A New Look for Marriage Pt. 04

"I don't think I have the size for the movies dear."

"Well you got enough white stuff. If I trusted you, I'd make you clean my dress."

"Is it really ok?"

"What?"

"That I came so fast?"

"Thought we were past that, yeah its fine."

"It's just that you were so excited to have sex and then it's over in a minute or less." He sounds a bit dejected.

"We had sex, so stop feeling sorry for yourself. I liked it. Don't be a wet blanket now."

Both of ours tones have become reflective and conversational.

"Do you really want to have sex with him?"

"I don't know, maybe if we go out a few more times and I like him,"

"But right now, what do you think?"

"Will you get upset?"

"No, I mean I want you to do it?"

"I'm just not always sure, sometimes you seemed annoyed. And I don't want to if you're not sure."

"I want you to, just it's weird seeing you like you were tonight, Don't know what I expected, but the way you got all excited; almost ditzy."

"Well being a ditz isn't exactly foreign soil for me."

"Not a ditz, I don't know."

I lean up with my forearm on his chest. "I mean it when I say we don't have to do this. Just tell him that we aren't ready."

"I'm ready Michelle, you're my wife and I know you want to."

"And you're my husband and I'm only doing this if you're completely sure." I give him a serious look. "Give me a kiss now." Starting with a first date sort of kiss on the lips, soon we're biting lips and touching tongues. "Are you sure you want to watch?"

His eyes look a little frightened at the reality of the situation. "Yeah, I really want to see it, it's all I think about. Will you let me watch?"

"Yeah, of course you can watch. Let's make it fun, ok? No pressure."

"So then we both agree on rule number 8?"

"How does it work, do you call him back for the next date? Or do we wait for him to call?"

"You could call him?"

"I'm not calling. I can send him a text if you want."

"No, I'll take care it."

We hold each other until morning. I feel closer to him than I have ever felt. Even when the kids were born, I never felt so close. I can't fully explain why, perhaps it's the feeling of absolute acceptance. His touch leaves me with no doubt that he feels it too. Frantic nights such as these strengthen our bonds. I can't think of anyone else I could possibly reveal myself in all my fragile faults to in such intimate honesty. It's like this abnormal fantasy is a hammer striking down at the core of our relationship and forging something completely stronger; unbreakable.

The next few dates are just formalities. I'm not overly involved in the planning process, they settled on a hotel in the downtown core. I've been spending the entire day just trying not the think about it and now that it's here, time seems to be at a standstill. We went shopping last night and got a new outfit for me, condoms, some lube and other stuff from the drugstore. It felt a little naughty checking off our list. We only got a few bottles of wine, surely he will bring one too, but that would just be enough for us to get tipsy but not drunk. I won't be able to do this completely sober, but I don't want to be drunk either.

The ride up the elevator is the worst part. Getting to the parking lot, arriving in the lobby and checking in were almost on automatic. When the door closes for the elevator and the initial dip hits my tummy on the lift, there's no turning back; I'm really doing it. My husband holds my hand the entire way up. Not a word is uttered, we don't need to say it, we both feel it together. This is really it. My feet are heavy in the hallway and our progress slow.

My husband stops and turns me at the hip to face him. His eyes are deep and burning. "Michelle, honey, don't worry, you look fabulous. Really, truly exquisite."

"Can you kiss me?" In a dancers pose he bends me slightly backwards and assures me with a deep romantic kiss. "Are you going to be ok?" He nods gently in response.

Upon entering the room, he looks at his phone. "He said he'll be here in about an hour, he's running late."

"Oh." I'm not sure why I expected him to be here already. I was there when we signed in and got the key. I must be a bit detached from reality. "I feel like such an airhead, I thought he'd be here." I try to play it off laughing, but I suppose the prospect of sex can mess with my executive ordering of things.

"What you expected him to be here? Waiting?"

"I don't know, yeah I thought he'd be like waiting." The room is so ordinary. There's no red heart-shaped satin sheeted bed here, just a couple of blandly covered rectangles. Not that I was expecting rose petals to fall from the ceiling either, but this feels like I'm attending a conference rather than a romantic interlude. Also, I'm beginning to get paranoid as to the thickness of the walls.

"With baited breath for the most lovely of all lovelies." My husband raises my hand and invites me to spin like a ballerina to his teasing. "Come on...you say I never dance with you, now you can't say I never try."

"Ok, stop it. What are we going to do then?" I say with an inkling of aggravation.

"We can dance my little prima!" He mocks lightly in good humour.

"Seriously Colin."

"You can get dressed?"

"I am dressed."

Pointing to the overnight bag. "I mean get de-ressed."

"Oh, you mean undressed? Yeah, I guess so." I pick up the overnight bag and go into the small washroom. The bathroom is as typical and the bedroom, complete with the cheap wasteful individually packed shampoos for those too careless to pack their own. The white tiled washroom is so bland.

"Honey, you can get changed out here...nothing I haven't seen before." Colin chimes.

"No, I need the mirror."

"There's a mirror out here."

"The light isn't good out there, just a sec. Should I just wear the slip?"

"Yeah, why not?" He bellows from the other side of the door.

"Is it too revealing?"

"You know what we're here for, right?"

I don't answer. I take the satin pink slip, bought just for this occasion, out of the plastic bag and hold it up. It doesn't leave much to the imagination. "Got to jump in with both feet." I think to myself as I unbutton my jeans and let the zipper go down. Wearing panties to match the slip, I do a last chance inspection to make sure no renegade runaway hair survived my wax and trim. I didn't shave completely, but I made sure it's smooth in all the right places.

Stripped to just the pink panties, I start looking in the mirror for my sexy. Using the shower curtain as a prop, I show a bit of leg, peep out from behind and I only manage to make myself feel foolish. I fuss about my make-up, looking for the perfect touch. I need to feel sexy or he won't think I'm sexy. The more I fuss the more I frustrate myself. Closing my eyes and breathing deeply, in an attempt to clear my head and expectations, I try to relax. I can't stress how important it is to feel sexy. I need to love every piece of the mirror that reflects me. The guys will feed off that energy. If I believe I'm the most concupiscent woman in the world, they will be compelled to agree. My hands clam with perspiration while I search for this feeling.

Pulling the satin pink slip over my shoulders, I catch myself in the mirror and do a double take. I actually look good in pink, it isn't the colour I would have chosen but I let my husband pick it out. He said it looks more "girly" and he's right it does look fun. I'm not the type to wear elaborate lingerie, like garters and the whole works. I think simple and revealing works much better. I like baby doll nighties and leave my legs bare. Panties are the same light pink colour as the slip. I look good. "I'm sure I look good." I think to narrowing eyes.

Lifting and bending my leg, I then pull the light fitting fabric so it outlines my pussy. "You know they want this. You know men want this. You were made for sex...you were made to fuck...you were made to fuck." I talk to myself under my breath. Oh, I can feel it growing in my stomach, that excitement. Nights like tonight aren't made for modesty, there's no room for modesty. This night is all about excess, vanity and indulgence. The pep talk is having the desired effect. I pout my lips, fix my eyes, sway my hips from side to side and make some sexy poses. The sexy pink slip barely comes halfway down my thigh exposing my long legs and bare feet. "This is what they want...this is what they want...I am what they want." My long brown hair looks full and luscious with little curls that give a hint of wild. My grey eyes burn with neediness in the agreeable mirror. I love when the excitement meets my nervous edge.

I feel comfortable in this little cell. The ugly white shower tiles are, somehow, homey. Even the drab grey wallpaper bordering the door looks inviting. Maybe I don't ever have to come out? I can just stay in here, a glutton for vanity, admiring my sexy form in the glass. Most of my life I've been slim and slender, now I have what might be called child-bearing hips, that's where I carry basically all my weight. Contrary to my intense fears regarding weight gain, it's my hips that steal the most attention from men. Some openly stare, seemingly unable to look away. I've tailored my wardrobe to show them off and this light pink slip is no exception; my legs look fantastic. Standing on my tiptoes half-turned to admire my own behind, I'm brought to my heels by a knock upon the door. It hits all at once, "He's here!"

Comfortable in my bunker, I don't move a muscle in an attempt to restrict my breath. If I don't move maybe they won't even notice me; as if I got in trouble at school and my parents have just gotten home from work. Their greetings sound like muffled noise to which I can only discern the congenial nature. Breathing deeply all at once a thought flashes before me, "I need to enter the room before he sits down, but not while he's in the entrance." I want to catch him off guard; before he realizes where I am. I listen closely to footsteps while giving myself one last look in the mirror. I'm undeniably more nervous than I had been moments ago and more nervous than I thought I would be when I left home. Nervous is ok, most men find it sexy; they love the fragility of the tremble. Using the jingle of his keys hitting the table as my cue, I find my resolve to raise the curtain.

Perfect timing, he's just about to sit down and I steal his attention. His eyes widen, fixing on my figure before he's had the chance examine his surroundings. The element of surprise has lowered his defenses and his covetous eyes betray his usually distant gaze. He stutters as I step out of the shadows of the small entrance hallway and into the main room. Standing nervously, as if centre on a stage with no props I tepidly present myself to the audience. I love the open mouths and the unabashed stares.

My spell only lasts a moment before he composes himself, but that moment was enough set the tone. With my weight on my toes, leaning slightly forward, I await his first move. It's tentative; he takes my left hand into his, like he did when we first met, kissing fingers and saying, "The stars of the darkest night could not but match the beauty I see before me." Yeah, sappy, but I'm a sucker for that stuff.

The tension is palatable and sudden. "Well this star-shine beauty could use a glass of wine." I say to break it.

My husband springs into action. "Yes, the wine, here let me get you glass honey. Anan, red or white?" Anan stays with his focus on my blushing face and responds. "The lady's choice is red and so we will all drink red." Not that I said anything, but it wasn't hard to guess since I would only drink white if red grapes go dry. That and the fact that we only brought red.

"Be comfortable my dear." He leads me, by my outstretched hand, to the top of the bed closest to the window overlooking downtown Toronto. Even a drab hotel room can feel romantic under the right circumstances. Anan is being patient and making sure the feeling of romance is not lost by an impetuous assault. Following his direction, I sit upright with my arm rested on a stack of pillows with my legs folded under. The pale pink slip rides high on my legs exposing almost my entire thigh. Refined and elegant, I sip red wine with two gentlemen, sitting in my under garment and bare toes. All I need is a long cigarette holder and a gramophone to complete this licentious scene.

There are two armchairs and another bed that runs parallel wall with the bathroom on the other side. My husband sits in the armchair closest to me on my right and Anan the one at the far end of the bed completing this curious love triangle. Nothing is familiar for any of us, as though being in a darkened cave passing a flashlight back and forth looking for someone to lead the way. Anan still looks at me with desire, but he's careful not to be too pushy and make an unwelcome intrusion on the clearly nervous couple leaning toward each other.

Looking with apprehension to my husband for guidance, "Are we ready?" He looks to Anan and asks the same.

"Just a moment ok? Can we just talk for a minute, just us?" I gesture for Anan to use into the bathroom for a moment and he complies.

"Honey, just remember to ask the time if things get too much, ok?" I say seriously and rushed.

"I'm fine really, just excited. Are you excited?"

"Yeah, I'm excited. We really ready? I love you, ok?"

"I love you too." While making our final declarations, out of the corner of my eye, I see Anan entering my field of vision. He has relieved himself of his pants, wearing only a white button up dress shirt I can see his cock hanging down and semi-hard; his olive coloured foreskin is pulled halfway back over the growing head. My husband's attention, stolen by the new arrival, he instinctively sinks back into his chair in a slouched posture, his shoulders low on the backrest.

Anan stands at the foot of the bed undoing the buttons on his sleeves. I kick my feet over the side of the bed, creep to his side and sit on the bed. He seems indifferent to my presence and shakes loose his sleeves. Before he can unbutton his shirt, I take his cock into my right hand. Not fully hard yet, it's heavy, large and very smooth. I look over my right shoulder to my husband who is slouched in his chair watching intently as the cock hardens slowly in my hand. He really is quite large. Impressed, I feel the corners of my eyes expanding and eyes push forward. With an attentive posture my stare relaxes as his, very large, cock grows to full size in my palm.

"Are you going to fuck me?" I look up at him with sad, glassy eyes.

Anan places his hand on my shoulder and lightly directs me to my knees at his feet. He's tall, so I need to keep my knees almost together to get level. Closing my eyes, I block my husband out or my mind and focus on the task at hand. The tails of his shirt hang on either side of his imposing penis, behind which his balls hang heavy. They're wrinkled with deep ridges and kept well clean for the occasion. I can tell he took a great amount of care grooming them and removing hair. I hold his shaft upright and start there in appreciation for this consideration. Like all men, his balls are his most sensitive part, it adds to the intimacy when he trusts my touch and doesn't flinch. This is our first sexual contact, we haven't even kissed.

His shirt falls to the floor behind him and he lets out a satisfied grunt in response to my tongue. Continuing with my tongue, I lick my way up the underside of his cock, getting to the tip and arching my back so I can kiss the top of the head. My hair keeps creating a minor nuisance falling one way and then the other whenever brushed back. My heart sinks into my stomach when I hear Anan ask my husband, "Colin, for the purpose of comfort you will hold the lady's hair?" To my surprise, he respects the request coming up behind me and scooping up my hair from underneath on both sides. I feel the breeze on by neck from the open window.

"Do not cause her any discomfort; hold it lightly." Anan instructs noticing that my husband is gripping my hair a little tight. Colin loosens his grip, allowing me to move my mouth up and down on his dick more freely. One thing I don't like about larger men is the oral. Despite my reputation of verbose oratory skills, I don't actually have the biggest mouth. I can barely take half his penis and I worry about scraping him with my teeth; that's not even mentioning the pain it causes my jaw. Anan seems undisturbed by the unintentional odd scrape with my upper teeth; I just can't get them under my lips. I try to make eye contact with Anan, but his eyes are closed with a look of satisfaction.

Without warning, I feel a drop warmish liquid on my shoulder. Anan has opened his eyes and has a sly smirk on his face. My hair falls from my husband's grasp. Blinking in confusion, it takes me a few moments to realize what this is.

"Honey! Honey, did you cum?!" No response, but I can hear his heavy breathing. "In my hair? You're like a teenager. Honey?" I laugh incredulously.

Anan gives me a very serious and stern look. "No, there is no problem, it happens to any man. You will not say such things."

He has a patriarchal effect; it immediately makes me feel bad for my behavior. "I know, I didn't mean anything, really I didn't, but it's in my hair, really it's ok. I'm so sorry." I say resting, sitting back on my heels.

My husband slides over the bed in response to retrieve a towel from the bathroom. "Stop, you can't wipe it out of my hair. It's fine just pass me the towel." I wipe my shoulder, before Anan takes the towel, without calling attention, and wipes some that sprayed on his midsection and thigh. "I think I need another glass of wine."

"Is there any on my dress? It's new." I flip the slip from side to side in the mirror looking for any stains. The naked men help me in making sure it's clean.

"Is it ok if we take a break Anan? We brought some Viagra if you like? Colin can you get it?" He showed no signs of softening but he might want it if we have to start and stop.

He accepts the offer and Colin retrieves the blue pills from overnight bag in the bathroom. After breaking one with his teeth, he hands the other half to Anan and each wash it down with a bit of water. We aren't in any rush, but none of us are in our early 20s anymore either. Anan is in fantastic shape for his 48 years though. His abs are well defined, he has a scar under his right pectoral muscle making him look tough; I don't really feel like asking how he actually got it. He has a lanky but well proportioned body and shows no sign of shame or discomfort in being naked. My husband, on the other hand, closes his posture and makes subtle motions of modesty in his movements.

"Honey, take your socks off! It looks ridiculous. Naked man with socks on is not a good look." I'm not sure why this isn't universally understood by men.

"Ok, ok, they're off."

"Don't look at me like that, it's important. Don't look at him either!" I laugh after my husband gives Anan the, "nagging wife" look.

The glass of wine a memory I lay back on the bed and signal Anan with a coquettish look to join me. He meets me halfway as I slither down the bed, my slip riding up past my hips to reveal the matching pink panties. With a bit of jostling the slip takes it's place on the floor next to my husband's, now bare, feet. Our first kiss is sensuous. His penis is hard and resting on my panties; it goes almost all the way up to my belly button. He takes his time kissing, occasionally moving down to suck on my nipples a bit. I can feel his cock slide down my body when he does, before sliding back up; the implication isn't lost on me.

His mouth feels good lightly biting on my nipple so I cradle his head encouraging him to stay there. For the first time I see my husband and we lock eyes. He's sitting in the armchair which was Anan's at the foot of the bed, his cock is hard again and he's slowly, methodically pulling on it. I've never seen his eyes looking like this. They're like glass, completely glazed over, dilated and trance-like. It's not an emotional state that lends to the usual tells.