Wannabe Wife Watcher

After leaving three messages on her infernal machine over the previous seven hours, when she answered at 3 AM I was both relieved and pissed.

"Finally," I said sourly. "And to what do I owe the displeasure of your absence this evening?"

"I was out. Not that it's any of your business," she replied with equal acridity.

"Out? As in a date?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So, you know when I'm out of town I always call you. You didn't say anything about a date on Wednesday, when I left."

"Look, Bill. I've told you a hundred times, what I do with my own time is my own business. I don't have to account to you for every minute. As for the date, well, let's just say it was a last minute thing."

"So, where'd you go?"

"Uh, to a movie."

"Until three in the fuckin' morning?!"

"Look, goddamnit, I told you, I don't have to tell you shit! If I say I went to a movie, then I went to a fucking movie!"

"Who's the lucky guy?"

"None of your business!"

"Come on, Shari, who was it? A guy from work, or what?"

"No, it wasn't a guy from work. It was a neighbor, okay?"

"Since when do you date anyone from the apartment complex?"

"Since tonight. He asked, and I accepted. Period. End of quiz?"

"So, did he get lucky?"

"Oh, fuck off!"

"Now don't get all pushed out of shape. I would just like to know. Did he get lucky? Before, during or after the movie?"

Shari didn't answer. All I could hear was her breathing.

"Come on, give me a break. I'm gonna lay here all night wondering what happened. I won't get upset. I promise. Did you fuck him? Huh?"

"And if I did? You gonna beat him up?"

"Get serious. I just wanna know."

"Yeah, I did. More than once. Happy?"

"Oh, Christ. I assume it was after the movie. So, was this blessed event held at your place or his? Or did you do it in his car?"

"Look, you asshole! We didn't go to any fucking movie. We got to talking this afternoon by the pool and I invited him to my apartment for some wine."

"And . . .?"

"And he left just a little while ago."

"Did you do him in our bed?"

"I beg your pardon! It's my bed, and yes, I did him in my bed, as well as on the couch and on the living room floor. Make you happy?"

"Any rug burns?"

"Smart ass."

"Was he any good?"

"Better than you."

"Got a big dick?"

"Big enough."

"How many times?"

"I lost count."

"Have a heart, Shari. Tell me about it. I wanna hear all the juicy details."

"You're sick."

"Shari . . . please."

"Don't blow a gasket, but he's only twenty-two. I've seen him around a few times, but today was the first time I actually talked to him. Seeing him in his bathing suit, all tan and hunky, well . . . I got horny. What can I say? Anyway, I guess you could say I seduced him. After a few glasses of wine, he was all mine. We fucked on the couch, then a little later on the floor. The bed sounded more comfortable, so the last coupla times were in there."

"You blow him?"

"Uh, yeah, as a matter of fact. He had fantastic powers of recovery. When we were still on the couch, after the first time, he came in my mouth. He only needed maybe twenty minutes or so between times. It was great!"

"Did he get you wet, you know, really wet?"

"Dripping."

"Did he really have a big one?"

"About the length of yours, only fatter. Really felt good."

"He coming back for an encore some time?"

"Probably."

This time it was my turn to be silent. She finally broke in.

"Bill, you doing okay?"

"Yeah. That was great. Appreciate it."

"You come big?" Now her voice was soft and warm.

"You bet, honey. That was better than the last time—the time you told me on the phone about the guy in the bar, the one you fucked in your car in the alley."

"Mmm, yeah. That was pretty hot, too. Tell me, is it really necessary for me to play the tough role when we do this? I mean, wouldn't it be a lot more erotic if I just told you what I did?"

"Yeah, maybe, but I still get a kick out of prying the story out of you. Makes it more realistic."

"But it is realistic. I did fuck the guy in the car behind the bar, and I did fuck my neighbor today. How much more realistic do you want?"

"Look, I'm the one getting off here. Presentation is the key. Like window dressing. For the time being, anyway. Maybe we'll try something else in a few weeks."

"Sure wish you'd hurry home and take care of me."

"After eight-plus hours of fucking, and you need me to take care of you? Sounds like you're kissing my ass."

"If you were here, I'd do just that. But I really do miss you. You be back on Sunday?"

"That I will. It's late, and I have to be at a meeting in, uh, in five and a half hours. Be sure to douche your neighbor out of you before Sunday. I hate sloppy seconds. Nite-nite."

I laid back on the hotel bed and a vision of her loveliness came immediately to mind. At thirtysomething, she's barely over five feet, rarely over a hundred pounds, with a darling figure. Her breasts aren't particularly large, but in proportion to her frame, with sincere little nipples that never fail to become erect with stimulation. And her butt is to die for. She usually wears her light auburn hair in a style similar to what they used to call a shag cut, and her blue eyes are almost always alert, sparkling, alluring, and occasionally mischievous. Some time ago, she started shaving her pubic hair in a novel fashion, just an inch or so of it (above her clit), with the top margin curved in a crescent, the reddish-brown tips pointing towards her hip bones. Not visible when she wears a thong bathing suit, but cuter than hell when the suit comes off.

Shari isn't the hose monster she may appear to be. True, she does like to fuck, and also true, she does seem to enjoy going out on me, as they say. But she has never, to my knowledge, fucked around behind my back without giving me a full accounting of it afterwards. I guess that makes her loyal. Sort of.

* * *

Amazingly, Shari and I are married, to one another, have been for about five years. We've been separated and living apart for nearly a year though. It's a pretty long story, but to hit the more salient points of our separation, a few years ago I got it in my head that I wanted to share her with other men. You know, let other guys fuck her. Of course it was my intention in telling her of my fantasy that if she agreed to it I would be there to watch it all happen. I never expected her reaction to be as emotionally violent as it was. She began screaming that I didn't love her anymore, that I thought she was some kind of slut, that our sex together wasn't good for me anymore, that we might as well not be married, etcetera, etcetera.

Even after I got her calmed down so we could discuss it like adults, she was still adamant in her belief that a man who loves his wife wouldn't be willing to share her body with other men. I did my utmost to explain how terribly exciting the notion was to me, and that it in no way, whatsoever, diminished how much I loved her. I even got her to admit that sometimes, while we were having sex, she would fantasize about it being another man who was doing it to her. And she also admitted that when she masturbated, the prurient thoughts that got her off were not always of me.

"Look, Bill, having thoughts like that, just like the one's I know damn well you must have sometimes when you're with me, or when you're doing yourself, are just that―thoughts, normal, everyday, human thoughts! It's a whole other matter, a real quantum leap, to actually do it."

I couldn't really argue with her on that point, but I continued to tell her how strong the fantasy was to me, how it pervaded practically every sexual thought I entertained. Like an obsession. She didn't budge. I decided to let it go for the time being. Not that it ever left my mind for a second, though.

Maybe a year later, while I was laying in bed watching the TV, waiting for her to finish her usual pre-bedtime routine in the bathroom, there was a movie playing I had never seen before. This particular scene involved a guy who knew nothing about his girlfriend's past, but upon learning from an obviously indiscreet old male friend of hers about an extraordinarily sexy fling he and this guy's girlfriend had had before he met her, it got him all turned on. He had anxiously pressed the friend for details, but none were forthcoming. In the next scene he has his girlfriend in bed, going through the preliminaries before doing the nasty with her, and he gently asks her about the old friend. One thing leads to another, and the girlfriend finally tells all, and more. Well, the guy is so stoked he's beside himself, and they go on to have the best sex they've ever had together. After turning off the TV, my mind was already working on a possible inroad with Shari by the time she crawled into bed.

I knew a few general details of her sex life before we started seeing each other, but nothing beyond my own observations (which I'll explain a little later). I off-handedly mentioned the movie I had been watching, telling her that I'd love to hear a little about some of the stuff she'd done before we got together, that it kind of excited me to think about it. She protested some, but not a lot. I got down between her legs (she always wore a sheer nightie to bed, with no underwear) and proceeded to give her what she loved. As I tongued and fingered her, she began her familiar stirring.

"Shari," I said softly, between oral ministrations, "come on, tell me. When's the first time a guy did this to you? How old were you? Did he make you come? Did you already know how to masturbate when it happened?"

"Oh, Bill, unh . . . unh . . . oh, God, that feels so good."

"Tell me. I want to hear you tell me about it."

"Oh, jeeze, I, uh, I was . . . I was seventeen . . . I'd never . . . I'd . . . oh, shit, you're gonna make me come!"

"Keep talking. I wanna hear what happened," I said as I teased her just short of making her pop.

"It . . . it was at the drive-in . . . we'd climbed into the back seat . . . he'd fucked me before . . . but he'd . . . he'd never done that before, and I . . . I, I'm . . . oh, shit I'm coming!"

Her hips bucked and writhed under my caresses, as they'd done so many times before, but not always with the same intensity. She gasped and moaned and grunted through a good minute of orgasm before the spasms subsided. I laid in place, waited a few moments until I knew the sensitivity of her clit was again receptive to more attention. I began softly licking and probing. She resumed her low moans.

"So, did he make you come? That time?"

"Oh, Bill. Yes, he made me come . . . it did feel good, better . . . than I . . . thought it would."

"Did he fuck you afterwards? In the backseat?"

"Unh . . . unh." She was building up to another one.

"Did he?"

"Yeah . . . of course . . . I think we . . . did it twice that night . . . before the movie was over."

By this time I was hard as a rock, wanting nothing more than to sink it into her hot, very wet love hole. But I held off, wanting to get her a little more into the scheme I was creating.

"Had you ever returned the favor . . . you know, blew him?" I didn't let up with my tongue and lips on her engorged pussy.

"I, uh, I did . . . later . . . unh . . . unh . . . oh, Jesus! I'm gonna come again!"

"Didhecomeinyourmouth?" I said as fast as I could before she unleashed.

"Oh, oh, oh . . . UNH, UNH . . . no . . . he came . . . in my hair . . . I turned my head and . . . OH, GOD!" She about dislocated her pelvis as she arched and twisted with the biggest orgasm I'd ever witnessed from her, nearly throwing me off the bed.

I decided not to overcook it, so I slowly worked my body up to a position between her splayed thighs so I could bury myself into her. I didn't dare maneuver around for her to put it in her mouth, knowing that I wouldn't have lasted five seconds. As it was, I hit her snatch running, immediately pounding against her, as she responded with Newton's opposite but equal force. I lasted just long enough for her to churn out a gigantic one before I about blew a hole through her spine.

Once the proverbial dust settled, we laid there motionless, still trying to recapture our breath. Finally, it was Shari that spoke first.

"My God, that was incredible!"

"You're telling me. I don't recall it ever being quite so intense. I think," I said cautiously, "maybe it had something to do with what you were saying to me . . . during it."

"I can't believe that telling you those . . . things, would get you . . ."

"And you, my sweet."

"Would get us so hot like that. I mean, why? Why would it have that effect?" She was obviously trying to grasp a concept that had never occurred to her previously.

"Well, I don't really know (I lied), but we can't argue with success. I'd venture to say that we might have discovered a true aphrodisiac, and, frankly, I'm looking forward to the next time."

"But, I . . . I've never really talked about the things I did before I knew you. I figured it was better that way. I know I've never pressed you for details about your love life. Some things are better left unsaid, don't you think?"

"Shari, there was something about hearing you talk about the pleasure you had, the way it turned you on. I had a bigger hard-on than I can ever recall, just picturing you in that back seat, imagining in my mind's eye how you came for the first time from a guy going down on you. And then having him fuck you afterwards, man, what a scene that must have been!"

"But, I . . .

"All I know is, I sure hope to hell you have more adventures to tell me about, 'cause I can't wait until the next time!"

"Are you sure? I mean, it can't be easy for you to hear me talk about other guys like that. The things they did . . . and I did."

"As I said, all I know is that I've never been so turned on in my life. Please, Shari, please tell me you'll let me hear more. It doesn't bother me, it doesn't make me jealous, it just makes me want you more! Please?"

She sighed heavily. "I guess. I suppose it was pretty damn intense, wasn't it? But, and I mean this, if you start getting weird on me, that's it, no more. Agreed?"

"Hey, you're in the driver's seat. I'm just along for the ride."

And so it went for many months after that first disclosure. She'd share the most intimate stories from her past, and we'd have terrific sex. I would press for more details, and she'd give them, sometimes reluctantly. It became progressively easier for her to spill her guts about her adventures, and she derived nearly as much excitement from the telling as I did from the hearing. Even on those rare occasions when she wasn't in the mood for sex, she'd oblige me with one of my favorite stories while I beat off next to her.

I hadn't lost sight of my original intent, to share her with others, but I had to bide my time, for fear of losing what ground I had gained with her. As my confidence increased, and she had run out of new material, I gradually began to throw oblique hints at her. Unfortunately, she is no dummy, and it didn't take long for her to pick up on the thrust of my hints regarding new adventures for her.

On one particular evening I shall never forget, she finally threw it all back in my face. She mustered up all the inner strength she had to tell me that she, too, would love to fuck other guys, but as long as she loved me, and as long as she was married to me, it would never happen. I could only proffer a weak, lame-ass argument.

The upshot was, she calmly, and as unemotionally as possible, told me that she was through with my shoving my voyeuristic/vicarious bullshit down her throat. The next day, to my profound sadness, we began the process of separating. I knew it was a ridiculously minor reason for us to split up, but that's what happened.

We had been living in an apartment during our marriage, a two-bedroom where she had been living before we met, which she retained after we split, while I had to rent my own in the same complex; coincidentally I was able to rent the same apartment as I had been living in before we got together (convenient, I know). Kind of like reverting back to our premarital living arrangements. It was a costly breakup, but I went along with it in hopes of a future reconciliation. As it turned out, there was a silver lining after all.

Neither of us could deny our mutual attractions, and we often had no-strings-attached sex together. One evening, a month or two after our separation, while we were laying in our/her bed getting ready to give in to our urges, she abruptly sprang some new news on me.

"Bill, I think it's only fair to tell you . . . I had a date last night. I've known him for a couple of weeks, and he finally took me to dinner. I . . . we . . . came back here afterwards and . . . well, we went to bed together."

I was understandably shaken by the admission, but I waited for her to continue.

"Well? No reaction? Come on, Bill, I'm telling you that he fucked me! I'm sorry, but I have my own life, and these things are going to be part of it. Please, say something. Yell, scream, whatever, but say something!"

"Shari," I said slowly and evenly, "I knew it was just a matter of time. I can't very well get all crazy about it, can I? I mean at some point I'm sure I'll get lucky with someone, although I haven't yet. I guess our occasional mercy fucks have kept me from looking very hard. I don't blame you for wanting some attention."

"Oh, how fucking gallant of you! Maybe you don't blame me, but I feel guilty as hell about it! Damn it, Bill, I just wish it didn't have to be this way, but you're the one that started it all. Shit, here you wanted me to fuck other guys, and now that I finally did it, I'm the one that seems to be suffering." She was close to tears.

I pulled her to me, holding her tightly, but saying nothing. I lifted her chin, kissing her and stroking her back in gestures of consolation. The consoling kiss evolved into one with more feeling, which progressed to lovemaking. As was my routine, I slipped down to kiss and nibble her breasts and nipples, then further down to her warm wetness. As I felt her characteristic stirrings, I upped the ante.

"Honey, was it good with him? Did he make it pleasurable for you?"

"Yes it was, and yes he did. It was like I hadn't gotten laid in months, and I wanted him real bad. I'm sorry, but that's how I felt."

"I know, honey, I know," I said as soothingly as I could. "I'd like to hear about it . . . if that's all right." My oral caresses were designedly more focused.

I could hear her heavy breathing, her body slightly trembling, as my mouth and fingers prodded her on. "Sounds like old times," she murmured with just a trace of a verbal smirk.

"So?"

And so the new chapter of our lives began with her unexpurgated account of the first extramarital event in our relationship. Needless to say, it was capped off with some of the best sex we'd had in a long time. During the subsequent pillow talk, we came to the mutual conclusion that her future sexual experiences could be incorporated in a new, enhanced sex life for us. Maybe it was her way of assuaging her guilty conscience over the fling the night before, but on her own she promised that she would always tell me about any of her dalliances. She assured me that it wasn't only because of the great sex that her telling me would afford us, but also so she wouldn't have to feel as though she was cheating on me. After all, we were still married, even though she had removed the rings soon after our breakup.

She had quite a few occasions to whet our collective sexual appetites over the months that followed. I'll admit that I sometimes felt initial twinges of anxiety at some of the descriptions of her behavior, but they were always quickly overcome with the incredible sex that resulted.