The Arranged Date

The Key to Marie

I'll start with a confession. I like to watch porn. My friends don't know this, and they complain frequently about how their husbands and boyfriends watch it a lot. They worry it means they're not enough for their men sexually. I suspect they fear their men will see something they like better. Men are men and more likely to stray, while women are more committed and all that. And they all imply that they don't watch it themselves.

So not many women are like me. Or maybe women are just more secretive about it.

I started a long time ago, when I was single and horny all the time. Looking at pics of couples and sometimes videos. I liked the sexy bodies and the thrill of discovering all the things men and women can do together. My imagination was constantly on fire.

And then I came across a site with videos of two men and a woman.

What I saw rocked me. Not in the way you'd probably think--the two men doing things to the woman. That's intriguing but not a strong fantasy for me. This site was two men doing things to each other, and the woman was seated in a comfortable chair close by watching them, one hand holding a glass of wine and the other busy between her legs.

That went through me like a surge of electricity.

Maybe I was naïve at the time. Of course I knew that some men liked men and some women liked women, but that had been a kind of abstract awareness somewhere in the back of my mind.

But these images were real, and they were raw, and I suddenly wanted to be that woman.

It wasn't just that one naked man is good so two naked men is twice as good. It was like a secret world, an alternative sexual reality, where everything was recognizable but distorted somehow. A private, male-only realm, ordinarily off-limits to those like me. But somehow that woman had gained special access to it.

From that time on I wanted that. Not always, but frequently I went looking for those images. And when that mood was upon me I felt that if I had been born a guy, I'd totally be gay.

Yet that wasn't what I wanted either. We all joke about whether it's better to be a man or a woman. Everybody really knows it's better to be a woman. Ha ha. We don't have to have that argument now. I love being a woman, I love sex with men, and that will never change.

And yet ... sometimes the images take ahold of me, and for a few days I will be dominated by the fantasy of two men together. And somehow I am watching close by, perhaps through a hole in the wall or from a closet or, like that first woman, in a chair close by the bed.

I had those fantasies for years.

And then I met Steven.

* *

How can I describe him? We were instant chemistry together. To me he was like an ice cream shop where you want to try every flavor. Hot body, almost pretty face, tight ass--and big down there where it counts.

Super smart too. He'd almost graduated from medical school but quit because he had an idea for a new medical device. So he'd dropped out and worked like crazy to make his invention a reality. I'd met him just as he'd made it work and was deciding which big medical outfit to merge his small company with.

Three months later, we were engaged.

It was like a dream come true--he was handsome, fun in bed, successful in his work, and he adored me. And yet ... there was another something about him I sensed but couldn't quite put my finger on. Something tantalizing but hidden, not only from me but maybe even from Steven himself.

Arranged Date

Steven, now my fiancé, came home and told me in a perplexed way that the new guy at work, Bronn, had asked him out for a drink.

He'd mentioned the guy to me before. He was tall, he'd said, not exactly handsome and quite reserved. The women at work were all aflutter about him. Steven said he'd been surprised at that, but it turned out the man was gay. He'd learned that from one of the disappointed women. For some reason, women sort of melted when Bronn was around. Steven did grant that the man was somehow vigorous and masculine but hadn't responded to any of the subtle signals women send when they're interested in a man. Instead, when one had flirted outrageously with him, Bronn had told her bluntly that he only fucked men. That had shocked her into silence, but the gossip spread like wildfire.

"So what did you say?" I asked.

"I told him I was engaged to be married, of course."

"Well, it must have been nice to be asked on a date. When was the last time that happened?" I asked.

"He didn't say it was a date, just a drink. And the last time I was asked out on a date was a couple of ago, before I met you."

"So what if it was years ago?" I replied. "You're a good-looking man, and his asking you out proves it."

Suddenly a surprisingly clear image of my fiancé with a man took over my mind. They were having drinks at a bar, making small talk, sitting close, their heads together, maybe progressing to a table for some dinner, and ... since men are men and this one was gay ... even some flirting. It was turning me on! I was shocked at the direction my imagination was going, as it was clearly outside any committed-to-be-married norm.

"You're my fiancée," Steven said, "so of course you'll say that," but I could tell he was pleased to hear the words about his appearance.

"You should say Yes to him," I just blurted.

"What?! You want your fiancé to date other men?! Why?" A questioning look crossed his face. "Do you want to date other men--or women?"

The sudden self-realization was over-powering. The answer was Yes, I do want you to date other men, but I couldn't say it out loud. I could hardly admit it to myself, but my pussy was moistening at the image of them together, and that outweighed all else.

"No, I do not want to date other men, or women." That was 99% true. "You are more than man enough for me. That won't change if you going out for drinks with a guy."

He was silent, absorbing my words.

I considered my next words carefully, trying to express exactly what I felt.

"What I want is for you to be happy. I get pleasure when you're happy and ... satisfied. I know I've been working too much--it's the end-of-quarter rush--and not paying you proper attention. Why not go out and enjoy yourself?"

Steven was at a loss for words. I could see he was thinking. Finally he said, "No. I am still engaged and an engaged man does not do this."

I sensed his resistance and stopped pushing.

"Okay," I said. "Maybe just think of it as friendliness. Just two guys who happen to be colleagues going out for a drink. Not a big deal to just go and have some fun and get to know each other better. It doesn't have to be anything else."

"Hmmm," he said.

Aha. There was no "No." I let it drop.

* *

The next day I got a call from Steven at work. "Just wanted to let you know that I will be a little late getting home tonight," he said.

"Oh, what's going on?"

"I told Bronn I'd have a drink with him. He asked for tonight so I said Yes. I shouldn't be too late. Just one drink."

"No problem. I'll get some pizza and there'll be some for you when you get home," I said.

That evening as I waited for my fiancé to get home, images of the two of them together came in my mind--Steven and some unknown man. In my mind, the man was tall and dark and as yet faceless. I was still surprised at the images' power on me, and they weren't even explicitly sexual. Just the two of them together. My fiancé and another man. It was so hot that I was stunned, but continued playing with them in my mind.

As it turned out, Steven was several hours late getting home. He apologized, saying Bronn insisted on more than one drink. Bronn, it turned out, was reserved at work but quite outgoing and even forceful in private. They'd talked and talked and lost track of time.

"Wow," I said. I pressed him on what they'd talked about.

Bronn, he said, had somehow dominated the conversation while at the same time had gotten Steven to talk about everything in his own life. After the first drink, he felt he could not say No. After the second drink, he said, pausing for a moment, he felt he did not want to.

I felt a tingling in my stomach and a desire to tease him. "Yesterday you didn't even want to go out with him and now you can't stop talking about him."

"I know, I know," he said, a bit sheepishly.

"So tell me!" I insisted. "You say you talked about everything--what did you tell him about me?"

"I told him you were amazing and sweet. And that you were working a lot." He paused. "I also told him how you had said you get pleasure when I'm happy and, umm, satisfied."

"Ahh," I said, remembering that.

"He then said, 'So your fiancée didn't object to your going out with me for a drink?' 'No, I said, 'she encouraged me.'"

I nodded. Yes, I had.

Steven then said Bronn had asked how much you had encouraged me, and if you were okay with dating, for example. "I stopped him right there and told him that we were just two guys having drinks and making conversation, and not on a date with all that implies."

"'Well,'" Bronn had apparently said, "'what if we had a poker night, or went to parties or on camping trips, like guys do? Those wouldn't be dates, would they? Would you be fine with them?'"

Steven had said he didn't know. "Finally I just said, 'She just wants me to enjoy myself, so I don't think she'd object. But I am an engaged man so the line needs to be drawn somewhere."

In my mind and between my legs, the line was feeling very fluid to me. "What did he say to that?" I asked.

"He pointed out that this was something like a date and it was okay, wasn't it?"

Steven paused and looked at me. "I forgot to tell you. By this point he'd had his hand on my thigh for a while before he said those words."

I let that image sink in. "What did you say in response?" My voice was a little creaky.

Steven said, "I agree that it was date-like, sort of, but I told him it wasn't a real date and we were not in a dating relationship. Then he just smiled and told me to think about it."

* *

The next evening, I got a call at home. Steven was running some errands--clothing shopping, he'd said--and would be home later.

I was still working and absent-mindedly picked up the phone. "Hello, is this Steven's fiancée?" asked a strong voice, almost like one of those controlled command voice they talk about in the military.

"Yes, who is calling?"

"I'm Bronn, the man who took your fiancé out for drinks last night. I just wanted to call and thank you for letting your man go out with me."

His words were words of thanks but there was something else in his voice too. Like we were already friends who shared some secrets.

He continued, "Not many women would allow their fiancés to go out with another man, especially when they know the man is gay. I'm glad you're one of them. I've been interested in your fiancé since I first saw his hot body."

His words hung in the air, like a tangible presence. He'd said something terribly inappropriate, intentionally. His words were a test. What would I say? This wasn't a man interested only in drinks and conversation with my fiancé. He was taking the measure of me.

What would I say? Suddenly I felt like a recruit standing at attention in the presence of a superior officer. My mind was again filled with the image of Steven out with him last night, and I felt the same excitement creeping into my body.

Finally, I said, "Thank you. He does have a nice body. I've enjoyed it a lot." What! What the hell was I saying! I was thanking him a remark about my fiancé's body--and I was adding fuel to the fire. Any normal fiancée would have told the competition to back off.

"I'd really like to see more of it," he said, a note of invitation entering his voice. "I'm calling to set up a date with him. He told me that you work a lot right now and are not giving him all the attention he needs."

It was weird that I did not take offense at his words. My mind was filling with images of various kinds of attention.

Something hovered at the edge of my consciousness, like an insight into why this was turning me on. Steven could be so straight-laced and serious, always doing the right thing, never hitting on other women, always dressing and acting professionally at work. The thought of someone breaking down his resistance, making him want to do forbidden things ...

And suddenly I thought--What will he wear?

The man's voice continued, "I think he deserves a whole lot of attention, don't you? Tell him I'll pick him up at 8 o'clock tomorrow evening. And tell him to wear something sexy and a bit revealing. Does he have anything in silk?"

My God! I was wet. What was wrong with me? I had thanked him for commenting on my fiancé's body. Now he wanted me to be a message girl to ensure that my fiancé dressed sexily for him.

As I stood there, my hand was stealing down between my legs to touch myself as he talked inappropriately to me about my fiancé. I imagined this man--still faceless to me--looking at Steven dressed up for a date with him. The thought was quietly thrilling.

And something else was making me unaccountably excited. He was asking me to assist in this endeavor.

"Well, does he?" he said, breaking my reverie.

Startled, I simply said, "Yes, yes he does." Actually, I wasn't sure Steven had any silk clothes, but now I'd damn well make sure he got some.

I realized, right after the words came out of my mouth, that I had completely signed on to setting my fiancé up for a date with this man. And so did he.

"Ha. Well make sure he wears them. I want my date to look good. Understand?"

I almost said 'Yes sir', like in those movies about the military, but I stifled it.

"So do I." The words just came out.

"Good," he said, and hung up.

* *

When Steven came home, I told him about the call. I said it in a nonchalant voice, as if I was asking him to top up my wine glass.

Steven was stunned. "He called you to arrange a date with me?"

"Yes," I said. "Now I know what you mean about his personality, even if only from hearing his voice."

"But he hasn't even asked me yet."

"I'm sure he'll get around to that soon. Your date is tomorrow evening."

Steven was wordless.

"And it's a Friday evening, so you won't have to worry about work the next day."

"You didn't tell him No?!" Steven asked.

"I didn't. You seemed to enjoy the drinks last night. So I told him I'd give you the message."

"But we're engaged. I thought I made it clear to him that committed people don't date others," he said. "That's part of the deal."

"Well, tell him that tomorrow or he'll show up here at 8."

I could see he was conflicted. That was so sweet of him, and I loved him for it, but at the same time another, darker force was driving both of us.

"Again," I continued, "you were right: I won't object. I've neglected you lately and I need to work through another weekend. So I don't mind Bronn standing in for me and taking you out like I wish I could. My mind has to be on my work right now." That was mostly true. My mind had been as distracted as hell yesterday and today.

He remained pensive, but didn't say anything.

Tomorrow would tell. Maybe Steven's sense of commitment would lead him to refuse Bronn. But I suspected (and secretly hoped) Bronn would use his apparently masterful ways to get him to override any resistance.

And I knew my man well. Beneath that proper, wholesome exterior, something was building up inside him, working on him, pressuring him to let go. And I wanted to be there when it was released.

* *

Friday afternoon, late. I was working from home, but my mind was straying to the outfit Steven would wear for his date with Bronn. A stirring in my stomach that crept down to my groin.

When my fiancé arrived home at 6:00, I asked if he'd talked with Bronn about the date. He said, "Well... yes. I told him that I didn't think that it would be appropriate. But ... there's something about him. He was persuasive. I find him hard to disagree with."

That might not be the only hard thing you find about him, I said to myself. Ha ha.

"And he said that you'd agreed." Steven looked directly into my eyes as he said that.

I didn't respond to that, and held his gaze. "So you're definitely on for tonight?" I asked.

"Yes."

Yesss, I exulted inside.

"So the next question is: What will you wear?"

"Ah," Steven said. "Well ... what if I just wear that new suit I got yesterday. It's nice."

"No!" I said immediately. Honestly, he was hopeless about some things. Yes, it was a good suit, classy and professional. And gray. Perfect for work. But not for a date.

"I laid out some clothing for you. I love you in those tight black jeans. And it's a warm night, so you can wear those loafers with no socks. And that white linen shirt we got in Key West last summer."

He nodded, accepting. We headed up to our bedroom for him to get ready.

"And there's something else, something Bronn said he'd like to see you in." He gave me a quizzical look.

Laid out on the bed were the items I'd selected--plus the thing I'd bought during my lunch break.

Steven opened the small package and withdrew a pair of silk underwear.

"You want me to wear these." He said it in a flat tone.

"Yes, Bronn said he likes silk."

"But they're underwear. And bikini style. Usually I wear boxers."

I agreed.

"And you know," he said, "this is just a first date. Nobody's going to be seeing anyone's underwear."

"Of course, honey." But I felt a tingling inside my own underwear.

"Look," I said, diverting the conversation, "just have fun. You've been working hard and deserve it. Whatever happens, nothing will change how I feel about you. As long as you enjoy yourself, I will be happy."

He gave me an uncertain look, like he was going to say something more, and then just turned and went into the bathroom to shower.

* *

Was it was awkward, when Bronn arrived to pick up my fiancé? The doorbell rang, and I made myself count to ten before I opened the front door. I didn't want to seem too eager.

I knew the man was gay, but it didn't seem to matter. He exuded a male vitality that was compelling. As Steven had said, he wasn't exactly handsome, but I could feel immediately why the women at their workplace were attracted to him.

Those thoughts flashed through my mind as he simply walked past me and asked, "Is your fiancé--my date--ready?"

I let that hang in the air for a moment before simply saying that Steven was getting dressing and would be down soon.

He moved into the living area, looking around at our personal belongings and space.

I was about to ask Bronn if he wanted a drink when I heard a sound from above and knew Steven was on his way. Bronn too heard footsteps coming down the stairs and turned to take in Steven's appearance.

He looked amazing. The black jeans were like they'd been painted on to his legs and hips. His linen shirt was light and airy, and he'd left the top two buttons undone as I'd instructed. He looked a little nervous but at the same time I could see he knew how good he looked.

Bronn just stared at him, checking him over from head to feet and then back. Steven had a slight grin on his face, his expression like that of younger man hoping to please. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs and fidgeting like he didn't know what to do with his hands.

Then Bronn simply said, "Turn around." For a moment my fiancé's expression was startled, but then he quickly complied, doing a slow turn. I hadn't seen this compliant side of him before.

Bronn went over to him, saying, "Your belt is a little off-center." He grabbed Steven's belt buckle and slid it fractionally sideways, making an adjustment. The belt had looked fine to me, but I understood his action as establishing possession.