Inferidelity Ch. 03 - Family

My wife was sitting on our back patio, drinking an iced tea. I walked up behind her and said hello. I had seen the notifications about the bank deposits only a few hours before. I anticipated she would want to tell me the justification for them, and my instinct was correct.

"I have something to tell you," she began.

"About the money in our bank account?" I said, calmly. I think she was surprised by how calm and collected I was.

"Yea."

She squirmed a bit. I knew something was amiss.

"I know when you're hiding something," I said with a coy tone, "You can come out with it."

A smile accompanied a light shake of her head. She was amused.

"I want to be clear," she said, putting her hands out for emphasis, "Since the store, I haven't had any sexual contact with another man and I don't have feelings for anyone but you. No more games about that. I want that to be clear."

Her eyes met mine and I didn't react. I could tell she felt comforted by my lack of a reaction.

"But...after that stunt you pulled at that store..." she sighed, "I've been so ...sexually amplified I can barely think. And I had our first experience to compare with our second ...and I realized something that was incredibly inconvenient. Like an addiction to cigarettes or a broken foot. Incredibly, incredibly inconvenient."

She ran her fingers along her cheeks.

"I...have a very serious sexual proclivity for...men of Patel's....complexion."

I nodded, "Indian men?"

"Yes," she replied with enthusiasm, "Like...it overtakes me. And I can't control it."

For a while, her revelation just floated in the air. She continued.

"I just didn't have such long, lingering attractions after the stupid thing we did in the store. But these attractions have been...around for a very long time. They're intense. And it's not going anywhere."

I sat back a bit, "Ok." I didn't feel strongly in any way. After she assured me she hadn't cheated, I didn't see why I would.

"As...you ...certainly know ...I've been horny just about every hour of the day and out of the clever blue sky...I got out of a meeting at work, and I just needed to be somewhere that was sexual. I can't articulate it. I needed to be some place like where I was when we were at that party or in that store...some place where people were sexual. So...I randomly went into a strip club."

My eyes went a little wide, "My PTA president, church-going wife went into a strip club,"

"Hey!" she said, "Don't judge, ok? Don't judge."

"A club with...female dancers?"

She blushed, "Yes, but...I don't like the girls or anything. It wasn't like that...I just wanted to be someplace where I could feel erotic, you know...dirty. I can't explain it."

I rested my temples on my fingers as I leaned into the chair, "Go on,"

"So....yea. I thought a strip club at noon on a Thursday would be gross. And super pathetic. But...it was clean. And, pretty girls were there. And...lots of men."

I grinned a bit, "Indian men."

She nodded, "Like, a bunch. I know Patel went to those places but...man. He isn't the only Indian guy at a strip club."

I shrugged, "They're immigrants in an all white community. A lot of them work in tech jobs and come overseas by themselves-"

"Right!" she said, interrupting, "I know this because I started striking up conversations with them. Five of them, actually. I mean...they're there every day."

"You've...been to the strip club multiple times?"

She kind of sighed, "Every lunch break...for, like...a month."

I was taken aback. "Wow," I said.

She sighed, "I just...it's where I'm supposed to be. I have these great, long form conversations with the dancers, the DJ, the servers, the guys...it's where people like you and me can kinda...be ourselves."

I was shaking my head repeatedly, "This is totally ridiculous."

"It is!" she exclaimed, "But I just go, I have a drink, and I talk. I talk to my guys like they're people and not perverts...it calms down whatever the hell is wrong with me."

"Did you talk about...what we did?"

She swallowed, "Yes. A lot. And how it made me feel. And how I feel about a lot of things."

"So..." I said, "It's like therapy."

She nodded, "That's why my guys go there," she said, once again referring to the Indian men with a term of endearment, "It's better than that counselor we went to see. You can be yourself, be sexual, be open."

Personally, I had only visited a strip club twice in my life. Once as a curious teenager and again for a bachelor party. Each time I found them to be off-putting and weird. And yet, I could almost see where she was coming from. The strippers were candid because they had nothing to lose chatting up a caddy housewife. The men were horny and trying to fuck her. All of our sexual experiences led to her having bottled up emotions she couldn't share with anyone in her life. In a way, her identity had split, with an innocent, loving housewife being presented to the world. Beneath the surface, she was trying to reconcile that same innocent housewife occupying the mind and body of a woman who had taken the cum of two complete strangers...and loved it.

"The money..." I said, pointing out the $50,000 elephant in the room.

She sat up, "So these five guys...they never hit on me. I see them looking me up and down, but they aren't sexually aggressive. If anything, they're totally passive. I don't know if it's their culture or what, but they're so utterly polite. Very, very obedient. And they're fucking in love with me."

I nodded, "Ok..."

"So...they got all this courage up...I could tell it took them days to get the balls to ask me about something. I thought they'd ask me to do a lap dance. Or to flash them. Instead...they just wanted me to make a snapchat account."

So she was sexting strange men...right?

"Ok...are you sending them nude pictures?"

She shook her head, "No. They said they just want me to snapchat them every day. Everything about my life. For a year. And to come to the club, twice a week. And I promised to send them sexual pictures...eventually."

There was just no way this was all true.

"They're paying you ten grand, each, to watch you snapchat everything you do? You're lying to me."

"Baby, no, I'm not. I promise."

"How is this possible?"

She shrugged, and in her eyes I could see she was telling the truth. "I was with Patel. They know all about it. They know I liked it. All of them want a wife and kids...they're traditionalist guys with permanent blue balls. And they're really, really lonely. I just think...they get the tits and ass from the strippers and..."

I waited for her to proceed speaking as she looked at me, expecting me to infer something.

"...they get the mom and wife from me."

I threw up my hands.

"I'm supposed to get the mom and the wife from you. Our child is supposed to get the mom and the wife from you. Not a bunch of horny single Indian men."

She shook her head, "I...what? You get to force me to have sex with strangers but I can't snapchat myself baking a cake?"

I shook my head, "I don't like sharing this side of you. I mean...what do they think this is? That you're kinda sorta their wife, in a fantasy sense?"

"Yea. Something like that. The family with the white girl they always wanted. One who 'went desi' and liked it. They all know Patel, they know how...unkempt he is. They're practically Brad Pitt compared to him."

"You're basically an ultra rare commodity, huh?"

"Uhh, yea. How many clean-living white girls go into your favorite strip club and tell you they made love to an Indian guy? They look at me like I'm a diamond."

I shook my head, "That doesn't add up to $50,000."

Her eyes disagreed with me, "They think there's a spark in me. That if they nurture it I'll leave you and "go desi" forever."

I laughed, "That's...I mean, I know you'll always have your head on straight. But...are they right? Are they that far off?"

She was very quiet for a bit. Her voice dimmed, "I look at this like a hobby."

There wasn't a lot of certainty in her response. It made me a little uncomfortable. I jostled in my seat, "So they're...dorks? Passive? Too nice? Gullible?"

Her hands went up in a shrug, "Or all of the above?"

I had to laugh again, "This is nuts."

"Right! I mean, who wouldn't take that kind of money..."

Since the story had been told, I took a moment to think in silence.

"Do they know about me?" I asked.

"They...really want to meet you."

I was perplexed, "What?"

"The more they know about our marriage...the more these guys live the fantasy. That's my theory anyway."

I shook my head, "That's the weirdest thing I've ever heard..."

"Come with me next week," she said in a flat, direct manner.

I sighed, "Strip clubs are gross and this whole situation is beyond weird..."

"There's strippers..." she said, enticingly, "Tits. Lots of tits."

My eyebrows raised, "Are you going to let me get a lap dance?"

She giggled, "I want you to do more."

I was taken aback, "What...?"

Her eyes looked to the patio, "Two men were...." she trailed off, failing to find the right term, "You let it happen and we shared it. But...we're not equal. We're off balance."

I shook my head, "I don't know if letting me get a handjob from some coked-up twenty-year old is going to fix that."

It took her a bit, but she found the courage to say something that felt a bit arrogant.

"Once you have a change of scenery...it opens up your eyes. Your pores, your senses," she said, "I think you deserve to feel that way."

I nodded and thought for a moment. I stood to get up,

"We don't need to complicate this any more than it already is."

She rolled her eyes, "You do not want to go back to the same old same old."

I shifted a bit and looked around. I got out of my chair and knelt beside her. My hands found their way to her lap and she grasped onto them.

"First, I think you're an insane person," I said. She smiled.

"Second, I know it's your job as a wife to not lie to me about this sort of thing. And I want to thank you for not crossing any lines. But I wished you would have talked to me about all of this."

She nodded, "I know, I'm sorry."

Her acknowledgement that she'd acted inappropriately made me feel better about the situation.

"And last...if we let people into our lives, then either of us can shove them back out of it. No questions asked. This is fun, and it's for our marriage. You and me before all else."

She closed her eyes as she nodded, "Of course. No matter what. I want you to come with me to the club. Just once, to see if you like it. I'll get tired of it eventually. But...I want to see if you'll like it as much as I do."

She was my wife, and she knew what I liked, and she seemed to have a deep understanding about how our relationship evolved.

"I'll think about it," I said. A strong-silent type like Gary Cooper never gives a straight answer. After hearing my answer, she blushed a little with excitement.

I can almost sense what you're thinking: this was too weird and too non-sexual to be true. And I agree with you. I laid awake for several nights, contemplating how Nicole was lying to me. She didn't have the initiative to just walk into a strip club...Patel was the one who liked strip clubs. Had she been in contact with him? Or did she meet these men online and get goaded into attending? Had she really never touched anyone or done anything sexual? There was something wrong with her answers.

--

A month later, the club DJ was ranting to me about girlfriend troubles.

"I gotta say man, I hate laying all this on you, but I consider us friends."

I shrugged, "Preach brother, I'll listen."

His assessment wasn't wrong. Every lunch break we had, all week long, my wife and I took an hour out of our mundane lives and entered into our own, hypersexual world. And we loved it. I absolutely loved it. Every day it felt like such a taboo, crazy thing to do. If any of our neighbors or friends knew we visited the place daily we'd be looked at sideways by everyone we know..

What surprised me the most was the classiness and the cleanliness. The service was good, the floors were clean, smoking was banned, and a man in a suit greeted me every time I went to the restroom. This particular club was anything but a hole in the wall.

I thought I was too old to get a rise out of seeing nude young women. I also thought the age-old stereotypes about strippers being damaged, mentally unstable nutcases was at least somewhat true. But, the quality of girls was so otherworldly at this club I felt like I was on another planet when I walked in the door. As sacreligious as it sounds, some of them were almost as attractive as my absolute stunner of a wife.

Our routine had grown over time. We drove separate from our jobs, meeting inside. Usually she arrived first. I would walk in and pay the cover charge, say hello to the regulars, and walk right back to the VIP party room: a large couch-lined room separated from the club by a curtain, sizable enough to hold a dozen people. Her benefactors always rented the place out for at least a couple of hours and, if one of them had the day off, they reserved it all day. Typically I would be greeted by my wife sitting as close as possible to one of her "boys," their arm draped around her as tightly as she would allow it.

They would be having a spirited conversation about any manner of things as she sipped on a mixed drink. Sometimes all five would be present, captivated by her completely and totally. Other times it was a mixed crowd. Sometimes she was one-on-one with a boy, and I caught her more than a few times nearly touching noses with them during intense flirting sessions. Whenever I asked if a kiss had transpired at any point, she denied it, saying she just liked having "fun" when she had one of "them" alone.

I sat and talked with each man quite a bit. There was Muhammed, Sai, Krish, Rajesh and Kamal. They all blended together, wearing fresh new clothes from the same brands, spending extra time on their hair and grooming, smelling like a million bucks. My wife mentioned to them that she liked facial hair and, low and behold, they each had a beard within weeks.

Rajesh and Kamal had the thickest, most grown-in beards. Between the two, Rajesh was the most physically built while my wife readily admitted Kamal was the cutest of the bunch. If she laughed longer at a joke or put an admiring hand on someone's chest, it was with Kamal or Rajesh.

Dancers came in and out of the room, each of them with some kind of a relationship with one of the men. Naturally, they were more scantily clad than my wife in her office apparel. While they were in the room, they were the center of attention. You could see the jealousy paint over my wife's face whenever a dancer was present, especially if they were topless. The queen didn't like disruptions in her kingdom.

As for me, I found that I did enjoy the dancers. Yes, some of them had drug and mental health issues. However, some had endearing stories. My favorite, if I had to choose, was Jessica, who went by the stage name Heartland. She was born in a trailer and wanted a graduate degree. She had erstwhile, hungry green eyes that were as big as the sun and a body that was pulled tight. My wife had the most incredible breasts I had ever seen, but I couldn't escape supply and demand. I wanted to touch Heartland's pert, grapefruit tits and feel her muscular abs. On the occasions when I was the first to get to the club, I had enjoyed two truly private lap dances with Heartland. I knew it was all fake, all a facade but after each dance I was completely enamored with her. After our second encounter, it took me a good day or so to stop thinking about her constantly. Still, nothing turned me on more than all the taboo-infused teasing my wife was doing in the party room.

And it translated into our marriage. This wasn't like the two other occasions we had stepped outside our traditional boundaries. This created a deeper love and understanding between us that was unlike anything I had ever felt. It truly felt as though we could admit deeply selfish, inconvenient truths to one another...the types of things couples never dare speak aloud. All of our boundaries were crumbling and yet our affection and trust in one another was blooming.

Nothing sexual had been suggested from any of the men who doted on my wife. They talked to her about what pornstars they liked, and relished when she delved into her own sexual tastes, but they didn't place any requests. For all intents and purposes, we could have kept on with the teasing for some time. That particular afternoon, however, my wife wanted to shake things up.

"I want to see their dicks," she had texted me before I left the office for the club, "You're in control. You can say no."

After contemplation and a little hesitation, I texted back:

"No touching"

She "liked" that text, showing agreement.

"This is an escalation," I texted, "They'll want more."

Once again, she "liked" the text. Was she acknowledging she understood? Or did she "like" that it might escalate further? I felt an urgency to get to the club.

When I walked through the privacy curtain, she was sitting one-on-one with Sai. A silky black button-down blouse adorned her body, which was perhaps the most risque thing she could wear to work without drawing stares. Her lips were adorned with a risque gloss that she probably applied on the way to the club. Based on how excited Sai was to see me, I knew she had already discussed our plan to escalate things.

She stroked the back of his head.

"Today is going to be special," she said. She leaned in and whispered something in his ear.

Since I was in the party room with the five men so often, it was hard not to notice the erections straining against their pants. In a way, I began to feel bad for them. As weird as it sounds, it seemed almost fair and kind to let the man get some relief. After her message, he happily removed his penis from his trousers, making sure to cup his balls and push them past the fabric.

"Great, that's great, I love the way it looks" she muttered with seduction. "Don't tell the other guys I asked you this but, do you ever... you know...touch yourself...when you think about me?"

Never has there ever been a more softball question in the history of the world. Sai nervously nodded yes as he stroked himself with the tips of his fingers. Nicole unbuttoned the top of her blouse and exposed a bit of her chest.

"Do you want to...unbutton me...?"

He huffed and agreed with a drooping smile. With one hand he reached forward and unbuttoned the next button on her blouse while he began to masturbate. We didn't discuss letting him pleasure himself, or unbuttoning her blouse, but I didn't feel threatened so I didn't object.

I wish I had some sordid tale to tell but...midway through fumbling with the third button, as my wife's buxom chest naturally pressed forward out of its confines and exposed her white lace bra, he came all over himself. My wife let out an audible "oh!" and laughed off the situation. As he started to try to compose himself, my wife offered to run to the bathroom to get a paper towel. This left me sitting in a room with a young man, covered in his own gizz, his soiled hand awkwardly at his side.

"This...this very, very embarrassing," he said after a long silence.

I couldn't help but laugh. He joined me. Sai seemed like a good guy and I seized on our moment of candor to get an answer to my most pressing question.

"So...Sai....what is it about my wife that has you so enamored with her?" I asked, genuinely curious about his response. Up until that point we had only enjoyed short discussions about people at the club and his job.

He thought for a moment about his response. "You go on porn site, " he said with a thick accent, "You type in 'white girl indian guy' or 'white girl desi guy', you know what comes up? Nothing."