A Final Twist of the Knife

I'm telling you this so that you don't get all twisted up at the first mention of anything interracial, because this is not a story about people having interracial sex. It is a story about what happens to the husband of a wife who becomes obsessed about it.

A Final Twist of the Knife.

As the door to the hotel room was closed behind me, only a supreme strength of will prevented me from collapsing onto the floor.

Rather than return home, I booked a room in the same hotel, deliberately on another floor to wait for the call that would tell me that my wife was waiting for me to collect her. During my time in that room, although I slept through part of the night I also spent time reflect on why I had allowed the woman I loved to have this period of separation from me.

There was no doubt that for fifteen years, Audrey and I had a good marriage. Mainly by choice we had no children. Almost certainly because of our unhappy upbringing, both of us being raised within the mantle of local authority care. Then, like me when Audrey was eighteen she left their care determined to make her way in the world in order to achieve a wealthy independence.

After ten years I was starting to achieve my goal. Then I met and married Audrey, all within a year. Give or take a few months we were the same age and like me she was on her way to achieving her goal. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever met but I also like to think we were both attracted to each other because of the similarity of our upbringings and that we both had the same goal.

As I reflected on the fifteen years of our marriage I had no complaints. Audrey was a good, loving, faithful wife, just as I thought I had been a good, loving and I knew, faithful husband.

Now, at the ages of forty-three we were both on the cusp of achieving our goals. So why was I pacing about in a hotel room waiting for another man to tell me that my wife was ready for me to collect her?

I believe it all started about a month ago after my wife told me about a chance meeting she had with Beverley, a woman who works in her office.

"Audrey, fancy finding you here?"

I turned on hearing a very familiar voice and saw Beverly standing right beside me. "Oh my God, Beverley?"

Instinctively, we air kissed each other.

"After what, five years working together and this is the first time we've met outside the office," Beverley stated.

I was still surprised to see her in my local supermarket. "You never told me you lived here?"

"I moved here when my husband became director of manufacturing at Duncan's Engineering. Oh, here he is now."

As she spoke a man came up behind me and put a couple of six packs of beer into her trolley.

"Travis, this is my colleague Audrey I've told you about."

As I turned to him I was amazed how dark brown he was.

"Audrey, this is my husband, Travis. He's American," she added as if that explained everything.

I don't know what I expected when I took the hand he offered me. Although it was huge it felt so soft and gentle. "Well now," he drawled. "Nice to meet you at last."

"You too," I managed to respond while wondering why Beverley had never told me her husband was coloured.

I had been on my way to the check out and didn't have time for any more chat. "Sorry, I have to go," I said. "You'll have to tell me all about your husband lunch time on Monday," I told Beverley as I pushed my trolley away. As I unloaded my stuff onto the checkout I realised that Beverly was the first person I knew who was married to a coloured man.

About a year ago I had seen a celebrity magazine on a newsagent's rack. I'd never been interested in celebrities and their lifestyles. What prompted me to buy it was the wedding picture cover of a white woman and a black man. Inside were more pictures of the couple and of bimbo starlets hanging on the arms of coloured men. I read everything about every inter-racial celebrity couple they published. Since then I have read every celebrity magazine I can, just to find pictures and stories about interracial couples.

Now I actually knew someone married to a coloured man.

What I couldn't understand was why Beverly's husband was so intriguing to me. Well, he was a bit of a hunk, and his hands were so big and soft. I felt my body shiver at the memory.

When I told Gordon about my meeting with Beverley and her husband, Gordon was also curious why Beverly had never told me about his colour. We both agreed that it was probably because she didn't think it was important enough. Rather guiltily I deliberately didn't tell Gordon that Beverley and I were going to talk about her husband over lunch tomorrow.

Gordon's hands weren't nearly as big as Travis's, but that night they felt very soft and loving as he caressingly explored my body before we made love.

When Beverly sat at my table in the small coffee shop near to where we worked I already had a coffee and her favourite egg and cress sandwich waiting for her.

We had a short girls talk. Then after we both dank some coffee, Beverly suddenly asked. "You want to know why I never told you my husband was coloured?"

I was a little taken aback by her bluntness. "Yes, I suppose I do," I replied.

She smiled and took a sip of her coffee. "I think you know why," she said, with a questioning look.

I didn't want to admit to anything so I asked her how long they had been married. "Eleven years, I was living in America and working as a researcher for a recruitment company," she replied, smiling at some memory or other before she took a bite of her sandwich and studied my face.

As she looked at me I knew that she knew what I wanted to ask.

"Audrey, I know what you really want to ask me. Every female friend I've had, when they find out my husband is coloured has the same question, and that's why I don't tell anyone, though I know they will find out eventually. Like you did"

"Do they all ask you?"

"Eventually."

"Do you tell them?"

"When I'm asked."

'Will you tell me?"

"Yes, I will, if you ask."

As I thought about my question I wondered how many of them were still her friends? In the hope that I would be, I rephrased my question a bit. "What is it like to be married to a coloured man?"

"It can be quite wonderful," she replied with a smile "But sometimes it can be embarrassing when we are out. Some people are quite nervous when they first meet us and some are openly hostile." she told me. "But that's not what you wanted to ask me, is it Audrey?"

She was right, that wasn't what I wanted to know. Oh God! Why was it so important for me to know why white women were attracted to coloured men? That question had been in my head ever since I'd started reading those celebrity magazines. The fact it might be because they were in love, like Beverley and Travis only now crossed my mind.

As we looked at each other I gathered my courage. "Beverley, what's it like......" My courage failed me when I suddenly realised just how personal my question was.

Beverly chuckled. "Oh, come on girl, you can say it."

It took a moment for my courage to return. "What's it like to sleep with Travis?" I just blurted it out. Then I looked around in horror, hoping that no one sitting near us had heard me.

It was the touch of her hand on mine that brought me back. "It's quite wonderful," she told me. Then she asked me why I wanted to know, so I told her about the celebrity magazines I'd started reading. Then I told her about my fascination with pictures and stories about interracial couples and how I'd always wondered what it was about coloured men that the white woman in my magazine found so attractive.

We still had about fifteen minutes of lunch time left so Beverly told what the attraction was for her and I was completely captivated. Anyone else and I think I would have asked if I could borrow him. What his hairless, dark brown body felt like. What he had and what he did with it and how long he did it for sounded totally amazing.

Now that Beverley had told me what it was like to be fucked by her husband, I was now certain that was why all those white girls were hanging onto the men in all those magazine pictures.

Then, with quite a shock, it hit me. Since I started reading those celebrity magazines, that was what I'd really wanted know. What it would be like to fucked by a coloured man. But I was happily married with a husband I loved deeply, a man who I knew would not like the idea of me having sex with any other man, white or coloured.

Most of that afternoon I tried to find an answer to the dilemma this presented me with. How do I tell my husband and get him to agree to me, his wife being fucked by a coloured man?

Of course, I could do it without my husband knowing, but that would be cheating. Anyway, Gordon knew about my celebrity magazines, he even looked through them himself sometimes. So perhaps he wouldn't be too surprised when I tell him what I want.

So, it was with some trepidation that I started putting the idea into my husband's head.

It was after dinner when my wife told me about her lunch with Beverley. I always suspected that women talked more openly about sex than men ever did, so when Audrey got into the gist of her conversation with Beverley I was not surprised that it was all about Travis. What totally surprised me was Audrey's determination to repeat every little detail that Beverly had told her about what it was like when her husband fucked her.

Looking even more enthusiastic she carried on. "Now I know why the pictures of inter-racial couples have always interested me," she said, looking at me as though she was going to explain the meaning of life. "After Beverley told me about the sex she had with her husband I realised that when I looked at all those pictures I was subconsciously wondering what it was like for the white woman to be fucked by the coloured man she was hanging onto."

I must have been staring at my wife in total shock for some time before she said anything else. "I want to know what it's like to be fucked by a coloured man, like Travis fucks Beverly," she declared. Then added, totally nonchalantly. "You will let me, won't you, Darling?"

I was speechless. Totally speechless for about ten seconds before I stammered, "You, you, you want me to let a black man fuck you?" I was even shocked that I'd said something as racial as black man.

Suddenly my wife had her arms around me. "Yes please, Darling. Beverly thinks one of Travis's friends would be perfect for me," she added while kissing me with total abandon.

It was equally amazed that my forty-three-year-old, normally totally responsible wife, was suddenly behaving like a capricious young girl in a Victorian novel.

After that evening of revelation, it took my wife another week to break my resolve to refuse her request. For several days I really stood firm. "It's a man thing," I told her. "That's your ego talking," she told me. "I like my ego," I replied. The worst part was knowing just how desperately my wife, this wonderful woman I loved so much, had set her heart on having just one interracial experience.

She promised that I wasn't going to be replaced as it was only going to be just once. She told me that she would be so grateful that the sex we would have afterwards would be totally amazing. I was told many times that I was the only man she would ever love. She even convinced me that I wasn't going to be cuckolded, though she had to explain what that was before I accepted her argument.

It may have been all those assurances. More likely it was her promise that the sex we would have afterwards would be even better than the sex I was already getting. Reluctantly, I finally accepted that allowing my wife just one interracial sexual experience was the right thing to do.

God, how I cursed those magazines my wife kept reading because I knew that was where her obsession from.

The meeting between my wife and this so called, perfect friend of Travis's, was arranged for a Friday evening in the restaurant of the Golden Orb Hotel. Beverley would be there to introduce him and I would accompany my wife and assumed that after dinner, the two of them would retire to a hotel room for an hour or so while Beverley and I had a few drinks.

I think the real reason for me being there was in case she got cold feet when she met him and needed me to take her home. In the event that didn't happen. I suspected because Beverley had already introduced them, though I couldn't be certain. If she had, then I wish my wife had told me.

His name was Stephen. He was good looking for a coloured man, possible of West Indian heritage and about our age. He was about a couple of inches taller than Audrey, muscular, athletic looking and very light brown. He had a ready smile and was an easy conversationalist. The meal was excellent and the wine very good. In fact, I soon began to like the guy and it could have been easy to forget why my wife and I were here, because the reason hadn't been mentioned once.

When the meal was over Stephen asked both of us to have coffee with him in his hotel room, which I hadn't expected. There was also something about my wife's attitude as we left the table that concerned me that it was not just spending time with a coloured man that interested her.

As I left the table, Beverley surprised me when she held my arm and told me she was also leaving. "Gordon, treat her well when it's over, she's going to need you," she told me.

I was disappointed she was leaving because had intended to come back and have another drink with her while my wife and Stephen spent an hour or two together.

The coffee was already there when we arrived. He actually had a suite with separate seating area to the bedroom. The first thing he did was take Audrey's wrap then invite both of us to be seated, with an obvious preference for my wife to sit on the settee and me in one of the two armchairs. He then poured the coffee and after serving it, joined my wife on the small settee.

"I hope you both enjoyed the meal?" was the first words spoken.

I replied for both of us. "I hope Audrey enjoyed it as much as I did."

After we had all drunk some coffee in silence, Stephen spoke again. "I think we all know why we are here so I would like to assure you, Gordon that I will take very good care of your wife while she is in my company."

It sounded so formal, clinical even, take good care of your wife while she is in my company. Fuck the shit out of her is more likely, I thought to myself. "Well, Beverly was the one who introduced you so I'll blame if my wife is not returned safely."

For the first time since we had left the table, Audrey spoke up. "I think Stephen is a very nice man and I'm sure he will treat me well, Darling."

I just stared at her, not knowing what to say. Well, if I was going to let this man have my wife for the next hour or so, there wasn't much more I could do So I finished my coffee. When I stood up to leave it was Stephen and not my wife who joined me.

With his hand on my shoulder he guided me to the door. "I will call you in the morning when your wife is ready to leave," he told me.

"Call me in the morning," I repeated, hoping my wife hadn't heard me.

"Yes, of course. I thought you knew your wife was going to spend the night with me," he confirmed as he opened the door. "From experience," he whispered. "In situations like this I've always found that it's best that the husband leaves quietly."

So, here I was, outside the hotel room where my wife was going to spend the night being fucked by a coloured man. It was only by a strength of will that I didn't collapse onto the floor.

Alone in a room, in the same hotel where in another room my wife was spending the night being fucked by another man, I was terrified of the outcome. Why hadn't I been told that my wife was going to spend the night with him. I kept remembering what he told me just before I left them.

From experience, in situations like this I've always found that it's best that the husband leaves quietly.' My God, how many other husbands have left their wives with him for the night.

Although I slept a bit I spent most of the night cursing myself for ever agreeing to my wife having any interracial sex.

At eight the following morning I hadn't had the call telling me my wife was waiting for me to collect her, that I so desperately wanted. That was what he had told me, but no time had been given. Rather than have breakfast in the restaurant I ordered some coffee and toast in my room. It arrived by the time I had washed, shaved and dressed. But there was still no phone call and it was now nearly nine.

By ten I was pacing about the room. At ten-thirty I was angrily considering going to his room and dragging my wife out. Eleven O'clock came and still no call. Then my phone rang.

Gordon, it's Stephen. I sorry it's so late but you wife slept in a bit and then we," he hesitated. "Well you know," he said. "We then had to wait till after ten for room service and you know how long Audrey takes to get ready. Anyway, I suggest we meet in the lobby."

I had no choice but to agree. In fact, I was glad I didn't have to go to his room again. It was eleven-thirty when I was facing the lift and I'm certain that as the door opened they were holding hands.

Seeing that small, intimate act reminded me that earlier he has called her Audrey. Then it was over when my wife saw me and almost ran to me, her arms opening to hug me.

"Darling, Darling, she cried. "I was so afraid you wouldn't be here," she told me as she wrapped her arms around me. I was slower in responding, almost unsure if hugging her was the right thing to do with a wife who had just spent the night with another man.

When I looked around I was grateful that Stephen was nowhere to be seen.

On the drive home neither of us said anything until Audrey asked me to stop at the supermarket to get some food for the weekend. As usual, when we shopped together I pushed the trolley while Audrey filled it, with occasional requests for my help with choices.

As I followed my wife around the isles I was getting annoyed that she could be acting so normally, while I was still trying to come to terms with what she had done last night. It just seemed so much worse now that it had happened. Finally, we were back home and after we brought the bags in I left her to do the unpacking.

When I was told lunch was ready I thought it would be an opportunity to talk things over. I wanted to know if she now understood what it was like for a white woman to have sex with a coloured man. Instead I was told otherwise. "Darling, can we talk about it later, perhaps this evening before we go to bed. I know you have a lot of questions and I just think a little more time would help both of us."

Perhaps it was a good idea, so I just agreed with a squeeze of her hand. There didn't seem to be anything else either of had to say to each other so there was little conversation between us. Delaying the inevitable for more time to think about it was not typical of my wife. However, finding things to do around the house and garden did give me time to rethink everything. None of my thoughts were conducive to being intimate with my wife.

We had finished dinner, cleared up and I had just poured a glass of wine for Audrey when she asked me to sit beside her on the settee instead of my favourite lounger. "I want you near me," she said as she took her glass from me.

I had just had a sip of whisky when Beverly asked me. "Darling, what do you want to ask me?"

There was really only one question, so I asked her. "Was your night with Stephen what you had hoped for?"

She reached for my hands and held them. A not unfamiliar gesture. "Gordon, darling, will you be satisfied if I tell you that my time with Stephen was much more than anything I had expected."