The Stir

I walk into my husband's study, gently closing the antique pocket doors behind me. He looks up from his spreadsheet-laden computer and takes in my outfit. For a brief moment he grins like a little boy, but then a frown turns his eyes cold.

"Five o'clock already?" he asks, glancing at the clock on his computer screen. He tries to appear nonchalant, but I hear the pain creeping into his face and voice.

"I've been waiting for five o'clock all day," I say, giving him my most seductive smile. I reach down to adjust the top of my sheer black stockings, drawing his attention to them. I'm wearing them especially for Marc, along with high black leather heels, a loose black wrap skirt that falls just below my ass, and a sheer white blouse over a sheer bra. I plan to let him discover what I've left out - panties. I don't expect the outfit to make him forget what day it is, but I hope it takes some of the sting out.

"Never thought I'd hate ovulation day this much," Marc mumbles, petulantly kicking the side of his desk. But he's eyeing the tops of my stockings and subconsciously licking his lips. I walk over and perch on the edge of his desk, spreading my knees just enough to give him a glimpse up my skirt. I lean down and cup his rough cheek, running my thumb along his stubble.

"I know, my love, its hard for me too." He stacks his hand on mine.

"Do you blame me if I don't like sharing you?"

I sigh at the well-worn ground, "No, but it's what we need to do to..."

"... have a baby, " he finishes, scrubbing a hand through his shaggy brown hair. "I know, I know. This ... arrangement will just feel like a distant bad dream once our family is complete."

He forces a smile but doesn't look me in the eye. "I guess we need to get started so you can make it to the hotel on time."

"You could always come with me."

"Huh! And watch a couple meatheads stick it to my wife. Um, no. I think if I ever had to see that ..." he trails off.

"Hey," I tip his chin up until his grey eyes meet my brown ones. "It will be worth it when we're holding our daughter or son. Every couple who wants to start a family goes through this. We'll be just fine."

Five years ago, the Steriliores virus swept rapidly through most of the world's population centers. At first it seemed like nothing more than a particularly nasty flu, but then the diagnoses of infertility in men began to roll in by the hundreds of thousands. The panic was immediate and widespread. The conspiracy theories soon followed.

People claimed Steriliores was a heavenly punishment, a government lab-created solution to overpopulation, the result of GMO corn, biological warfare from China, or an alien species using humans as hosts. Five years later with neither cause nor cure, the theories keep growing.

But a year into the epidemic, a 25-year-old dental hygienist from Pittsburgh named Bethany Bloom turned up pregnant. After hours of CIA interrogation, she finally admitted to cheating on her husband with not one, but two men she met on Craigslist.

The men were located and tested, and Alpha, Beta, and Gamma sperm were discovered. Steriliores, or "the Stir" as most people had come to call it by then, had mutated as it passed through the populous, affecting men differently. When men infected with the Alpha, Beta, and Gamma strands of the virus mixed their sperm together (in a petri dish or a uterus) within a narrow window (three hours, give or take a few minutes) the virus becomes dormant, and pregnancy can occur.

That's why Bethany Bloom had gotten pregnant during her menage-a-dultery. It's how women are still having babies while the frantic search for a cure for the Stir continues. And it's why I have plans to meet Malik, my Beta, and Eric, my Gamma, at a hotel across town to supplement what I'm about to get from Marc.

Marc is still stressing, pushing his hair back from his forehead. I spin his desk chair around and sit on his lap, straddling him. I slowly unbutton and unzip his jeans, sliding my hand inside, my eyes locked on his. He is already hard, and I smiled a little triumphantly at having chosen my outfit well. I start to rub his cock and he leans his head back and lets out a low moan. I decide that Marc has been a great sport about an arrangement he finds less than ideal, and he deserves a reward. So I slide down his legs until I am kneeling between them. Then I hook my fingers into his waistband and pull down his pants and boxers.

I kiss little teasing bites up along his inner thighs until Marc's moans start to get impatient. Then I touch my tongue to the base of his thick shaft and lick a slow, long upward stroke. I circle the head, flicking the tip with my tongue, earning a thrust of Marc's hips. His breath is coming heavy, so I wrap my lips around his cock and take him all the way into my mouth

"Oh ... love ... oh," Marc grabs my head with one hand and reaches down to rub my hard, aching nipples through my thin blouse and translucent bra with the other. With his whole cock deep in my throat, I stroke my tongue all along his thick shaft. I alternate stroking with soft sucking. It feels so good, I give a breathy moan around his cock and Marc thrusts his hips up again. When I gently drag my teeth along his shaft he starts to shake, and I feel immensely powerful.

Suddenly, he reaches down and pulls me up, dragging me back on his lap. He spreads my legs so I'm straddling him. He slides a hand under my skirt and lets out a deep moan to find me pantiless and wet for him. I lift up on my toes, spreading my legs wide, and slowly impale myself on him. I cry out at the sudden feeling of fullness and clutch his shoulder.

He peppers my face and neck with tender kisses and wraps his arms tightly around me. Marc loves it when I ride him, so I start pushing up onto my toes and sliding back down again, pumping up and down on his iron cock. I cup his cheek again and kiss him deeply as I ride him. He grabs my ass and pushes me down harder, forcing himself deeper inside me, forcing us even closer.

"Gonna ... make you ... feel me ... think of me ... the ... whole ... time ..." he grinds out the words in time with the strokes. .

"Yes," my words come in gasps "Only you ... Marc ... my love."

He slips a hand in between us and starts rubbing frantic circles on my clit, pressing hard on the swollen and slippery nub. The pleasure is exquisite, almost to the point of pain, and my orgasm crashes over me quickly. I clench my muscles tightly around his cock, and Marc follows soon after.

He collapses back against his chair, and I lean forward to rest my head against his shoulder. He wraps an arm around me and we sit like that for several long minutes, our breathing slowing, stealing this moment of intimacy before reality sets in.

I break the silence. "I love you."

"But you need to go." he finishes for me.

"Yes."

"I love you too. Drive safe."

He rubs my shoulder as he releases me, but doesn't look me in the eye. Maybe he's afraid my eyes don't hold the same quiet resignation as his. Or worse, that they sparkle with excitement. I don't know what he'll see in them, so I look away too.

I leave him alone in the study. I don't bother to change, but I do fix my hair and and lipstick in the hallway mirror.

Then I pause to listen, and after hearing Marc's steady typing from the study, I dive a hand into our large umbrella stand and pull out a crumpled brown paper bag. Marc was inexplicably rearranging the umbrellas the previous day, and I'm not ready to take any chances, so I tuck it under my arm. Then I grab my purse and keys and climb into the car, tossing the bag on the backseat. I stare at it for several long moments in the driveway, but soon realize that I can't deal with it just now. My three hour window has begun. So I start the car and head for the hotel.

As I drive, I remember the pain in Marc's voice and how tightly he held me. I wonder what will happen if they find a cure for the Stir. Will people return to monogamy? Or will this disease have changed society so much that monogamy will seem passe?

Sweet, traditional Marc would return to monogamy. We pledged our fidelity to each other in an apple orchard under the autumn sun six months before The Stir hit. We both wanted kids, and when I turned thirty-five, we decided waiting for a cure that might never happen was no longer a viable option. So we planned on in-vitro, but the sky-high price tag and low success rate made me muster up the nerve to suggest (over several glasses of whiskey) that we consider using "direct donors," as euphemism-lovers like us refer to multiple partners. I showed him all the apps for finding supplemental sperm and explained that ABGFind did the most robust health screenings. I thought my thorough research would ease his concerns, but looking back I think it actually made it worse for him.

We fought. We tried long, painful, expensive in-vitro and watched it fail. We fought some more. We tried and failed again. Finally, after a year, Marc agreed.

It wasn't until he gave in and suggested I download the ABGFind app that I realized how much resentment had crept into my thoughts. Why was he stalling and wasting precious time when we knew this step was inevitable? Is me having sex with someone else so terrible, if it gets us the child we both want? What if all the theories about the Stir are wrong, and its really some cosmic feminist karma. For millennia men have told women who to sleep with and when and how. Now, the continuation of the human race hinges on women sleeping around. Is the Stir karmic justice?

Even as I think these things, I realize how unfair I am being to Marc. He doesn't deserve the blame for generations of oppression, even as I feel the effects of it. He's just a man in an unexpected situation, trying to protect his marriage. Sure, we could have had a child years ago if he'd just been a little more open-minded. But this world isn't one he signed up for. Then again, its not one any of us signed up for.

As I pull into the hotel where I usually meet Malik and Eric and a pavlovian response triggers a dampness between my legs. I would never have imagined myself the type of women to lust after multiple men, but I've discovered that I am. Because of the Stir, I am not just a woman sleeping around on her husband. I am a mother-to-be, creating life. I am righteous in my lust.

2 hours, 10 minutes left in the window. I park and and consider taking the brown paper bag in the backseat with me, but I can't deal with its contents just yet. So instead I head up to Room 142 and knock on the door. It swings open, and behind it stands Malik, smiling.

"Hey, beautiful," he says in his deep baritone, raking me up and down with his eyes.

"Hey yourself," I say with a shy smile.

Malik is wearing dark jeans, a grey cashmere sweater, and his ever-present Dodgers hat. He stands back to let me through the door, but not quite far enough. I take the hint and rub my ass against him as I slide by. The room is clearly Malik's idea of a love nest - rose petals, cold chardonnay and several crossword puzzles, only one of which he's waited for me to complete.

"Eric texted, by the way, and said traffic on 95 is a parking lot," he says as he hangs a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door.

I throw up my hands in exaggerated exasperation, "He never leaves work in time! There's always traffic on 95 right now."

Malik comes up behind me and starts rubbing my shoulders. His strong hands melt away the tension from the drive and send little bolts of desire into my stomach. "Don't stress, beautiful. He'll be here."

I sigh and let myself relax back into his broad chest. Malik has maintained the wide-receiver build he developed playing football in college - tall, sturdy and powerful. His hands work down my spine, soothing me and turning me on all at once.

"This outfit is quite a treat," he murmurs as his massage reaches the small of my back. "Makes me think about what's underneath it. My imagination is being very vivid." He reaches down and lifts the hem of my skirt, revealing my bare ass.

"Mmmmmm," he responds with a throaty growl, "Look at you dirty, beautiful baby." He lightly strokes my ass and it sends shivers up my spine. "You want a drink first?"

I shake my head, my mouth dry, "I want you."

He scoops me up and carries me over to the king-sized bed. He pulls off my heels one at a time and runs his hands slowly up the inside of my stocking-clad thighs. "These are sexy," he says as he slides two fingers under the top of one of the stockings, "but these are sexier," he continues, rolling the stockings down my legs and kissing the bare thighs he reveals. I shiver with desire.

When the stockings are gone, Malik kisses his way back up, unwrapping and discarding my skirt, then blouse and finally bra, until I lay naked on the bed. He steps back, admiration shining in his eyes. "Now this outfit is an even more delicious treat," he grins wickedly. "I can't wait to taste it."

He kneels between my legs, lifts my knees and spreads them wide. Then he bends his face to find me wet. He blows a shocking, titillating stream of cold air on my throbbing clit and then immediately covers it with his tongue, circling the aching numb. I groan and thrust my hips upward. He alternates deep tongue strokes into my center and frantic teasing on my clit. I clutch at his shoulders and push my hips up to meet each stroke. I can feel my orgasm building as his clever tongue strokes me again and again in perfect, building rhythm. Just when I can't take any more, Malik sucks on my clit.

I come hard, and I barely register my nails digging into his shoulders. When the shaking subsides, I realize Malik is already naked crawling into bed next to me.

I roll onto my side and he pulls me back against his firm chest and lifts my thigh over his until we're spooning - his favorite position. Then he pushes his massive cock into the waiting warmth. I cry out at the stretching and the feeling of being so full, but as usual, Malik waits for my body to not just become adjusted to his size, but to demand movement.

When I finally begin to wiggle against him, Malik grabs my hips and fucks me with deep strokes. I can feel another orgasm building within me, and I thrust my ass back towards Malik. His cock is so huge, I shake with pleasure, slamming my ass back against him again and again. As he nears the edge, he grabs my hips roughly and we come together, before collapsing into the soft hotel bed.

For several minutes I lay in Malik's strong arms in a wonderful pool of satisfied bliss as he nuzzles my neck and nibbles my ear. But a trickle of liquid on my thigh brings me back to reality and the reason I am with this strong, gorgeous man who is not my husband.

I also realize I have already broken my promise to Marc. I didn't think of him once.

"I need to see if Eric has texted," I say as I pull away from Malik. I pad naked across the room, smiling at the feeling of Malik's eyes on my swishing ass, and grab the phone from my purse. There is a text from Eric.

95 a literal parking lot. Some asshole overturned his semi and its across all four lanes. Not going anywhere for hours. Sorry to disappoint.

"Shit," I swear and read Malik the text. "Well, I guess that's that."

"No way, beautiful. Don't accept that. I know how much this means to you."

"What can I do? I've got an hour left in the window, and there's no way he can get here by then."

Malik is quiet for several minutes as he thinks, then his eyes suddenly go bright. "Then you should go to him."

"Yeah, I guess I could pick him up, but he's not going to leave his car in the middle of the highway."

"No, he's not," Malik agrees.

"But then ..." I suddenly realize what he is suggesting. "But he's in the middle of a traffic jam! There would be people everywhere."

I have never had sex with anyone in public, let alone in the middle of a crowd of bored onlookers. The prospect is terrifying and, though I am reluctant to admit it, maybe just a little bit exciting. I'm not ready to face that feeling, so I stall for time.

"How would I even get to where he is?"

"I'll drive you," Malik stands and starts pulling his pants on, and I can see his mental wheels turning, ready to solve the problem in front of us. "I'll drive you and drop you off on the other side of the concrete divider, then you just have to hop over and make a little nasty with Eric in the car. I'll come back in what - like 20 minutes - and pick you up."

"That's a crazy plan."

"Crazy brilliant," he says, the same sly grin across his face. Then he stops and walks over to me, more serious. "You owe it to yourself to try this."

Am I owed this? Do I deserve it? I remember the first time I did this with Malik, with all the lights out because I was terrified he'd think my thighs were too fat or my breasts were too small and leave on the spot. He held me while I cried after and then turned on the lights and told me why every part of me was beautiful. It tooks months for me to feel comfortable with our arrangement, to love and understand my body, to want to share it, to embrace sex, yes as a way to have a child, but also as a glorious, sensual act in and of itself. Could I have really gone from a woman too ashamed of her body to show it to a woman willing to have sex in public in the space of several months? Amazingly, I find I have and I am emboldened by the realization of my own sexuality. I do owe this to myself.

"Why are you being so helpful?" I ask Malik. He lifts up his left hand and points to the simple band there. "I treat you like I hope they treat Maria when she does this."

"You two still haven't had any luck then?"

Malik looks down and shakes his head. "But we keep hoping the next month, it will happen."

"Okay," I gently touch his arm. "How fast can you get there?"

Malik and I are in his Camry in less than five minutes - him heading to the highway and me texting Eric.

Ok, we're coming to you. Where ru exactly?

Mile marker 146. R we gonna jam in the jam?

yes.

sweeeeeet! Can u bring snickers and water 2? Soooo hungry. Stuck for soooo long.

The clock is ticking. Maybe next time.

Million dollar idea: Seamless for sex and candy.

After getting Eric's snacks, we head down the non-jammed side of the highway and see that Eric wasn't kidding. Traffic is backed up for miles. "I'll take back roads to loop around to get you," Malik says as he pulls off to the shoulder. I can see Eric's vintage blue Bronco on the other side of the median, one tattooed arm hanging out the window.

"See you in 20 minutes, beautiful. Give them a good show."

I grab Eric's snacks and get out of the car. Then it occurs to me that for people who have been stuck in unmoving traffic for a couple hours, a woman in a short skirt and no panties climbing over a highway median might get noticed.

"Wait!" I call back to Malik before he drives away. "Can I borrow your hat?"

He tosses the Dodgers cap out the window and I catch it and put it on, pulling it low over my eyes. At least this way I'll be harder to identify when the smart phone videos eventually make it onto the internet.

As I hitch a leg up to climb over the median, the wind blows my skirt over my waist, exposing my naked ass to the line of traffic behind me. A couple of people honk, though it's unclear if its in approval or warning. On the other side, I bolt into Eric's car as fast as I can in my heels.

"I'm pretty sure the trucker next to me started filming you when you climbed over the median and has no plans to stop. What a douchebag." He grins a wide, charming smile at me.

I look up to see the trucker staring at me, phone at the ready. I pull the hat down a little farther.

"Oh, check it," Eric says as he changes tracks on the stereo. "I downloaded some of that Anna Difranco chick cause you said that one song made you kinda hot."