Aftermath of a swap

The morning sun was streaming in through the window as I slowly opened my eyes. Looking the other way, I saw Marcie's bare back, the covers barely higher than her waist. Her skin looked soft, was soft, but unlike my wife Sharon's, was, well, meatier, without the prominence of her spine and shoulder blades. She isn't fat, or anything, just, I don't know, what's the word, a bit thick I guess. Of course, Marcie had some actual tits, which is nice, where Sharon pretty much doesn't. You know how some small busted, thin-skinned women have their breastbone showing instead of cleavage? That's Sharon.

I guess that me turning my head was enough to wake up Marcie, because I got a soft, "Hey," from her lips. Then she rolled over and gave me a light, closed-mouth kiss. "Sorry, morning breath," she apologized, and then she got out of bed. Standing there, looking at me, giving me a full frontal view of her nude body, she had a wistful sort of half-smile on her face as she asked, "You OK?"

"Yeah," I answered, but I wasn't sure how much of the truth I told. "I think I'm smelling bacon."

"Oh, great, because I'm pretty much starving! Wonder what Sharon's fixing for breakfast?"

"I guess we'd better go downstairs and see."

Marcie and I got dressed, putting on the clothes we'd been wearing last night. It was late Spring, so Marcie didn't have a lot of clothes to put on, and neither did. My fresh clothes were still in our master bedroom, not my son Brett's where we were. Brett wasn't here, of course, but in his dorm at Penn State, where it ought to be exam week. I had to take my morning piss, and Marcie followed me into the hall bathroom; I guess it wasn't anything strange for her to use the bathroom at the same time as her husband Tim. There was a tube of Colgate toothpaste in there, but no spare toothbrush for her, so she put a bit of toothpaste on the side of her right index finger, and half-assed brushed her teeth that way, glancing over and smiling while I took a monster morning piss. Sharon and I didn't double up in our bathroom like this, other than an occasional shower together, so this was kind of weird for me, but what was there to do for it? Then she took a swig of Listerine, spit that out, and plopped down on the toilet to take her own morning whizz. At least she didn't try to shit; that would have been way too weird!

Anyway, I headed out before she was done with that, and headed downstairs, to the kitchen.

"Good morning, sleepyhead! 'Bout time you got out of bed. How're you doing this morning?"

"I'm pretty good," I half lied. "Where's Tim?"

"He ran up to the Wawa on South Street. Gotta have Wawa coffee on a sunny Spring morning like this!" Sharon had a huge, happy smile on her face.

"Well, yeah, Wawa coffee is always good!" Just then Tim walked in the door, with four large coffee cups in a tray. Wawa coffee is always better from the store than the Wawa K-Cups we can get for our Keurig.

"Hey, Roger," he smiled at me, "Hot and black, just the way you like it," as he handed me a cup. Like the rest of us, he was wearing the same clothes he had on last night.

Well, not all of the rest of us; Sharon was wearing this red satiny shortie robe I had gotten her before, one that covers her ass and maybe the top third of her thighs, and something I always like seeing her in, but only get to see that in the morning when the kids aren't here. As she turned away from the griddle top on the center of the range, well of course I looked, because she really is fine looking. She might not have much in the way of tits, but she still has those awesome, kind of dusky rose puffy nipples, which make just the slightest push out from her boobs, just enough of a hint to be noticed, and turn me on, even after 23 years together.

But then, I kind of wished I hadn't checked her out, because then I saw it, a slight trail of fresh semen, tracing down her right leg.

Shit! I knew that she had fucked Tim last night, just as I had fucked Marcie, but they must've fucked again this morning as well, and Sharon couldn't be wearing panties under that robe. It's one thing to know that they fucked, but somehow slightly different to see the direct evidence, somehow more unsettling.

What had happened? Tim and Marcie were over at our house last night, playing Spades, then Trivial Pursuit, drinking Pinot Gregio and burning a couple of joints as well. We'd always flirted with each other, known each other for over ten years, and completely comfortable. Some wine, some smoke, some more wine, and the flirting got a bit more risqué, and yeah, I'd gone right along with it, when Marcie laid a big wet kiss on me. Instead of being pissed, Sharon and Tim just cheered her on, and then they started getting a bit more handsy, too.

Yeah, maybe I shouldn't have done it, but with a pair of bigger titties to play with, who can blame me for trying?

How long were we flirting and sometimes making out? Heck, I'm not really sure, but it got a bit hotter than I thought I'd ever get away with, the kind of thing where I'd have expected Sharon to get up and smack the shit out of both Marcie and me, but she didn't.

Then, whatever time it was, Sharon stood up, grabbed Tim's hand, and they headed upstairs. "Get a room, you two," she laughed over her shoulder as they headed upstairs.

"Sounds good to me," Marcie half whispered to me, and then she got up as well, pulling on my hand, and leading me upstairs. I didn't resist, but noted that yes, our master bedroom door was closed. Maybe if I'd been sober, I would have cared more. At least the master and Brett's bedroom don't share a wall, so I couldn't hear them. Sharon loved to fuck, but she, both of us really, had learned to be quiet about it once we had kids.

I had always figured that Marcie would be a good lay, but I really didn't know other than to know that Tim was pretty happy with her.

And she was a good lay. She loved having her pussy eaten, and since she shaved it bald and Sharon didn't, it was a different experience. When I had gotten her off that way, she sat up, gave my pecker a quick kiss, but giving me head wasn't on her agenda; she was just plain ready to fuck!

I thought that I acquitted myself pretty well. She understood being somewhat quiet, having kids herself, but I could see her clenching the sheets in her hands, keeping her teeth gritted, and a simply intense look on her face. I was really starting to have to hold myself back when she said, "Switch!" and wanted to be on top.

That brief interruption worked wonders, bringing me back a bit from the edge I was having to maintain, while Marcie threw her left leg over me and climbed on to ride cowgirl-style. More, it was a position I knew that I could hold off cumming for a good, long time.

Of course, women don't have to hold back, and Marcie got off a good couple of times, apparently liking to slam down hard on a guy, before telling me how she really wanted to finish.

"You like doggie?" she asked kind of breathlessly.

"Sure."

"Great! I want you to really finish me, slam me hard, just nail me to this mattress!" She dismounted and quickly assumed the position, head down and ass up. I briefly thought about the brown eye, but I knew this might be, probably would be, my only time ever with her, and the best thing to do was give her exactly what she asked for.

Doggie didn't last all that long, not the way she wanted it, pile driven into the mattress. She had her mouth screaming into the pillow, which I guess kept the sound down from Tim and Sharon, as I just plain slam-fucked her, as hard as I could go. She was actually shuddering on her final climax, and once I was pounding her that hard, it rose in me quickly, too, and there was no holding back by then. I didn't roar or anything, trained by years of having kids in the house, but I sure grunted hard at the end.

My orgasm finally over, I flopped back down on the mattress myself, on my back, and looked over at Marcie, who was now belly-down prone, looking at me with her big brown eyes, and a really pretty smile on her face. There was a sheen of sweat on her body, mine as well, and a genuine smile on her face. I couldn't help but being happy, but underneath that happiness was concern, concern that I had really fucked up. It didn't keep me awake, though, 'cause after that exertion, Marcie and I both fell asleep fairly quickly.

Well, that was last night, everyone half drunk and mostly stoned, but this was morning, a bright, sunny morning, and everyone was sober. Bacon and buttermilk pancake -- no syrup for me, just butter -- and good coffee. Have I mentioned how much I love Wawa's coffee?  But, at least for me, there was a rather large elephant in the room: my best friend had just fucked my wife, and I had fucked his. OK, I've heard of this kind of shit happening before, to other people anyway, but Sharon and I had never discussed it, and neither Tim nor Marcie had ever even hinted about wanting to try, even though we had all flirted with each other in the past, all in good fun.

And yeah, I was pretty worked up, making out with Marcie last night, but one thing was clear: Sharon had pulled Tim to his feet and was leading him upstairs, and told Marcie and me to get a room. I don't know, maybe she had discussed this with Marcie, maybe even plotted it in advance, but this had absolutely been Sharon's decision; I had just gone along for the ride.

So to speak, I guess!

Was it cheating? I guess not, because there was no hiding, no beating around the bush, it just happened, with full knowledge of everyone, and I had committed adultery just as surely as she did. Heck, I didn't even hesitate.

There was laughter this morning, the kind of unserious joking around we always do, but the sexual innuendoes were not used, by anybody. Sharon had asked me how I was doing this morning, and I had said that I was fine, before Tim walked in with the coffee and Marcie had made it downstairs, but I was concerned, really concerned: my wife had just casually fucked someone else, and hadn't even asked permission. She had just decided, and threw me permission to fuck another woman at the same time. Was that compensation or something?

Breakfast was over soon enough, and Tim and Marcie had to head to their house, to shower and get fresh clothes and the usual morning stuff; Marcie gave me a goodbye kiss, but it was on the cheek, something friendly enough without being blatant, and something that she'd done many times before. Sharon and I loaded the dishwasher, but she said she'd turn it on after our showers.

And we headed upstairs. One thing we do have is a nice, two-person shower, and she hinted that she could use a man to wash her back. With just the robe on, she was able to just drop it, while it took me a few more seconds to get into the bathroom, and those seconds were rough ones, because once in the bedroom I saw it: a very messy bed. Our marital bed, in which she'd fucked another man. Yeah, I had screwed Marcie, but it was in our son's bed.

Did that really make a difference? Was I fixating on details, somehow making what Sharon did worse than what I had done?

I walked in the bathroom, and there was my wife, already in the shower, putting the shower wand back in place, and I knew: she had taken a quick spray to wash Tim's spunk out of her pussy. A seemingly small thing, I guess, but pushing it further into my brain with that simple action.

Of course, the shower together was fine and fun, and not a single word passed between us concerning last night. Still, I was trying to come to grips with what had happened. I knew that I had committed adultery just as certainly as Sharon did, and I had enjoyed it, but somehow my adultery and Sharon's just didn't quite seem to be the same offense. Yes, she started it, but I went right along with it. But there was also that part of my brain which believed that adultery was a worse offense for a woman than for a man. Yeah, that's totally sexist and politically incorrect, but that was at least part of how I saw it.

Evening arrived, when Sharon hit me with the question I didn't want to answer. "Roger, you've been kind of quiet all day; is something wrong?"

"Well, I don't know, it's...."

"Is this about last night?"

I hesitated, not really wanting to tell her the truth, but finally came out with, "Yeah, it is."

"Do your regret it that much? Oh, my God, you did fuck Marcie, didn't you? I just assumed that you did, but if that didn't happen,...."

"No, that's not it. Yeah, we did have sex."

At that point, my wife came up and hugged me, and said, "Look, you don't have to worry that I somehow prefer Tim or anything like that. Yeah, he was different, and that's exciting, but I'd always choose you."

"He's not bigger than me?"

She laughed at that. "No, he's not bigger, pretty much the same size, really. And Tim knows what to do with a girl in bed, but so do you. But he's not circumcised, and that makes your dick a lot better. What girl wants to suck an uncircumcised dick?" Sharon really laughed at that.

I kind of laughed, too. "Damn, I never even gave that kind of thing a thought. Really?"

"Yeah, really, at least for me anyway. Marcie never talked about it, and I didn't even know until last night. But really, if you're uncomfortable with what happened, let's just decide we won't swap again. Deal?"

"Yeah, deal."

"OK, I'll call Marcie and let her know that yeah, last night was fun and all, but we'd better not do that again."

That was the end of it. I didn't want to talk about it anymore, and Sharon, well, I don't know if she wanted to say anything more, but if she did, she kept quiet anyway, out of deference to me.

Tim and Marcie? They understood, and not only did we not swap again, the flirting was way turned down. Sharon didn't really seem to think what had happened was a serious mistake, or even a mistake at all; to her, it seemed like just a little fun on the side, no harm, no foul. Whether Tim and Marcie thought it was a mistake, I don't know, because it was a subject that was never, ever, brought up again.

Me? I still struggled with it. Intellectually I knew that it wasn't cheating, because everyone knew what was happening, nothing was hidden away, and I committed adultery just as much as my wife had. But intellectually isn't always the same as emotionally, and that's the part I struggled with, and I don't think I ever accepted the notion that a wife fucking another man isn't somehow worse than a husband fucking another woman. After all, a man whose wife screws someone else is called a cuckold, but no one ever says the same about a woman whose husband has a side chick. If I had expressed that thought to Sharon, she'd laugh at it and call me a sexist pig, which I suppose I am.

We didn't break up over this; we're still married. But somehow, I don't think that I'm quite as happy as I was before.