Passion & Perspective Ch. 24-25byadamgunn©
This is a novel of twenty-five chapters. I suggest you begin reading at Chapter 1. The novel deals with hotwifeing and cuckoldry. If those are subjects you aren't interested in, you may reconsider reading this.
Please read my statement regarding anonymous comments in my biography.
I was tangled in the afternoon chill with Bobbie, I had my back against the head board, she was on my lap, we were trying to rock back and forth, but mainly it was Bobbie's work, her breasts fluttering as she bounced. It was a comfortable position for me, I was able to let Bobbie do pretty much as she liked as I stroked her body, agitated her clit with a hand, I heard her little shrieks start, she went on and on, as good a come as she'd had with me in months.
She clamped it off when we heard the hotel room door click and Molly and Nick entered, huge coats and boots still displaying the white powder of the winter. "Oh, don't let us stop you," Nick said, "as if we could."
"We won't," Bobbie agreed, and rolled over, pulled me on top of her. The other couple travelled through the connecting door to our other room, I went to work on Bobbie, plunging in and out, shallow and deep, and soon I not only had her in explosion again, but I came too, a wonderful little gushing that curled the hairs on my arms.
I rolled off, Bobbie said, "Thank you! That was fantastic," and we huddled together under the covers, whispering endearments, soothing each other after the sex.
The four of us had come up to the ski lodge in the mountains, four hours from home, to celebrate my sixtieth birthday and escape the late February blahs that had overtaken the skies and the hearts of people, for a frenzy of frolicking on the slopes, in the pool, yes, and in the bed. On Friday, we'd arrived and after a pleasant dinner we'd retired to our two rooms, attached by an interior door, and there became enamored, first Molly and Bobbie had decided to have a little girl/girl play while Nick and I observed and made unhelpful suggestions. That morphed into a pile of people, girls bouncing between men, penises stroked by whichever female hand was available, clits sucked by mouths that might or might not belong to a spouse, I have no doubt that passersby in the hallway heard numerous calls of mating women, and then Nick and Bobbie had crawled off to sleep in the other room.
In the morning Molly wanted to slumber, she'd been doing a lot of that lately, I peeped in on the other couple, they were canoodling but when Bobbie saw me she waved me in on the side Nick wasn't using, we made a sandwich of the woman.
The morning had been spent in the swimming pool and hot tub, and after lunch Nick and Molly had decided to take a walk through the cold to a nearby art gallery, while Bobbie and I chose to drown ourselves again. But while we were theoretically changing into swimsuits the urge had taken over, and we'd not made it out of the room. Which is where we were when Nick and Molly walked in on us.
Ten minutes after we'd finished, Nick stuck his head in the room and asked, "Mind if I come in?"
"Of course not," Bobbie greeted her husband, "but I think I'm all used up right now. Where's Molly?"
"She's in the tub, I washed her back and she's relaxing." To my surprise Nick was still dressed in jeans and turtleneck, instead of joining us he sat in a chair. "Don, I wonder if everything's okay with Molly. She seems so tired, and on the way back here she had to stop a couple of times, short of breath."
"I noticed that too," Bobbie popped in, "last night she told me she was having heartburn."
"Yeah," I agreed, "it's been going on a couple of weeks now, just being tired and having indigestion. I asked her if anything's wrong, she told me she's fine, she's busy at work, she's hoping the rest this weekend will get her out of it."
"You should get her to see a doctor, I'm a little worried."
"I'll try," I agreed, "but you know Molly."
That night after dinner we decided to go to one of the bars, a guy with a guitar was having a sing-along of oldies, half an hour later Molly decided she was tired, I took her to bed, lied down with her while she drifted off, awhile later I heard Nick and Bobbie come in but I didn't want to leave Molly.
The next day, while Nick was driving home, my phone lit up with a text. Surprisingly, it was from Amy, it read, 'i'd love to c u sometime.' I tucked it away, not bothering the group with it. But it got me to thinking as the miles passed. I hadn't heard from Amy since that fateful cup of coffee months previously, she'd not responded to my Easter card, and to an extent I no longer pined for her. I decided that during the week I'd give her a call, maybe meet her for a drink, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to restart our affair, I was at peace with her memory.
Tuesday at work I got a phone call. "This is Don."
"Hi, Don, this is Peter." Molly's boss, I knew him from Christmas parties and company outings. "Listen, during a meeting Molly had a problem, some pain in her chest, and we took her to the emergency room."
Needless to say I told my own boss and scurried out. When I got to the hospital she was in a bed, wires dangling everyplace, a resident making nervous expressions attending to her. "Well, I guess this counts as seeing the doctor, doesn't it?" Molly tried to joke, although I could see from the tension in her face that her pain was serious. The resident couldn't, or wouldn't, give us any information, and then they trucked Molly off to XRay. A couple hours later, she was bedded in a private room, she was going to spend at least the night there for observation. And then our family doctor came in and gave us the news. "You're having a heart attack, it looks like at least two of the arteries are severely blocked, the indications are for bypass surgery."
Two mornings later she was on the table for six and a half hours, the surgeons told me it had gone well, she was expected to recover successfully.
For the next two months I played nursemaid while pain and depression was rampant. Nick and Bobbie and Mark and many of our dozens of vanilla friends were supportive, visiting and sending cards or gifts. Molly tried to be gracious, but she had a bit of a problem with losing her temper, the doctor said it was normal.
I never got around to calling Amy, somehow she didn't seem at all important to me.
It was a Saturday afternoon, nine weeks after the attack. Molly had gone back to work part time that week and we decided to take a brisk walk through the neighborhood. It was a warm, humid spring day, we sweated profusely, and when we got home Molly headed to the shower. "Want me to wash your back?" I offered.
"I'd like that."
We were both under the spray, I knew that Molly's scar was still tender from the way she winced when I used the washrag gently on it, and when she took the cloth from me she soaped my back and I turned around, she washed my chest and then, for the first time since the surgery, she reached for my genitals. "Has it been hard for you, no sex?"
"Not at all," I responded, and it was the truth. Oh, I'd masturbated some, but it had been no problem waiting for her to get ready.
"Have you seen anybody? Bobbie, Amy?"
"No, I wouldn't do that without you. And I certainly wouldn't have done it behind your back."
"That's sweet. If you'd have asked, I'd have said yes." She came into my arms, I felt her breasts against my chest, we kissed. "It's been a long time, hasn't it? What do you say to a nice time?"
"That sounds pretty good to me. You're ready?"
"Yeah, I think so."
We got out of the shower, dried each other, walked to the bed. The first time after surgery I was cautious, even though Molly had been told by her doctor that sexual activity wouldn't be a problem, I'm sure she still had trepidations. I let her take the lead, we kissed and petted for awhile, I went down on her and she seemed to have a little orgasm, and then, when I entered her in our gentle position, we took it easy, with help from my fingers she had another nice come, and when I got all tingly and filled her up, it was wonderful.
We laid there for awhile, cuddling, and then she asked me what I wanted for dinner.
Over the next month, we had sex a couple of times a week, we became comfortable with each other's bodies again, we worked up to the more demanding, ambitious positions, never quite getting above 4 or 5 on the difficulty scale. But then, even before the attack, we rarely got more than a 7, so we felt pretty good about it.
One night we were lying in bed, sweaty and happy, and Molly said, "I heard from Bobbie today. They'd like us to come over for dinner next weekend."
"Do you want to go?" I inquired carefully.
"I want to see them. They're nice people, and were real friends when I was in the hospital. But dear, I'm not sure I want to get back into the Lifestyle." She paused for my response, I wanted more explanation, waited her out. "Since the heart attack, I've had this strange feeling I'm living on borrowed time, and I want to spend it on things that really mean something. It's not that I didn't like the sex, but there's a part of me that says, 'enough's enough.'"
"You feel that way now, but down the line do you think you might change your mind?"
"If I do, then we can always revisit the topic, can't we? And by the way, I'm saying that I'm going to opt out, I'm not asking you to."
"You mean you wouldn't mind if next weekend I took Bobbie up to the bedroom while you played Parcheesi with Nick?"
"I think I'd want you to be a little more discreet than that. But, yeah, if you want to get together with Bobbie, and she and Nick are willing, I wouldn't have any problems with it. Or anybody else. Just the way you were with me at the start, with Mark."
"Thank you, my love," I answered, "but we've always been in this together. And I'm going to stick with you, till the high water comes. If you're out of the game, so am I. It's no problem, I've still got you, I always will."
We went back to cuddling, warming each other, until we drifted serenely off to sleep.
When the next weekend came around, we had a lovely dinner with Nick and Bobbie, and when we explained our decision about temptation, they were understanding and supportive. Molly said Mark was fine with it when she told him over a dinner. We still get together with them often, and if the others we met in the Lifestyle have no use for us any more, we made three wonderful friends through our erotic hobby.
I really am fine with our decision, I don't burn for another lover, and the remembrances of our playtimes often spark our now companionless love life.
It's all a matter of perspective.
And so it concludes, this tale of Molly and Don. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I relished writing it. If you managed to make it through I'd appreciate an email telling me what you liked, what seemed less than interesting. Your feedback is the only payment I get, but it's enough.
Incidentally, the location of this story is real, a town somewhere in the United States of America. Have you been there? Do you know where it is? I've left lots of clues, but disguised actual places. For example a restaurant named Cafe Roberto might become in the story Bob's Bistro. If you think you know the name of the city, send me an email or leave a comment (non-anonymous); if you get it right I'll send you a small token of my appreciation.