The Getaway

My husband and I needed to get away.

Between work, our three kids and other commitments, we hadn’t really connected as a couple in quite a while.

Sex? Well, I admit it was all a bit predictable — a couple of times a week in the bedroom with the lights out. Usually the only variation was usually whether he was on top or I was on top.

Honestly, I was fine with that. It was more than many of our friends had.

Sex hasn’t been front and center in my mind for years. Our kids are busy. Our careers keep us very occupied. We have a good group of friends and coworkers.

I thought we looked pretty good, too, for a couple in our 40s. I have long, dark hair and what my husband thinks is a cute butt. I do have a bit of a post-kid muffin top and I get self conscious about my D-sized boobs (which my husband loves) being too big, but I still didn’t mind a few gazes at my 5 foot, 7 frame.

My husband, about 6 feet tall, was balding and, at 200 pounds, about 15 pounds heavier than when we first met more than 25 years ago. But he was still an attractive guy with a short salt-and-pepper beard and gray temples.

Really, life was pretty good.

He wasn’t happy with our sex life, though.

*

A little more about our sex life from my point of view:

Our sex life is fine for me. Nothing crazy, but we have a good time. I’m fulfilled.

He’s far more obsessed/interested in sex than me.

He often asks me about what sex fantasies I’d been having. My standard answer is, “I don’t have any” — which is (mostly) true. Then, I go back to reading my book.

He likes sex toys, which I’m really not in to, but I’ll play occasionally when he suggests doing so.

He probably jerks off a couple of times a week. I might masturbate on my own once a month, but generally don’t feel the need or desire. I’m too busy, too tired — and I get what I want when I’m with him.

If I had a choice to do anything out of the box sexually, it would probably be to mess around with another woman — something my husband had said he’d be fine with when I shared that with him once. I could never see that actually happening while we were married, but I know he gets off at just the thought of it.

When we have sex, it almost always starts with some caressing, followed by him massaging my breasts and nipples as I lay on my back rubbing my clit.

I’m all about the boob-clitoris link. Having them rubbed, licked, pinched and caressed is one of the keys to my arousal. My husband is good at that.

I usually prefer he doesn’t touch me much between my legs until he puts himself inside me after I cum. Oral doesn’t typically do much for me, either. He likes giving and receiving, but it’s generally pretty rare for either to happen.

Usually, I close my eyes and concentrate on a sexy scenario and his rubbing and kissing of my breasts until I orgasm (once — I’ve never been a multi-orgasmic gal).

As for those scenarios, I picture random people — never myself or my husband. Sometimes it’s two girls playing together. Sometimes it’s a couple getting crazy in a dressing room. Sometimes it’s a threesome on a boat.

It works for me and only takes me a few minutes because I know where and how to touch myself much better than any man.

Once I cum, he fucks me, which I enjoy — it helps extend the pleasure of my orgasm.

The actual fucking is usually a two or three minute process. I never orgasm from regular penis-in-vagina sex, but I do love the feeling when he first penetrates me.

He’s got a fairly average size cock — 5 1/2, 6 inches long — although it’s on the skinnier side compared to others I had before we were married. (He’s the only one who actually had me measure it.)

After a minute or two of thrusting, I can’t feel as much friction because I get super wet after I cum and his lack of girth isn’t exactly filling me up (especially after 3 kids), so I’m generally content with him cumming inside me and the whole thing being over. I didn’t care much about penis size and I had told him that.

He’s self conscious about his dick, but that’s his issue, not mine.

To his credit, he always makes sure I cum first. It’s pretty rare that I fake an orgasm.

I don’t ask him about his fantasies — something he’s pointed out to me a few times.

But he sometimes shares his thoughts — unsolicited.

Lately he’d been talking about how much he’d like to watch me get fucked by another guy.

I admit I got turned on by the idea of having sex — or really, the idea of getting fucked — by another guy if only for a bit of variety. But there was a long way between idea and reality. In my mind, this would be bad for our relationship and potentially break our marriage.

I preferred to keep fantasy in the fantasy world, which I told him whenever he brought anything involving another person up.

His attitude is actually a big turnaround from when we met and he realized I had a bit more experience than him. I had had sex with 10 other guys before we started dating and I had plenty of other male partners for activities rounding third base, too. Most were short-term relationships — before I met my husband I had only one boyfriend who lasted a year.

My husband, who is a couple of years younger than me, was less sexually experienced than me when we started dating. He had a long-term girlfriend to whom he lost his virginity and a few other hookups, but I could tell when we first had sex (on our second date) that he — like many of my previous partners — didn’t know what he was doing.

He was extremely jealous of my previous partners for years after we met. I wouldn’t talk about those relationships with him because I knew anything I revealed would end up getting thrown back in my face.

So, fast forward through twenty-some years of monogamy he now was fantasizing about me messing around with other guys.

Men.

*

As we packed our bags for our weekend getaway, I could tell he was excited — oddly nervous — but I didn’t think much of it. His work life had been stressful lately, so I figured he was just happy to get away.

We had booked a room at a small hotel in northern Michigan near water, wineries and some pretty great restaurants. It was fall. There was a comfortable chill in the air. Leaves were turning. Cozy sweater weather.

When we arrived at the little hotel, the room itself was spacious — a king bed with a desk and a big cushy chair for reading the corner. We made love (see description above — him on top) within the first 20 minutes, took a quick nap and headed out to sample some wine.

Everything felt perfect — or at least fine — although my husband seemed a little quiet.

At the second vineyard we visited, we grabbed a small table and started sipping on a few red selections brought to us by a handsome, attentive 30-something-year old who told us he was the son of the founder of the place.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked my husband as we settled in. “You’ve been kind of quiet since we left the hotel.”

“Promise you won’t be angry with me if I tell you?”

“Depends,” I said. “What is it?”

“It’s sex stuff.”

Here we go. We had just had sex, so I was a little pissed off. “OK, tell me.”

“So, you know how I keep telling you about my fantasy of seeing you have sex with another guy?”

I blushed. “Ya. Fantasy. That’s fine. It’s not going to happen, though.”

He looked me dead in the eye with an odd smile. “What if I told you I had been communicating with a guy about getting together with us this weekend? Your rules, but with the idea that he might be able to sex with you with no strings — if you agreed. I’d be there, but would only participate if you wanted me to.”

I must have gone white, then red — a little light headed. I felt myself get a little wet, but also angry.

“No! I don’t want to be with anyone other than you!” I think a few people at the winery heard me, so I quieted down a bit. “Besides, there’s no way you did that.”

He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned across the table. “Look, I love you and only want to be with you. But, I need more than what our sex life is giving me. I find you the hottest, sexiest woman in the world, but I need you to break out of your shell. Maybe you don’t need this, but doesn’t it intrigue you at all?”

It did, but, “it’s not worth the risk to me, to our marriage,” I said. “I’m fine with our sex life the way it is. I’m trying to be more sexual, but I can’t be something I’m not. I don’t think bringing other people into the picture will help.”

He was frustrated: “I’m not fine with our sex life, though. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

I got up without speaking and went to the ladies room. I was mad. It did mean something to me that he wasn’t satisfied. It’s not like this was the first time in our more than 20 years together that he had told me he had issues with it. Sex was one of the few things we ever argued about.

He had never gone so far as to actually setting up a threesome or whatever this was — that is, if he was even telling the truth.

I cried for a minute in the restroom as I thought about the situation. We had seen friends and neighbors divorce at our age. They seemed to have a great life together until one of them decided the marriage wasn’t enough for them. I had no intention other than to live the rest of my life with the man I married — even if he was so obsessed with sex that he’d cook up this scenario in his brain.

Once I regained my composure, I almost involuntarily smiled at myself in the bathroom mirror. Ha! Some guys still love to get their hands on me, I thought. I noticed my panties were a little wetter than I expected they would be. I knew what I was going to do.

I was going to call his bluff.

While I had stepped away, the owner’s son had come over to offer a refill to my husband. They were chatting as I returned to the table. He was a fit 6 feet, 3 inches tall, slim and fit with wavy, thick, dark hair, blue eyes and a 5 o’clock shadow. He looked a bit like he had stepped out of an Orvis catalog.

As I approached the table he refilled my glass, turned, winked at me and walked away.

“You guys going fly fishing or something?” I asked, trying to avoid blushing over the wink, which my husband didn’t see.

“Maybe. We’ll see,” my husband said with a grin. “Are you OK?”

I was feeling bold, but I knew what I had to do. I leaned across the table and gave him a kiss on the lips.

“OK, if you really set this thing up, I’m willing to consider it. I have the power of veto at any time, though. So, I guess the ball is in your court.”

It was time for him to come clean — admit he was just saying this was all just fantasy talk. He was a perv who was full of shit.

Instead, he said: “I’m so excited I don’t know what to say. Are you sure?”

Wait. What did he mean, was I sure? The gig was supposed to be up.

“I just said I’d consider it,” I whispered back, incredulous and doubting. “So, who is the guy?”

My husband looked back over toward the counter where the vineyard owner’s son was helping out some other tourists and nodded his head.

He took a big sip of his wine. “So, do YOU want to go fishing?” He wasn’t whispering.

This was real? This was real. This was real?

“What? No. No. Not him? No. You’re kidding. You’re just kidding.”

“Here’s what I know,” my husband began, resuming a whisper: “He answered an ad I put online. He’s 36, divorced once, has a daughter he sees on weekends and works here full time. He’s not interested in a long-term relationship, but enjoys hooking up when he can. He’s done this a few times before. He has had a vasectomy and says he’s STD free - even sent me a recent medical report saying as much. He will wear a condom if we want. I’ve looked him up on Facebook and LinkedIn and everything seems to square with what he’s told me. No criminal record. I showed him some pictures of you and explained my situation - basically that you didn’t know anything. He said he thought you were beautiful and to bring you in and see what you said. He only wants to play if you do.”

I didn’t know what to say, but blurted in my loudest whisper: “Of course he’d wear a condom! But, Jesus...”

I nervously sipped my wine and we spent a minute drinking in silence. My husband was waiting for me to process this.

Finally, he broke the awkward quiet. “If you want to do this, he said he could meet us at the hotel room. We can just write it on the receipt and he’ll come by at 9 o’clock. If not, we walk out of here and resume our regularly scheduled programming.”

I was still stunned. “You really want to do this?”

“Yes,” he said, looking me in the eye.

“You really think you could handle this?” I asked.

“Yes, I think so. I want to be sure you can handle it, though.”

I took a final sip from my wine glass. I was still partially convinced my husband was putting me on.

“Leave him the info,” I said, getting up and heading for the door without looking over at the wine guy.

The next few hours were a blur. Dinner. Check in with the kids. Watch some dumb TV shows while drinking another bottle of wine. We didn’t talk much about what was (or wasn’t) to come.

Maybe he wouldn’t show up, I thought. Maybe my husband was full of shit, despite him telling me over dinner a few fairly convincing details about the setup.

But when clock hit 9, there was a knock at the door.

My husband answered. “Come on in.”

Wine guy was still in his plaid flannel and jeans. He approached me where I sat in the big corner chair, extending a handshake. “I’m Tom,” he said, warmly.

I stood up, nervously shook his hand and introduced myself.

“I know you’re nervous,” he said. “If you changed your mind, that’s OK.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.

He hugged me. “You’re hotter than the pictures your husband shared.”

His arms were big and muscular, his calloused hands felt huge around my back as he began rubbing my hair with one of them. I felt frozen.

“Let’s take things slow,” he said. “Either of you stop me at any time. This is no fun for me if it’s not fun for you.”

He started to smell my hair and I realized how much taller he was than my husband. He was practically bending over to kiss my cheek and then my neck. I started to shiver and melt at the same time.

This was happening.

My husband sat down in the desk chair. I looked at him and he nodded with a serious smile. I wouldn’t look at him again for almost an hour.

Tom kissed my lips and then I felt his tongue in my mouth. He smelled a bit like oak barrels and tasted sweet. It was my first first kiss since the 90s and I felt it in my core.

He tugged at my sweather, then began lifting it over my head, exposing my bra. He held my body in close again, warming me and bringing the shivering down. He unbuttoned his own shirt and pulled off a white undershirt beneath, exposing a muscular chest with defined abs and little hair.

I felt tiny in his arms as he unfastened my bra and led me to the bed.

This was happening.

We sat on the bed and kissed for a while. I felt his bare pecks and his abs and something clicked in my head and I felt no more hesitation. He began to reach down to my pants and my entire body tickled. I unfastened my pants for him and pulled them off along with my soaked panties, modestly covering up with a bedsheet.

He lay me down and began kissing my chest and I pulled him in closer. He was quite good at this.

“You are beautiful. Your breasts are incredible.” He was whispering to me.

This was happening. To me.

His head worked its way down my belly as he spread my legs apart. He began licking between my legs in a way I don’t ever recall feeling before. Controlled, rhythmic, his tongue danced and darted for minutes as his hands embraced my hips and inner thighs. I tried to relax and go with this, looking down and watching this stranger’s head and hands on me. It wasn’t long before I felt a surge of pleasure and came hard, squeezing his head between my legs! I pushed him away, but he put his head back down and plunged his tongue into me as my orgasm crested and continued.

I laughed. Wow. This was happening.

He stood up and began unbuttoning his jeans, removing them and his boxer shorts at the same time to reveal a penis that dwarfed my husband’s - a few inches longer and thicker than I ever remember seeing.

“Oh my God! He’s huge,” I thought to myself, trying not to act too impressed (or intimidated?).

Without a word, Tom guided my head toward his penis as he stood by the side of the bed. It barely fit in my mouth. I wasn’t much for giving head, but it felt like an obligation and an opportunity to examine this thing up close. Smooth and thick with a few visible veins, it was fascinatingly hard and warm. It even smelled good as I kissed up and down his shaft and took his head into my mouth.

I had forgotten this thrill of discovering all the different aspects of a new lover.

Finally, I pushed him away and in one motion he grabbed my legs and positioned himself between them. “Condom?”

The question ran quickly through my head. He had a vasectomy and was STF free, check and check.

“No,” I said, surprising myself (and, my husband, I’d later learn).

I was soaking wet and wanted him to enter me. As he pushed in I felt unexpected resistance despite my ample lubrication. He eased out and in little by little, until he finally plunged into me and I felt a sensation I hadn’t felt in years.

He stretched all sides of me, giving me a sense that my whole body was full and warm. He held himself deep inside me for a moment before beginning a rhythmic, hard fuck that built up over the course of 5 minutes to an orgasm deep inside of me — my body shook and he continued the thrusts as I held his ass to feel the motions.

“Oh my God,” I whimpered as this new sensation overwhelmed me.

He raised my legs to rest them on his shoulders, putting them both on one side. I felt him hit places I didn’t know existed. I could feel the veins of his shaft moving inside of me as he fucked me hard in that position for another 5 minutes of bliss.

Then, in a single movement, he flipped me on my belly and entered me from behind with ease. This position was sometimes difficult for my husband to pull off, but he made it feel natural and fucking amazing. He pushed my shoulders down into the mattress, pulled my ass toward him and pushed my legs together, straddling me as he fucked me hard, his hands gripped around my waste.

I could barely breathe and felt myself building up again as I felt his balls slapping against my clitoris and his cock stretching my pussy. I came again with a scream. Then I came again.

I heard my husband’s voice from somewhere. “Are you OK?”

“Ya, ya,” I said to no one, my eyes clenched shut. “Don’t stop...”

He must have fucked me in that position for another 5 minutes before grabbing me like a rag doll and flipping me on top of him.

I reached down to put him back into me and again felt his thickness and length in my hand. I lowered myself slowly and leaned back to rest my hands on his tight abs.

I could feel the weight of my breasts bounce on my chest and he grabbed my butt cheeks and spread them apart, allowing me to take him even deeper. He thrust from underneath me, while I rode him, pushing him as deep as I could. I felt his body start to sweat before his cock began to pulsate inside me and he came with an orgasm that seemed to last at least a minute.

He pulled me down to his face and gave me a deep kiss. “That was incredible,” he said.

“Ya,” was all I could muster as I felt him get softer inside of me. I lay on him and he rubbed my back and as I came out of what seemed like a stupor or a bubble.

I turned my head to find my husband staring at me from the same desk chair with a sweet smile on his face. He got up and kissed my forehead as I lay collapsed with this lover he had found for me still inside of his wife. I could feel this other man’s cum beginning to drip out of me and got up to use the restroom.