The seven-year itch is one of those rare, cliché couples’ problems that, in my case, turned out to be true. My wife and I are seven-and-a-half years into our marriage which, up until about three weeks ago, was about as typical as they get. Now, however, after that night, everything has changed. What I am about to recount for you is completely real. I am still trying to figure out what the long-term ramifications of it will be. But one thing is for sure, we will never be the same couple we were before.
I suppose I should give a brief history of our relationship. We met shortly after high-school at a mutual friend’s party. I spotted this gorgeous, artsy girl with bouncy black shoulder-length curls, and thick red glasses and lips, from across the room, sitting on a couch by herself. I approached her with a drink, and after a long night of conversation, we exchanged phone numbers and started dating. We dated for about nine months before I realized that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, and then I popped the question. She said yes, and we’ve spent the last seven years in seemingly wedded bliss.
We did all the things that young newlyweds do. We made love constantly. We bought a house, and both started our careers. We do not have any kids yet, but both want to have some eventually. Our sex life was ferocious at first but, as is so typical, it has seen a steady dwindle from five or seven times a week to once every week (or even two weeks).
My wife has always been kind of shy, and a little awkward socially, but I love that about her. She has that quirky, under-the-radar kind of sexiness about her. She has always dressed kind of conservatively, but recently has been doing so more than ever, which is a shame, I think.
This recent turn toward more conservative dressing is because, over the last year or so, she has put on around twenty pounds. This has really made her self-conscious about her appearance. Despite what she thinks of herself, however, she carries it in the best way. Her breasts were a small B-cup when we met, but they’ve grown to a full C, and her ass has gone from a small handful to the perfect kind of thick. Sure, she has love handles now, but who does not love grabbing onto those when you fuck from behind, right? Nonetheless, it seems that she is a bit embarrassed by them, for some reason.
Now we come to where this story really begins.
For a few months, I’ve been getting frustrated with our sex life. We simply haven’t been having enough of it. This frustration came to a head when one evening when, after a particularly flirtatious night on the town (one where I was sure would end with me inside of her), she said she didn’t feel sexy when we got home and the night sputtered. That night, I decided that we had to do something to spice up our love life.
The next evening, I poured her a martini and told her we needed to talk.
“About what?” she asked.
“Our sex life,” I answered.
Her reaction seemed to me like she knew this was coming. She must have been feeling the stagnation too.
“Listen, I know I haven’t been feeling very sexy lately. I guess that’s my fault, but I can try harder,” she said.
“Like how?” I asked. “I tell you you're sexy every day. God knows I believe it. I’m not sure what else I can do.”
She sipped her drink and seemed to reflect deeply.
“I guess it’s just that, well, not only am I not feeling very attractive these days, but I guess I’m just kind of bored too,” she said.
This took me by surprise. I had assumed that it was just her self-consciousness holding her back. I had no idea that she was getting bored with our sex life. I was a little hurt by that, but also a little intrigued.
“What do you mean bored?” I asked, my heart starting to beat faster in nervous anticipation.
“Well, it’s just … I don’t know. Do you remember that feeling of when we were first dating? I’ve been thinking about how much I miss that feeling. I wish there was some way we could have that back,” she said.
“I know what you mean,” I replied, “I miss that too. What are we going to do about it?”
She sat there silently twisting her hair around a finger. After what seemed like too long a silence, she asked me the question every husband hopes to hear.
“Well, do you have any, like, fantasies you’d want to try?” she asked.
“Every guy has fantasies.”
“So, what are they, then?”
I thought for a moment about how to proceed. I searched myself for an answer to this puzzle. What could we do that would simultaneously turn me on and give her that spark that would reinvigorate our sex life? After a moment it came to me.
“Okay, promise you won’t think this is weird?” I asked.
Sensing that I was nervous to tell her what I was thinking, she gave me a reassuring glance, put her hand on my knee, and bit her lower lip.
“As long as it’s not something super crazy, I promise I won’t think any less of you,” she answered.
My heart beat faster. I started to sweat. I knew that what I was about to say could either bring us back to that fuck-fest we had when we first were dating, or possibly drive her away. I decided to take the chance.
“Well, I guess when I watch porn and stuff, I kind of always gravitate towards the voyeur videos,” I said.
I paused for second, trying to gauge her reaction. She seemed a little confused. She was not putting the pieces together quite yet.
“Do you want to make a sex tape or something?” she asked, her eyebrows crunching in the cutest way.
“No, not necessarily,” I said, “I was thinking of something a little different.”
“Well, come out with it,” she laughed, now stroking my inner thigh.
“Okay. Here goes. So … I kind of have this fantasy … of watching you flirt with another guy. I don’t know why it turns me on. Maybe it’s knowing that I have what someone else wants or something, but I think it would be really hot if we went out to a bar or something, and I sat at a table and you sat at the bar, and I could just sort of watch you flirt with whoever hit on you.”
By the time I finished that sentence her hand was on top of the hardening bulge in my jeans. She smiled when she felt it.
“I guess that does turn you on, huh?” she said.
Then she sat back, thinking. She looked at me a little strangely.
“I’m not going to lie,” she said, “that’s not what I was expecting you to say. But I guess it’s not that crazy. There’s only one problem, though.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m not sure that anyone would hit on me.”
“Are you crazy?” I exclaimed, “You’re so sexy, but you don’t even realize it! I guarantee that, if you were to wear a sexy little cocktail dress and sit alone at the bar, you would have guys all over you!”
My erection was throbbing at the thought of that scene now. Her face flushed. I could tell she was not only surprised at my suggestion, but unsure of my conclusion. It was obvious, however, that she was not entirely opposed to the idea. We sat in silence for the next few minutes, just looking at each other.
“Okay,” she said, breaking the silence.
“Okay, what?”
“Let’s do it, then, if that’s what you want. Next Friday, let’s go to the bar at the Marriot downtown.”
A strange feeling of joy and nervous anxiety overcame me. I almost did not believe that she had agreed to this. I leaned in to kiss her, and she started stroking me over my jeans. That night, we had the best sex we had had in months.
***
When I awoke the next morning, our “date” on Friday was all that I could think about. But there was a problem. Although I was pretty confident that someone would hit on her, I thought about what would happen if no one did. It might just make the problem of her self-confidence worse. I had to make sure it happened. But how?
Then it occurred to me. I opened up my laptop and put an add on craigslist. It read as follows.
“My wife and I are looking to try something new. Are there any guys out there who would like to try and pick-up my wife at a bar while I watch? She can’t know about this add, though; I need someone who is discrete and likes this sort of thing. She is 30, 5’8”, a little thick at 150lbs., curly black hair, great ass. Contact me if you’re interested. Make sure to include a pic.”
Within hours, I had over fifty responses flooding my inbox. A good portion of them were dick-pics. It felt strange to be opening one after another of those. This must be what girls on Snapchat feel like, I thought to myself.
One of the emails stood out. It was well-written and not overly explicit. The picture he included showed that he was a handsome guy, and certainly my wife’s “type”. He was a little older than us. He looked to be in his mid-forties and had a lot of John Stamos-ish features. My wife has a huge crush on that guy, so I figured this would be a good choice.
His email read:
“Hello. My name is Derek. I am very interested in your add. I’ve done this kind of thing for couples before. Women tell me I have a ton of charm, and some to spare. I’m well educated, professional, in shape, and discrete. If your wife is looking to spice things up and rekindle that special feeling of being single and sought-after, then I can give that to her. I know how to make a woman feel special. If you like my add, I ask that you please respond with a picture of your wife and a time, place, and details for a meeting. Looking forward to your response …”
Almost without thinking, I replied:
“Hi, nice to meet you. Your reply was perfect, and sounds like exactly what we are looking for. The plan is to arrive at the lobby bar of the Marriot on Friday around 9:00pm. She will sit at the bar, and I will be at a table across the room. I’ve attached a picture so you know what she looks like, and I’ll send you an email the night-of when I know what she’s wearing.”
I attached a picture that I pulled from her Facebook page. It only took a few minutes for his reply.
“That’s great. I’m looking forward to it! One thing though, do you have any pictures of her body … something with skin? That will help me … get in the mood … for our meeting.”
This struck me as a bit strange, but I didn’t want him to bail on the idea. I got the feeling that this guy would make my wife feel like a million dollars, and that I would be able to cash the check once we got home. The problem was, my wife has never been one to send me sexy photos. I only had two that I had taken in secret for my own pleasure.
I attached both to the email reply. The first was one that I had taken while we were at the beach. She was wearing a two-piece polka-dot bikini while on her stomach, reading a book. I had masturbated to this picture few times. The way the son and water dotted her peach, smooth bare legs was intoxicating. The second one, and perhaps more risqué, was one that I had taken of her in our bed while she slept. She was wearing a tight t-shirt that showed off her curves, and no pants – just a sky-blue thong.
My fingers trembled as pressed “send.” It felt so strange to be sending these private images of my wife to a strange man. Who knows what he would do with them? Again, only a few minutes passed before he replied.
“Well, your wife is certainly gorgeous. What on ass on her! This is going to be a great evening. You’ll see me on Friday as I attempt to win her affections. I do have a bit of advice for you, if this is your first time. Whatever happens, don’t intervene. If you do, there’s no telling how your wife will react. You need to be confident that she will only go as far as she’s comfortable, and just let any feelings of jealousy fuel your own desire. I’ve seen husbands lose control and ending up damaging their relationships because of it. Does this make sense?”
This was starting to become so real. I realized that this evening would sort of be a test for both me and my wife. How far would this guy try to go, and how far would my wife let him? Would I be able to sit back and not interfere if I felt jealous?
I replied:
“I understand. The ball is in her court. I’m just a bystander. Make her feel special.”
***
The night came, and I sat in bed reading a book watching her get ready over the brim of it. She took a long shower and was totally smooth when she came out. She put on a sexy pair of lacy garter panties clipped to the apex of her thigh-high stockings, which were barely covered by the black tulip skirt she put on next. I hadn’t seen her dress this sexy in years.
As she bent over the bathroom sink putting on her most sultry shade of red lipstick, she looked over toward me on the bed.
“Doesn’t it feel weird for you watching me get ready to go flirt with other guys?” she asked.
“A little bit, I guess. But it’s also turning me on. You’re so damn sexy, and you should feel it,” I replied.
When she put on her stiletto heels and walked in front of me out the door toward our car, I had to fight the urge to call it off, to usher her back into our house and fuck her right then and there. But I could tell that the mere thought of doing this was already bringing back some of her confidence. I could tell by the bounce in her step.
We arrived at the bar. We decided that it was better for her to go in first, and me a few seconds later so that no one suspected we were together. When I walked in and took a table about 30 ft. away from her, I noticed that she had already taken a seat at the bar. Her legs were crossed on the stool, and she nervously spun the straw in her cocktail.