“Patel?” my wife said, astonished.
It started at the sex therapist. Just before Christmas.
Our sex life was fine, but not perfect. Two years after our first kid, we wanted to have a second, just in time for my wife’s thirtieth. However, we both admitted that we could barely conjure up the passion to make love once a week, much less multiple time during her ovulation period.
It wasn’t because her body had changed. In fact, all my favorite features about my beautiful wife had barely changed after childbirth. She always had these “slut tits” that I loved. I only called them that in my head, because they reminded me of the type of tits that most men imagined on their penultimate stripper or fantasy hooker. Her little belly was still cute, her eyes were still big and blue, and her ass hadn’t changed. We just...lost the passion.
We had everything in life: great jobs, a beautiful five-year old daughter, our dream home, and a pretty damn good marriage. Everything was going according to the plan. Rather than wait until things degraded into a dead bedroom, which many of our other married friends endured, we went to a therapist. We thought the best defense would be a good offense..
I nodded in response to her inquisitive look.
“So this therapist handed you an index card,” she continued, a little louder than normal, “...and you wrote on it that the sexual fantasy you turn to when you have to be aroused, before making love to me, is of me have sex with fucking disgusting, lizard-faced Patel at one of the Brighton’s pool parties? This cannot be real.”
“Now Nicole,” the therapist said, “we promised we wouldn’t judge. This is an open forum. John, can you explain what excites you about that situation?”
I sighed, “Patel is a pretty unsavory guy, he-”
Nicole interrupted, “Uhm, he’s like five foot five, balding, kind of fat, has weird Indian-guy hair, is addicted to strippers, let me repeat that, is openly addicted to strippers and talks constantly about them like they’re his friggin girlfriends…I mean, your co-workers are techy guys, I get that, and some of them are crazy anti-social, but this guy is just outright repulsive. On, like, a base level. That’s why this is so….well….”
The therapist laughed a bit in order to add levity to the situation. My wife failed to mention that Patel was a multi-millionaire thanks to his dealings in the tech startup scene. She failed to mention that his stripper ramblings were tongue-in-cheek party talk that came from a man with few social graces and deep, deep personal insecurities. Or, that when we attended one of these pool parties, he stared at her wet bikini-clad breasts like a suckling child every second he could.
“Right,” I said, “That’s the thing. You talk all the time about how much he disgusts you, and he’s unbelievably pathetic. Everybody knows that. Hell, even Patel knows he’s pathetic. So….I guess...it’s two things. First, if you did make love to him, it would be because I told you to. Any other guy in this world, you might be attracted to, it would make me jealous and feeling betrayed. But him...in my fantasy, you’re with him because I told you to be, and that gets me off, really hard. I think it’s a power thing.”
“Good, good,” the therapist said, “That’s the root of it...go on...”
“And the other thing,” I said, continuing, “So here you are, this genetically gifted person, with so much going for you, and this...I won’t be insulting but...Patel’s genetic….whatever….his scent, his bonding hormones, his cum….you’re risking so much just letting him inside you, and it makes no sense, on like this really animal level, and-”
“It makes no sense, at all,” my wife said, eliciting more polite giggles from the therapist.
“I know! OK? I know it doesn’t. There was one pool party where your top was above the waterline and Patel was just flat out staring at you. I mean this guy was borderline ready to jump your bones five feet away from me. He was in love with watching the water evaporate off your tits. And...I don’t know. It really lit me up. It’s the last time I can remember feeling something deep, sexually. Something that pierced the veil.”
The therapist started to go off on a diatribe about openness. She advised us to not actually act-out these fantasies, but instead to dabble in them in harmless ways. The rest of the session didn’t reach that level of emotionality. I was left wondering if I deeply disturbed my wife.
This exchange happened after Nicole admitted her deepest fantasy: having me watch her have sex with another man. She was quick to assure me it didn’t have to do with my sexual performance, but it was just a naughty idea that popped into her head.
“At its base, I think it would get me off that you showed that much self control. That you could be a Gary Cooper strong silent type, even in that situation. That’s what I love about you the most, when you’re just….so, so strong.”
I didn’t probe into her reasoning the same way she interrogated me. I just accepted her, like I always did.
--
This was in the car on the way home from the therapist.
She brought up the Patel thing, but she was more accepting this time.
“So...let’s say, guys like Patel….one of these lizard men in their mid 40s with no wife or children...what would you even do if I flirted with them?”
I felt the anxiety from the fantasy bubble up in mind, “That wouldn’t shake me. But you could fool around. You could even go further with my permission. That would get me going. Afterwards, I don’t think I’d care what you did. You’d get a pass.”
I couldn’t believe I had said what I said.
“You soooo would care! You would be mad at me forever.” she retorted, smiling.
“Yes, I suppose I would be. Sorry.”
She laughed. But after years of marriage, she knew I was being truly honest with my first response. We just couldn’t say those types of things out loud or dwell on them. If we did, things would fall apart.
--
This was midway through the Brighton’s first pool party of the summer.
It was six months after the sex therapist session. I had completely forgotten about the Patel fantasy. Our sex life was red-hot for a few weeks after we saw the therapist, but had settled back into mediocrity. And...she still wasn’t pregnant.
The Brightons house was huge. They had something like eight bedrooms, a dedicated gym, and a billiards room with arcade games. The IT industry was a place to meet people with extreme wealth, and Patel was nearly in the Brighton’s range of excess. I saw him briefly and said hello. He was ranting about his new bright purple sports car, how he spent twenty thousand dollars at a strip club last week, how he took a hooker as his “date” to a resort in Mexico. All of this would be confounding if it wasn’t coming from a meek, tiny man with thinning hair and a beer gut. Through his broken English, pretty much everything Patel said was almost adorable, even if it involved stripper orgies and the impulsive spending of an isolated, lonely man.
I was getting a beer from their outdoor kitchen when I saw, out of the corner of my eye, my wife talking to someone. Her tits were hanging nicely in her bikini that night and her ass looked to be on point. We briefly made eye contact, and she gave me an intense look that I didn’t normally see from her. I glanced away and when I turned back, she was gone.
Twenty minutes later, I went inside to use the restroom. When I exited, I realized I hadn’t seen Nicole for some time. The look she gave me earlier seemed to say that I needed to find her. I walked through the house quietly. In the dark, I could see two figures shifting in the moonlight.
I saw the outline of their bodies as they laid on the end of a bed, heads facing the doorway. Patel was on top of my wife, kissing her quietly but with intimacy. The side of her bikini top was shifted and one of her breasts was visible. Patel was massaging her inverted nipples as they explored each other’s bodies.
I felt the blood surge from my legs straight into my skull. The initial defensive reaction subsided almost too quickly as I noticed an outright intoxicating level of arousal overtake me, with a deep mix of fear. It was like smelling gasoline at a fill station: it felt really good, but my mind was telling me to stop enjoying the sensation before I hurt myself.
Patel pulled away, “Do you like me?” he whispered to her meekly.
She gave him a cadillac smile. “I like you. I like your strong hands.”
“This is bad, your husband will hurt us.”
She rubbed his head, “We’re just fooling around. We only had two good kisses. My other boob isn’t out. It’s just a little fun.”
For the next ten minutes, my wife led him on with those little phrases, assuring him. After slow goading and casual giggling, she had her top off, and his fingers disappeared beneath her bottoms.
“Our suits are on,” she said, as Patel fumbled around with my wife’s vagina, “It’s not cheating.”
There was something so erotic about her gentle words guiding him down the slippery slope. She was giving him every excuse to continue, like she was leading on a hesitant child.
I walked into the room. Patel looked startled, his big doe-like innocent eyes loomed large. My wife grabbed his head and turned him back towards her, giving him soft, meaningful kisses. She knew I would come and find her eventually. She didn’t even turn to look at me.
I stood at the side of the bed. The musty smell of chlorinated water mixing with the down comforter and my wife’s juices was stimulating me in ways I couldn’t understand. After she broke their final kiss, she pushed down his swim trunks. Patel’s brown, freckled cock sprang free, and I have to say it wasn’t as diminished as the rest of the man. Even in the moonlight, I could tell he was unbelievably hard. It was the first time in my life I had seen a man’s penis in any erotic situation, and yet I had no true reaction to it. In my detached fever, it was the instrument that could further the taboo that had soaked my mind in euphoria.
“Ooohh, bad, bad...we should stop..” she cooed. Patel took his cock in hand and began to rub it into her bottom. He rubbed hard enough to shift the cloth of the bikini. He was deliberate, probing, but respecting her rules.
“I feel heat,” Patel muttered sheepishly, “I can feel the heat.”
Her camel toe appeared and I could see the outline of her pussy shift as he shoved into her. He kept probing into her and she was moaning softly, leading him on. Her nipples were now erect, and her mouth was agape from her deep breathing.
I felt like I was walking in a dream when I reached forward and untied the string of her bikini.
Even in her altered state, she was horrified. She finally looked at me. I stared back defiantly. If she could do all this heavy petting without informing me, I had a “gimme” in the bank. It was my turn to dictate the course of things.
Patel was shoving his cock against her loosening bottom in an animalistic state. He was too timid to rip into her, so he kept playing the game. Slowly but surely he was using his cock to push her bottom to one side. The thin layer of material was covering less and less of her crotch.
“So bad…” she muttered, keeping up her reluctance. I didn’t know if she was serious or if she just enjoyed building tension. The bottom was pushed to one side, and I think Patel may have edged the head of his cock inside her slightly. He withdrew timidly and she put her hand in front of her opening. Of her short list of lifelong lovers, Patel had made the cut. That much, at least, was irreversible.