Emma

My name is John and my wife's name is Jane. We are the quintessential example of a normal married couple. So much so, that I'll use Doe as our surname for the purposes of this monologue. We've been married for almost seven years after meeting in high school, dating for four years and a fourteen-month engagement.

Our sex lives parallel what I believe is typical for most marriages. We had the thrill of young love with the appropriate excitement of pre-marital sex and the exuberance of post wedding sex. Over time, we've settled into routine sex tapering off until now we screw on weekends and occasionally during the week.

Both of us graduated college with solid C average grades. I work as an Associate Creative Director of Art in an advertising firm uptown and Jane teaches at a nearby private school. We've managed to save a little money, buy a house with a substantial mortgage and own one car. We have no children and no investments.

In other words, we're typical, normal Americans.

I also don't put much stock in conspiracy theories or any other attempt to interpret events in any personal or meaningful way. I'm convinced that things just happen, not for a reason. They are either coincidence or random, isolated events and attempts to rationalize them or give them meaning are just imaginative musings or acquiescence to the human attempt to find patterns everywhere. Jane doesn't subscribe to this philosophy. She's more inclined to find a conspiracy behind every tree and it sometimes leads to interesting discussions.

That's why the events of the last few weeks have been so disturbing.

We live in the Bedford Stuyvesant area of Brooklyn. I walk to the Utica Avenue subway station on the IRT line and, daily, I take the roughly forty minute ride on the A train from there to 59th street in Manhattan, which is a short walk to my office. During rush hour, my usual commuting time of day, the train is usually over full; standing room only and more people crowded into the space that is neither safe nor comfortable. Therefore, the concept of personal space is non-existent and bodies frequently rub against each other, sometimes in inappropriate ways.

About a month ago, during the trip home, a woman pushed her breasts against my back when the train shifted. I've been poked by a woman's breasts in the subway hundreds of times. Usually, someone, most likely the woman, shifts her position to avoid a second occurrence. It was different this time. She poked me a second time. That was unusual, but it's happened before. The third time I was sure it wasn't accidental and the fourth time, when she pressed into me and rubbed her breasts side to side on my back, I was convinced it was intentional.

By the time I managed to turn around in the crowd to see who she was, she was gone, pushing her way through the mob toward the door. All I could see was a shock of long brown hair, if I was looking at the right woman. She exited the train at Nostrand Avenue and I was left wondering who she was and what her game was.

I mentioned it over dinner with Jane. She listened for a while and then suggested I was exaggerating. After all "who would do such a thing?" She couldn't conceive of a woman, any woman, deliberately and repeatedly pushing her breasts into a stranger, let alone me. I had to be over emphasizing her actions. Maybe it was a manifestation of something deeply buried inside me. Her solution was to take me to bed for a "special occasion" round of sex, including a rare blowjob, to take my mind off it.

Her efforts were mostly successful. I didn't think about it and had almost forgotten it completely, until it happened again. I was standing, holding my usual pole as the A Train headed south under 8th Avenue. There was the usual throng of people although they were unusually active as they jockeyed for position. Soon after the 42nd Street stop, I felt a body close behind me. Almost immediately, rather large breasts were pressing into my back. I pushed back against them, a move that usually causes someone who accidently leans into you to back off. Instead, she pushed even harder and rubbed her hips against my backside as well. That was enough. I started to turn to catch her in the act. This time in the opposite direction as the last time hoping to see her moving toward the door. She wasn't there and by the time I turned further to check the opposite direction, I couldn't find her in the crowd. I thought I caught sight of her as she exited the train at Nostrand Avenue again but it could have been any woman with shoulder length brown hair.

Jane and I discussed it at dinner again. In an unusual reversal of positions, Jane thought it was just coincidence and I maintained it was deliberate and part of something larger. We couldn't agree on the motivations or lack of them, on the part of the unknown woman but could agree on a supplemental sex session. Not only did Jane provide another blowjob, she strongly encouraged me to orally stimulate her clitoris and nearby vaginal features. I wondered if the image of a mysterious woman coming on to her husband was somehow affecting her libido. I couldn't decide if she was reacting defensively, improving our sexual bonds to decrease the possibility that the mysterious woman was indeed making a move on me and I might consider it or if it was just a reaction to increased sexual desire hearing about it. Either way, I was quite happy with the result and wondered, silently, if it would happen again and I could tell Jane about it. Only time would tell.

I didn't have to wait long. About a week later, someone moved up close behind me after the 42nd Street stop and almost immediately pressed her breasts into my back. I pushed back against her. Not hard enough to discourage her. Just the opposite. I wanted to encourage her to go further. I was interested, and maybe a little excited, to see how far she was willing to go.

She surprised me with her willingness to test the limits. She pushed her breasts harder into my back and began to rub her lower body against my thigh again. When I didn't respond negatively or attempt to turn around, she used her hands to pat and rub small circles on my ass. I moved my backside with her, hopefully communicating my pleasure and encouraging her to go further before we got to Nostrand Avenue.

She went further. She reached between my legs and moved her hand up my trousers intent on finding the parts that uniquely identify me as a male. She easily found the family jewels and she was on her way to confirming my erection when I, without warning, reached down and grabbed her hand between my legs.

The result was a uniquely comical, and somewhat embarrassing, position, even on the New York City subway. I was half bent over with my hand between my legs. However, the woman behind me and the cause of my dilemma was standing there with her other arm at her side as if nothing was amiss. I looked up and at least six men were looking at me and two of them were trying to give me, and themselves, some room.

Behind me, the woman began to laugh. I knew that laugh. I let go of her hand and turned around. This time the woman was there, waiting for me and still laughing. "Emma," I said, "what the hell are you doing?"

"Just having a little fun. "I've always wanted to do that and when I saw you I couldn't resist. If you're determined to be inappropriate, who better than with someone you know?"

"And it was you the last time?" I asked.

"The last time?" she replied.

"Yeah. This is the third time someone has done something like this to me on the train in the last few weeks. Tell me it was you all three times," I pleaded.

She stood there looking as if I had lost my mind and she had nothing to do with it. I couldn't read her expression and began to worry. After a suitably pregnant pause, she said, "Of course it was. Who else?"

I breathed a sigh of relief. "You could have confessed more quickly. I was beginning to get worried."

"That just added to the fun," she offered.

"You're a hard woman," I said.

"Not as hard as you," she retorted.

The conversation was going downhill fast, at least for me. Emma seemed quite comfortable with the direction as she smiled at me and waited to hear what I might say. I changed the topic. "What are you doing on the subway?" I asked.

"I'm working with a group in midtown, near the bus terminal and the subway is convenient and fast from Brooklyn. How about you?"

"I work uptown and I've been using the train for years."

The Nostrand Avenue stop was next and she moved toward the door. I followed her and got off the train with her to continue the conversation. I discovered that she lived, with her husband, Oscar, not far from us in Brooklyn. We exchanged contact information, committed to getting together as a foursome. As she turned to leave, she reached up, put her had behind my neck, pulled me toward her and planted a glorious kiss on my lips. I took the next train to Utica Avenue.

On the walk home, I debated whether to tell Jane about Emma. Based on her previous response, I'd be foolish not to. However, I couldn't predict her reaction if I told her how far Emma had gone and that I had not objected. By the time I reached our brownstone, I had decided to keep mum.

If Jane noticed I was later than usual, she didn't mention it. However, I failed to fully consider the strength of a woman's intuition and Jane's intuition was exceptionally strong. At dinner she asked it anything unusual had happened today.

"Unusual?" I asked.

"You know. Did any women tease your backside with their tits?"

Busted. No way could I avoid telling her. "I met Emma on the train on the way home."

Jane knew who Emma was. Emma and Jane had been sorority sisters in college. Jane had always described Emma as "the wild one" and I had been dating Emma when I met Jane. My relationship with Emma hadn't reached the "I'll show you mine if you show me yours" phase when I met Jane but Jane had never believed we hadn't played "hide the salami" already. We hadn't seen Emma since graduation.

"Emma, hunh?"

Her tone told me everything I needed to know. I imagined sleeping in the guest room later. "Yeah, Emma. She's working in midtown, she's married and they're living in Flatbush about a mile from here."

I knew the next question was coming. "Was she the woman sexually harassing you on the subway?"

"I wouldn't describe it that way but, yes, she was. She told me that when she saw me she couldn't help being a little playful."

"You had time to talk to her?"

"Some."

"Did she try to be 'playful' today?"

"She did but I caught her at it. Once I knew who it was, I was relieved."

"I'll bet you were," she said.

I wondered if she'd let me have a pillow. "Come on. Don't be that way. She's harmless. There's nothing between us; there never was and there's not going to be now. You're the only woman I need or want."

"You're sweet. You really mean that don't you?"

Pillow secured. "I do."

What she did next took me completely by surprise. She came over to my side of the table and sat on my lap. She ran her fingers through my hair, wiggled her ass against my cock and kissed me. "Forget cleaning up. Come with me."

I hadn't gone to bed that early since elementary school. We didn't get more sleep. We did get more physical. Without rushing, we helped each other get naked and we jumped in the bed together. Jane pushed me down on the bed and went for my genitals with both hands and her mouth. She worked on me on her hands and knees. She moved around until I could play with clitoris and labia while she sucked on my erection. That didn't last long. She straddled my head and we both entertained each other orally. We'd had some unusual oral exercises in the past but this was the first time we had worked simultaneously. Jane obviously enjoyed the position and she came first, leaving a thin coating of mucus on my face. That doubled her efforts and I came strongly in her mouth. That wasn't a first, but her swallowing it was.

The rest of the evening was an adventure. We slept some, fucked more and generally acted like a couple making their first porn movie.

About two in the morning, Jane said, "John, I have a confession to make."

"I'm listening."

"When you first told me about the woman on the train, it brought back memories of when I was in college. I could have been that woman and thinking about it made me horny. The thought of another woman wanting what I have actually made me wet."

"That explains a lot," I said.

"There's more."

"Okay, I'm all ears."

"When you told me it was Emma it brought back more memories. I never told you, but if Emma was the 'wild one' we were the 'wild two.'"

"You lost me."

"Emma and I hung around together, a lot. Our relationship went a lot further than the secret handshake."

"Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?"

"Probably. We slept together. Often and not for the rest. I've probably spent more time in Emma's pussy than her husband."

"And her in yours?"

"True and when you mentioned her name, all those memories came back and I miss it."

"You miss having sex with another woman?"

"Not just any woman. Emma. Are you angry with me?"

"No. Never. It all happened before we met. How could I be mad?"

"Most of it," she said.

"Oh," I said.

"But nothing since we graduated," she added defensively.

"It's okay. I guess this isn't the time to mention that she suggested we, the four of us, get together sometime."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Jane speculated. "If she's like me, she'd want to fuck me again and you too."

"Not again. The first time." It was my turn to be defensive.

"I believe you. Why would you lie after what I've just told you?"

"Thank you for that. What about seeing them? You know she's going to see me on the train again and I'd bet my last dollar she'll ask again."

"Can we think about it and talk later?"

"Sure."

She rode me into the sunrise and, somehow, we managed to clean up and go to work in the morning.

I took a later train home for a few days but, eventually, Emma tracked me down and she did renew her suggestion of a get together. I realized how serious she was when she kissed me goodbye again before she got off the train at Nostrand Avenue.

Jane and I talked about it that evening. She thought an evening together might be fun and tense at the same time. She shared that she was both excited and terrified at the prospect of spending time with Emma and her husband. Excited at the prospect of renewing the relationship with Emma and terrified that Emma would end up fucking me and her husband would want to fuck her as well.

I opined that we didn't really know what was in Emma's mind.

"She poked you in the back with her tits and kissed you twice. I think it's a safe bet that she'd likely like to fuck us both. I don't know how to react to that. I can easily imagine having sex with her but her having sex with you gives me pause. My sexual self tells me it would be a reasonable exchange and that I'd be okay with it after I'd had my fun with her. My sense is that you'd manage to deal with both of us having sex with her. The only real unknown is her husband. Do I want to fuck him and do you want to see me fuck him."

"In this moment, I can't imagine you with any other man. In the emotion of a sexually charged evening, I can't predict how I might feel. I can imagine I might even encourage it if I thought you were high on it."

"Do you think we could see them with the option of leaving at any time if things got out of hand?"

"As long as our hormones don't cloud our minds and make us stupid."

"I think we're over thinking this thing. I think we want to and we're rationalizing it to cover what we really want to do."

"What the hell then. Why not give it a try? What's the risk?" Jane offered.

"Jane," I said, "if we do this, no matter what happens, I'm your guy and you're my gal and nothing will ever change that."

"I feel the same way. Go ahead and set something up."

"I think you should call. I don't want to encourage her."

"And you think, with our history, my calling her would be less encouraging?"

"Right. I'll call her."

I set something up for a week from the coming Friday. Dinner, drinks and conversation at Emma's and Oscar's. Tension in our house increased as the date neared. Neither of us knew what to expect and we tried to prepare as well as we could. Jane insisted that I come home early on Friday and we have intense sex before we left to offset whatever sexual signals Emma might send. I thought her idea might actually have the opposite effect, priming the pump so to say, but who was I to disagree with her?

I followed through on Jane's suggestion and worked a half day. After showers, I watched Jane prepare. She put on a thin, almost see through black bra and a skimpy matching thong. I got hard looking at her before I asked, "I haven't seen those yet. Are you anticipating something tonight?"

"Better to be prepared," she answered. "You should do likewise."

I didn't have sexy underwear and the Jock strap I wore on the few occasions I played tennis seemed wrong. I settled on a dark blue pair of Haines briefs and a matching t-shirt.

The rest of Jane's outfit was equally tempting. She wore her little black dress that I hadn't seen in years, nylons and three-inch black heels. A triple strand of pearls with matching earrings completed her ensemble. I couldn't come close to matching her appeal. I wore a button down blue striped shirt, light tan Dockers and loafers without socks.

"Damn, you look incredible," I stated. "Maybe we should stay home and you can have your way with me."

"Don't be silly. We told Emma and Oscar we were coming to dinner and we're going to dinner. You can ravish me when we get home if you still have the energy."

"Well, I hope Oscar doesn't have a stroke when he sees you. Lack of blood flow to the brain can be very dangerous."

"Cut it out," she said as she headed for the door.

We drove the short distance to Emma's and Oscar's and luckily found a parking space only three doors up from theirs. We rang the front bell at one minute after seven. Emma answered the door. Her outfit was very different from Jane's but no less inviting. She wore a bright print dress split on her right side up to her waist and to her navel between her breasts. If she was wearing underwear, I don't know where she was hiding it. She was barefoot with no jewelry.

She greeted us warmly. A handshake and air kisses for me and a hug for Jane. Oscar was socially polite as he introduced himself and shook both our hands. We had a drink and dinner was excellent with two bottles of Nickel & Nickel 2010 Cabernet State Ranch wine.

After dinner we moved to their living room for after dinner drinks and conversation. We caught up with each other and shared memories of time together in college. Several times, either Emma or Jane would introduce a comment that could lead to a more personal conversation, including sex, but, each time, Oscar would deflect the topic and begin to discuss something different.

While Oscar was reticent about discussing sensitive topics, he was unable to avoid interest in Jane and especially how she was dressed. After Jane's and my conversations leading up to this meeting, I was hyper sensitive to activities that might be sexual in nature and Oscar's roving eyes, frequently returning to watch Jane, were quickly on my radar. Jane was aware of Oscar's interest as well. I watched while she, while appearing to focus elsewhere, subtly separated her legs to improve Oscar's view. I had the urge to change places with him to see how far she was going for myself but restrained myself and enjoyed the pleasure I got while watching Oscar and his obvious pleasure.

At one point, Jane excused herself and slid forward on the sofa to stand up. In the process, her skirt slid up on her thighs and she flashed her thong for a half second before she stood and smoothed down her skirt. We all noticed but no one commented. Oscar almost fell off his chair.