Four to Tango Ch. 01

I couldn't believe I let him talk me into this. Part of me was excited, but the other part oh so apprehensive. Yes, we'd talked about it. But up until now it had been just that, talk. Very hot, sexual, steamy talk, but talk nonetheless.

I had been something of a wild child during my teenage years, and then for a brief period between marriages, but two marriages and as many children had all but shut out my sexual side. Was it turning 40 that had rekindled something deep inside or was it something else that woke up that long slumbering sexual nymph of my youth. I wasn't sure what it was, but there was no doubt she was back. Correction, I was back. Older, maturer, with a few new tricks up my sleeve and the experience and desire that only age can bring -- I was as insatiable as ever.

Still, I wondered what held me back from fully embracing that part of me? Why was I so apprehensive about tonight?

"It'll just be a few drinks and we'll check out who else is there, what it's like," said my husband. Ever since he found the site about the married "socials" he'd been curious about attending. That's what started all of the talk. And that's what brought us to this point -- about to say goodnight to the kids, goodbye to the sitter and head out the door into uncharted territory.

Now, to be fair, I did agree to this. There really is not a submissive bone in my body, so as apprehensive as I was, I still was fully committed to this journey. And I'd told him I was ready. Was it fair that he posed the question while fucking me? Probably not, I'll say just about anything, and have said many things, while being fucked.

"Tell me. Tell me you want to feel another cock. Tell me you're ready to be fucked," he said.

"Yes, oh God, yes. I want another cock. I want to feel another man fucking me," and, with that, I came.

Totally unfair, but still, I did agree and I wasn't about to back down and chicken out. The old nymph in me was intrigued. I knew my husband loved me and found me irresistible, but could I still turn a head, could I still spark someone's interest? Was I still fuckable?

We spent many nights, over many months, discussing whether or not we were ready to go to one of these socials. Usually the conversation began with "Tell me you want to get fucked." In all honesty, these weren't deep intellectual conversations about the ramifications of fucking other people or other couples. These were horny, hot conversations about role playing and imagining what it would be like to fuck somebody else, together.

Very detailed conversations about what type of man I would like to have fuck me. Older, taller, with a thick covering of salt and pepper chest hair. Not too much, but enough to let you know that you're with a man, not a boy.

There is something about older men that I find irresistible. I'm not sure what it is, exactly, and I'm sure Freud would have a field day with it, but ever since I can remember, it's been older men who can get me hotter faster than the young ones. Maybe it's experience, maybe it's acceptance, I'm not sure, but whatever it is, it works for me. But you know us women, it's not all about the looks. There has to be something else -- I might be getting hornier in my old age, but certainly I'm still selective. Flirt with me. Match wits with me, play with me, show me you can keep up.

Now, none of that makes for fun bedroom talk. Can you imagine that conversation?

"Who do you want to fuck you?" he asks.

"Somebody witty," I answer.

Oh yeah, that's going nowhere fast. So, instead, we role-play. Me with a nameless, older, well endowed man and my husband with an older female. Seems we both have a thing for slightly older people.

Back to now -- we head out the door and ride in relative quiet to the bar. At least it's across town. One of my biggest fears has been walking in and seeing somebody I know. Intellectually, I understand what they are there for, and they're in the same boat we are, but in a way it's like being outed. Like saying to the world (or just those one or two people there that you recognize), "Yes, I'm horny and love to fuck!" It's just not something that usually comes up in conversation, at least not vertical conversations.

The bar is not at all what I thought. But then again, given its relative proximity to the airport, I'm not sure what I should have expected. We were both nervous walking in -- he gave my hand a gentle squeeze, looked over at me and said, "Are you sure you're ok with this?"

"No, but let's do it any way," I answered. With that, we opened the door and walked inside. It was not as dark as I thought it would be, heck, hoped it would be. But it was smoky, with loud music, a cheesy dance floor and a few pool tables. The place was fairly crowded and I got the feeling that we were being checked out.

We found a table closed to the bar and by the dance floor. We sat down, ordered our drinks and looked around the room. So far, so good, I thought. All seemed relatively normal. Tall, short, young, old, thin, not so thin. Your usual mall mix of humanity.

We were alone only for one quick beer.