Scratching a Seven Year Itch

My husband is a wonderful lover.

He was a wonderful lover the two years we lived together, and he continued to be during the five years we've been married. Two and five. Seven, as in seven year itch.

We were having a nice luncheon out: it was Brad's suggestion, and I didn't know it was a set up. He wanted a place where neither of us would get overtly emotional. "We've been together for seven years," he said. "Are you bored with me?"

I didn't expect the question, but the answer was easy: "Absolutely not. I love you!" I remembered a little of my psych training though and the word 'projection' came to mind, followed immediately by 'insecurity.' I had to ask: "What about you?"

"Oh, uh, no. I mean, I love you too, you know that."

"You didn't ask me about loving you," I reminded him. "You asked me about being bored."

That opened the door to a discussion I suppose was important to have but very uncomfortable for me. No matter how he talked around the issue, I learned he was bored with the physical side of our marriage. "We always make love the same way," he finally told me. "It's nice, and I like having sex with you, making love with you, but sometimes I wish we'd do something different, act different, just for the excitement of it. I don't want to be a boring sex partner with you, and I guess I'd somehow like you to be more adventurous with me. "

It wasn't as though we were keeping score but he reminded me he nearly always initiated love making, and I couldn't remember the last time I did. And he was right, we almost always made love – had sex – the same way.

It was hurtful knowing my husband was at least a little bored with me as a sex partner, and it scared me. If he was bored, he might drift away. I mean, look at him: late thirties, tall, lean, handsome, a very successful manager in a high tech company. He'd be a prime target.

"I want to be more exciting for you," I said. "More than wanting to be, I WILL be. But, you'll have to tell me if I'm going in the wrong direction, OK?"

It probably wasn't the response he expected – I was prone to argue with him – but I got a big smile. "Sounds good! And I'll do the same for you, with the same provision. If you don't like it, speak up."

We actually shook hands.

Lunch ended, we did the several errands we had in mind, and got home about 4 PM that fateful Saturday.

When we were inside I decided to follow a rule I my grandmother taught me: if I wanted something I never had, I would have to do something I've never done. I wanted an excited husband who wanted to be with me, and haven't had that for a long time, so I'd do something I hadn't done for a long time.

I took Brad to our living room, sat him down, and fetched him a very dry martini. "What's the occasion?" he asked. It was unusual for me to do something like that for him.

"The occasion is changing the way we do things. Remember our talk at lunch?"

"Yes, but I thought we'd talk some more and figure out what to do."

"Sorry honey," I told him. "The time for talking is over. Wait there."

A few minutes later I returned wearing a night gown that hadn't seen the light of day in years. It was long, flowing, mostly translucent I and know Brad loved me to wear it. Why had I kept it in the back of the closet?

I pushed him back, yanked at his shoes and socks, pants and briefs. He helped and pulled off his shirt.

And there he was, mostly erect.

I leaned over his center, teased that penis with soft kisses, softer strokes, and watched it grow and harden.

I lifted his scrotum, kissed under there, then moved up along that shaft, finally reaching its head.

I opened wide and sucked him in.

His moans were delicious to hear: he was not a bored husband any more!

"Remember what we said" – he was talking hoarsely – "about telling each other if we were going in the wrong direction?"

Was he saying he didn't like this? I stopped, looked up at him. "I remember."

"I'm warning you, I'll give you two hours to stop what you're doing."

I laughed, and went back to work. It didn't take two hours. When we got to our bedroom later he tore the negligee from my body: he had never done that before!

Sunday morning found us awaking in each other's arms. "We may have found a way of deferring a seven year itch," Brad told me. I snuggled against him: "Good. I like being married to you, it's worth working for."

"You satisfied me last night," he said, "next it will be my turn to satisfy you."

"Uh, last night satisfied me, too," I reminded him, then held up a torn garment, "but if that's what's going to happen, I'm going to have to buy night gowns by the gross."

We laughed over that, and I was feeling good about avoiding a potential problem in our marriage.

Then came Sunday evening, and a surprise to me. "Tonight, I do you," was Brad's declaration. "Oh, promises, promises," I told him: "show me what you got, fella."

I was expecting Brad to be aggressive, for this to be rough sex. Not that he'd hurt me, but I was sure at the end of the night I'd know I had been fucked.

"Get naked, woman, and get under that sheet."

I was right, this was going to be a little on the rough side, and I was thinking it was so different from our usual love making, and I was ever so ready for him to handle me and just pour his passion into me.

And I couldn't have been more wrong about his intentions.

Our room was only dimly lit. Brad pulled off his pajamas – gee, he had an erection, what a surprise.

He moved under the sheet, but didn't touch me: not yet, anyhow.

"Close your eyes."

I did.

"Stretch out, hands over your head, tall under that sheet."

I did that too: there was a luxury in doing that, being nude under the sheet, expecting sex.

"Clear your mind, think of a white sheet, like the one you're under."

I did that too.

"OK" Brad said. "Now trust me on what's going to happen next: nod if you do."

I did.

"I remember you telling me about your fling with Frank," he said.

Frank? I did remember telling him about Frank, a month or so full of passion and sex and not much else. I once told Brad about him and Brad got angry and jealous, even though it happened long before he and I fell in love and committed to each other. Now he wants me to remember Frank?

I did remember Frank, big, strong, bodybuilder Frank.

Oh, I remembered all right.

"OK, remember his face, do that now. Don't worry about me; I want to use his memory too."

Frank. Blond, blue eyes, and I remembered his tan, and the skimpy white band around his hips from where he wore his Speedo posing briefs, and what he looked like when those briefs were off.

That white triangle, that darker hair, that erection: is that what Brad wanted me to remember?

Frank.

I realized I was biting my lips, then I heard my husband say something else.

"I want you to remember the first time he saw you nude, like the way you are now. . . was he naked too that first time?"

I was biting my lip harder, but nodded my head.

"Good. Now I want you to remember how you looked at him, and how he looked at you. Can you remember that?"

Oh, could I ever! I nodded again, remembering how big he looked, how his penis was straight out, how I was over him, how naked and sexy I felt. . .

"When you have that image in mind, especially I want you to remember how excited he was, and you were, when you remember that I want you to uncover yourself. I want you to kick that sheet off. I want you to want to show me what he saw."

I remembered wanting him, worried that he was so big and strong that he might hurt me, but wanting him anyhow. I started moving under the sheet, kicking it off, feeling it move across my breasts, and down, until it was all at my feet.

It was almost involuntary, I reached out, still with my eyes closed, and felt Brad's hip, then moved my hand over until I was holding his cock.

I could feel Brad's fingers moving on my own hip, down between my legs, and I moved my legs apart so he's have access to me, and I could feel his fingers right there, getting wet, just playing with me. "So sexy, he muttered."

"Oh, that's nice," I told him, wanting him to do more.

"Did he go down on you?"

I remembered that he did and tilted my hips up for Brad's fingers. "Touch me, honey." I was almost pleading with him.

"Cathy, I can imagine you did more than just hold Frank's cock. Show me what you did to it."

Eyes still closed, I rolled toward him, took him in my mouth.

Brad's voice was magical, so were his fingers, and I orgasmed within a minute or two.

Brad moved away then, and I heard him whisper "Were you pretending to suck on Frank? That's what I wanted you to do."

I was, and I nodded a yes.

"Good. Keep that in mind."

I nodded again.

"Pretend you just went down on him, and that you're really sexy. If you did that, I'd want to kiss you. Would you kiss me?" he asked.

I reached toward his voice, found his head, pulled it to me, to my mouth, and then came the rough sex I had expected. Brad had not kissed me as hard or as deeply as that ever, and he rolled onto me, pressed into me. I was ready for him.

It was at least a two orgasm night, and there could have been a couple of smaller ones that slipped in, too.

Much later I had to ask him: "What made you think about Frank?"

He told me he enjoyed looking at me in bed, and began thinking about other lovers I might have had, and how he was sure they remembered me too, remembered looking at me, touching me, entering me, "and thinking about that turned me on," he told me.

Brad, when we were first going together, was the most up-tight and jealous man and he resented any man who he thought looked at me a second or two too long.

"I tried to never talk about them" I told him, "because I knew how possessive you were. What's changed?"

"Cathy, I guess I feel a lot more secure about you than I used to, that's what changed."

"You never had a reason not to trust me, Brad," I reassured him.

"And I know that now. That's why I felt comfortable and secure enough to ask you to remember a time when you were feeling really sexy. It worked. Didn't it?"

I didn't answer with words, just rolled over and kissed him again.

We fell asleep holding each other that night, feeling each other's warm body and feeling each other's love.

A week or so later we were having a nice dinner out, happy with our lives. "Have you noticed," I asked my husband, "how well our new life is working?"

"Can't you tell? I can't get the smile off of my face," he reminded me.

"I noticed another thing. Brad, when we decided to change things, we agreed if one of us was going too far, the other one was supposed to say so?"

"I remember that was part of the deal."

"I never told you to back off."

"And I didn't ever tell you to, either," he said. "Maybe we're a lot more open to ideas than either of us thought. Does that mean we're pretty far from any limits?"

"Guess so."

"Want to go father, to push the envelope?"

"Maybe, Brad. I'm a happy woman, and I want you to be a happy man." I breathed a big sigh: "we do have a full and rich life, don't we?"

"You betcha." There was a pause, then he added "You know, I'd like to go home now. I want your body."

"That sounds like a proposition. What kind of a woman do you think I am?" I said as we got up to go.

"The kind who responds to my propositions," he told me as he held the restaurant door open for me.

"I have a confession to make," he said when we had gotten into bed, the lights low, and I was ready to make love. My heart nearly stopped. He wasn't going to tell me he had an affair, was he? Were the last few weeks a preamble to this, a testing of the waters for a confession?

"Go on," I said, frightened.

"Oh, it's nothing bad – at least I don't think so," he told me, sensing my mood and maybe my fear.

"Go on," I said again, just a little less worried.

"I've been thinking about how you responded when I asked you to think about Frank." He had rolled on his side, looking at me "You do remember how I asked you think to about Frank when I wanted to drive you nuts?"

"Yes, of course. . ." I was still feeling cautious.

"I've been thinking of how that would have been, what it must have been like for him."

"I thought you were asking me to do that for my benefit."

"It started that way, but it turned out it was for my benefit too. In fact. . ."

He went quiet.

"Go on," I prompted him.

"You never told me the whole story, and I wish you would, about meeting him and – oh, I don't know, getting seduced, or maybe seducing him. It would turn me on, knowing what happened. Would you be comfortable telling me about it?"

I didn't know how to answer that. "What could I do to persuade you?" he wanted to know.

"Brad, that's so personal and intimate, and it happened so long ago. I mean, how would you respond if I asked you to tell me about a time when you were with someone else, when you were feeling really sexy toward another woman? Wouldn't you be at least uncomfortable and maybe embarrassed to do that?"

He thought for a moment or two and then agreed it would be embarrassing to talk about that. I thought that ended the conversation until he added "But if that's what you wanted me to do, if that was the pro quo to the quid I asked for, I'd do it."

"You want to know what happened that badly?"

"Yeah, I hope it's sexy and erotic." I looked at my husband beside me, his penis tenting the sheet, erect, waiting. Oh, what happened was sexy and erotic all right. I started feeling that I wanted to be trashy. "You don't know what you're asking for."

"Yes I do," he assured me.

Not only was I feeling as though I wanted to be trashy for him, I was starting to feel more powerful than ever, more in control.

And I liked it.

"I'll tell you about it, but only under one condition."

"What's that?"

"You have to do what I say."

That was something different, way different from what I've ever asked before. "What's the matter, don't you trust me?" I asked.

He said nothing for what seemed to be forever, then nodded yes. "I do trust you, and I agree. I will do what you say."

"Uncover yourself – get out from under that sheet," I demanded.

He did and he was hard and erect.

I sat up in the bed, looking at him. "You'll have to prove to me what I tell you excites you."

He looked at me and asked in a small, almost humble voice: "how?"

"Hold your penis," I said. His fingers surrounded it.

"I know you masturbate: all men do that. I want you to masturbate while I tell you. If you cum I'll stop talking and I'll never play these games with you again. But you have to masturbate the whole time. That's what I want. Then, at the end, I'll help you cum."

"But. . ." he started to say, but I hushed him and told him there was no negotiation, that was the way it was going to be, starting now.

I waited a moment, then he said "OK, I'm ready," and his hand began moving on his cock. So that's how a man masturbates, I thought.

"Don't interrupt," I said. "This is my story, told my way." I had more power now than I think I ever did in this relationship.

"I met Frank when I was taking a graduate course at night after my divorce.

"He was taking the same course, and he seemed like a really nice guy. He was quiet, he asked intelligent questions, and he was kind of cute. He wore really loose fitting clothes. He seemed fit and moved in an athletic way, but there was no hint of what he was really like.

"We chatted a few times during coffee break in class, and then during the third class he asked me to get a bite to eat with him when class was over.

"I did, and he was a charming man and lots of fun. We started talking about hobbies. I told him I liked to write, paint a little, those sorts of things.

"'I do body building mostly' he told me.

" 'Body building, like muscles and posing and like that?' "

"'Exactly' he said. He even told me there was an amateur competition in a month that he and a buddy had entered. "Maybe, if you want you, you'd like to attend and see what it's like," he said. "'We'll start really hard training a week before, we train hard, then dehydrate ourselves to get better muscle definition.' "

"I told him I'd like to go to the competition but I knew nothing about that sport.

" 'There's not much to know, it's kind of a beauty contest for men. If we look good, we win.' "

I watched Brad; he was stroking himself just as I had ordered him to. He was getting off on the story.

"Then Frank had an idea. In a half an hour his training buddy – 'Bill's a heavyweight, I'm in the middleweight division' he told me – was coming to his house to work on posing and chorography, and maybe I'd like to see what it was like behind the scenes.

"I had the time," I told my husband, "so I told Frank I'd like to do that.

"I followed him in my car to his house. Nice house, well kept. I didn't think bachelors often lived the way Frank did. I pulled in behind his Buick. His buddy was already there, standing beside his own car. 'You're a little late, Frank, but I see you brought a girlfriend, so that's OK.'

"Frank told him I was an audience not a girlfriend, 'at least not yet, but I'm hoping' he told his buddy with a smile when he introduced me. Bill was a funny man. 'You're too good for him,' he told me, 'you'll have to be my girl friend, but after this competition. I think we'll both be focusing hard on the contest for now.' I told him I was already warned.

"We went into the house. Frank had a den/workout room and it was equipped like an upscale gym. He and Bill left me there with a glass of juice ('nothing stronger than that in this house for now,' Frank told me) while he and Bill changed into their posing briefs.

"They came back into the room wearing these tiny Speedo briefs. God, what bodies! Frank said he was a middleweight and he was big and broad, and Bill was all the bigger. I never suspected what was under those loose clothes. They very lightly oiled themselves with baby lotion, then almost danced under the lights, worrying about how 'defined' their muscles were. They worked on helping each other: 'Bend over more, Frank, turn a little more this way', before they were satisfied.

"'We're going to each lose about 10 pounds of water the last couple of days before the contest, it really makes a difference' Frank explained as he stroked his stomach: 'that makes our abs really stand out.' Those abs didn't need to stand out any more than they did!

"Bill gathered up his things, -- 'I'll shower at home' he said, 'and I have a busy day tomorrow. I hope to see you again, Cathy, Frank told me you might come to the pose down.'

"Then he left, and I was alone with Frank.

Brad looked like he knew what I was going to tell him next: he was breathing thought his mouth, and he was really gripping at the head of his cock to prevent himself from ejaculating. I have to confess I felt really powerful then.

"Want me to go on with the story, husband?"

I heard a raspy "yes" from him.

"OK. Frank asked if I enjoyed the show as much as he enjoyed showing off his body, and I told him I really did.

"So he dimmed the lights a little bit, there was only one bright light and that was focused on him, and he struck one pose after another.

" 'Come on over here with me,' he said, and I did.

"'Stand behind me, and press on my back a little, OK?' he asked.

"I wanted to touch him, so I did. His skin was so smooth, and the muscles on his back were spectacular: good looking and even better to touch.

"He took my hands, Brad, and moved them around him so I was almost hugging him, my hands were on his chest and belly. The oil he used was mostly gone, but his skin felt like it was on fire.

"He told me that felt good, that he wanted me to hold him, and I was honest with him, I told him he felt good too. He had his back turned to me, and I thought I could get away with something. I moved a little closer and jut barely kissed his back. I had forgotten about all of the mirrors along the wall. He saw what I did. He guided my hands up and down, going from chest to belly. 'Like that,' he said.