Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell

Jen was preparing for a rendezvous with a lover. Not that she had told me that directly when announcing she would be away for the upcoming holiday weekend. But when I asked for sex to tide me over until her return, she complied but told me to wear a condom, which was a sure sign.

It fit in with a conversation we had in the early days of our "open marriage."

Jen had asked me to wear a rubber then too, candidly telling me she had accepted an invitation to a beach house from a guy she had met on a business trip, and had a few drinks and laughs with. "A douche is never a hundred per cent effective, and if he goes down on me, which I certainly expect and look forward to, I don't want to have an off-taste," she had explained. "First impressions are always important."

"Maybe he would excuse an off-taste if he knew you're married to a guy who does his best to satisfy his wife," I had commented, with some irony intended because lately she had been leaving her wedding ring in the bedroom bureau.

"You know our rendezvous rules," she had said. "We disclose a minimum of our personal situation, and ask little about the people we hook up with. If he asks me if I'm in a relationship, I won't hide it, and if he tells me his status, I'll listen politely, but too much information is a distraction. It adds unnecessary background, and takes away from the excitement of exploring a new partner." She paused before adding, "And it's best for both of us not to describe too much of what happened when we get home. It can be a downer for your spouse and provoke a bad reaction. 'Don't ask, don't tell' is the best policy."

I reflected that she was probably right about the last part, at least. If Jen was to give details about how well she enjoyed a guy's big cock or clever tongue, how many times he got her off in exotic positions and then was up and ready for more in a short while, I might feel even more anxious and despondent than I already did. It was bad enough knowing I was not good enough to keep her from fucking around on me. I wondered if after being satisfied, she told her lovers how well they did in comparison to her poor husband, who was good for earning a living and paying the bills, but for little else. It occurred to me that I fit the definition of a cuckold.

"I'm sure you don't go into details about me with the ladies you meet, and they don't tell you a lot about their lives either," Jen added.

She was only part right about that. When Jen stepped out on me, I had a tendency to cry on the shoulders of ladies I sought to console me. Probably due to that, I seemed to attract people that drenched my shoulder as well. It did not seem to adversely affect the sex. If anything, wearing hearts on sleeves was often a turn on. Raw emotion from feeling unappreciated and victimized often drew substitute partners in closer and faster, stimulating raw emotion which helped you fuck your brains out.

Having a good fuck was a way to flip the bird at the significant other who was wronging you, and also helped insure you were wanted and appreciated by whoever showed up to rescue you from the doldrums, in case you needed to hook up with them the next time your wife went out exploring.

But to each their own style. There were many ways to skin a cat, as my dad used to say.

* * *

Coming back to the present, I appraised Jen as she gave herself final inspection in the full length mirror. She looked great in a tight, short blue skirt and white blouse that showed off all her charms. We went downstairs and had a farewell kiss at the door. I asked what she could tell me about her plans and ETA without violating our "don't ask, don't tell" agreement.

"I plan on getting back either very late Monday or early Tuesday, in time to clean up and change before going into work. I've left the usual information for you in case I don't show up, or if you get unquenchable curiosity or concern, and just have to know a little more," she said, with a bright smile, "although you shouldn't peek."

She was referring to an envelope that would be in the upper left bureau drawer right beneath her ring. It would have a slip of paper with the guy's name, address and phone number; his work place if she knew it; the address of the premises where she was meeting him and any other information relevant to a missing person search by police or family. I promised that I would not look at it without need.

I had not peeked yet. She was probably right. Ignorance is not bliss, but it may be preferable to unpleasant knowledge. Anyway, there was a growing collection of unopened envelopes in the drawer below the wedding ring.

"How about you?" she asked. "Are you going to play hurt husband, and mope around all weekend when you're not drowning your sorrow in the bars or furiously whacking golf balls with your driver? Or do you have plans of your own for enjoyable recreation with someone you know or are trying to get to know?"

"I may make a couple calls," I told her. "If I do, I'll leave you the same vital information in the same place."

"Okay, good. Well, wish me a good time, and take care of yourself. And if you get a chance, the pool really needs some cleaning." She bounded out the door toward her car, got in and waved cheerfully as she started down the driveway.

"You be careful too," I called out, agitated as always that my wife was fucking around on me and I might lose her to another man, or maybe lose her permanently because her casual lover turned out to be a demented serial killer. I was also irritated that she was directing me to a "honey do" chore while she was off to engage in carnal delights with someone else.

Ignoring the pool, I had my breakfast, which she had been too revved up to fix for us. I did think about going to the driving range to take out my frustration by abusing some poor golf balls, but instead decided on the goose-gander sauce alternative. I called Donna, a longtime friend and part time lover who was adept at consoling me.

"Hello," she answered, over the background noise of caterwauling kids.

"I just recently learned that Jen has something on her agenda this weekend. I'm feeling down and would love some company. Want to go for a long drive in the country, maybe find a little bed and breakfast somewhere and stay the night." Or at least come on over for a quickie tonight or tomorrow, I thought.

"That sounds good, but I have to wait for Ralph to get here. He has the kids this weekend."

"Great. I'll come over."

"Give me a couple hours. I need a time to pack a bag too."

I used the time to research and line up lodging. It was difficult, at the last minute on a big holiday weekend. We left late morning. I started off carping about my wife's infidelity and my own hurt feelings and insecurity, but soon felt my spirits lifting. Weather was fine, and Donna was sympathetic as usual, also looking good in short shorts and a tee that showed off her ample boobs. She had the window open, and her long blonde hair was being whipped around her pretty face. It was hard to believe she had two kids, and that her husband was stupid enough to have let her get away. But I knew him, and he was just that stupid.

"I'm so glad Jen had plans, and you called," Donna said. "I was feeling overwhelmed with domesticity, but also lonely and wondering how to occupy myself without the kids on this long weekend."

"I'm afraid we only have tonight, as most places were booked a long time ago, but I found one with a last minute cancellation for tonight only. The people who reserved had some problem, and were going to be a day late, so the management agreed to let us have the room if we're out early enough tomorrow."

After checking into The Riverside Inn, outside a small town 50 miles away, we set out on a path along a stream bordered by woods on both banks. I helped Donna over twisted roots and up and down some small grades. We paused at a wide spot in the stream that had been made waist deep by loose rocks piled up in a sort of crude dam.

"Let's go in," Donna said. "I'm hot."

"You definitely are, lady," I responded with a wink. She laughed. "But I didn't bring along swim trunks," I added.

"I'll try not to be shocked or offended," she said, "as long as you're not either. And there's no one else around to be scandalized." She put arms up and pulled off her t-shirt, her boobs bouncing in appreciation. Shorts and panties dropped to the ground, and she nimbly stepped out of them. I followed suit, or rather de-suiting.

We leaned together wading through the cool water, and sank down into it mid-stream, Donna giving a little gasp. We soon made our way to the crude dam and found a perch on a large flat rock, just above the water level. Donna made waves kicking her feet, as I appraised her body, my eyes settling on her sculpted bush.

"Like what you see?" she asked. "It's been a while since you visited it. There haven't been any other occupants recently."

I felt a stirring in my loins, and leaned in for a kiss, which became increasingly passionate with tongues intertwined. She threw her arms around my shoulders and mine went around her back, pulling her in close, so I could feel those luscious breasts against my chest.

"Something is rearing up to be noticed," Donna said after we broke off for air. She was looking at my firm dick, which had indeed been inspired. Sliding off the flat rock into the water, she lowered her head to face it, kissing the helmet and licking up and down the underside of the shaft, finally taking it fully into her mouth. Up and down she bobbed, making soft moist sounds with her mouth that mimicked the water flowing over and around the rocks.

I was getting close. "Hold on, let me return the favor," I told her.

She came off me, smiled and eagerly hopped back on the flat rock, spreading her legs, while I took a place in the water, squatting down before her. I spent the next few minutes nibbling at her clit and pussy lips, then inserting my tongue into her. "Mmmmmm," she murmured, her hips gyrating a little. "Oh, where have you been? You are better than any vibrator," she cried, huskily. "Let's do it here."

I stood in the water, my hard dick emerging from it at the level of her seat, as Donna scrunched forward, her pussy at the edge, palms stretched out behind her on the rock to brace herself against the assault to come. My dick quickly entered her, or perhaps it is more accurate to say that her pussy virtually inhaled it, thighs enveloping me, legs encircling my waist. I began thrusting in and out, watching her boobs dance and jump with the rhythm of our middles thrashing together.

"Oh my god, is Jen nuts leaving for an unknown when she could have this," Donna virtually yelled. That made me feel great, replacing my earlier sadness and boosting my male ego. I slowed my pace to extend my time, fucking her slowly, but she did not make it any easier on me, tightening her vaginal muscles to squeeze my dick unmercifully.

"Oh, I'm coming," she screamed, which brought me to my climax as well. As the water rushed around me, I flooded her love box with my cum, adding to the considerable juices she was producing. I had visions of our mingled secretions pouring out of her into the stream, raising the downstream water level into a torrent, drowning hapless swimmers, collapsing bridges, washing away homes.

We stayed joined together for a long while, recovering our energy and our senses, her legs still wrapped around me. Finally, I pulled out and Donna scooted back on the rock, knees bent, feet on the edge, her pussy showing a dripping creampie, a happy smile on her face.

"I am so well fucked," she exclaimed, playfully extending a bare foot to caress my now fairly deflated dick. Then a startled look replaced her smile. I followed her eyes and saw a young couple in their late teens on the riverbank where we had left our clothes.

"You look like you are, lady, and thanks for the show," said the guy with a broad smile. His companion was smiling also, but more timidly.

Donna looked a little abashed at having shouted out her satisfied status. The spell was broken, and we made our way back to the bank and got dressed. The girl averted her eyes, while the guy was chatty. They lived on a street a short distance away through the woods, he said, and often visited the pool to fish or "do what you were doing," he said. The girl seemed to get embarrassed at that. She told her boyfriend not to be rude.

Donna had recovered her own equanimity and also her maternal instincts, feeling sorry for the girl. "Don't be uncomfortable," she said, patting her on the shoulder. "We aren't bothered by you two coming upon us in 'flagrante delicto' and you shouldn't feel shame if you celebrate life just as strongly." She flashed her big, generous smile, and the girl seemed to relax, returning it a little.

"I wish all old people were as cool as you two," the guy said.

We bid them adieu and began making our way back the path the way we had come. "Old people!" I said to Donna when we were out of earshot. "What are we, maybe 10-15 years older than them?" She laughed. I looked back when we were just about out of view, and saw the teens had stripped and made their way to the flat rock seat that we had vacated. The girl hopped onto it. Even from afar, the guy's boner was visible, until he moved forward and positioned himself between her spread legs. I laughed. "Looks as if they're taking your advice to heart," I told Donna.

After a good meal, we took to our room at the inn for a repeat of our afternoon workout, which was just as enjoyable, and we had yet another reprise before leaving the next day. I dropped Donna off at her house, thanking her once again for lifting my spirits.

"Anytime," she said. "What are friends for? Remember, weekend after next my ex will have the kids again, and don't hesitate to give me a call even when you're not in need of consolation."

I reflected that she was indeed a good friend, and that I could easily become very attached to this lady.

Reaching home, I saw that Jen's car was there. She was just finishing a shower when I got up to our bedroom. "I hope that's you?" she called out, hearing me putting away things in my section of the bureau. "And if not, know that my husband will be back any moment."

"It's me," I reassured her. "You're back early," I added, as she came out wrapped in a full towel. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

She made a "so-so" motion with a hand. "Didn't meet up to my expectations. Some guys just seem to live to please themselves, and don't think about satisfying their women friends. I wish I'd stayed home with my considerate hubby, who hasn't failed yet to please me. And I told the shit so on my way out the door." She dropped her towel, pressing her boobs against me as she threw her arms around my shoulders. "Want to play around?"

"I'd like to, but I'm pretty exhausted," I told her. "It'll have to wait until tomorrow."

"Too much golf?" she asked, with a disappointed look.

"No, another type of ball game, wet and wild. Wish I could tell you about it, but it would be against our rules."

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