I don't know how often it happens with other couples, but fantasying about wife sharing had become part of our pillow talk. Maybe it was because I answered my husband's questions about long-ago boyfriends and long-ago sex. There was nothing wrong with, or boring, about our life -- not the sex part, not the loving part, and not the day to day living part, but my reward for telling stories, and maybe from time to time a little embellished, was a super turned-on husband.
It wasn't easy at first to talk about those other men who were part of that other life. Would Walt, this man I've been married to for such a long time, become jealous? "No," he said. "I know where your loyalty is. It's just that I like to think about your life before we were part of each other's lives, back when you were single, and dating."
The pillow talk moved from long-ago erotic events to "what-ifs", little fantasies. "What would you do if. . .?" "if a guy you thought was really sexy, like George Clooney, tried to pick you up?", "if you were tied to the bed and I brought someone you never saw before into the room?" "if . . .?" This was pushing into the dark corners of our minds, testing to see what gave us erotic pleasure. Some ideas were turn ons, very sexy and exciting: others, not so much. Walt increasingly talked about fantasies that included having another man look at me, touch me, have sex with me now in this life, not just in that long-ago one. Husband-approved sex with someone became a hot fantasy. We even did some role playing. "I want you to imagine you're with someone you think is sexy," he said during one session, "and I want you to pose for him. Let him see your body." I did that -- nude, stretched out on the bed, fully exposed, available (at least in fantasy).
He took pictures.
Once, on a Saturday morning after a session like that, we were cuddling under the sheet. More pillow talk -- "If that happened, if you were naked with a guy in the room, if you did that, you know you would get fucked, don't you?" he asked.
I told him I knew that.
"Think about this. If you knew it was all right with me, what then?"
If only I could let go the way he'd like. . . well, I could pretend and decided to tease a little. I half rolled away from him until I was on my back "You know, if someone like Frank" (Frank was one of those long-ago boyfriends I told Walt about) "was here. . . ", I closed my eyes, imagined an older version of Frank beside the bed then I pulled the sheet away, and posed, arms above my head, there for the taking.
"Would this," I asked, "be the answer you'd like?"
I thought, after that long sex session, we were done for the morning. We were not. He leaned over me, kissed me, and his erection returned. It was, from his point of view, very much the right answer. Walt usually has excellent control of himself, sex with him can go on for a long time. But when he moved on me, over me, and in me, I smiled, tilted my hips and lifted up a little, turned my head to the side, and whispered "I'm thinking about the way Frank used to fuck me." I didn't have time to think long: BOOM!
Later that day he brought me a gift, a black sash.
"What's this all about?" I wanted to know.
He told me. "You've earned a black belt in tease."
This is the age of digital cameras: he began showing some of those photos he took, carefully cropped, to guys he met in the Lit sex chat room. That he was sending them made my knees weak, but the feedback he got was -- I guess I'd say ego boosting. At his urging I took on a Lit screen name and began chatting on line too. More than once I shared a photo with some man who sounded interesting and sexy. More than once they shared photos with me. It was exciting to talk to strangers about sex and know they were looking at my picture. This was a kind of contact and interaction that could not have been farther than my everyday living and my everyday persona. I was learning things about me I didn't know existed.
My contact list on IM grew.
"You've got to let yourself go," my husband insisted. "Drop what you call that cloak of 'Don't even think about it' you wear on campus or when you're off at a conference somewhere giving a paper." That's not such a subtle clue: I am in academia: tenured at a good university and getting enough grants to support a couple of grad students and a post doc. (Post doc is academia shorthand: that's someone who earned their Ph.D. but chose to stay in academia for some additional research instead of getting a job in industry or as a teacher.)
Letting go was easier said than done. I was and am paranoid about protecting my real life identity. In academia, tenure is pretty much scandal proof but my grants are not.
And that brings us to Rudy, a visiting Distinguished Scholar who was on our campus for a month. There wasn't much overlap in our fields but his temporary office was near mine so we had a friendly relationship. Rudy, about 60 and therefore 4 years older than me, was coming to the end of his stay and would soon be returning to the UK. On the Monday of his final week he asked me once again if I'd join him for a cocktail. The invitation had become almost a ritual between us: I had turned down his frequent suggestions before and I think he considered making them just a pro forma thing -- reflexive, like saying 'Good Morning'.
I, remembering my husband's more than casual advice about letting go, surprised us both and agreed to the drink/meeting/date. Rudy was taken aback but soon enough we agreed to meet 6:30 that evening in the lounge of his hotel -- it would be a brief after work libation. I called my husband to be sure he did not have a problem with what might be called a date.
He did not.
Rudy, off campus as well as on, is a charming man, slender, tall, fit, very bright, self assured, and the Brit accent didn't hurt either. We talked of work and of personal things. He was in a happy marriage too, but missed his wife and the company of a woman in general. "Especially one as attractive as you," he added. I had to wonder if he might have been one of the men I had been chatting with on the Lit chat site, one who had seen my nude photo and from the context of the chat would have known I was a tenured professor at a particular university. Sometimes my husband and I had talked about the possibility that someone would come up to me and ask "Could your name be Tina?" Only on IM am I Tina! It didn't take long to conclude Rudy was not that 'someone' but for a while it's fair to say I was breathless. And to be honest, excited about the possibility, too.
There was a little flirting going on -- eye contact for a second too long, the casual brush of his hand over mine, things like that. Of course I had looked at the few people in the lounge and was sure there was no one there I knew --- I had a sterling reputation and meant to keep it.
After an hour and a half or so it was time to go. It had become dark so Rudy walked me to my car, not quite hand in hand but with a body language that implied an intimacy. My remote made the Beamer chirp its "I'm unlocked" message and for the briefest moment I wondered if I had somehow been sending that message too. Not quite ready to get in. I turned to Rudy to thank him for a very pleasant time. He used the isolation and darkness of the parking area to put an arm around me and pulled me closer. That fit in with the mood of the evening: I did not resist. As he tilted his head and moved toward me, I raised mine, and our lips met. It went from closed mouth to open mouth, to being held tight and in turn, after a moment, me wrapping my arms around him too, and actually feeling him start to get an erection. When it ended he said "I am sorry, I couldn't resist." I caught my breath and confessed: "Rudy, I didn't resist either." Holding my hand, he asked an obvious question: "Would you come back inside with me?"
I took a moment and then said "No, Rudy, I am not ready for that," squeezed his hand, and got into the car.
I pretty much broke the speed limit on the way home. Walt and I talked about that mini adventure. We talked about it at dinner, we talked about it when we went to bed, and later during sex. "I am turned on kissing you just after someone else did," he said. That played into something that was part of his version of our fantasies. "And I'd kiss you harder if your mouth was on other parts of his body." I knew the hardest raw passionate kisses I got from him was after I went down on him.
"You know if you went back in with him he was going to fuck you," he told me, "and I wouldn't have objected." Not that I needed reminding, but he went on to say why Rudy might be an ideal 'playmate'. He would soon be going away, this would not be an ongoing thing. We just proved he and I had good chemistry together and we for sure knew he was healthy. What you may not realize is many academic institutions demand a complete health history as a condition for "Visitor" status from people who are not US citizens. I am the department's representative on the approval committee and read his records.
"I'll bet," my husband said as we were relaxing after not having made love but lust, "he will ask you out again."
"Rudy is only going to be here for a few more days," I reminded him. "In your MBA language, 'the window of opportunity' is closing fast. But I did what you asked and let go a little, and it was fun."
In retrospect, is anyone surprised that Rudy came to my office that next day, it was Tuesday, and asked me to join him for dinner? "I even have an excuse", he said. "Joyce (she is one of our doctoral candidates who was very close to finishing her thesis and graduating) has been asking me about the possibility of doing a post doc under me. I'd like to talk about her."
I told Rudy it sounded attractive but I would have to get back to him. When he left I called my husband. "You know what will happen if you go," he said.
"If I let it happen I am sure it will," I agreed.
"Why did you call me? For permission?"
"I don't know. I guess I wanted you to know."
"Do you want to go?"
"Honey, I am scared. This is happening too fast."
"Maybe, but nothing is cast in stone, and this is a chance for you to play with fire a little bit if you want to. You can always back away."
"What do you think?"
"Honey, this conversation has given me an erection. You are a big time tease. I want you to go. Let things unfold as they will, I will support whatever you do."
"Let me think about it, Walt." I hung up.
I did think about it. The intelligent choice would have been to decline, but Walt's "You have to let go" rang in my head too.
My fingers were shaking when I dialed Rudy's extension.
It was decided: our date was set for 7 that evening. It became the longest afternoon of my life. At 5 I left campus, went home and changed out of my professional pant suit into a skirt and blouse. My blouse was silk and dark, my skirt dark red, wrap around, and reached to my ankle. Sandals completed the outfit. At the last minute I took my 'black belt in tease', wrapped it around my waist for an added bit of style. It was perfect for a casual evening dinner with a colleague.
I left home before Walt got there.
At the lounge I found Rudy waiting: there are still fragments of that conversation in my head.
Rudy: "You look beautiful. I didn't think, after last night, that you would come. I had not been close to an attractive woman since I have been here, and had not kissed a woman since I left my wife at the airport. I guess I lost control."
Me: "I have not been kissed that way by anyone but my husband since before I married him."
Rudy: "I don't want to cause any problems for you, and he will never find out I kissed you."
And then I may have sealed my fate. "Rudy, I told him. He is not angry about it, he thinks under those circumstances it was fitting for that to happen."
By then we were sitting in the dining room and drinks arrived. I looked around and had trouble hiding my astonishment -- a man carrying a brief case and wearing a business suit came into the lounge and was seated a little distance away. That in itself was not surprising, this hotel is popular with business travelers, but he wasn't a business traveler, he was my husband! He sat quietly, ordered a drink and waited. I remembered part of our ongoing pillow talk was about him saying he'd like to watch me on a date. That was another part of pillow talk: he'd like to be sure I was not just making up a story.
Rudy's face registered concern: "He's ok with that? He's not angry with you, or me?"
"No, not at all angry."
"Does he know you are meeting me for dinner tonight?"
"Yes, of course, and he approves of that too."
It took Rudy a moment absorb that and its implications.
I should tell you about the tables in the dining room. We were at a table usually set for four, there are usually two chairs on one side, a cushioned bench on the other. We were next to each other on the bench seat, and the waiter removed the two outside chairs. there were table cloths that extended well over the edge of the table. Walt was sitting at a table a little more to Rudy's side than mine on the opposite side of the room. I could see my husband's leg to about mid calf. If our tablecloth hung over the same length, and all the others in the room seemed to be that way, he could see my skirt from the floor to halfway up to my knee. When Rudy was looking at me, he was looking away from Walt. Walt raised his glass in a toast, smiled and winked at me. It was clear I was not making up a story.
Rudy looked at the expression on my face, looked around and asked "Something is wrong, what's wrong?"
I thought for a moment and lied: "I thought I saw Gary from my department pass by the door, but I was wrong. He's at a meeting on the West Coast."
"I understand you want to be careful, but if anyone sees us we have lots of reasons to be talking about work related things, don't worry," Rudy assured me. Then he asked "Do you see anyone here from campus?"
It was not as comprehensive a question as he might have thought and I did not have to lie. "No."
"Well then," he said, "if you don't mind. . . " He was sitting to my left. My left hand was on the table: he covered it with his, reached over with his right hand to my head, pulled me toward him, and we kissed. His lips opened. Was that, I wondered, a question, or an assertion? Mine opened too. If it was a question, the answer was yes. I closed my eyes, and let the kiss continue. When Rudy leaned back I could see my husband staring. If my possessive and assertive husband didn't like something that was happening he would find a reason to come to our table and stop it. Or, he knows my cell phone was on, he could call. "No regrets about being here?" Rudy asked. I thought about that on-line poker game expression when you bet everything, hoping to win: All in? Yes, all in. I took his hand and said "Wasn't that kiss an answer?"
Our salads arrived, and we went through the motions of eating a little.
Rudy's right hand went under the table, nominally to adjust his napkin, but I felt it on the outside of my leg. It was, I am sure, a test. He may not be a poker player, but he was raising the stakes. I covered his hand with mine, but did not push it away. He moved it and my own hand toward the top my leg and I didn't stop that either. There was another motion, his fingers found the edge of the wrap of my skirt, pushed at it, I could feel him push at the top and how it folded partially across my lap. The other side, no longer held up, fell to the bench too. He lifted his hand, and mine on it, until it was on my knee. Walt was looking not at me but under the table. My skirt had been covering me down to my ankles, now my legs had to be visible from mid calf down. That would have been the 'normal' view if I was wearing a dress, and would have meant nothing to a casual observer. But Walt knew what it meant. He knew where Rudy's hand was. He was anything but a casual observer.
God, I was feeling sexy, turned on, this was so much like things Walt and I talked about. I was "All In."
I took Rudy's wrist and raised that hand to my lips, then put it on the top of the table. "Rudy, excuse me. I have to go to the lady's room."
The hotel has a rule: no cell phone usage in the dining room, but while I was in the ladies room I wrote a quick text to Walt. He could at least read the message.
"Is this what u want?" I texted. The answer came back almost immediately,. "Y." There was another line: "the black belt is perfect."
I was turned on and feeling so sexy -- too sexy? I went into a stall, removed my pantyhose. My legs were still a little tanned from a recent vacation, they looked OK without stockings on. I smoothed the fit of my clothes while I looked in the mirror: I did not look noticeably different although my nipples were making small lumps in my bra -- I'm glad I wore a dark blouse! I may not have looked different, but was I? Oh God, I was.
Back to the table, back beside Rudy. "I am sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to be too forward". I put my finger to my lips, made a shushing sound. "You did nothing to apologize for," I told him. To prove that I took his wrist again, moved his hand back under the table again, and put it on my leg, then took my wine, and sipped at it. He reached and found my skirt's hem again. Once again his hand helped my skirt fall open under the table, and once again his hand found my knee. "Your stockings! You took them off!"
My legs were demurely crossed at the ankle under the table. His hand moved a little higher, his fingers tracing along the inside of my thigh. I am absolutely certain Walt knew what was happening.
Rudy swallowed and then his hand moved an inch higher. And another inch. Was he uncertain, testing? He was partly turned toward me, but of course it was at best awkward for him.
Anther inch and another, and then I could feel his little finger begin to touch my pubic hair. He reached to behind my head with his other hand and pulled me to him for a kiss. He turned the hand under the table a little and his fingertips found moisture. "No knickers! Men only dream about things like this", he muttered as our lips parted. "I don't want to wait for dinner, do you?"
I didn't answer in words, just pushed my salad plate away. Rudy waved to the waiter, demanded a check, scrawled his signature and room number on it, and took my hand. I was sure a careful observer -- and Walt was a careful observer -- would have had a brief flash of more leg than might have been expected as I slid out from the bench.
Walt watched me leave with Rudy, out the dining room, down the hall. The hall leading to the elevators were visible from Walt's table, and he saw me go down it with Rudy.
It was a rush to Rudy's room, He made a couple of frantic swipes at the lock with his card before he got the door's green light. He pulled me to the bed that was already turned down, pushed me on it, and with me on my back kissed me and this time he was not reticent about getting his hand on my leg, then up my leg, until he pushed his fingers into me. "I want you so bad!"
He had possession of me and he knew it.
I tried to slow things down a little. "May I go to your bathroom?"
Once in there I called Walt. "U no what's going to happen if I stay here," I texted him . He texted a single word back. "Stay". A second line appeared: "I will wait 4 u."
My skirt was already wrinkled. I looked around the bathroom and saw the complimentary robe the hotel provides for its guests.
"All in? All in."
I came out wearing just that robe, carrying my phone, my clothes were left hanging in the bathroom. Rudy, still dressed, got off the bed, and reached for me. "This is a fantasy come true," he said. "I never expected to bring you to my room, and only fantasized about seeing you like this!"
"Rudy, will you do one thing for me first?"
I handed him my smart phone, moved him beside the bed near its foot, pressed the buttons to turn it into a camera and looked at the image of the bed on the screen. This would work. "I want you to take a photo of me on my phone." "You press this button. . ." I showed him and the bed image flashed on the screen. "Will you do that?"
"I will do anything for you." He took the phone.
He expected me to simply sit on the bed, but that was not what I was going to do. I took the step to the bed, looked at him over my shoulder, untied the belt on the far too large robe, and let it fall from my shoulders, it caught briefly on my elbows, draping over my back. I put my arms down, and it fell to the floor. I was nude. I got on the bed, back to him, then did that reflexive thing women do, one arm covering my breasts, the other my vagina, and lay down. Who was I kidding? I stretched out, arms above my head, fully exposed, fully available, and whispered "take my picture now."
Rudy was shaking like a kid, but he took the photo, handed the phone to me, and began working on his shirt. Before I lost my courage I pressed a couple of buttons, then 'send', and the image of Walt's nude wife made its way to his phone, seven floors under us. I put the phone on the side of the bed, and by then Rudy was naked.
I had not seen a different guy nude like that since before I was married, and here was one, coming toward me.
He moved on the bed, beside me, leaning over, kissing at my neck, and my breast. I remember sighing, lifting a little to meet his lips. Our fantasy was that I would give my partner full and unrestricted access.
Rudy was leaning over me, moved a little more, moved his lips down to my belly. He was kneeling, his hips aimed toward my head, his penis was throbbing.
I remembered Walt's comment about kissing me.
All in? All in.
I pushed at his hip, rolling him onto his back. His penis pointed straight up, his pulse evident in it. Oral was part of foreplay with long ago boyfriends, why not now?
I kissed at his hip: he jerked as if he had gotten a shock. "Are you all right, Rudy?"
There was a nod: "Yes I am. My wife never does that."
"Then enjoy this," I said. He was staring at me, I could see that. I moved so that I was kissing at his upper leg. The man was quivering! I held his penis between my thumb and forefinger, holding it still, then looking at him kissed at its underside. I could see he was staring at me as I moved higher up his shaft. I knelt, bent over, and let him see my lips touch the tip of his erection. I was still low on his body, he could watch my face as my lips opened a little and I let my tongue touch that same tip. He was shaking, his hips making little thrusting movements. His wife never did this?
I took him into my mouth, went down on him. He was nearly out of control, hips thrusting, a hand on the back of my head, pushing me harder on him, him harder into my mouth.
But only for a moment. He pushed me onto my back, rolled on top of me, straddling my legs with his, his penis poking at my belly.
"Do I need to wear a condom? I bought some in case you wanted me to." I leaned up and kissed him, then pulled him forward on me as I moved back on the bed. That was an action that spoke louder than words.
Just for a moment he became a gentleman again, not an over-eager teenager in a 60 year old body. "Are you sure about this?"
He felt me move, felt the pressure of one of my left leg pushing his aside. He moved, rolling to one side a little so that my leg could escape from between his. Now our legs were intertwined, but I moved the other one, he lifted up, and settled back down, with me, legs spread, my center was open to him.
And his penis was on my groin.
I stretched out tall again -- guys who have seen my photos remark that almost always I posed that way.
I finally whispered "Rudy, I am sure."
"Ah" he said, and reached down between us, positioning himself. "I wanted to do this from the first time I saw you." There was that blunt pressure against me, against my groin. I tilted my hips, he moved his cockhead along my lips. "I masturbated a hundred times thinking about fucking you." I could feel him move between my lips, I was opening for him, could feel him start in, and then he pushed, spreading me as he entered. It was no fantasy now, another man was in me!
I lifted my head, looked between us. His erection came out, glistening with my moisture.
He looked down between us, saw what I did and rammed into me again. It has been a very long time since I had sex with anyone other than my husband, there were things I didn't remember but now was being reminded of, like some men's inability to control themselves. Rudy was one of those: uncomplimentary phrases came to mind, like Minuteman. All of the changes I love about sex began happening, but too soon. The urgent movements, the increased heat, the pressure, a savage look on his face, and then those spaced thrusts matched with his grunts that meant he was ejaculating.
And he was done. A few more thrusts, then out, it was over for him, he rolled beside me. "It has been too long, I am sorry I was not better."
All of that fantasy talk at home, all of that build up, but never once did we consider premature ejaculation!!
"It's OK, it's all too new," I said. He sighed, sagged back, his eyes closed, and Rudy, this Distinguished Scholar, this English Gentleman, let his eyes close. In a couple of moments he fell asleep.
It took only a minute to get dressed. I left the room, went downstairs, hoping all was well with my marriage and with my husband, and oh how I was hoping he was still there.
He was. I was in his arms, being held, being made to feel secure, in an instant. "I thought you'd be up there for hours. Are you OK?"
"I am now," I told him, "I am because I'm in your arms."
"I need to know. Did he . . ."
"Come home with me," he said.
"We'll get that tomorrow."
He held my hand the whole way home, told me he loved me every mile, and finally we were in the garage, then in the kitchen and finally in the bedroom. "Did it really happen? You were only up there for only a little time, but for every minute I had an hour of exquisite agony, imagining. . ."
I interrupted him. "Let me just hold you, I'll tell you everything, but for now I want to just feel secure."
I was being held by someone who knew were all of the hot buttons were. "Later I want you to tell me and show me what happened," he said, but for now, I want to hold you."
I was next to a naked man again. I had never been with two different men in the same week, now it was Walt, then Rudy, then Walt, all in two days.
"I want to prove how much I love you," he said, kissing me. "I just was kissing Rudy." The kiss grew more intense. He pulled away after a moment. "I want to know, did you....?" I knew the question was coming and now I felt I could talk about it. "Yes, I did go down on him."
The next kiss was very long and very hard. "You're making me feel secure with you," I told him.
Then his kisses went from lips to throat to my breasts. "Did he kiss you here?"
He kissed at my belly. "Here?"
"Yes, that was the last place he kissed. He had other things on his mind."
Walt moved lower. "No. Walt, you had better stop, he. . . ."
But it was too late, and Walt did not stop. We had done oral after intercourse but that was after Walt was in me, not Rudy. Too late, and Walt knew exactly what he was doing, because in a few minutes, after causing me to have a mini orgasm, he told me he did that to prove what I did was great as far as he was concerned.
"And", he added, "as a way of thanking you for that very sexy photo. I love that he was looking at your body. Did you know you had your wrists crossed as though they were tied? Did you do that thing I like so much and stretch out under him too?"
"Yes, I did."
"On your back?"
"Show me, show me everything that happened."
I did just that. Every detail, except this time there was no premature ejaculation.
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