack of trying, I've been trying to get her down to the dark, deep end of the pool for two years.

After taking a Viagra, I could get aroused enough to do Sheila. Always together, they went everywhere, especially shopping, and did everything together. Sometimes when alone and horny, I imagine doing Gloria and Sheila together. It was exciting to ask Gloria and to hear her tell me what Sheila looked like naked. While listening to her, I wondered if Sheila's husband Ron asked his wife what Gloria looked like naked. It was exciting to imagine he did, just as it was exciting to imagine that she told him.

I imagined them trying on clothes in the same dressing room at that boutique with the curtains that don't close all the way and flashing men, while giggling like the girls they still are. I imagined them already having seen one another in their lingerie, when trying on clothes or naked, when trying on bikinis. I imagined them having a couple of drinks back at the house and being attracted to one another. I imagined them suddenly feeling horny, making out, and touching each other, before having hot, lesbian sex.

Now her summertime regimen, Gloria had become more health conscious, exercising, dieting, and taking private lessons. She had a personal trainer, a tennis pro, and a golf pro. After meeting them, I wondered about them. They were all young, good looking, and in better physical condition than me. If they had my money, she'd be gone with one of them, no doubt.

With me being fifteen years older than she is, but now with her getting older, our May/December romantic relationship reversed with her being December and the young lovers that I imagined her with being May. Except for the hot pillow talk that I had with her, I found myself out of the picture. Is that it? Is our sexual relationship over? Instead of being attracted to an older man, did she now lust over younger men? Instead of being the bitchin' sexy babe she once was, has she suddenly become a cougar on the prowl, in the way that I have become the dirty, old man and lecherous husband?

Yet, I knew better. I knew that her interest in her personal trainer, tennis pro, and golf pro was merely professional and innocent. I knew there was nothing going on there but some erotic wishful thinking on my part and the perversion of my active imagination and what I imagined she'd do with them, after having some hot pillow talk with me. Still, it was exciting to imagine her on her back with her legs spread or on her knees with her mouth open, while the personal trainer, the tennis pro, or the golf pro had his way with her hot body.

Then, I wondered, what if they all had their way with her already? What if she was doing them all, one at a time, or all three together? Just as I know she's not having hot sex with any one of them, it was still exciting to think that she was.

In talking to her late at night about it, I couldn't help but wonder if the personal trainer accidentally on purpose touched her boobs, while exercising her lats with pull downs. I wondered if he peeked up her short shorts, stealing glances past her shapely thighs and at her panties hoping to see her pussy, while holding her by her ankles, as she did crunches. Just as I wondered what he saw of her body that he shouldn't have seen, I wondered what she saw of his body that she lusted over seeing and wanted to touch and experience in the privacy of the locker room later.

I wondered if he gave her a massage and accidentally on purpose positioned the towel to slip off her oily body to expose her ass, tits, and/or pussy.

"Oops! Sorry. Now, that I've seen your ass, tits, and pussy, perhaps we should continue the massage without the towel."

After working her tense muscles, I wondered if she worked his stiff cock. I wondered, as part of his personal training and personal service, if he fucked her right there on the massage table. I wondered when lying on her stomach, while he worked her tense neck and sore shoulders, if she worked his hard cock and big balls through his skimpy shorts. I imagined her lifting her head, pulling down his shorts, and stroking his cock, before taking so much of him in her mouth. This poisonous pillow talk was proving to be a dangerous pill to swallow, only, I couldn't get enough of it. It was erotic and exciting fun.

I wondered if he peeked at her taking a shower on the pretense of collecting dirty towels and bringing her fresh, clean ones.

"It's just me collecting dirty towels and bringing you fresh, clean ones. Sorry, but I need to get the wet towels off the floor, before they get moldy. Don't worry; I won't look at your naked body...much. I won't peek."

I wondered if her personal trainer, who owned the gym, stood behind a two-way mirror masturbating, while watching her taking her time drying her hot, naked body. I wondered if he had a hidden camera and watched and recorded her every move, while she was at the gym to post to the Internet later. I wondered if he jerked over the imagined thoughts of having sex with her, as I jerked off over the imagined thoughts of her having sex with him. I wondered if she fucked him in the Jacuzzi and sucked his cock in the sauna. Only, what if she told him she loved him? Boy that would suck.

Proud of her shapely body, she's a bit of an exhibitionist in the way that she parades around in her bikini and her oh, so short skirts and low cut tops. Imagining her bending over on the escalator on the pretense of adjusting her shoe, trying on shoes in a shoe store with the help of a horny shoe salesman, and alighting from her car with her legs spread without wearing panties, I wondered how many men have seen her panties and have seen her pussy. Imagining her leaning forward, while signing papers at her lawyer's office, at the bank with her horny banker, or at the checkout line in a department store or the supermarket, I wondered how many men have seen down her blouse and have seen her perfect tits.

Just as I wondered if she got off showing her beautiful body to others, it was fun to imagine that she did, while asking her about it over pillow talk. I wondered if she flashed her body to her tennis pro. I wondered if she pulled a Paris Hilton or a Britney Spears or a Lindsay Lohan and accidentally on purpose forgot to wear panties beneath her short tennis skirt.

"Don't look at my soft, shaved, tight pussy, Brad. I'm so embarrassed. I forgot my panties. Avert your eyes, please, whenever I swing a backstroke or a forearm, and, especially, when I bend over to retrieve my balls. Please refrain from staring at my shapely ass and my ever so wet pussy. I'm a happily married woman, after all."

I wondered if she wore her low cut tennis top without a bra and flashed him her surgically enhanced, magnificent boobs.

"Nice tits," I imagined the tennis pro complimenting her.

She does have nice tits. A gift from me on our first anniversary and enhanced on our seventh anniversary, they sure cost me enough. Yet, they were a gift for me, too. I've enjoyed them immensely. Her plastic surgeon is an artistic with a scalpel.

"I had no idea you could see my tits. I'm so embarrassed," I imagined her saying, while peering down her opened top along with his leering stare. "You didn't see my nipples and my areolas did you?"

"I didn't before, but I do now," I imagined him responding with a shit eating grin. "You have beautiful tits. I love your tits."

"Thank you. Well, since you've already seen my nipples and areolas, since you love my tits, I may as well just remove my top, then, and have you suck my nipples, before I suck your cock," I imagined her saying, as I jerked off over the thoughts of her doing the tennis pro.

I wondered if she was the 19th hole during her private golf instruction. I imagined the golf pro getting up real close behind her, while working on her swing, after lusting over her and her hot body for 18 holes. I imagined him humping her round, firm ass with his big, hard cock, while being freely inappropriate with his hot, horny hands and feeling her perfect tits on the pretense of positioning her body.

"Allow me to hold and move your tits out of the way while you take a practice swing. Not too hard, though. You don't want to hit me in the head with your club," I imagined him saying to her and her buying it.

I imagined her bending to retrieve her ball and him sinking his big wedge in her hole, while slapping his balls behind her sexy, round, and tight hole.

"Fore!"

Four times is the number of times I imagined they did it on the fairway, in the ruff, in the sand trap, and on the green.

"Oh, Mister Ryan, is this part of our golf instruction, too?"

"You bet your ass it is, Honey. Now, get on your knees and say ah. I need to putt, I mean, I need you to pucker up, while I drive one in your pie hole."

Threading shallow waters, we started slowly before wading deeper into uncharted discussions. Teasing one another with innuendoes and implied sexual suggestions, we looked for buried erotic treasure with our hot pillow talk. Without a guide and without a map, we continued diving deeper in the ocean of sex, where we had never gone before. After a while, there was no turning back, especially after talking about what we'd do with whom. Submerged below the surface of lust by the heated passion of our sexual innuendoes, as our pillow talk progressed and became more sexually explicit, it didn't take us long to get in the deep end.

Only, I hoped we weren't diving in over our heads. We had a good thing going and I didn't want to smother the sexual intimacy we shared by confessing too many erotic revelations. It was a fine and artful balance to know how much pillow talk was needed to give to heighten the erotic experience without suffocating it, choking it, and gagging it with too much pillow talk. Every once in a while, I'd allow her to surface for air by talking more about something unrelated and making small talk about the house or about her day.

We loved one another, we truly did, but it was obvious that neither she nor I were enough to satisfy our every sexual urge. When you think about it, no one really is. The more we talked about having sex with others, the more we wanted to experience someone else, and the more we secretly tried something behind the other's back. She claimed she never did, but I knew better. I knew she was cheating on me. I knew she had a lover that she was fucking and sucking. A woman too much for any one man, with such inspired sexuality, how else could she get to be such a great pillow talker?

It was just talking about sex after all, sex without the responsibility of a relationship. What did it matter? We already had this wonderful relationship and the ones prior with our first marriages, and our other sexual relationships in the past and in between, before meeting one another. Sexually experienced, we both knew what we wanted and it wasn't as if we loved the person we talked about having sex with. We only wanted to take what we needed from our sexy pillow talking discussions and use it to fire up our passion for one another.

Surely, we didn't want to sacrifice what we had for one another for someone else. We just wanted to talk about having sex with someone new, so as to recapture that exciting feeling we had when Gloria and I first met. What's so wrong with that? It was all purely innocent. It was just talk, pillow talk.

This summertime pillow talk became part of our permanent foreplay and, after a while, the pillow talk excited her as much as it did me, at least, that was what I thought.

"Paul, must we talk about having sex with others all the time? Aren't you happy with me? Why can't we talk about us? Let's talk about something else, something other than fucking and sucking our neighbors and friends. Tell me about your day. Tell me what you did in work."

What I did in work? I fucked Anne, my secretary, I wanted to say and I needed to tell her, so that I could make that part of my life, part of our pillow talk. I fucked her so hard that I thought I was going to bang her head through the wall. Then, she sucked my cock and I exploded a load of cum in her mouth and across her face.

I wanted to tell her every dirty detail of how I seduced Anne, but I didn't. The first time was in my office, after everyone had gone home and then, again, on a business trip and, again, at her place. Now, we book a hotel room once a week and go at it like dirty dogs, in the way that Gloria and I used to, before we lost that lustful feeling.

Okay, perhaps, I enjoyed hearing about Gloria's sexual escapades a little bit more than she enjoyed telling me about what I imagined were her extramarital affairs and those sexual encounters she had before she married me. Admittedly, in hindsight, it was a dangerous game we played, one that could inflame our marriage or end it. Only, I wasn't sure if she was playing me just to appease me, so that I'd shower her with expensive gifts, or telling me those things that really happened.

There, of course, was another possibility. What if she was just saying these things only to elicit those indiscretions that I did to use against me later, possibly, during a divorce proceeding and in a court of law? In the heat of our sexual discussions, it didn't matter. Working in opposition to my guilty conscience, putting caution aside, my trust in her vetoed my commonsense and I shared my most intimate wants, needs, and desires to her. The pillow talk erased whatever trepidations I had and I confessed every depraved sexual thing I wanted her to do with others, while I admitted wanting to watch her doing them.

"Who would you do, if you could," I asked, while she nestled comfortably beside me?

This was my favorite position, naked in bed with her by my side, while she fondled my cock and I fondled her big, phony, albeit perfect tit. Her body felt so good, so soft and warm. It was comforting to hold her, while she fondled my cock and I fondled her delicious ass.

I love how she looks. I love her body. I love her.

The excitement I felt, when beginning the pillow talk, steadily climbed, as I asked her questions. The questions were nearly as exciting as the answers. Only, when she was in the mood to play the pillow talking game, it was her teasingly seductive answers that made me want to continue and never want to stop playing.