The Athlete

You may think that I let my wife sleep with Paul without any regret - that I always had a carefree heart when she left me to go to his bed, but that is not the case. Granted that on those nights when age had dulled my ardour, it was easy to let her go but it was different on his official night. There was a big difference between merely allowing Paul to take advantage of her unused sexual capacity and being myself the one to whom her body was not available on demand. I was badly bothered on those days. One reason was that I always seemed to be randy myself, this no doubt at least partly inspired by thoughts of what they would be doing later. More significantly, at Beth's request I left them alone early about 10.30 p.m. I could understand my wife's desire to have some personal time with Paul outside bed but it was this that I found hardest to take. If she just joined him in bed and they fucked once, twice or half a dozen times, it made no difference because it was just sex. But walking about with him, talking, undressing together and then getting into bed with him made it into more of a relationship - a relationship that excluded me.

I was left with two hours to kill before I could go to bed with any reasonable chance of sleep. The newspaper distracted me for a few minutes but neither a book nor television could hold my attention. Sometimes I watched the Serena video. At times this helped but at others it only accentuated my thoughts about what was going on in the flat and left me tormented with jealousy. I spent a lot of time just wandering round touching things - for some reason I had a need to keep on the move. That was how I came to look in the drawer. Throughout the marriage my wife had looked after paying bills and the general documentation that you acquire through time with my only involvement occasionally signing a form that was placed before me. All of this stuff was kept in a certain drawer that I had not looked in for years. Without planning to I found that I had opened the drawer. Lying on top I could see an envelope that obviously contained photographs and natural curiosity made me look, to discover that they were Polaroid pictures of Beth and Paul engaged in sex acts. I knew that Beth might easily have shown them to me but she gave such graphic descriptions of what they did together that she probably felt photographic proof unnecessary. She had not hidden the prints but, in her typical fashion, had simply left them on view in a place where I was extremely unlikely to look.

I carried the photographs through to the kitchen, looked through them one by one then set them out in rows on the table. The majority of them featured his penis, some by itself from different angles but most with Beth in association. One I rather liked showed her grinning at the camera, her chin touching his balls with his prick up the middle of her face resting against her nose. Quite a few showed her licking it but there were none where she actually had his cock in her mouth. There was one informative shot with my wife's hand holding a ruler against his erect member, showing that at nine inches it was a fat two plus inches longer than mine.

I found only a single copulation picture. For this the camera must have rested on his chest and featured Beth raising herself up, with the column of his cock disappearing inside her cunt. There was one Polaroid of Beth on all fours facing away from the camera and another with her lying on her back, legs wide apart, happily posing for an open crotch shot, (it was obvious that she had already been fucked). The masturbation picture must have taken several attempts to get as it shows a feminine hand holding his shaft and a column of spunk which had risen only a couple of inches from his cock head. There were two other cum shots. In one it was splattered all over her tits and in the other Paul had scored a direct hit just below her eye. There were stringy strands of semen dangling from both her eyebrow and nose, and Beth's small tongue was curled upwards trying to capture the cum dangling above her upper lip.

In a strange way these pictures helped me rather than increase my torment and I always get them out on these nights, developing a ritual when laying out so that they can be replaced in the correct order. Every time I open that drawer it is in hopeful anticipation of additional photographs. I get the impression that they rather enjoyed taking pictures of themselves so I am not often disappointed and as Paul gets more able there is a greater variation in content. One new one showed Beth tossing him off and squirting his cum into her open mouth. I marvelled at far my wife was managing to go without actually breaking her promise not to give him a blow job. I decided right then that it was a pointless limitation to have placed on her and the next day released her from the promise, without revealing what had prompted my change of heart. My reward the very next week was to find three shots showing his prick in her mouth and in one I could hardly believe how Beth had managed to get the whole damn thing down her throat.

With Serena not now returning there is nothing to bring this situation to a natural end and I wonder how long we will go on like this. I worry more about what happens when it does end if Beth still has a sexual appetite that I am unable to satisfy. Sometimes I hanker after a normal marriage and regret the passing of the life that I knew but if you offered me a magic spell to set things back as they were, I doubt if I would use it.

Paul is getting fitter all the time and any time now I expect Beth to come and tell me that they have been 'fucking like dogs'.