tagLoving WivesCarpe Diem Ch. 01

Carpe Diem Ch. 01


At the time the following events unfolded in my life I had just turned 30. Susan, my wife, was 28.

Susan was a naturally beautiful brunette. At 5'8" tall she and had recently begun to compete in Olympic distance triathlons. The training for this kept her body in peak physical shape. Luckily for me she retained her breasts, 34C, even though most triathlon participants loose them. She had beautiful brown eyes set equal distance apart from her slender nose, the tip of which ever so slightly turned upwards. Her Spanish heritage gave her pronounced cheekbones set high on her face so when she was happy two small dimples would appear on either side of her smile. Her lips were perfectly plump resting above a petite chin that tapered outward to form her feminine jawline. When I had first met her the slight arch of her manicured eyebrows gave me a feeling that she was always a step ahead of me in conversation. A friend of mine compared her looks to the actress Christine Taylor. I agree whole-heartedly, they could have been sisters separated at birth.

I have to admit looking back at the events now I was more open to this type of thing that I was aware. I definitely had my reservations but the mere thought of such financial gain tied to such supreme taboo sexual fantasies was far too appealing. It was our apple in the Garden of Eden. Psychologically speaking, for that particular time in our lives, it was the perfect storm.

To most our Garden of Eden would not have been an "Eden" at all but we were content. Our quaint house on a cul-de-sac in a quite neighborhood was our perfect home. Susan and I had been married for 5 years. We met on a semester break halfway through college and became fast friends. Being from the same hometown but attending different universities our relationship started off as most in similar situations do, highly sexual and with no strings attached. Over the remaining years of our college careers and through multiple miserably failed and wasted relationships we always came back to each other. Three different times we broke up and reunited and each time we were faced with the difficult conversations about our ever-growing number of past sexual partners.

Her confessions of past occurrences were always such a shock to me. I never really had wanted to hear about her exploits but selfish curiosity would always force it to be a topic of discussion. When these conversations would take place, usually only a short time after we would recommit to each other or, in other words, officially label ourselves a monogamous relationship, I would not know how to deal with it. My "defense mechanism," if you can call it that, was to get turned on. It was erotic to think about the woman I loved as such a sexual creature but it created a deep conflict in my mind.

The first time I experienced this emotional dilemma was over the phone. That otherwise uneventful evening was the awakening of something in me, up until that moment, I had not known existed. Something I would not be able to emotionally digest until I was older and much more mature.

We were back on again as a couple since our last summer break. Being apart for the semester, which had just begun, was already becoming stressful. I received a call from Susan late in the evening, which had become our custom, and it quickly veered from the topic of our monotonous day of lectures and classes to the conversation we had been dreading to have with each other. The conversation regarding our sexual history during the months in-between our last break up. Perhaps it occurred over the phone instead of in person because I made both of us feel less awkward.

She confessed to me that during our most recent time apart she had been with another guy. I had not been celibate either, which was the reason for my hesitation to have the conversation, and had already assumed as much of Susan. Her beauty is only trumped by her personality, and when she drinks she was an absolute riot to be around. With a woman like Susan there was always someone waiting in the wings to impress her and hopefully win her over.

With my stomach in my throat my heart started beating so hard in my chest it caused me to strain to hear her on the other end of the phone. Panic came over me.

"Really," I sputtered out.

Her voice began to crack and she went into an apology.

"That's not necessary," I said, "I understand, I don't feel any different about you now."

A swirl of emotions took ahold of my conscious, jealousy, anger, and avoidance, to name a few and then, intrigue.

"Why do I find this intriguing?" I thought to myself.

Right, wrong, or indifferent it was my minds way of dealing with a stunning emotional situation I had never faced before. Not once in my upbringing was this ever covered. It became a conscious decision to let the intrigue take hold.

"I thought you'd hate me," she said.

"Seriously, not at all," I responded, "Thank you for telling me. Do you mind if I ask you some questions about it?"

"If you'd like," she responded. My adrenaline peaked! I could break the 3-minute mile no sweat. I could bench press a house.

"Holy shit!" I thought, "I might pass out!"

I slowly began asking her when, with whom, where, and all the other details. As she began responding to each question I became harder and harder. The rush was overwhelming. Listening to her confess her exploits in detail, I could not stop my hands from shaking as I slowly began to stroke myself.

"Well, it was Kevin. The guy you met that night we were out together at that bar on 5th avenue. We had hung out in the past before and once had a drunk make out session but nothing more," she said.

"Go on," I tried not to sound like I was begging.

"Well, I went out with Britney that night and two of her friends from school I didn't know. We went to some house party and I ran into him," she explained.

"One drink lead to many and before I knew it I was drunk and in the back of Britney's car, with Kevin, on our way home. When we arrived to drop him off he asked if I wanted to come in. I said ok and Britney asked if I was sure," she continued.

"My inhibitions were down so I decided to go inside. One thing led to another and we ended up having sex," she finished.

"Dang, I need more; I'm about ready to loose my mind." I thought.

"Where did you do it?" I asked.

"We started in the shower together then finished in his bedroom," she answered.

"What position?"

"We started doggy but finished missionary," she answered.

"Did you wear a condom?"

A brief pause then a barely audible sigh, "No," she replied.

BLAM! My head exploded. The visuals of her wet body, her gorgeous long brown wet hair, the image of her gorgeous breasts hanging down and swaying to the rhythm of his hips undulating behind her. I was close! My balls were tight and I was leaking copious amounts of pre-cum. You could have dropped me into the middle of Times Square, a million eyes suddenly on me, and I would not have noticed. I was transfixed on her recollection and I was going to cum. My mind was so entranced I swear I could smell her perfume, hear her moans, and feel her wet, hot pussy around my aching cock.

"So...." trying not to give away the fact that I was only a nanosecond away from cuming, "So, did he cum in you?"

"No, he pulled out and came on my stomach," she whispered.

That was all I needed to hear. I could not take one second more and I erupted. I came harder than I had ever cum before. It was like experiencing an orgasm for the first time and thinking "Yeah! Fuck yeah! This is fucking awesome!"

"Nick, are you there? Hello? Hello?" she questioned.

The second "hello" pulled me back into reality and slapped me in the face. Shit! Idiot, you are still on the phone and she is going to know something is up. Answer her!

"Yes, yes, I'm here," I stuttered.

"Are you Ok?" she inquired.

"Yes, sorry, I was just processing everything." In reality I was slowly beginning to make my descent from such a high.

We talked for about another hour or so. Susan wanted to know was if I was with anyone. I was honest with her and told her I had been. She asked if it was anyone she knew and that was the extent of her interrogation. That was it. She was not interested in details. I figured she just wanted to assume it did not occur and realized she was processing this much differently than I had. Out of sight out of mind, in a way. We ended our conversation on a happy note, happier than she realized of course, and said our goodnights.

As I hung up the phone I was astonished at how incredibly attracted to her I felt. More than I ever had been in the past. Some sort of weird, unexplainable sexual energy I had never experienced before. At the time it was a very confusing emotionally. I sat in my dark quiet dorm room and pondered my actions.

"Did I just jack off to make myself feel better? I guess it's a good way to shield myself but why did I have such an amazing orgasm? That was incredible!"

Telling myself it was a one-time thing and that late at night, tired, and emotionally drained was probably not the best time for such deep self-reflection. I promised myself I would revisit it in the morning and fell asleep. I broke my promise. This happened three more times throughout my college years. The distance between us was too vast at times for us to maintain our relationship. It lead to our inevitable break ups but ultimately, over a semester break or holiday vacation, we would see each other in our mutual hometown and get back together. Every rekindling of our flame and subsequent conversation of our past would put me in a mental and emotional state where I was forced to use my "defense mechanism" to cope with the realities of our time apart. All three times were just as confusing as the prior but each was exponentially greater in sexual heights. The question of "is there something wrong with me sexually," or "should I be allowing myself to derive sexual pleasure from this," was absolutely trumped by the lustful sexual pleasure I had experienced.

After graduation I landed a job in Texas. As the fates would have it Susan did too. Finally we were able to have a relationship that was not long distance. It was the most wonderful year in our lives together and led to our engagement and subsequently our marriage.

Before our marriage we both agreed to participate in intensive couples counseling. We are both "planners" and wanted to start off right. During our counseling sessions one exercise we completed I found myself confessing my sexual secret to Susan. We would each be given a question, write our answer, and then read our answer to each other. The topics ranged from finances, to children, to in-laws, to health problems.

What happens if you become pregnant and the child has Down syndrome? Who will handle the money? How involved will each of your parents be in your lives and your future children's lives? What are some negative patterns from your upbringing you allow to persist in you relationship today?

I had never thought about answers to such questions before. I was delighted when sharing my answers with my future wife I found we could have written each other's. All but one that is.

What are your sexual fantasies? I had previously decided to confide in Susan about the times I would pleasure myself to her recollection of her past sexual exploits. She was extremely understanding and loving as she always is. It did not seem to even shock her as I thought it might have. She said she totally understood the turn-on for me was a way to deal with my feelings about the situation. Perhaps not the most appropriate or efficient but she completely understood. However, she made it clear she did not share the fantasy and I soon found out she did not care to even role-play it in the bedroom much.

Fast-forward five years. Still married. Still incredibly happy, no children and my career had progressed nicely. My salary had allowed my wife to switch careers and start over in another field. We were more financially secured then anyone I know, that is our age, and living very comfortably. However, in our social circle we see those who have what I call "fuck you" money. Some have enough money that they do not have to worry about anything, ever. Not taxes, not market crashes, not anything. "Fuck you money." We often talk about how nice it would be to one day be in the same financial position as some around us.

"It is interest over time babe," my standard response. "Sock as much away as you can stand now, live debt free, and watch as it grows." One day we will have "fuck you money." Or at least that was our plan.

Aside from our professional lives our relationship was stronger than ever. Five years of marriage had helped us each to grow as individuals. I became a more loving, caring, educated, and inspired person. My success in my professional life is directly contribute to the person I had become because of my wife. I now understood the old idiom, "Behind every great man there is a great woman." Without Susan I would not have been able to achieve.

Although, every marriage has its' issues and ours was no different. In the years since our nuptials our sex life had waned. Susan in college and up to our marriage was insatiable in the bedroom. There was even a time or two I had to turn her down! Stresses of everyday life, Susan quitting her job and returning to pursue her PhD, as well as the monotony that married sex can turn into were the catalyst for a drop in her libido. Unfortunately for me, my libido had seemed to increase.

On more than one occasion this caused a heated argument resulting in hurt feelings. The resolutions to these conflicts never brought about a change in behavior and this led to an ever-increasing urge to see my wife as the sexual vixen she once was. I was stuck. Immensely frustrated, I wanted desperately to have that sexual connection we once had. The intoxicating, spine tingling, adrenaline fueled sexual encounters of the past. The more I pressed Susan for this the more conflicts it produced.

Masturbation helped. It seemed to be a win-win for the both of us. She would not be in the mood and I would need a release. It had become a silent compromise between us and seemed to thwart our fighting.

Fantasizing about our sexual trysts in the past was, initially, more than enough to get the job done for me. However, when those images grew old I was forced to fabricate new ones. In college I had watched my fair share of pornography and turned to it again for inspiration.

I would always feel guilty having looked at another women. To rationalize my guilt I would fantasize the starlet I was watching was my wife. This was made even easier on me when the actresses happened to look like Susan to begin with. I began to search endlessly for videos with actresses, professional or amateur, that resembled her during my private sessions. Masturbating to these images brought about the same intense eroticism when I heard Susan speak of her sexual past. It also justified in my mind the guilt over my pseudo-infidelity.

The first video I found where this materialized was a poorly lit, grainy, out of focus home video of an amateur couple in a bedroom having a threesome. It was just obscure enough that my mind was able to build in the details and convince myself that it was, in fact, my wife.

"Maybe someone had filmed her once without her knowledge?" I thought as my mind began to persuade me, "The resemblance is unmistakable." I had convinced myself it was my wife. Weeks later I finally grew enough courage to bring it up and show her the video after, of course, having masturbated to it countless times. I sat Susan down and played the clip for her.

"Wow, That does look like me!" Susan exclaimed.

My heart sank.

"I'm going to have to contact this website to get this removed," I thought to myself.

"But look, it's not. I'm sure of it. For one, I would never allow myself to be filmed. Secondly, look there," she said pointing.

On the screen through the bad image she pointed out a small birthmark on the woman's butt cheek.

"I don't have birthmark there," she stated.

I immediately knew she was correct.

"Why I had not picked up on that? It was small and difficult to notice but still," I wondered to myself. I had convinced myself to a point I was no longer searching for or looking at the evidence.

"Can we go role play that that was you?" I asked in a moment of shear abandonment, wanting nothing more in life than for her to say "yes."

"Sure," she said matter-of-factly.

Her answer was so unexpected it left me stunned for a moment.

"Really?" I asked not believing what I was hearing and hoping she would not change her mind.

"Meet me in the bedroom in five minutes," she said winking and taking off down the hall.

It was the most mind-blowing sex I had ever had. Susan fully immersed herself into the role.

"Once I had a threesome in college with a guy and another girl," she started.

"It was this girl I knew from one of my classes and her boyfriend at the time."

Speechless and enamored I listened as she went on in detail.

"It was after a party and I ended up back at their apartment. I was very tipsy and she was throwing hints at me all night about wanting me to join them."

Suddenly she stopped her retelling of the story and said, "You know what? How about I just show you what we did."

Grabbing my cock and forcing it into her mouth I squeezed my eyes closed and allowed my self to drift off into pure pleasure. It was addictive and I wanted more. We fucked for over an hour. The entire time she would have me switch positions or have me touch her in specific way saying, "We were like this," or "He was going it like that." I came harder and felt more connected than I ever had before. Finally I felt vindicated from my "defense mechanism" and completely captivated with my wife's sexual energy.

As quickly as it had begun it stopped. Completely. I asked for this type of sex often and we tried one other time to role paly the scenario but it ended in tears. This had left me feeling horrible and from that moment on I stopped asking for it.

The sexual frustration returned with even greater ferocity. It was a deep burning. An aching desire to experience such a sexual connection with my wife again and I had no way of appeasing it.

Enter Ms. Dana Wright. Dana lives on the opposite side of the neighborhood as us on a gorgeous lake in a gorgeous home. Home is not the appropriate noun, mansion, with a capital "M." Her late husband was an incredibly successful entrepreneur. He had died in a tragic accident and left Dana, 15 years Mr. Wright's junior, everything.

My wife and Dana became great friends over the five years since we had married and moved into the neighborhood. I always thought there was something about Dana I could never put my finger on and my wife, who is way more intuitive than I, felt the same. On June 7, 2010 we found out what it was.

It was an evening like any other. Actually, it was gorgeous out. It was the perfect temperature. I had just finished cooking up some salmon on the grill and whilst enjoying an adult beverage my wife was just returning home from her graduate classes for the day. I had arrived home from work a few hours before her so I thought I would be a loving husband and prepare dinner. I will never forget the look on her face when she walked in the door. At first it startled me.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"You are never going to believe what happened to me today!"

I briskly walked over to her very concerned, "What? What happened? Are you ok?"

"Oh I'm fine. At least I think I'm fine," she stated.

"Look at this," she insisted.

In her outstretched hand was a manila envelope. Inside there was a large stack of papers, probably 50 pages or so. On the top it had an attorneys letterhead, Michaels and Dowe.

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bydeuce226© 39 comments/ 70376 views/ 67 favorites

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