|The Road Taken
by Paul Branton ©
I laid on my back, my new bride straddled my waist and lowered herself onto
me. Although we'd only been married for a few months, we seemed to be developing
a genuine affinity for each other that exceeded adoration and that, if nurtured,
would grow into love and devotion.
I think that there were several factors that led Beth and I to know that we had the potential to make a good match. First, although it was a first marriage for both of us, we were in our 30's and had dated a lot, matured a little, and had time to decide what in life was really important (in contrast to what our family, our friends and Madison Avenue told us was important). In fact, I'm ashamed to admit some of the beliefs and ideas I cherished as a young man: my hip but effete political views, my trend-following aesthetic sense, and my conformist taste in women.
Second, we were both old enough to have begun to develop our real identities, and, therefore, we were both reasonably confident that each of us knew what we were getting in the other. Although most of the people who I knew in their 20's had transformed themselves by their 30's, not all had changed for the better.
And finally, we were both comfortable with the realization that sex and intimacy are different and that, although we had been having sex, it would take time for intimacy to develop. Perhaps because we had had the opportunity to date many people over the years, occasionally in longer, more serious relationships, we both naturally came to understand that intimacy wasn't a magical condition that you automatically reached when you got married or had sex with someone.
To us, intimacy could only grow if we shared our passions and dreams and innermost desires with each other, and kept the most personal of those as a secret between ourselves.
I think that the reason that intimacy is so cherished is that it is so difficult to obtain. Any time one person reveals his or her passions or dreams or desires to another person there is always the risk of rejection, and when you're married to the other person rejection is a scary proposition. I should know.
As open as Beth and I have tried to be with each other, it was only a week ago that I acknowledged to her my favorite fantasy. Although in the 1990's you can't shock someone with the news that you harbor one of the 23 standard Penthouse Forum-fare fantasies that typify college freshman, my fantasy was different and Beth took it at face value. I'd love to digress and tell you my fantasy right now, but that's another story. This story is about Beth's favorite fantasy and our decision to make it come true.
As Beth began to move herself on me in slow, small circles, I tried to guess what her favorite fantasy might be. Although I considered each of the 23 Penthouse standards, and tried to decide if each might be Beth's favorite, I resigned myself to the fact that it's a pretty difficult thing to guess.
So I decided to bring up the subject, and, as most people know, sometimes the best time to have a serious discussion with someone is when you're having sex them.
"You can't believe how relieved I am that you're okay with my fantasy," I said.
"Hey, it's not illegal," she replied, "and if it makes you happy that's all that's important."
"You're really wonderful."
"Remember how 'wonderful' I am when you're shopping for my birthday present," she said with a smile. As Beth changed her motion from grinding to rocking, she added, "Do you want to know my favorite fantasy?"
"Sure," I said, thinking I bet it's number 14 of Penthouse's standard 23. Or maybe number 9.
"I want to make love to you on a deserted beach under a full moon."
"Oh," I said, trying to hide my surprise at its mildness. Wow, I thought, Penthouse doesn't have a number for that one. Only Harlequin has a number for that one and I think it's only a fraction. "That sounds . . . nice," I said. "We'll have to do it."
"Ya, that would be nice," she said with little enthusiasm.
"Ya, nice," I said with even less enthusiasm.
As Beth and I began to rock together and our breathing accelerated she said, "Do you really think that making love on a beach is my favorite fantasy?"
"Uhhhh . . . ," I stammered as I realized that this was one of those no-win questions that wives are genetically programmed to ask. If I said 'yes' and the real answer is 'no' then it implied that I thought that she was boring, and if I said 'no' and the real answer is 'yes' then it implied that I was disappointed in her and thought that her earlier confession was a lie. I answered the way no 20-something could, ". . . it depends."
With a surprised look on her face, Beth added, "You're right." I melted inside as I realized how close I came to catching that bullet. "I forgot one small detail . . . I want to make love to you on a deserted beach under a full moon right after I just made love to another man. And, by the way, the deserted beach and the full moon are optional."
"Say that again," I asked.
"Look . . . " she said in time to the swinging of her breasts, "I want to have . . . another man . . . and after . . . we're done . . . I want you . . . to add . . . your cum . . . to his . . . inside me."
Now that fantasy isn't a fraction in anybody's book. What surprised me most at first was the honor I felt that Beth would share this with me, and I knew how much courage it must have taken for her to tell me, even in her excited state, and how vulnerable she have must felt. To tell you the truth, there's nothing I like more than seeing her in an excited state, and if it meant that I saw her in an excited state with another man, so be it.
I blurted out, "I'd love to. I promise you that I'll do whatever I can to make it happen," and with that she went over the edge and I soon followed.
After Beth collapsed on top of me, we laid still for several minutes without saying a word. In a most embarrassed, tentative manner she said, "Of course you know I wasn't serious. I love you. You're the only man I need."
"I love you too and I hope I'm the only man you'll ever love, but I don't believe you."
"That's a terrible thing to say."
"Why? If another man will make you happy, I'm all for it. Besides, helping you realize your passion will make me feel good about myself."
"Are you serious? I thought your 'I'd love to' was just a 'I'll-promise-you-anything-to-keep-you-from-stopping-what-you're-doing-right-now' promise said in the heat of passion?"
"Well, it might have been in the heat of passion, but I was, and I am, completely serious. As long as he doesn't get something from you that I don't get, why should I mind?"
"I can't believe you're so cool about it. I still feel uncomfortable even admitting it to you, let alone asking you to do it. Are you sure you understand what I'm asking?"
"Two penises, one vagina. What's not to understand? So, do you have a specific guy in mind, or are we going to have to keep our eyes open for Mr. Right?"
"I know of couple of sexy guys, but I don't think any of them qualify as Mr. Right."
"Whatever. Just as long as you're happy."
"You understand this doesn't mean I don't love you, or that I don't love being with you, it's just that . . . "
". . . I don't think that I could be happy only having sex with one man for the rest of my life. And I would never cheat on you, so the only way for me to have my cake and eat it too is to have you there, which would let me know that you're okay with it."
"And, also the thought of having two men at the same time is pretty hot."
"Oh, so now we're getting to the real issue."
"Stop it," she said as the pitch of her voice rose, "I'm trying to be honest with you."
"I know. And I appreciate it," I said smiling at her, "and your sharing this with me makes me feel closer to you."
"There's one more thing."
"I think I'll be a little nervous. I want to do it, really I do, but would you help me make sure that everything goes okay? I mean, I'm obviously not a virgin, but I've never been with two guys at once. Besides, I think I might be self-conscious about your watching me when I'm doing it with another guy."
In the most serious and loving tone, I said, "As your husband and confidant and lover, it would be my honor and my pleasure to help you. You'll let me know if you find Mr. Right, won't you?"
"And I'll keep my eyes open for a suitable candidate too."
Over the next few months we discussed Beth's fantasy often and planned every aspect of it in detail. I must admit that there were times when it felt peculiar to realize that I was using my creative energy to help my wife fuck another man, but overall I didn't think of it that way. More often, I thought of it as doing my utmost to make sure that Beth would enjoy herself as much as possible.
I loved that Beth would ask my opinion about so many intimate matters, and she loved that I gave her the best, most honest answers I could. We spent untold hours deciding what she would wear, picking out her nail polish, perfume and jewelry, and whether she would wear her hair up or down. Beth was thrilled when I showed her the matching bra and panty set I bought for her to wear for just this occasion.
One evening I asked, "Beth, have you thought about where you want to do it?"
"A little, I guess, but I don't have anything specific in mind," she replied.
"Would you like to go the Caribbean or Hawaii?"
"That would be wonderful. What do you think?"
"I think the first time we do it I'd like it to be right here at home. In our bed. That way we'll be reminded of it every night and every time we make love in our bed afterwords."
With the most heartwarming look on her face, she said, "That's so romantic. I'd like that too."
"Next time we'll go to Saint Martin and do it there."
"I'd like that too," she said with a laugh and a grin.
"Do you mean that you'd like to go to Saint Martin, or that you'd like there to be a 'next time'?"
"Both. Definitely both."
|Another top quality story by Paul Branton.|
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