Scarsdale, New York: March to August 2018

Hi, this is Sue. Pete’s muse in the story he’s been recounting. I’ve been sitting here watching Pete writing about us for the last four months. And I feel it’s about time I put pen to paper to tell my side of the story, especially as sometimes I’m getting a bit of a bad press.

I think the first thing I want to say is an echo of something Pete said a few chapters ago. He used a misquote from Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice. ‘If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh?’ He used it in the context of suddenly having a realization that the other people involved in our games were flesh and blood people who have hopes and plans and who could get hurt if things went wrong.

I feel like making the same cry. ‘If you prick me, do I not bleed? If you tickle me, do I not laugh?’ I’m not a terrible person. I love Pete dearly and throughout the last few years, we’ve pretty much done everything together. The whole direction our previously normal marriage took came out of Pete’s fantasies and prodding. Sure, sometimes I’ve made mistakes or let my feelings get carried away. But I know he wouldn’t mind me pointing out that it was him who started rolling the boulder down the hill. It’s something we’ve discussed many times.

But maybe that’s ancient history now. What I’d like to do is take you through what happened over the six months in the middle of 2018. We could tell you what happened either from Pete or my viewpoint. But I think it maybe works better from my viewpoint. And it’s about time I had a voice in this thing. I think you’ve heard enough of things from Pete’s side.

Maybe the picture of a boulder rolling down a hill is an appropriate one. Because at first, it may be difficult to even spot that the boulder’s started moving. It’s movement and the change may be so slight that you don’t notice.

That’s how things felt for Pete and I between spring and early summer last year. We were really slow to spot how things had started to change.

Pete’s always had a great love of reading and history. (It bores me rigid, but I can think of worse vices for a husband to have.) He took to calling these months our ‘Happy Time’, which he told me was a period in WWII when U-boat crews found easy pickings. In his mind, that’s how he saw March to August 2018.

After the Sunday evening dinner, which Pete described in the last chapter, everything was now out in the open. Francis and Pete had talked about my lover’s love for me and hadn’t hidden from Pete that he found having only two nights a week with me really difficult, and that he’d love to have as much time as possible with me.

Of course, this was a difficult and awkward conversation. But at least it was an honest one. If Francis had denied his desire to steal me away, I don’t think Pete would have believed him. But at least it was all out in the open now.

You might think it created an impossible tension in the friendship between the three of us. But that wasn’t so. Everything depended totally on my love for Pete and the fact that, although I did love Francis, I loved Pete more and wanted to make sure he was still the bedrock and foundation of my life.

I felt lucky having two such wonderful men in my life. I knew that Pete loved the relationship I had with Francis and loved watching us together, as long as he knew that I was always coming home to him at the end of the day.

The person for whom it was most difficult was Francis. He didn’t raise it a lot, but whenever he did raise the topic of having more time together, it was really hard for me. I hated hurting him, sticking to my guns that I wanted to protect my time with Pete. Francis was and is a wonderful man, and if I’d not had Pete in my life, I’d have jumped at the chance of becoming Mrs. Francis Etebo. But even though I did love Francis, there was no way I could give up on my love for Pete and the life we’d built together. The son we’d raised and all the other things that I loved about Pete and our life together.

Of course, sometimes I’d think how complicated it was sharing my heart with two men. But on balance I was a lucky girl having two such wonderful men in my life.

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Like I said earlier, Pete and I were slow to spot the changes that started to happen in the three relationships which dominated our lives in the spring and summer of last year. Back in April / May that boulder was rolling so damned slow neither Pete nor I spotted the gradual changes.

Pete and I had discussed my relationship with Francis, we’d both been adamant we wanted to limit the time I spent with Francis to Tuesday and Friday nights. To allow plenty of time for Pete and me to spend quality time together. We’d slightly bent this rule by allowing me to extend my Friday night / Saturday morning time with Francis, so that I’d come home in time for Saturday evening with Pete.

But with Grace now in New York, this rule got bent again as Grace developed a habit of organizing dinner for the four of us on Sunday evening. She was smart enough not to do it every week, but it seemed to happen every fortnight or so, with Francis invited over to our place for dinner.

And, well, one thing always seemed to lead to another, pretty much like Pete described in the last chapter. With Grace dragging Pete off to bed, leaving the way clear for Francis to spend another night with me.

But the truth is that while to some extent it worried me, in these weeks where Francis and I were now spending Tuesday, Friday and Sunday nights together (plus a big chunk of Saturday) I was enjoying the extra time with my lover.

I was worried that Pete might be upset by it, but when I checked with him, he told me he was okay with it for a few weeks. That he was turned on by the idea, explaining that all his life he’d been reading wife-sharing stories, and that he’d always found the stories where the wife spent loads of time with her lover a real turn on.

We reassured each other that we weren’t going back on our rule about spending five nights a week together. We were just temporarily bending the rule a little. Yeah, right.

Looking back now, I’m pretty sure that Pete must have shared with Grace about how he loved these old fantasies and stories about wives spending loads of time with their lovers. Because at the very next Sunday evening dinner, after I’d checked out that Pete was okay, Grace brought up a suggestion. She suggested that it wasn’t fair that Pete and I always hosted, and suggested that we hosted the first and third Sundays in the month. With Francis hosting the second and fourth Sundays in the month, with her helping Francis out with the cooking.

By the time Grace brought this up, we’d all had a bit to drink. Francis and Pete might have been the ones with strings of letters after their names, but it was Grace who showed the street smarts. Seeing the mixed emotions on Pete and my faces, she played two trump cards. Saying she thought it might be nice as it would give Pete a chance to watch me and Francis together, and then adding that if we all agreed then we should just try it for a month or so and then see how everyone felt. In case anyone wanted to go back to how things were before.

Looking at Pete, I could tell that we were both still in two minds. I could see Pete was excited at the chance to watch me and Francis every week, but I could tell that he was also nervous. I took the bull by the horns, giving Grace her answer. “Grace, honey let Pete and I talk about it and come back to you.”

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It was the next night, a Monday night late in April, when Pete and I managed to find the time and the space to talk about Grace’s suggestion. And our conversation ended up broadening out into a deeper conversation about how we felt about the strange web of relationships that now defined our lives.

One of the topics was Grace. I really had mixed feelings about her. Most of our relationship was really positive, but it did bug me that nearly two months after arriving, she was still living in our home. Being fair, I’d been the one who’d said she could stay as long as she wanted, while she found somewhere that suited her needs and budget. And I enjoyed having her around, still feeling close to her like the younger sister I’d never had.

But what bugged me was that on the nights I was at home with Pete, having her around did slightly cramp our style and mean we couldn’t relax and chill out as easily as we’d like. If we stayed in the lounge or kitchen, there was a fair chance she’d be around. If we went up to our bedroom, I felt like I was having to retreat and hide within my own home.

Don’t get me wrong. She respected the boundaries, it wasn’t like she was all over Pete and that I was having to share him on these nights. And plenty of nights she’d try and keep to herself in her room. But anyone who’s either been a long-term guest or had a long-term guest will know what I’m talking about.

Pete felt pretty much like me, and we agreed between us that we’d give her one more month and then we’d gently tell her that we needed our space back and start actively ‘helping’ her find alternative accommodations.

Having got this off my chest, I felt in a better frame of mind to discuss Grace’s suggestion that we get together as a foursome every week. I could tell from his expression, and the tone of his voice, how excited but nervous Pete was about the suggestion.

Pete and I deliberately entitled our story ‘addiction’, because addiction is something that causes otherwise smart and rational people to ignore truths and inconvenient facts. And that was Pete, and to a lesser extent me, as we continued the discussion.

“Honey, I won’t deny that the thought of you spending an extra night each week with Francis excites me. And I’d love to be able to watch you and Francis every Sunday. But even though I am really excited by it, I’d never want to risk what we’ve got. I’ll only agree to it if you’re happy that it won’t undermine us. You and me.”

And that’s the point where Pete’s addiction, and my hunger and love for Francis, nudged us down the wrong fork of the road. Where we ignored the fact that another night apart would inevitably have an impact. Nudge things in a different direction.

I looked into Pete’s eyes. “Nothing’s changed, honey. And nothing will change. It’s still you and me. Francis and Grace, they’re friends and playmates. But they’re not you and me.”

Even my mentioning of Grace took us off on another diversionary conversation.

“Pete, honey. We keep talking about me and Francis. And I’m fine with that, and get why you keep needing to check that it’s not a threat to you and me. But we should also talk about you and Grace. I know you have feelings for her, baby. And I know she has feelings for you.”

There was immediately a labored, guilty look in my husband’s face. I’d seen the growing closeness between them in the two months since Grace had arrived in New York. And sometimes we’d talked about it, but at that moment I felt a real need to have Pete open up and share where his heart was at. Talking about what we were discussing, this seemed the right thing to do. Just as it had been right that Pete had checked with me about Francis.

Pete took a deep breath and sucked on his lips, his customary habit when he’s struggling to find the right words.

He held my hand as he seemed to find the words, which suddenly came gushing out. “Baby, it’s like you and Francis. I have feelings for Grace. She’s sweet, and sexy and full of life. I love having her in my life. And if you force me to put a label on it, I’d say yes, I do love her. But not like the way I love you. You’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. To grow old with. You’re the one I want to be with when we babysit our grandkids. When we sell this place and buy our retirement place, enjoying our sunset years.”

He paused before continuing. “And that’s the only reason I’m prepared to play this game, sweetheart. Because I know we’ll still be together at the end of it. And because of the pleasure I know you get out of being with Francis, both physically and emotionally. And the fact I get to watch that, which drives me crazy and makes me hornier than you can imagine.”

I looked into Pete’s eyes, and saw that he was being totally honest with me. His words virtually a mirror image, word for word, of how I’d describe the situation between me and Francis.

Having unburdened himself and answered my question, he brought us both back into the here and now. “So, sweetheart. What do you think about Grace’s suggestion? Are we brave enough to push it a little more?”

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Hindsight’s a wonderful thing. Looking back, that decision we made in late April was I think the watershed moment that seemed to act as a catalyst for the events that happened between the four of us in the next few months.

The ‘one month or so’ trial of the weekly Sunday foursomes turned out to be not so much of a trial, more of a new pattern that extended well past the end of May.

And if I’m honest, from May onwards another big change started occurring in my life. For the first time since we’d started this game, I started to actually feel closer to Francis than I was to Pete.

It didn’t happen all of a sudden, with a big bang of thunder and bolt of lightning. It just seemed to be the almost inevitable consequence of how we were leading our lives. I had two wonderful evenings a week alone with Francis. A mix of spending time at his house, or maybe going out for a meal or to the movies or to see a show. Always ending up making wonderful and sweet love in his big bed, before drifting off to sleep in his strong arms and then waking up next to him in the morning. He was an amazing lover, a wonderful friend and as handsome and charismatic as they come. With each passing week, I felt myself falling more and more in love with him.

Of course, there was a voice at the back of my head, sometimes quiet and sometimes loud, which warned me against what was happening. But us humans are often weak and, if we’re honest, greedy. I’d always ‘shush’ this voice, telling myself that all was okay and that my deepening love for Francis didn’t mean I loved Pete any less.

And I still believe that’s true. My love for Pete wasn’t reducing. But the reduction in time we were spending together, and the continued presence of Grace in the house and our lives, meant that the quality of time Pete and I spent together wasn’t as magical or enriching as the time Francis and I were spending together.

My love for Pete wasn’t reducing. But it was treading water, standing still and maybe getting a little stale. While the time I spent with Francis was richer, firing our love to a deeper and more special level.

And while deep-down I knew what was going on but ‘shushed’ and locked away that awkward little voice, I’m not sure Pete even saw what was happening. Like me, he was enjoying the newness and freshness of his relationship with Grace. Like me, I think he was deliberately closing his eyes to the dangers we’d allowed to take root in our lives.

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It was against the backdrop that a couple of things happened. Things that rolled that boulder just a little bit faster and a little bit further.

The first thing that happened was that during one of these Sunday evening meals in May, Francis finally found out about my tryst with the three young porters. Until then, by the miraculous power of their fear of Jenny, who’d threatened them with a fate worse than death, the three young porters had kept quiet about their exploits with me. And in the end, it was actually Grace who let the cat out of the bag.

Grace wasn’t really used to drinking, and once again she was the one who seemed most affected by the wine, and while Francis was in the toilet, she started teasing me about a story she’d heard from a porter she’d met called Julius. About him, two of his buddies and a senior theatre nurse. I tried to get her to shut up before Francis returned, but it was too late.

“What’s this, some juicy gossip?” Francis asked as he re-entered the room. I closed my eyes and prayed that Grace would shut up.

“I was talking to one of the young black hospital porters, and he was telling me about an incident a few months ago when he and a couple of his buddies partied with a hot senior nurse, from the operating theater...”

There was suddenly a deathly silence in the room. As he’d listened to Grace’s words, Francis had rejoined me on the sofa. His normally handsome and relaxed face looking thunderous and angry. There’d been no mention of my name in Grace’s story, but seeing Francis’ face I knew there was no point in lying. I’ve never been a good liar, and seeing his expression I knew the game was up.

I blushed and looked guiltily at Francis, a small part of my brain thinking how weird it was that I was implicitly apologizing to Francis, when my actual husband had been perfectly happy to let me sleep with the three young porters. I held Francis’ stare, aware that my cheeks were flushed a deep red now. Desperately waiting for him to say something.

I could see his chest rising and falling as his eyes bored into me, as he tried to control his temper. Part of me thought this was insane. He wasn’t my husband. He had no rights over me. But I knew this was far from the whole story. We’d been in a relationship for seven months and I knew that Francis hated to share me. And he’d just found out I’d acted like a total slut with three young hospital porters, in the place where we both worked.

Finally, I saw signs that he was getting his temper under control. I saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down a couple of times and his facial muscles flex as he prepared to speak.

“Well, I guess you did say you wanted to experiment, sexually.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, relieved that he wasn’t more upset with me. Again a voice at the back of my head thinking how weird and inappropriate it was that I was more worried about Francis’ reaction than that of my own husband.

He was still looking directly at me with those deep brown eyes of his, and I knew he wasn’t done yet.

“But you know I’m not a sharer. So tell me, Sue, if you care about me, are you done playing around with these three guys? Have you got it out of your system, experimenting?”

There was something about the way he said the word ‘experimenting’ that made it one hundred percent clear what answer he expected, as if I had any doubts anyway.

I’m not normally a submissive or shy woman, and part of me wanted to argue back and tell him he had no rights or claims on me. But another part of me knew it was difficult for him and was relieved he’d not blown up more at the news I’d screwed around with three young guys while he was in Lagos. I remembered a couple of times at work seeing him really explode at people when he wasn’t happy with them, and it wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Yes, dear,” I said, my tone and choice of words deliberately chosen to try and defuse the tension and heat in the room. I so nearly followed up with a line about maybe he’d also like me to put my hair in curlers, head back into the kitchen and rustle him up a nice meal while I hand-washed his clothes. But wisely I thought that might be a bit too much.

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This awkward scene with Francis was directly linked to one of the other big events that happened that Summer. Namely, Francis asking if he and I could go on a vacation, alone and without Pete and Grace.

Francis raised the subject on the Tuesday just after he’d found out about my tryst with the three young porters. Of course, he didn’t make a direct link between the two. But I got the distinct sense that the two were linked. That he felt in some way that I now owed him, and he thought that by asking now he had a better chance of Pete and I agreeing.

“Sue, baby. I’ve been thinking. I’d love for the two of us to go away somewhere warm and sunny for a break. What do you think? Maybe like a seven-month anniversary or something.”

I laughed at his joke, whoever had heard of a seven-month anniversary?

“Would you like it, Sue? Just you and me, somewhere beautiful and warm for a few days?”

He made it sound so appealing. And I knew I’d love it. I loved my time with Pete, but I also looked forward to my nights with Francis. Friday nights were especially nice, as we got to spend much of Saturday together as well. And the thought of several days together, stretching out in front of us, seemed heavenly. Of course, I’d miss Pete, but I was a lucky girl to have two wonderful men in my life, and I knew that Pete and I would have a great time together when I got home. That is, if Grace didn’t get in the way.

“Mmmm, sounds heavenly,” I replied to the second man in my life, feeling his juices seeping out of me after our recent coupling. “But do you think Pete would agree?”

Francis gently turned my head towards him. I immediately saw the serious look on his face. “Sue, you know sharing you with another man, even your husband, is really hard for me. Do you really want to come away with me for a holiday or not?”

I’d heard his words, but I knew the question he was really asking. How much do I mean to you, Sue? Do you care about me enough that you’ll sacrifice time with your husband to spend time with me?

I didn’t answer Francis immediately, because that would have been a kind of insult. An answer given without really thinking about what I really wanted and was prepared to do. I looked into his handsome face and brown eyes as I thought deeply about what he was suggesting. The more I thought about it, the more I knew what he was asking cut to the core of the question. What was Francis to me? Who was Francis to me?

I said I loved him, but loved him less than I loved Pete. I knew he found sharing me difficult. He’d not hidden this from me, he’d not hidden this from Pete. And now he was asking in a very practical way to put some kind of measure on how much I valued and loved him. On where he fitted in my life, and where I ranked him next to Pete.

As I looked into those handsome brown eyes I felt like my heart was melting. I could see all the pain of a man who’d lost his wife to cancer and had found another woman to love, but who was forever second best in her life. My heart went out to Francis. I didn’t love Pete any less, but in that moment I felt an even deeper love for Francis.

I kissed him softly. “We’ll go. I’m sure Pete will be fine with it. I’ll talk to him.”

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Sometimes life has a strange symmetry. Or maybe it’s just I know the best moments to have difficult conversations with my men. My breath was slowly returning to base camp, my pussy bubbling with Pete’s juices, when I raised the topic of my planned vacation with Francis.

“Pete, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

I’m sure these words strike fear into any husband, anywhere.

As I looked into his anxious face I knew I had his undivided attention, especially as he was no longer horny, having shot his seed into me.

“I was talking to Francis last night, and he asked me if I’d like to go on a short vacation with him. But we wanted to check if it would be okay with you, you know, before we make any plans or book anything?”

I tried to make it as casual as I could. You know, ‘Francis was wondering if you’d mind if he and I just popped down to the mall for a bit.’ That kind of thing. But the look in Pete’s face told me he wasn’t having any of it.

“Honey, I remember some of your favorite stories have the wife and her lover heading off on holiday together. Some of your favorites are just like that,” rolling the dice for a second time and aware my voice had just a little too much of the needy in it.

Pete was staring at me in a way like he was trying to work out what I was thinking and where I was coming from. I felt myself start to shake just a little and willed myself to stop. His eyes were boring into me, reminding me of how I’d felt when Francis had looked at me after the news of the three porters.

From the movement of his neck and mouth, I knew Pete was about to speak.

“Tell me what you want, Sue, honey. I want to hear it from you. I want to hear it from your lips.”

I smiled, trying not to look too happy. Pete’s always been an open-book, never able or wanting to hide his feelings. It’s one of the things I love about him. The world’s worst poker player, he always says life’s too short and complicated enough, without dancing around things. From the words he’d chosen and the shaky voice he’d spoken in, I knew exactly what he wanted to hear. It was all part of the game to him.

I smiled at my husband. Jenny and I had nicknamed Francis’ ex (real name Roni) as Cruella de Vil, and I tried my best Cruella voice and mannerisms as I told Pete what he wanted to hear.

“Well, as you’re asking. Yes. Yes, I’d like to go on vacation with Francis. It would be nice not to have to come home after a single night together. To wake up next to him in the morning, next to his big black body, feeling his seed still dripping out of me from the night before. Knowing that I didn’t have to rush home to hubby. Knowing that he’ll probably fuck me another five or six times after we wake up. Each time pumping a fresh load of his seed into me. Before we maybe go out dancing, maybe have a romantic beachside walk, before we make love one more time before drifting off to sleep in his strong black arms, totally satisfied and content. And then start the whole thing over again the next morning. Until I finally come home to my hubby. That is. If I do finally come home to my sweet hubby.”

Pete looked like he was going to have a heart attack, and for a moment I worried I’d see him clutching at his chest as I’d pushed him over the edge. Maybe I was too good at playing this game, and dripping into his mind the words that so excited and tormented him.

But as his skin tone lowered to only five-tenths red, I relaxed a little, with my naughty smile returning to my face as I waited for his breathing to calm a little more.

I turned over and sat astride Pete, pleased to feel the origins of another erection forming from my well-chosen words. Sitting atop him and trapping him, I bent down to kiss his lips, before tickling his ear with my tongue and dripping a few more well-chosen words to seal the deal.

Even if she’d been listening to the door, my voice was so quiet and my lips so close to his ear that Grace would not have heard what I was promising and threatening to my besotted, addicted husband.

“And, of course, I’ll be feasting on his big, long, thick cock all the time I’m away. It’ll be just like Lagos. Only I’ll be there, and you’ll be here. And, if I’m feeling generous, I might call you a couple of times. But apart from that, you’ll just have to use your imagination. And you’ll imagine all kinds of things that Francis and I will be getting up to. And the worst bit is, most of it will be true. And who knows, by the time I come back, I’ll likely be all stretched out. My pussy permanently re-sized. No good for little white five-inch white cocks. Only good for big, meaty, thick black cocks that can stretch me wide and stretch me deep.”

I kissed the inside of his ear one final time and then raised myself up to examine the look on his face, admiring my handiwork and careful to keep my big breasts that he loved so much just out of arm’s reach.

His face was back to eight-tenths red and I smiled down at him, finally softening my face and stroking his hair, letting him know this was all just part of our well-trod game. I loved him too much to risk that heart attack or to really hurt him. He smiled weakly back at me, telling me he’d loved our game, now that he knew he was safe.

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Even with Francis’ influence with the hospital admin department, we had to wait nearly two months before we could finally enjoy our holiday together. Whilst in many ways this was really frustrating, in other ways it heightened the excitement for all of us. On the nights that Francis and I were together, he loved to talk about the time we’d have together and the places he planned to show me. Despite initially promising to take me to sun-kissed beaches, he’d changed his mind and had now booked a luxury tour of the Renaissance cities of Italy, followed by a few days in Spain.

Italy and Spain were places I’d never visited with Pete or before we married, and Francis was honest enough to tell me that he wanted to give me a unique experience that was something that the two of us would always share. I loved how excited he got as he described to me all the places he was going to take me and all the things he was going to show me. It was a side of Francis I rarely saw. Not the strong, alpha male. Not the in control and authoritative doctor that was his work demeanor.

This was Francis almost child-like in simple and innocent excitement to show me new exciting things. To share with me things which excited him. To create memories for us, just as Pete and I had twenty years of memories.

During June and July, while we impatiently waited for our vacation together, the boulder carried on rolling, almost imperceptibly gathering pace.

Always having Sunday’s as a foursome evening, either at ours or Francis' house, was meant to be just an experiment we’d review at the end of May. But somehow no-one suggested a review or a change, and so it became the new normal. I think both Pete and I were both becoming equally careless about our pledge to make sure we carved out enough time for each other. I think we were both supping at the same cup, excited and intoxicated by our new relationships.

Looking back now, even before Francis and I headed off on vacation, I think things had already moved quite some way in the three relationships. I was now spending Tuesday, Friday, most of Saturdays and Sunday nights with Francis. And of course, Pete was spending the same time with Grace. And, although we had started helping her look for somewhere to live, we were too soft on her. Allowing her to always find fault with the different places she saw.

The upshot of all of this was that on the four nights that Pete and I were together, we were sometimes ferrying Grace around. And if we weren’t doing this, there would often be the three of us in our home, which kind of put a dampener on any romantic ‘Pete and Sue’ evenings we might have planned.

As Spring slipped into Summer, it wasn’t that Pete and I were heading for the divorce courts or that I loved Pete any the less. But the balance we’d told ourselves we were determined to maintain, was starting to wobble. With everything I’ve described above, I was starting to find that come the end of a typical week, I’d had more ‘special’ and quality time with Francis than I had with Pete.

If a friend or counselor had forced us to sit down and look at our lives and the facts, I suspect that after some argument we’d both have owned up to this truth. But there was no-one there to play that role, and in our different ways, we were both happy to let things drift as they were. I was certainly growing closer to Francis, feeling I knew him better and loved him a little more each time we saw each other.

And from what I sometimes saw between Pete and Grace, I certainly saw the evidence of a closer and closer relationship. At the time I wasn’t so bothered about this, as I told myself it wouldn’t have any long-term consequences, and also because I was so caught up with Francis that I was more thinking about him than I was about Pete and Grace.

Really not our finest hour!

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Finally, in late July the time for Francis and my vacation had arrived. Francis and I were really excited and seemed to have been looking forward to it forever. And my kinky hubby got his own peculiar pleasures from it as well.

Pete’s enjoyment of my vacation away with Francis started on the evening before we flew. I’d guessed he’d be just like a puppy-dog as soon as he knew I’d started to pack. Silently sitting with big eyes as I chose my bikinis and clothing, giving a running commentary as I selected and packed each item. Needless to say, many of the bikinis and clothes were new, bought especially for the trip. And Needless to say, they were all sexy and revealing. Francis may not have been the sharing type, but I knew he liked me to look sexy for him.

Pete and I enjoyed a farewell fuck that night, and as we lay next to each other afterwards, I checked that he was still okay with the vacation. I was looking forward to it, and I knew I’d miss Pete. But even now, if he’d told me that he’d changed his mind, I’d not have gone. We’d have talked long and hard about it, because I knew how such a change would hurt Francis. But if push came to shove, I’d have stayed home if that’s what Pete wanted.

The following morning, Pete was back to being that little puppy dog as he watched me don high heels, one of my shortest mini skirts, and a tight and low cut blouse. I thought he was going to throw me down on the bed and give me a farewell ravaging. Maybe I was being mean, maybe he was enjoying it, but either way, I teased him all the way to the airport. Wondering out loud whether Francis would fuck me in the airplane toilets again, like he’d done on the flight to Lagos.

Finally, we arrived at the airport, I stopped the games and hugged and kissed Pete, telling him how much I was going to miss him and that we’d be back together before too long. I could tell he was still excited by our game, but I could also tell from his face that he’d find our separation hard. As it turned out, of the ten days Francis and I would be away, Pete would be away for five days on a couple of business trips. As his loving wife, I was glad this made it a bit easier for him, knowing that Grace would be there to keep him company for the other five days.

I rang Pete to talk to him every day. The truth is that Francis wasn’t very happy about this. So whichever luxury hotel we were staying at, around ten or eleven p.m. I’d find somewhere private and away from Francis and would SKYPE Pete. He always made sure he was somewhere equally private. And we’d have time together which was a mix. A mix of telling each other how much we loved each other and missed each other. And then time which definitely required privacy at both ends as I’d regale Pete with tales of what Francis and I had been up to. My naughty husband wanting to know all the details. From the red hot sex to the quieter and more romantic times.

Francis knew where I was disappearing to each night, and I know he’d have preferred to have me all to himself, but he picked up from my face and tone that this wasn’t up for negotiation.

And apart from this hour or so each day, Francis had me all to himself for the rest of the ten days. When I’d been selling the whole idea to Pete, I’d got him all hot and bothered describing the hot sex that Francis and I would enjoy. And my imagination proved a pretty accurate predictor of the sex and love-making between Francis and me.

All in all, it was a magical ten days together. We saw all of the glories and treasures of Venice, Florence, Rome and Barcelona and enjoyed having so much time together without feeling the pressure for me to rush back to my other life. We enjoyed candlelit dinners and walks in some of the most beautiful and romantic streets in the world. And when we got back to whichever luxury hotel we were in, we’d make sweet love, giving ourselves fully to the act and to each other.

And as we lay there recovering, inevitably we’d talk about our relationship and life back home. Francis wasn’t pushy or aggressive, but I was left in no doubt as to how his heart yearned for us to be together more often when we got back to New York.

The way he talked about it was gentle and tender, and it left a big part of me wondering whether this was also what I wanted, and whether this wasn’t the natural ways for things to go, now that Pete and Grace had each other as well.

As we finally said farewell to Europe and flew back from our fantasy world to the real world, I still loved Pete and wanted our marriage to be a central part of our lives. But my ties to Pete and our marriage had definitely been given a good tug by the last ten magical days and the wonderful times and closeness Francis and I had shared.

I wasn’t so stupid that I didn’t see that Francis must have known that our trip would have this effect on me. After all, he’d engineered it to be probably the most romantic trip a man and a woman could share. Like Pete, he was a smart man and I was under no illusions that this was all part of his desire to win me over.

But like I said, the ties of love and history I felt to Pete and our marriage were still intact as I sped over the ocean at 38,000 feet. The ties had certainly been given a good tug and I was seriously contemplating Francis’s suggestion that we’d all be happier if the two new couples had more time together as couples.

But these forces and thoughts were as a gentle ebb tide compared to the stormy waters that awaited us back in New York.

I remember the date as is if it was only yesterday. Friday 3rd August was the date we arrived back. With the five-hour time difference, it was around seven in the evening when I unlocked the front door. Savoring that wonderful feeling of being ‘home’ after a long period away.

I was by myself as Francis had a birthday party with his daughter Esther and Pete had been working away and wouldn’t be getting home till much later as he had to fly from LA and wouldn’t get home till just after one in the morning.

At least I thought I was by myself as all the lights were off, but then I suddenly heard the sound of female sobbing. Heading upstairs with a feeling of deep concern and worry, I realized the sobbing was coming from the guest room which Grace had made her own these last months. And there she was, lying on the bed sobbing her eyes out.

(Thanks again to cbears52 for proofing and corrections.)