Sharing Jaya

Sharing Jaya

For days, Ari has been overwhelmed with unbidden daydreams. His work is suffering. Sleep is no escape, because then, the lascivious dreams take him. Twice since it all started, he has awoken with his boxer briefs wet and sticky.

All of it revolves around Jaya - his great fortune, his best friend, his wife. One would naturally think that fantasies are an outlet for attractions to others, which has been the case for him from time to time, but even after four years of marriage, Ari still finds Jaya irresistible. She embodies his fantasies. But these imaginings... these are suddenly different.

Jaya only has eyes for Ari. This has been so since they were introduced by their parents. He sees it and has never second-guessed it. Parisian denizens though they are, his family insisted that backgrounds be checked and proper Indian forms be followed. Chaperoned dates had confirmed mutual attraction and compatibility. But no, that would not be Jaya. They have talked deep in the night about what experiences she did have, breaking through her natural reticence so that he could know her better. To his surprise, the revelations aroused him, and he would respond with special fervor. There were not so many stories, and so he would beg her to repeat, to elaborate, to detail how each moment of each encounter had moved her physically. She has tried to reciprocate, to listen and understand his experiences as well, to openly share her past, but she's more tender and insecure. He doesn't know how to convey to Jaya that she has no reason for fear in this way. He knows that she listens and relates out of partnership, not arousal.

She moves through the home and world they have built together with extraordinary grace and intuition. These qualities follow her into bed. He hopes that he is as satisfying a lover for her as she is for him. He has enough experience to hear and feel when a woman is not satisfied but courteously pretending so. Yet he wonders. He loves bringing her to abandon and wishes he could watch her without himself in the way. They toyed with the idea of video, but it made them both self-conscious and presented risks in a cynical, conservative society that neither of them wanted.

Perhaps that has led him inexorably here. Perhaps it is something more generous, a desire to ensure that her faithfulness is rewarded with exquisite pleasure in every way possible. At any rate, he cannot lay eyes on any man who is attirant without envisioning him bringing Jaya to fruition. Most men would push such ideas away, burn with anger or possessiveness. It turns out that Ari isn't most men.

The look of a barista, barely nineteen and having the bloom of extreme yet fragile beauty that white French boys exude, causes him to almost fumble the latte as he takes it, seeing the youth taking Jaya pushed forward, her hair tumbling over the counter.

As he enters his office building, a formidable man in impeccable blue coveralls opens the tall glass door for him. As Ari says, "Merci, monsieur," with a nod, he cannot help but imagine this stalwart unzipping and lifting Jaya onto his cock. A frisson runs through him.

In the elevator, he tries to calm himself, turn his attention to what he must discuss with his boss. Geru is perhaps eight years his elder and a natural leader with an easy smile. Having emigrated from Sudan, he has a power and surety that comes from having overcome difficult events. Ari settles his effects in his office, levels his shoulders, and as beckoned, enters Geru's corner office. He manages to proficiently handle the matter at hand, but as they close, Geru presses his hand warmly in a single shake and then leans back in his finely made leather office chair, his long legs falling aside casually, his fait sur mesure trousers pulling against his thighs. Ari swallows hard, trying to banish the flash of his wife mounting this man in his chair. What is wrong with me?

Later, having pushed it all aside long enough to meet his goals for the day, Ari stares out the window over La Défense. He feels that the solution is to bring some measure of this insanity into reality, but there must be absolutely no jeopardy to Jaya or their marriage. He wants to broach the subject with her and is at once fearful to do so.

Over a quiet dinner at home, he makes the first attempt. He thinks that it would be easier to do in the midst of coupling, but it also seems an intrusion to do so until he can see her response in the light of day.

"Meri Jaan," he begins, "I've been having thoughts ... a desire that I can't get rid off with simple reasoning. I've been trying for almost two weeks."

Growing serious, she sets aside her fork and regards him with her chin on her hands. Although she appears apprehensive, she approaches his needs with openness as always. "Tell me," she replies in her low, throaty voice.

"You're so attractive to me that it overwhelms me at times." This elicits from her a shy smile of happiness. "And we've talked about my mild voyeuristic tendencies."

Her expression turns a little mischievous, she nods. It isn't a new topic.

"Mild until now. Its taken an odd turn." He takes a deep breath and decides that directness is best. "I'm consumed with the idea of watching you with another man." He hastens to add, "A stranger, of course, never someone with whom we'd need to interact in our lives."

Her eyes widen, fearful, taken off guard. "I - Ari, couldn't!" she exclaims softly, brow furrowing.

Ari reaches for her hand. "If that is how you still feel after this shock passes - after you have had time to really think about what I am asking, I will completely understand. But, I do ask, for me, that you think about it. Maybe we could discuss it in a week's time?"

Squeezing his hand, Jaya sits for a long moment. "Okay, my love."

He knows that she'd do almost anything for him, perhaps even this. And somewhere, in his darkest corners, he's deeply reassured at her first reaction. Yet, he realizes that he still wants to do it.

***

Midweek, Ari comes into the kitchen after readying for work and sees Jaya with her back to him, arranging flowers in a glass vase. She has just returned from the workout room and is wearing just leggings and a sports bra. She's barefoot, her tennis shoes doubtless left inside the front door. Her hair is up in a high tail but tendrils have escaped. Her neck glistens with perspiration. The sight of her taut waist and curving hips and ass give him a sudden shock.

"Do you want breakfast?" she asks over her shoulder.

He steps up and presses himself to her backside, dropping his lips to the side of her neck. "And how!" he replies, naughty. "But I have a meeting and can't be late."

Jaya leans her head back on his shoulder. This has the unintended effect of lifting her heavy breasts. Ari stifles a groan. Although they don't project far forward, presenting an illusion from the side of neatness, they're full and lush. This sports bra has a front zipper which he quickly pulls down, freeing her breasts into his hands. So pliant! He continues mouthing her neck as he thumbs her nipples firmly, causing her to moan. He knows that after she exercises her sometimes oversensitive nipples are more amenable to being handled and can be incredibly erogenous. He has wondered from her response sometimes whether he could bring her fully just from learning to touch them exactly right. Now, he wishes he had more time. But there's a moment to be had and it's a way to let her know that there's no awkwardness between them.

"Touch yourself," he murmurs against her ear. Usually, she might protest, self-conscious, but he knows she's far along. As she complies, he continues what he's doing, varying the pressure and touch, sensing from her gasps what works best. It doesn't take long once her hand has slid into her leggings and when she bucks back against him, it's all he can do not to lose it himself.

"What about you?" Jaya asks as soon as she can speak.

Ari rezips her bra. "I must go," he replies, regretfully, squeezing her shoulders and kissing her atop her head, "and in a presentable state." Of course, he isn't currently presentable, but he'll compose himself, he isn't a youth.

They exchange endearments and by the time he reaches the car waiting for him in the underground pick up, his mind is on work.

***

Early the next morning, Saturday, Jaya brings Ari a second cup of coffee on the terrace overlooking Avenue Bugeaud. They have found the VI^e arrondissement to be a lovely place to live. Some of their friends have moved to the outskirts of Paris seeking larger homes, but the flat is gorgeous. Jaya and Ari love walking in the city, picking up the elements of meals on the way home, interacting with all the cultures that have come together here.

Ari accepts the cup gratefully and sets aside Le Monde. Jaya sips from her own, regarding him over the rim. Her eyes are sparkling. "What?" he queries.

"I've thought enough on your odd turn."

For a moment, his spirits sink and he strives to keep disappointment from his face.

"I've not heard your full plan and I could, of course, change my mind, but I'll explore this... insanity with you. I'm fearful, to be honest. We're happy. At least I think we are." She searches his face.

He suddenly sits up and sets down his cup. "Of course! My love - meri jaan - this isn't boredom or dissatisfaction. To be honest, I can't explain it myself."

"That worries me somewhat. What if you decide next you want to be with another woman?"

"I understand. But, this isn't like a gateway drug, a first step to other things."

She looks a tiny bit relieved. "If we do this, and you suddenly find that you hate it, it'll change how you see me. It'll change everything." Tears well in her eyes.

Ari goes to his knees in front of her chair and wraps his arms around her. "I promise you, I swear, that isn't going to happen. I've already seen you in my mind with hundreds of men. Never once have I had the slightest twinge." He feels and hears her sigh and her hand comes to rest on his head.

"That's in your head, silly. The real world is different. What if it's really important to you that I've only been with you? And you don't know it."

He looks up into her lovely eyes. "We'll make a test. And have a signal. Either of us can stop at any moment. You must promise me not to push through if anything becomes repugnant to you." The last thing Ari wants is to traumatize her.

Her brows draw together. "I promise."

"It's difficult to understand, but what I think really turns me on is to give you all kinds of different pleasure, even if it doesn't come directly from me. And I need to watch you. I simply can't do that while we are together."

His enthusiasm is infectious and Jaya smiles, clasping either side of his face. "When have I been able to say no to you? Tell me the next step."

"I've done some research," Ari says.

She looks at him wryly, "But of course you have, as always. I did as well, to be honest. I went online. It can be unfortunately... seedy."

"Which we certainly don't want. Of the options, I think it best to simply go to a friendly place and exercise our best judgement in approaching anyone. Choosing an exclusive venue will help. Some place that isn't seedy."

Jaya regards him apprehensively. "Nothing must ever get back to our families, or work."

"Of course! We'll be most careful. In all ways."

Jaya contemplates this. "We should go this evening for drinks and a preview at Les Ambassadeurs."

Ari can hardly think for the rest of the day, pushing the anticipation as far away as he can. After all, nothing can happen tonight, only a preview. Still, the thought makes him quiver. Having subverted his usual tendency to over-plan, he admits to himself that the unknown, the small element of danger, is no small part of the enticement. It must be balanced against the need to protect Jaya above all else.

They walk together in the sun, sharing pain au chocolat, enjoying the promise of early spring and the returning density of street vendors along the Seine. Jaya has particular fondness for the bouquinistes and today she finds a folio of poetry. They don't buy much else—fresh herbs, some fruit, a clutch of lilies.

He takes care with dressing for the evening, elegant yet relaxed, a tailored shirt and trousers, unstructured linen and silk jacket, a pair of his favorite shoes. The very wealthy in Paris dress well without feeling the need to impress anyone but themselves.

Jaya meets him in the foyer. She's stunning in a deceptively simple Akris V-neck wool sheath, the color falling between red and orange, simple diamond studs, and a pair of tapered flats favored by Parisian women. Her thick hair is pulled back in a low tail, her cosmetics understated, nothing flashy. He can detect that she's nervous, but she covers it well.

"Remember, this is only for research and practice," he reassures her.

She quirks a smile. "A small adventure."

This isn't their first visit to Bar Les Ambassadeurs or Hôtel de Crillon for that matter. Since the renovation, it has been a subtle but known place to see and be seen. At 6 p.m. on a Saturday, the lounge is abuzz without being crowded. The two of them are able to settle into plush chairs with their own small table next to a window, giving them a view of all the patrons in the salon and bar.

A myriad of appreciative gazes fall upon Jaya, none in poor taste, but she's impossible not to notice. Ari keeps his smile to himself. She's oblivious, sipping her wine.

Ari casually surveys the room. He's by far not the only one engaging in people-watching. Several men seem interesting, which leads inevitably to intrusive flashes onto sexual scenes between each one and Jaya. He keeps his breathing even, hoping that the tightening of his trousers isn't noticeable. A movement by the bar draws his gaze and his breath stops. Him. His mind locks, absolutely him.

Wonderfully reminiscent of the man in coveralls who held the door for him days ago, this gentleman carries a formidable build with all the refinement of someone educated and privileged. Ari is reminded of a Belgian Draught horse, darkly blonde, sleek, heavily muscled, yet poised as though his weight is of no consequence. He's modestly tall, perhaps an inch or two shorter than Ari's six feet. A blue suit and white shirt open at the throat set off the man's intense eyes, which somehow put the rich blue fabric to shame. He's conversing easily with the bartender as his single malt is poured, one that Ari knows to cost almost 80 Euros a finger. Something about the way the man gestures suggests that he isn't British or French. Ari realizes that he's glad of this—there are unwelcome overtones to the idea of sharing his wife with someone evoking the Raj.

Jaya is watching him with a brow raised. He sips his own drink and tips his head toward the bar; she follows with her eyes. They widen in surprise. At that moment, two other patrons approach the bar to order drinks, and the target moves to rejoin his group.

"I thought you'd prefer someone like you," Jaya says, quietly. She seems discomfited.

Ari shrugs. "As I said, I don't understand the impulse myself. But that one...," he takes a moment to compose himself and stave off a shudder, "... he's perfect."

Suddenly, the man looks their way, giving Ari a start. His eyes slide slowly past Jaya and then lock with Ari's. His smile widens, bright and near-perfect, before he returns his attention to his companions.

Ari looks over to his wife, realizing that she's perched on the edge of her chair and her fingers are gripping her wine glass. "My darling, I'm so sorry, I don't want you to be anxious." He puts a calming hand on her thigh.

She gives a tiny shrug. "I admit that your preference surprises me. I assumed that you'd choose someone with your qualities." Her eyes lift to his. "It would be easier in that case to pretend that he's you."

Overwhelmed, Ari squeezes her leg. It hits him that in addition to the reasons that have already occurred to him, perhaps he wants to know that having had someone extremely different, from another culture, another social stratum, with contrasting sexual skills, Jaya would still choose Ari. He's not insecure. He has made the most of his advantages in life. He regularly turns the surmounting of obstacles into personal growth. Wickedly smart, lean and athletically talented, well-endowed, and unlike many of his peers, genuinely interested in his partner's pleasure, he has no need to compete with other men in order to have confidence. "I want you to have what's different from me. You came to this marriage with fewer experiences than you might have enjoyed."

Jaya makes a wry face at him. "Oh, yes, how I've suffered," she teases. "Take me home and make it up to me."

Ari can't help but laugh in delight. He does as she requests.

***

Awakening in the small hours, Ari slips out of bed, naked, and paces outside on the terrace. Paris doesn't really sleep, especially on Saturday nights, but by now, it has quieted. He and Jaya exhausted one another in the best way possible, pausing for a semblance of supper at the kitchen counter and then returning to bed. Ari does consider himself the luckiest man.

Back indoors, restlessly circling the living room, the wood floor warm beneath his feet, Ari reflects on Jaya's sexual intuition, her ability to sense what he needs even if he isn't conscious of it. How will he feel when, at his request, she turns that attention on another? The moment he considers it, pleasure jolts through him. But as she has noted, the real world isn't his fantasy. Even so, he realizes that he wants her to approach the man. If at all possible, that man. His cock hardens at a flash of her leaning against the bar, inquisitively looking up at the handsome stranger. God, how he wants to see him touch her. Any question of why fades into the background as he takes himself in hand and lets the imaginings go where they will.

*******

Jaya becomes a little secretive in the next few days but only after warning Ari that she must prepare her headspace. She has previously confided in him that in her modeling days, or anticipating particularly challenging days at work, she would develop a character to inhabit, and that person would take on the challenge until she felt more comfortable herself. In order to get back to herself by Friday night, she must begin.

She dresses a little differently in subtle ways. She withdraws cash and uses that to shop—she doesn't show the purchases to him in the evening as they often would do with one another. Even to take a routine phone call from her mother, she steps out of the room as though needing to conceal something. She winks at him to counter any sting.

For his own part, Ari reserves their room for Friday and Saturday night. He chooses Hôtel de Crillon because of their practice run, and in the hopes that the same man reappears. If he doesn't, Ari will be disappointed.

That week, he stops by the bar twice after work for a drink, reassuring himself that there are other suitable candidates. There are handsome men and more plain but charismatic men. Some have been present at the prior visits. He notes gestures and their manners with the attending staff or tablemates, ruling out any men who seem overly entitled, crass, or inebriated at this hour. He decides that they will approach no one wearing a wedding band, which rules out another fellow.