The Big Four Oh

Rob reached out to his phone, turned off the morning alarm, and stared at the darkness. 5:30am. Tuesday. And, incidentally, his birthday. As of today, he was forty years old. Happy birthday to me, he thought.

He'd vaguely expected that he and his wife Emily would do something special for his fortieth. Some big blowout. A party. A weekend away. Something. But they were both busy at work and the year had crawled by and they'd never gotten around to making plans. Plus: Tuesday. You can't have a blowout on a Tuesday, not with that 5:30 alarm looming on Wednesday. Even if they'd both taken the day off, anyone they'd have a blowout with would still have to work tomorrow. There wouldn't even be a quick birthday shag: after a day's work and the long commutes, it was about all they could manage to eat dinner and collapse in front of the TV for a couple of hours before crashing out.

They'd done nothing different last Saturday. No plans for tonight. And they'd probably just end up going to the pub this coming Saturday. Same old, same old.

Forty. And with no plans and no hope even for some sex, Rob expected this birthday to be utterly forgettable.

He was spectacularly wrong on every level.

***

Emily was already in the kitchen by the time Rob was showered and dressed. She was wearing a light, loose-fitting robe, belted at the waist. Of the two of them, he had the longer journey to work, so he always had first dibs on the shower. She was buttering two plates of toast. Mugs of coffee stood on the breakfast bar, steaming. Even the breakfast is the same as normal, he thought morosely to himself.

"There's the man of the hour," Emily said brightly to him. "Good morning, birthday boy!" She kissed him on the cheek before placing the plates of toast on the bar.

He grunted something dark and indistinct in response.

"Someone's got a case of the grumbles this morning," she said mildly as she sat down.

"More like a mid-life crisis, a crushing sense of despair, and heavy awareness of the looming inevitability of death," he said, leaning against the fridge.

"Sounds more like onset of senility to me."

"You may mock--"

"I may," she interrupted. "It's practically a legal requirement."

"-- but just you wait, Miss Thirty-Five Years Old, still with your youthful good looks and firm, lithe body!" And in truth Emily did look good: blessed with a naturally good figure, she kept in shape through tennis and a variety of "dancercise" classes. She'd recently trimmed her dark hair from a long pony-tail to a modern, close-cropped style that was in fashion; it made her pretty elfin face look even younger. Rob let his eyes wander appreciatively over the way the loose robe draped pleasingly from her curves as he warmed to his theme. "Just you wait 'til you get to my age, when everything creaks, your knees don't work, and you can't reach for the TV remote without bits of you dropping off."

"Nonsense. You know very well you're a roguishly handsome devil who scrubs up rather well, and I'm lucky to have you. Those spin classes do you the world of good -- there aren't many men your age with an arse as good as yours. Now stop moaning and open your presents."

"You were doing okay until your age," he told her, but he sat obediently anyway. He took a slurp of coffee as he surveyed the pile of greeting cards, Amazon parcels and small wrapped gifts stacked between them on the bar. Packages had been arriving from distant family and friends for the past two weeks, and Emily had taken them into custardy until this morning. There were the usual expected jokey "You're how old" cards, plus the traditional oversized one from his parents -- his mother seemed to rate cards based primarily on surface area -- plus some impersonal gifts. Emily had gotten him a new PC game, which was nice but hardly a surprise, since she'd made sure he didn't buy it himself as soon as it came out. There was also a rather nice bottle of single malt, which was a nicer surprise. Not that he could try that tonight, he thought. But overall, it didn't really spell big birthday to him. Which was ungrateful, he knew, but he couldn't help feeling that way anyway.

And there was one more item. A plain black envelope with no writing on it. When he opened it, all it contained was another completely black, folded card, made from high-quality paper, with just the word "TONIGHT" printed inside in gold capitals.

He turned it in his hards, looking for a name. "Who's this from?" he wondered aloud.

"That's from me," Emily said over her coffee, her eyes glittering. "You didn't think booze and a computer game were all I have for you, did you? Forty is a big milestone. We ought to celebrate it properly, don't you think? I have another present for you," she said, smiling suggestively. "You'll see it tonight."

Rob's ears pricked up. Was she thinking about sex tonight after all? He could feel a swelling begin.

She gave him an intent look. "You shouldn't plan on getting an early night tonight, birthday boy. I am going to make sure you are erect and aroused for hours."

Rob suddenly found it hard to breath. What?

Emily's expression switched back to innocent again in a heartbeat. "So I wouldn't hang around too late at work tonight, all right?" She smiled sweetly at him and went back to calmly nibbling her toast, leaving him stunned, and with a now massive erection.

***

Emily had a plan.

Emily had a plan because, exactly a year ago to the day, it had been Rob's thirty-ninth birthday, and Emily had not had a plan.

It was a Monday, so she was at her knitting group. Being a loose collective of a dozen or so women aged from eighteen to eighty, it was a far cry from the expected gaggle of amiable biddies. Instead it was, as senior member Maureen (eighty four, possibly immortal) described it, "a raucous coven of rowdy old bats who no longer give a fuck." The group was notable for its lack of restraint when it came to alcoholic beverages, and Emily was known to occasionally imbibe more glasses of chardonnay than were strictly good for her given the early start coming the next day. But so did everyone, and the exchanges of views were often "full and frank", but always good-natured. Perhaps best described as a drinking society with a yarn problem, the conversation often turned to bitching about men; the group was officially known -- with full, intentional irony -- as "KnitWits", but Anthea (sixty seven, socialite, and possibly a former international gun smuggler) had gotten them all into the habit of referring to it as the "Jeez! and Whine!" evening.

And the women were filthy; Emily loved them for it.

The group took turns in hosting the meeting; this evening, they were at Caroline's (mid-thirties, butch), sitting in what was generally referred to as the Library; books covered and toppled off every available surface. They'd been going for more than an hour and so Emily had had, in the words of Nora (sixty-nine, former hippy, still Greenpeace activist), "a small sherry or two", and the conversation somehow came around to the fact that it was Rob's birthday.

"Oh, that's nice," said Sally (seventy-five, and genuinely an amiable old biddy; Emily guessed she'd wanted into the wrong knitting group by mistake and hadn't noticed). "Are you two doing anything nice?"

Emily blinked. "Well, no," she said. "Evidently not. Because I'm, well, here."

"Oh, silly!" Sally said. "I don't mean today. I meant later."

"You could do something today," said Lilith (mid-fifties, life-long goth, and no way was Lilith her real name). "Well, tonight, anyway. When you get home."

"Fuck 'im, you mean," Anthea said.

"Well, actually--" said Sally.

"Give 'im a blowjob," Maureen said, firmly. "A loud, sloppy one. They like that." Maureen often claimed she'd once "fucked that handsome one from Spandau Ballet in the back of a Transit van. Or mebbe it was the handsome one from Duran Duran. Hard to say. We were both off our tits on drugs at the time."

"Let him fuck you in the arse!" said Anthea again, with extra colour.

Maureen cackled. "Fuck him in the arse!"

"Yes! They like that! They say they don't, but they do!"

They both hooted in amusement. "Oh bugger," Anthea said. "Now look! You've made me drop a stitch!"

"You could tie him to the bed," Lilith added. "And then go out to the pictures."

"Oh, that's a good one," Maureen agreed. "I've done that a few times. It's always fun."

"You ladies are such an inspiration to me," Emily said, laughing. "I'll make sure you all receive full credit in the court papers when my husband divorces me."

"What I was going to say," said Sally firmly, "was you could cook him a nice meal. He'll like that."

You haven't tried my cooking, Emily thought to herself.

Lilith jumped in before Emily could respond: "Yes! I've done that. Or, for a big birthday, go out to a nice restaurant."

"It's a bit late for a trip to a restaurant," Emily said, pointedly looking at her watch.

"Is it a big birthday, dear?" Sally asked her.

"Oh, no. Thirty-nine."

"Still young and vigorous, then," Anthea observed, clearly with her mind still firmly in the gutter.

"Oh, well," Lilith said, "you'll have to do something for next year, then."

"Oh yes!" Sally agreed. "You'll have to do something for forty!"

"Two blowjobs," Maureen shrieked, cackling.

Diane (late twenties, a tall, thin estate agent) spoke up. "My Tommy was thirty last year. We went for a tasting menu at a place with two Michelin stars. Eight courses! Eight! We had to book six months in advance, though."

"Well, there you go, then," Sally said. "You've still got time for next year. You should probably get a move on, though."

Emily had come away from the session feeling very guilty that she hadn't arranged anything for Rob this year, but determined to get her ducks in a row for his fortieth.

***

It was fair to say that Rob didn't put in his best day's work. His colleagues all found him distracted for no reason he could mention. He left as soon as he decently could but that just meant he spent more time in rush hour, and the journey home was interminable and frustrating. It was still late when he got back. Emily seemed not to mind, though, and greeted him happily with a kiss when he arrived. She was dressed normally, he noticed, but after a light meal, she announced that she was retiring to the bedroom to prepare, and that she would summon him when she was all set.

Rob fidgeted, an erection already making itself known.

Ten minutes later, there was a text from her. "Ready!"

He was up the stairs in a flash.

She was on the other site of the room, sitting on the chair of her dressing table, in reverse, straddling it; her chin rested on her bare arms which in turn were laid gently along the top of the chair's high back. Her expression was mischievous. He could see she was wearing black stockings, but no makeup. She still looked beautiful, as ever.

"There's the man of the hour," she said, echoing her greeting from the morning. "Good evening, birthday boy." She languorously unfurled herself from the chair and stood, one arm resting on the back. She gave him a sly, sexy smile and stalked towards him. As she came around the bed he could see she was wearing black high-heeled shoes and a black choker. Her underwear was new, apparently made almost entirely of black straps, and with a large number of rose-gold chains, buckles and loops. It was highly suggestive of bondage gear -- not something they'd ever done, but Rob and Emily were open with each other about their desires and sexual fantasies, and she knew this was one of his.

She was ridiculously sexy, deeply sensual.

They took each other in their arms, and kissed deeply. He grabbed handfuls of her backside, squeezing the smooth satin, running his hands along the straps. She slid her hand up the inside of his thigh and squeezed his throbbing shaft through the material.

She gave an appreciative laugh. "Someone's feeling frisky for a weeknight,"

"Can you blame me?" he asked, rubbing her mound through the sheer material. "You look amazing. Any straight male with a pulse would struggle to keep his hands off you."

Emily smiled up at him. "Thank you. That's very sweet of you to say."

He started to run his hands over her breasts, but she turned away and crawled onto the bed. In the middle of the bed she stopped and looked back, waiting for him. She was on all-fours, her knees spread. She rested her arms on her elbows, her head hanging low, presenting an irresistible invitation. Rob swallowed, finding it difficult to breath. She was so arousing right now.

He quickly undressed, hurling his clothes behind him to land against the wall, until he was naked, his shaft standing out rigidly in front of him. He put one knee onto the bed to follow her but as soon as he did, she moved forward, away from him. There was to be a lot of teasing and playing hard-to-get tonight, apparently.

She crawled to the other side of the bed and got off. Opening her wardrobe, she took out a gift-wrapped parcel and placed it on her side of the bed. It was the size of a cereal box laid on its side. It was wrapped in some black paper that had a barely-visible design on it, tied up with a black ribbon. It looked fancy and expensive.

Rob paused. "What's that?"

"That's the next part of your gift. I said you'd see it tonight, didn't I?"

"Oh." He leaned forward on the bed to take it, but she picked it up again.

"Not yet," she said. "This is for Saturday."

HIs brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

"I said you'd see it tonight. But this doesn't get opened until Saturday morning." She gave him that intent look again, the one that stopped his breath. "You've told me about your sexual fantasies. On Saturday, I'm going to make one of them happen."

Rob blinked. He couldn't believe it. "....which one?" They'd each talked about several; Rob was, after all, a typical man.

"You'll find out on Saturday. But this doesn't get opened until then." She returned the package to the wardrobe.

Rob's hard-on was aching now. Given how Emily was dressed for tonight, he couldn't imagine what she had planned for Saturday. "I thought this was the present you meant," he said, gesturing at her.

She looked pleased. "This? Oh no. I just wanted some new underwear. Something different. I was trying it on, because it's a bit complicated. You really like it? Then perhaps I could wear it for you some time when we're having sex."

Wait, what?

"But I thought..."

She gave a slightly embarrassed laugh. "Oh, you thought we were going to have sex tonight? Oh, love, no. You have a busy Saturday ahead of you, and I want to do it justice. So no sex this week. No jerking off, either, understand? No orgasms. I want to make sure you have plenty of stamina for what's to come."

"But... you said..."

"I know what I said. I was quite precise. Now," she said with a smile as she took in his naked form and his eager, twitching penis, "tempting as you are, it's time to turn in; we have an early start tomorrow."

And, shortly after, Rob was lying in bed, still with a solid erection, feeling somewhat hard-done-by. Emily snored gently beside him, still with that mysterious smile on her face. Evidently teasing him was all part of her fiendish plan. He was afire with curiosity, wanting to know what was in store on Saturday. Making a fantasy come to life? Really? He scarcely dared to wonder what she meant. He'd talked about so many things which turned him on but they hadn't dared try. Her new outfit hinted at restraints. Maybe she was thinking about anal? A threesome? That seemed unlikely. Maybe he was going to get all worked up about an orgy when in reality she'd bought a new Sexy Nurse outfit from the Internet...

He'd spent a long time trying to guess what she might mean, his penis hard at the thought of each possibility, before he realised that she'd been entirely correct in what she'd said at breakfast. He had seen his present, and she'd made sure he stayed erect and aroused for hours.

***

Emily had spent the weeks following Rob's thirty-ninth birthday looking into fancy restaurants, romantic mid-week breaks, tour dates for his favourite bands and the like, and nothing was really grabbing her. It was going to be a Tuesday, and she couldn't really spring a surprise three-day trip on him without getting him to arrange the time off work. She wondered about a surprise party, but the logistics looked complicated. It wasn't until a Saturday night, when they were having sex, that inspiration belatedly struck.

It was good sex, but not great sex, and Rob was having trouble getting her over the edge. In her mind, she thought about some of her favourite fantasies, changing the scenario, and managed to get herself to come. After she got her breath back, she rolled over onto Rob and started masturbating him. He too took a while to reach orgasm and she wondered whether he was also indulging in fantasy thoughts to achieve climax.

And that got her thinking: what if she could actually make one of those fantasies come true for him?

That would be worthy of a big birthday.

***

Wednesday may be the middle of the week, but Rob found that the wait until Saturday was interminable. He spend three days in a constant state of arousal, unable to concentrate. Emily was drifting around serenely with a twinkle in her eyes and she just happened to be wearing outfits that leaned towards the "revealing and alluring" end of the spectrum. Friday night was the worse, with work distractions out of the way, and the knowledge that the mysterious parcel was waiting to be opened only a few hours away. He was like a five-year-old on Christmas Eve. He couldn't even grab a few beers and escape into a movie, since Emily raised an eyebrow at him when he opened a pint; "you better not have any more than that tonight," she said archly. "I don't want you getting a hangover."

That night, just like the three previous nights, he lay in bed with a rock-hard penis and no release.

On Saturday morning, Emily made French Toast, with maple syrup, forest berries and creme fraiche. "I know you like it," she said, "but you wouldn't have had time to appreciate it on your birthday."

Plus, I was a little preoccupied, he thought to himself.

The coffee was magnificent, too: she'd ordered a jar of Jamaican Blue Mountain.

And then, after the plates were cleared away and loaded into the dishwasher, Emily brought out the parcel again. She put it on the breakfast bar between them. This close, he could see that the black paper had an embossed paisley design in thin scarlet lines. It looked like really expensive paper. The black ribbon was tied in a bow, and then sealed with a wax stamp.

She caught him looking at the seal in surprise. "Just in case your curiosity overwhelmed you," she said mischievously.

He expected her to hand it over, but she broke the seal herself. "I'll open it. There's a proper order for this." She pulled gently on the ends of the ribbon to undo the bow and removed the ribbon, then she held his eyes with her gaze while she unfolded the paper. The box inside was also black. Emily lifted the lid off, and then placed it on its edge in front of her, making a screen out of it.

"I've bought some things for you that I want you to wear this evening," she said. "I want you to see them now so that you can get comfortable with the idea."

That sounded ominous.

The first thing she passed over was a condom.