Did you? He held her pale breast, their bodies linked in languid foreplay. This was one of the moments he longed for, even after thirty-two years, when she was exposed to him and he knew her love for him. At these times, when she was naked but not yet satisfied, she seemed more vulnerable, more honest. They could discuss issues never available while clothed. "I met a man," she asserted. He said nothing, allowing her to develop the theme, but she steadfastly remained silent, waiting for his reaction. "Did you . . ." he replied, letting his question linger in the atmosphere of mussed sheets and moisture. He felt she could not mistake his intention, his curiosity. Thousands of times they’d used this theme as foreplay, fantasizing another man loving her. At restaurants, clubs and parties he’d queried her about others, strangers and friends, married and single, dark and blond. She always played the game adroitly, feigning interest in this or that fellow, but continually shunned action, terminally monogamous. Sluggishly, she responded. "I met him while working out, riding the stationary bicycle. He asked me if I was watching CNN." Again she paused, and he became unsure of her comfort. Long seconds later, she continued. "Actually, he’s looked me up three times now. He seems to be waiting for me when I exercise. I enjoy his conversation." "All you’ve done is talk?" He asked, incredulous she would be concerned about an activity so innocent. "Yes, that’s all." He understood she wished confirmation, approval. "You should see more of him," he encouraged. "It just feels different," she explained, as he cupped her mons in his palm, allowing his fingers to experience the wetness, the excitement, between her legs. They coupled, he pretending to himself that he was a stranger to her, and he wondered if she was thinking of him, or of the man at the health club. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Later than normal, Kelly’s Honda decelerated as she entered the driveway. Quickly prancing through the kitchen door, she hugged him, mussing his hair. "Sorry I’m late, dear, Steven wanted to buy me a soda." Steven. Now, at least, he knew the name of the other man. Of course, it’s probably Steve, she enjoyed the formality of full names; Robert rather than Bob, William in the place of Bill. "Did you . . ." But before Andrew finished his question, she was continuing, full of energy and vitality. "He’s an accountant, has his own practice downtown. We discussed the arts." She retrieved a package from the freezer, deposited it in the microwave. "He seems educated, you’d take him more for a professor. He’d like to take me to dinner." She gazed at his eyes, the skin below her chin becoming flushed. "You wouldn’t mind, would you?" "Does he know you’re married?" he asked for the purpose of continuing the conversation, learn more of the other. "Of course. I always wear my wedding band, even when I’m exercising." "Is he?" The blush continued higher. "I’m not sure, I don’t think so. The subject hasn’t come up. Does it matter?" "No, not at all." He backed from the subject, not wanting to spook her. "Did he say where he’d like to take you?" "He mentioned a downtown bistro, Jaques." He couldn’t remember ever entering the restaurant, ever hearing of it. He allowed his mind to create an image of the establishment: dark, booths, discrete servants, candlelight, rich French wines. "You’d like to go?" he queried, attempting to disguise the excitement he felt. "Unless you think I shouldn’t." "You should do what you’d like." It was his blessing, his imprimatur. After the quick dinner was served, the dishes washed, she excused herself, wandered to her den. This was not unusual, a middle level manager often brings home reports to read or proposals to write. He opened a biography but was unable to concentrate. Googling the names of accountants in the town, he found eight entries with a first name of Steven or a derivative – three with downtown offices. And, of course, there were many a corporation which didn't list the individual's names. His wife’s potential lover could be any of these. He wandered upstairs, the door to the den was cracked. She was on the telephone, speaking lowly. She intimately laughed. He chose not to disturb her, refused to eavesdrop. He attempted the biography again, but the words couldn’t reach his mind – it was occupied with thoughts of his wife, the mutterings she might be sharing with her swain. Was he even now enticing her with sweet words? Was she chuckling at his urbanity, his sophistication? He’d waited so long for something like this to happen. He couldn’t remember the first time he imagined her making love to someone else; it probably was when he was alone, a drive between cities, perhaps. Certainly, a decade or more ago. But he could remember the first time he suggested she should be an adulteress. It was after a party held at one of their friends’ house, Andrew reminisces. Andrew is bored by the patter, the interminable standing first on one foot, then the other. He goes to the makeshift bar where the attendant mixes him yet another cocktail. Not wishing to return to the fray, he begins to wander through the yard. From a distance, he hears the sound of Kelly’s voice behind a rhododendron, muffled intimately, and is about to approach when he becomes aware of only one other figure in the darkness. He recognizes the voice of one of the husbands, Tom, and rather than intrude upon their closeness, he attempts to eavesdrop from forty feet. It is impossible to detect most of the words, but her giggles are as clear as a mountain stream. He holds in position, leaving them free to banter. Only when they return to the house does he follow them, and he watches Tom put his arm around her, perhaps to shield her from the night air, but perhaps . . . . Andrew retrieves her quickly and they make their way home. Soon he has her upstairs, in bed, naked. As they frolic together he propounds, "Would you like it if Tom was doing this to you?" Her demeanor inverts to peppery, quarrelsome, and she retorts, "What do you mean?" "I saw the two of you alone in the yard. You looked like you were enjoying yourselves. I was just wondering if you’d like to take him to bed." "Of course not," she exclaims, "I’m married to you." Andrew inelegantly continues, "I know that, but would it really be so terrible if you fooled around with him?" That first time, she'd been astounded he could even suggest something of the sort, then angry he’d even think she would contemplate adultery. As Andrew remembered, completion of sex was out of the question that evening, she was weeping in shock. He didn't bring that particular subject up again, but weeks later, when he asked her specifics about a man she knew before they were married, he found that Kelly could be prodded into revealing details about the relationship. At first, of course, it was only simple information, where they used to go on dates, what he liked to wear, but after a few sessions, always in bed, always naked before the love act, he coaxed particulars about the other lover from her: the size and shape of his penis, the positions they used. An astounding correlation appeared: when Andrew allowed Kelly to speak openly about her pre-marital experiences, she had more intense, more definitive orgasms in the subsequent intercourse. Before two seasons passed, Andrew knew the full sexual history of his wife in minute detail, the names of her four previous lovers, what they preferred, even their scents. When he tried to discover any peccadilloes she had been involved with since the moment they first met, she denied any involvements. Many palavers later, however, she at long last confessed to what Andrew now believed was her single serious flirtation during the span of their marriage. During that first hungry year, before either of them is making much money and children are not yet contemplated, they have a mutual friend. One evening at a party, Frank manages to get Kelly into a bedroom and closes the door. When he roughly grabs her and kisses her mouth, Kelly fails to object, infatuated with the alcohol and attention. But when Frank places a hand on her breast, she pushes him away and angrily leaves the room, finding Andrew and begging him to take her home. It was the last time she’d ever allowed herself to be near Frank without chaperonage. She didn’t trust herself then, she told Andrew. More nude talks ensued, and finally Andrew got her to admit that, if Frank had perhaps been a little more sophisticated, she might have acquiesced, let him have his way with her. Yes, put that way, she probably would have enjoyed it. When Andrew asked her if Frank was in their lives today, would she still want him? "Perhaps, I don’t know," was her curt reply. Weeks later, Andrew revisited the adventure, and when he asked her again if she’d now be interested in bedding Frank, she became contemplative. "Why do you ask?" "Sometimes, I think of you with other men. It stimulates me." The forthright reply astounded her, and that evening, and on subsequent evenings, they explored the concept of Andrew’s penchant for cuckoldry in depth. It began with mutual daydreaming. "What would your dream man be like?" Andrew would ask, or, "Would you spend the night with him?" For his pleasure, Kelly became adept at the game, fabricating stories regarding men other than Andrew, how she would meet them, where she would go with them, their physical attributes, the positions they would utilize. For three or four years, it was just a game, then Andrew’s desire expanded. One night at a bar populated mostly by single men, Andrew suggested she take her pick; Andrew would drive them to a hotel and wait in the parking lot while she went with the man. She told him he was drunk and demurred, but the next time they went out, she quietly pointed to a man amongst a group and confided, "He interests me." Throughout the evening, Andrew attempted to get the stranger to the side, but it was impossible; the night passed, and the only man Kelly had was Andrew, who now believed the incident was simply marital titillation. Other nights came and passed, Kelly would be hot and cold. Dozens of times when she worked late, went on weekend trips and particularly when she was out of town on business, Andrew questioned if anything happened; she consistently denied both action and motivation. She made it clear that, if she ever did have sex with someone besides Andrew, it would not be for her benefit, but for his pleasure. They spent many wonderful hours discussing what she needed: security that the other man would not hurt her in any way; that her reputation would remain unsullied; protection against disease; surety that she would not become pregnant. Stratagems were devised to ensure her comfort. It was agreed that, if and when it happened, Kelly would tell Andrew about it as soon as possible. If the first encounter went well, she could repeat it as often as she liked. Only after she became used to the feeling of having another man touch her body, both outside and inside, would she even consider the idea of allowing Andrew to be a voyeur to her exploits, but then, perhaps, a threesome might be in order. Of course, she accused him of nefarious motivations for his desire, not the least was her concept that, if she were to be with another man, he might take a woman. Andrew denied that, although he privately considered it was likely that Kelly’s adultery might assuage the guilt he still felt over the brief affair he’d had, unknown to Kelly, when the children were very young. And he postulated a litany of positive results: It would spice up their marriage, it would teach her new techniques, she would discover pleasures she never knew existed, it might make a lonely or depressed man happy. Kelly was constantly amused at his rationalizations, and continued to insist that there was only one reason she would ever consider a liaison: For Andrew’s pleasure alone. And finally, she yielded. "Yes, if the proper man is found and if the right conditions exist, yes, I will have sexual relations with him." Andrew began the search for her bedmate. Kelly rejected out of hand the entire mass of her or his friends, particularly husbands of married couples with whom they were close; gossip would spread, jealousies would flare. None of her work mates would suffice, a sexual harassment suit, or even rumors, would do little good for her career. Telephone numbers of her past lovers, including the now infamous Frank, were discovered; Kelly delayed contact. Time slipped away, Kelly made little or no effort to find her Casanova. Andrew tried to gently push and prod. He suggested they find a man on the Internet, she condescended. Andrew placed an ad, made the initial contact electronically explaining to the respondent what was desired, required. He passed the negotiations onto Kelly, and he could see by the string of emails in the shared, anonymous mailbox that Kelly was making progress. After three or four weeks of almost daily communication, Kelly confided to Andrew she’d agreed to meet the mysterious contact in a downtown park after work. On the day of the rendezvous, she’d been struck with a sudden illness, her vomiting severe. It appeared she never made an effort to reschedule. Andrew had nearly given up the fantasy of his wife lying naked beneath another man, his sheathed penis buried deep inside her, pleasuring her. And now, it had all been revived with four simple words: ‘I met a man.’ Kelly entered the living room following an hour’s work, sat closely beside him. The television was switched on, they settled on a series first aired in the seventies. During a commercial she revealed, "Andrea sends her love. She has a date tonight." Their daughter, living now in another city. They retired to the bedroom and prepared for sleep. She cuddled to him, ensconcing herself in the nook of his shoulder, her familiar place. "Sweetheart," she asked, "You really wouldn’t mind if I went out with Steven?" "I tell you again, my dear, I think you should." He decided to further explore the predicament, broaden the context. "May I ask anther question?" Suspiciously, wearily. "What?" "Would anything else happen?" In the darkness a tenseness attached itself to her body, he could feel the warmth rising within her. She paused, and he wondered why she was so hesitant. Then she replied, stuttering. "I think not. I love you too much, I wouldn’t wish a chance of hurting our relationship." She nervously turned on her stomach. "We’ve discussed this often, you’ve encouraged me. Truly, you wouldn’t be upset, jealous?" "It’s exciting to me, to think of you with another man." "If you thought I’d been taken, it wouldn’t change your feelings for me?" He considered the dozens of occasions when he’d been sure she’d had a dalliance, examined his emotions at those times. "No, my love. I would still care for you, perhaps even more." "I’m not sure I can believe you," she responded. "In fantasy, you want to view me as unfaithful, a whore. But when your myth becomes fact, how can you know what you’ll feel?" "I know I will always love you, that I would never feel ashamed of you." "I wonder," she concluded, and composed herself for sleep. At work, he answered the telephone on his desk. "Hi, sweetheart," he heard her say, "The vice president needs a report tomorrow. I have to work late." He wished to ask her if this was a ruse, if she would instead be meeting Steven, but he demurred. "That’s fine." "I should be home before eleven," she promised. "Don’t be concerned," he allowed, "I’ll be all right." After arriving home, he flitted restlessly, wondering where she truly was. He determines that she is probably meeting her lover, dining with him. He wonders if she greets Steven with a kiss on the cheek. Are they sitting side by side, or across a table from each other? Does he offer her a rose? Perhaps she is, even now, reaching her hand across the table to stroke his palm. In his mind Andrew sees the bright linens, the glittering silver, the shine as the flame of the candle reflects in the crystal of the wine goblet. It is going to be a long dinner, he believes, romantic and sensuous. As the hand on the grandfather clock approaches ten, he wonders if the paramour has enticed her into his automobile, put his arm around her. At 10:15, Andrew convinces himself that Steven is driving her, not to her car, but instead to his home. There is little time for the romance to bloom, and Andrew expects the telephone to ring, his wife suggesting that she needs to work even later. Or will she, Andrew ponders, admit her prospective indiscretion and request permission to spend the entire night at Steven’s home? His meanderings were disturbed by the flash of headlights through the bay window, the familiar moan of her brakes. She entered the abode wearily, clothed in a frumpy, wrinkled dress, an aura of exhaustion surrounding her. "I never want to go through that again," she declared, sinking deeply into the sofa and kicking her shoes off. "Did you get it finished?" Andrew asks, not knowing if he is inquiring about her work, or her romance. "Most of it, anyway. Bob and Shelly still have an hour to go, getting a few more stats. We’ll clean it up in the morning and have it on the boss’s desk by noon. I hate these fire drills!" He felt crushed. Working late had been not a pretext, but the naked truth. "Can I do anything for you?" he offered. "No, I just want to go to bed." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Again, she returned from her workout twenty minutes later than normal. As they sat together in the dining room, she said, "You’re out of town next week, aren’t you?" His business travel was infrequent, not more than ten times a year. "Yes, leaving Wednesday morning. I’ll be back late on Friday." "I told Steven about it. We’ll have dinner Wednesday night. It’s still all right, isn’t it?" He nods, showing her there should be no concern. "Did you discover anything more about him?" "He lost his wife last year, cancer. I believe he’s lonely. His doctor prescribed activity to fight depression." "Do you find him attractive?" "Mildly. He’s about our age, I would imagine, and trim. Perhaps even a little underweight, with his worries and frustrations. And he’s very serious. But possibly that’s simply because the situation is new to him." She thinks for a moment. "Of course, it’s new to me, too." Very early Wednesday morning, a two-hour plane flight. Most of Andrew’s time was spent considering stratagems for the upcoming meeting, but a portion of his mind kept returning to his wife. By now, she’s rising from bed, he imagines. She is rummaging through her drawers, searching for the perfect lingerie. Taking the razor in hand, she makes her legs silken, ready for the first touch of a man’s hand. And in his flight of fancy, she trims her pubic bush to a small triangle. After he stepped down the concourse and made his way to the corporate headquarters, the crush of business drove the thoughts of his wife, and her possible adultery, from him. Rarely did she come to mind until he checked into his hotel room following a dinner with his manager. He phoned home and was partially relieved, partially disturbed when the machine picked up. He chose not to leave a message. He took a long shower, and thought again of his bride and the man he knew she was with. By now, they must be finished with their meal. The tidbits she’d shared with him about Steven convinced him he’d attempt to seduce her slowly, romantically. Perhaps, Andrew considers, they are taking a walk after dinner through the streets of the city, never deserted but often uncrowded at this time of the evening, window-shopping. In the dimly lit entrance of a darkened shop, they kiss for the first time. It is a sensuous touch at first, just a brush, then more pressure is mutually applied. Her lips part and their tongues meet. A slight pullback, a word of attraction, and then again they kiss, his tongue searching throughout her mouth, tasting all she has to offer. They hold each other tightly, Steven gently brushes her neck with a hand. Then he pulls on the small of her back and she follows the pressure, pressing her groin into his, the first meeting of their pubes and the promise of further exploration. They walk through the lanes to his waiting car. Even now, they must be somewhere on a main road or interstate. Andrew is positive they are heading to Steven’s house, and when they arrive, Kelly will allow him to make sweet, lingering love to her. It was 10:30 now, and Andrew was sure if he again telephoned his house, she would not answer, she would not be there. He found that he was surprised when he picked up the phone beside the hotel bed. Within three rings she answered, and he didn’t know if he was relieved or upset to find that she was at home. "It’s so good to hear your voice," she insisted. "Did you have a nice time?" "Yes, Steven and I had a wonderful dinner. It’s a bright, lively spot, quite a bit of neon and glimmering chrome. California cuisine, quite nice." "Was he still serious?" "At first he was a bit stiff. But as the dinner went on, he became enlivened, almost funny. He’s quite attractive. I doubt that he’ll be single long, some divorcee or widow is sure to latch onto him once he becomes comfortable with women." "Did you do anything after dinner?" "He walked me back to my garage. On the way we looked in some windows. We passed by his apartment house." "Did he try to kiss you, or anything?" Andrew was sure now that his previous dream had been correct, except that the couple was waiting to complete their love. "No, he’s a gentleman." "Oh." Andrew sounded dejected, disappointed. The tone of her reply included hints of both understanding and frustration. "He’s a friend, my love, it’s only my first date with him." "Will there be others?" Andrew sounded more hopeful now. "The ballet’s in town tomorrow night. Steven asked me to escort him. I accepted, assuming you wouldn’t object. Do you?" Andrew found himself excited about her continuing relationship, and he pressed his point home. "If he wants to do anything after the ballet, you know it’s fine with me, don’t you?" After the multitude of conversations, meanderings, it was clear he was referring to Steven’s bed. "I know what you’d like, dear, but you must understand how difficult this is. Please, don’t push me." She wished him sweet dreams. The following evening after late meetings, Andrew was left to his own devices. Fatigued with the strains of the day, he chose to dine in the hotel restaurant, an establishment known for little more than quantity. As he sat at his table, he considered that the ballet must now be on intermission. He imagines the costume she is wearing, it is one of Andrew’s favorites. A simple black frock, sleeveless with a high neck. The dress clings tightly to her figure, revealing the ample swell of her breasts; a string of pearls dangling between the mounds encourages additional attention to them. The skirt ends at mid-thigh, allowing a view of her strong legs. Fishnet stockings and high heels complete the outfit, her attire has the effect of attracting notice to the trim body she’s worked so hard to maintain. In Andrew’s vision they have a glass of wine during the intermission, a Pinot Grigio that softens their mood without dampening their spirits. In the crowded lobby, the lights flash, the second act is about to begin. As Steven escorts her back to their seats, he puts his arm around her waist, and she smiles up at him, promising that this will not be the last touch of the evening. As the lights dim and the orchestra plays, he drapes his arm over her, and becomes accustomed to the warmth of her shoulder, she to his gentle massage. They hold hands. The romantic overtones of the ballet, the beautiful women of the company, the strong men wearing only tights with codpieces that display the size of their manhood excite the couple. When the final scenes find the lead couple entwined in a pas de deux, simulating the act of love, Steven whispers in her ear, she nods, the contract is agreed to. They leave their seats before the curtain call and stride purposefully, not to her car, but to his apartment house. As Andrew unlocked his hotel room, he envisions his wife rising in an elevator high to an aerie, her suitor’s arm clasped around the small of her waist. Entering the snuggery, Kelly reviews the environs, a warm room slightly lit. Steven encourages her to gaze from the window, an astounding exposition of the metropolis is flourished below them. The romance of the ballet and view sweeps them away; they kiss greedily, desiring each other. Standing, they fondle each other, each desiring, imploring further action. His hands grip the zipper at the back of her dress, releasing it, allowing her to step from the garment, revealing her body to him, naked save for ebony brassiere and panties, midnight stockings that contrast with the alabaster of her velvety skin. In the safety of his sterile hotel room, Andrew stripped and laid on the bed, imagining his semi-nude wife being pushed back onto a sofa. He watches Steven fumble with his tie and shirt while his wife unfastens the belt, pulls the zipper down and unleashes a monstrous erection. Soon the other man is unclothed and stands before her, his hugeness pointing directly to her face. She takes it in hand, her fingers barely able to completely embrace the girth. She fondles the great sac below the penis, weighing the large testicles ready with fluid. Slowly, she licks the stiffness presented to her, tasting the first dribble of his excitement. As he responds, writhing in the pleasure of her attentions, she takes the head into her mouth, spreading her lips as wide as possible simply to encircle the tool. Greedily she swallows as much as she can squeeze into her mouth, just the tip actually, but Steven rejoices in the movement of her tongue and the continuing strokes of her hands over the furlong of shaft. While she sucks, Steven reaches to her back and adroitly unclasps the bra. It falls from her shoulders, and her full breasts, sagging slightly perhaps with the years but beautiful still, are exposed to his gaze and touch. He hefts them, allowing the outstretched nipples to be gently stroked with his palms. Faster now she sucks, pleasuring him, willing for him to satisfy himself in her mouth. Suddenly, he pushes her back and says, ‘No, not yet. I want you.’ In the vision, he sees Steven kneel in front of his sitting wife and begin to kiss her, first on the lips, probing deeply with his tongue, then moving to her closed eyelids, nibbling on her earlobes and muzzling her throat. She relaxes, allowing her inamorato license to please her. Soon he is at the twin globes of her breasts, kissing the nipples, extended now further than they are wide, teasing them first with tender caresses with his teeth, then becoming rougher, nibbling then biting, until he can sense the fine line between her pleasure and pain. Kelly moans in delight, almost able to orgasm simply from the stimulation of her teats. In the privacy of the hotel room, Andrew took his own penis within his hands and began to stroke himself. When Kelly is completely attentive to Steven’s adept ministrations, he moves further down, his tongue lapping at her navel, then further yet. Steven now traces the outlines of her high cut panties, thrilling her as he dips lower. She spreads her legs, and Steven views the wet dot in the intimate crotch of fabric. He stoops to sniff at it, alert to the sweetness, more than a hint of musk. The smell is not enough for him, he wishes sight, touch. The underclothing is tugged over her knees, and now Kelly sits before him on the couch, her sole adornments the fish net stockings and above them, a sliver of hair pointing to the mysterious place between her legs. With the ball of her left foot she pushes his chest further away, and encourages him, "Look at me. Admire me." Her suitor gazes at the beauty of her face, framed by the hair, then the slender neck, the arms enfolding, offering the breasts for his enjoyment, the navel and the desirable legs. Only one thing is hidden from him, fig leafed by a knee, and slowly, teasingly she spreads, reveals to him the beauty of her labia, dripping now with the eagerness of her appetite. "Come to me," she begs, "satisfy yourself, and me." In the dream, Steven kneels between her legs and presses his hugeness against the wet opening of her vagina. Kelly gazes into his eyes, knowing what is to come, willing it to happen, and slowly the monster staff enters the waiting receptacle. The lips are pushed aside, and before even a quarter of the penis is inserted, her opening is elongated tauter than it has ever been before. Kelly finds the sensation a touch unpleasant, as if she is being torn, but she does not wish the incursion to end; in fact, she exhorts Steven onward. For a moment, Steven withdraws, but then presses forward again; Kelly grunts in both suffering and sensuality. The behemoth is not half yet immersed, and again it retreats and attacks a third time, still deeper. He is now buried enough that his enormity has stretched the eager vagina as far as required; the moment of pain is gone, the future nothing but pleasantness. Again and again Steven tentatively impels his prodigious organ, aware that haste is unnecessary. For her sake, he ceases penetration when the glans batters against the waiting cervix; and yet, only two thirds of the scepter is concealed within the woman. Now they gyrate in unison. Not a simple in and out motion, but a complex geometric pattern incorporating up, down and side to side movements, as intricate as the ballet they have abandoned. They encourage each other; in any other context the verbiage would be considered obscene, in this intimate environment it is simply the linguistics of lust. The heat within the couple increases, first simmering, then foaming, and suddenly, together, they boil over. At the same moment Andrew fantasized Steven erupting deeply into Kelly, he spewed his serum onto the sheets of his king size bed, empty but for his imagination. Andrew was exhausted now, having conjured the vision of his beloved being violated by another, and slipped into a fitful slumber. Hours or minutes went by, he could not differentiate in the darkness of his hotel room. A sound woke him, perhaps the slamming of a door in the hotel corridor. Again, the visualization of his wife entered his mind. She is lying on a bed, her eyes closed, her knees raised. Between her thighs is Steven’s head, he is circling his lover’s nether lips with kisses. They are engorged now with excitement, nearly brown, and he licks the skin surrounding the most sensitive point until she begs for relief. The tongue enters the love canal, pungent with the combination of juices, and stimulates the woman until she is on the cusp of the tempest. Skillfully he keeps her in this state of agitation until she becomes accustomed to the sensations, and then he knows she is ready for the next movement. The hand, which had been stroking her breast, teasing the nipples, makes it way to the woman’s groin where it pulls the clitoral hood from the jewel it protects. The tongue withdraws from the conduit and suddenly flicks the exposed button. A quick spark travels throughout her body, causing an intense spasm of her muscles. It may have been an orgasm, but it arrived so suddenly and retreated so quickly it was impossible to tell. It is of no matter; the tongue massages the clit, and intense heat emanates from the stimulated point. Kelly is whimpering now, soft words inaudible to the man pleasuring her, and as the flame devours her body, the vocabulary evolves to shrieks, and to screams. Andrew knows that if you were to ask Kelly to describe the sensations she is experiencing in this dream of his, she would be unable to provide an apt explanation; they are unknowable except to a woman in the throes of multiple, intense orgasms. For a prolonged length of time, Steven keeps her on the plateau until the sharp, rasping gasps subside, and then he stops nibbling on the hard clitoris and returns to simple, soft licking, as if he is applying a salve. When her breathing slows from the marathoner’s pace, she mutters praise and thanks for his expertise, his care, and he lifts himself up to lie beside her, face to face. It is Steven’s concept, Andrew believes, that now they will hold each other, but Andrew knows his wife better than her new lover. In the phantasm, Kelly pushes Steven onto his back, then kneels above him, straddling him, mounting him as she would a stallion. Kelly is extended on her knees, their groins a full nine inches distant from each other. She manipulates Steven’s manhood, fully erect again, of course, and places it at the entrance of her tunnel of love. In slow motion she descends, surrounding the steel rod with her living flesh, her innards extended now and able to accommodate easily the whole of him. When their pubic bones meet for the first time, she ceases movement, relishing the sensation of being totally filled, surpassing all the men she has known before. She rocks gently, letting previously unknown sensations rumble through her genitals, spreading slowly to her breasts, her extremities. Now she places one of her own hands between her legs, a finger pressed to her clit and massages herself. Within seconds, the big one hits and Kelly writhes in emotion, not ashamed that Steven is watching her; indeed she encourages him to witness her degeneracy. Again, as he envisioned the seducer releasing a massive load of sperm into his wife, his love, Andrew ejaculated into his palm. Drained not only physically, but emotionally as well, he napped. The dreams refused to allow him rest. A third time the Ghost of Infidelity Present conjured Andrew. Steven forces her now to submit to every depravity. Kelly moans for mercy, begging him to cease, but still the malefactor pierces her, insistent upon his own pleasure. And yet even this obscene chimera excites Andrew; a third time he abuses himself, bringing forth only a trickle of semen from his wracked testicles. Finally he slept as if dead. Aroused by a nightmare, one he could not recall, Andrew unwillingly regained consciousness. Reflecting on the night’s imaginations he understood what the remnants of another sexual partner in their life might entail. Instead of the pleasure of free love, the true results might include wantonness, distress, mistrust, perhaps even divorce. He missed Kelly dearly, and wished to telephone her, ensure himself that nothing had happened, she was still his maiden and his alone. Yet he rejected the concept, fearing that she might consider it puerile, or, much worse, the telephone would chime unanswered. He rose from the bed, donned clothing and escaped into the dawn for exercise. Returning to the room at the normal hour of waking, he picked up the handset and telephoned home. One ring . . . two rings . . . and, at last, the sleepy voice of his wife, his true love. "Hello?" Relief coursing through every membrane, he greeted her. "Good morning, dear, time to get up." And he added a thinly disguised interrogation. "Did you sleep well?" "Oh, yes, wonderfully. I just wish you were here, that’s all." The tone was warm, the emotion true. And, yet, a half-pint of suspicion still hid within Andrew’s next question. "How was the ballet?" "Wonderful, just beautiful. I’ll tell you all about it tonight." With the assurance that she was hiding nothing, he was relieved, at rest. With murmurings of love, the turtledoves released each other for the onslaught of the day’s requirements. The meetings seemed nothing but a boring chore. Andrew was sleepy, unrested, his head ached with the bad dreams of the evening. He was delivered to the airport at suppertime during the traditional Friday evening rush only to find that the plane was delayed; it would be an additional two hours before he was airborne. He rang Kelly’s cell phone, but it transferred into voicemail, whereby he announced the delay. "I doubt I’ll be home before eleven, darling." He had no appetite for food, and retired instead to the bar where he requested scotch. As he swirled the fluid in the crystal, again he found himself obsessing on the vision of his wife pierced by the love tool of another man, and since he now worried it might not be simply a fancy, he was less than sure of his reaction. Again he phoned his love, both cell and home, and again he received only the response of machines. Could it be that she was now aware of the few hours’ respite the airlines afforded her, and was claiming them in the arms of Steven? The airplane, once he was able to board, was an interminable compression of bodies, most of them haggard with the week’s activity. Andrew crushed himself into the assigned window seat; a larger man sat in the center next to him, examining a newspaper, continually invading Andrew’s sphere of intimacy. From the time of lift-off until he disembarked, Andrew considered what a fool he’d been to suggest sharing his wife. Once again he doubted her fidelity. If she’d fornicated with Steven, would she want to continue the affair, returning again and again to the other man’s bed? Perhaps just one other man would not be enough; she might wish to date, and screw, still more, comparing the techniques and attributes of the various partners. Uncomfortably, Andrew sipped on a soft drink and chomped peanuts, imagining his wife the willing accomplice in a gangbang, begging the multitude for indecent behavior. Once he landed, he traversed through the terminal crowded with scurrying swarms; the car was retrieved from the parking lot. Andrew still was not free of the specter. Hurriedly he drove the freeways home, concerned that Kelly would not be waiting for him, would instead be sharing the night, the entire weekend, with her lover. Andrew realized how little he knew about the other man; how would he be able to locate the love nest, how would he reclaim her? With a sigh of relief, her car rested in the driveway, a lantern burned in the window of the bedroom. Frantically, he climbed the stairs to the second floor, his suitcase slowing him, his suit coat askew, the tie around his neck disheveled. He felt the tenseness, the physical aching through his entire body, the result of three days of intense meetings and a grueling journey, combined with concern for his wife, his marriage. Bursting through the door of the bedroom, he spied Kelly, half under the sheet, a wisp of lingerie covering her torso and shoulders. Relief coursed through his veins as he realized he was, at last, home, safe. "Oh, I’m so glad you’re home," she welcomed. "I missed you." "I missed you, too," he blithely replied. It wasn’t enough, he wished to explain his love, his admiration, the consolation she granted him simply by her physical presence. But now, secure in her company, the fevered visions seemed ridiculous, laughable, and he concealed his emotion. "I wanted to wait up for you, but I must have drifted off," she explained. "Here, let me help you, you must have had a rough flight." Together they unpacked the baggage, hanging the suits, relegating the shirts, dirty socks and underwear to the hamper. "Did you and Andrew get together last night?" he asked. The tone was a tad unpleasant, infused with his weariness, tenseness and worry. "Oh, yes, we had a lovely time at the ballet." While he returned the toiletries to the bathroom cabinet, she explained the elegant costuming, the sensuousness of the instrumentation, the elegance of the dancers. "And afterwards?" he prodded, undressing for bed, putting his pajamas on. "I got him to tell me more about his wife, what it was like when she died." As he slipped between the covers, he realized this was his true wife, loving, caring, sympathetic, not the wanton slut he’d imagined her to be. Tightly, the married couple clung to each other until they were visited by the sandman. Andrew woke to darkness, aroused by a pornographic dream. Kelly still reclined beside him, breathing deeply in slumber. The fears that had obsessed him returned, encouraged by the wee hours, the stillness. As he padded to the bathroom to relieve himself, he became unsure; perhaps the innocent explanations of the night were simply misdirection. He needed proof that Kelly was still chaste, matronly. He remembered the box of condoms he’d purchased for her as a gift months before, when they were actively considering the potential of unfaithfulness. He assured himself that she was still deep in sleep, shut the bathroom door, then began the search for the rubbers. Deep into a drawer he probed, behind the soaps and under lotions where it was unlikely any one would stumble upon the contraband. When he finally uncovered the cardboard box, the position seemed to be different from the last time he’d seen it. So, she had done it after all, she was guilty! But then, holding the damning evidence in his hand, he realized the flaps were still sealed by the factory wrapping. His suspicions assuaged, but not completely dissuaded, he tore the box open, dumped the strips of foil packaging out and began counting, ‘one, two . . . eleven, twelve.’ Not a single one missing, all unused, unneeded. He returned them to their box, hid it once again where the contents waited without hope for utilization. He returned to his Kelly’s side, but still a specter of doubt invaded his karma. Another possible indication of adultery occurred to him. Again he rose, and felt in the dark closet for the plastic clothes hamper. As silently as possible, so as not to disturb her, he carried it into the bathroom and level by level examined the contents. First the remnants of his business trip were exhumed, then the clothing worn by Kelly during his absence. No sexy briefs or bras were found, only plain white underwear. The cotton panties held no mysterious stains in the crotch, no scent of raw sex. Suddenly, the door burst open and Kelly stood above him, observing the pile of dirty clothes spread across the floor. "What’s wrong, dear?" she questioned. "Nothing," he fibbed. Realizing she required an explanation of this odd behavior, he quickly added, "I just remembered a note I thought I’d left in a shirt pocket, that’s all." "Oh, did you find it?" "No, but it’s not that important. Forget it." She bent over and began to check the pockets of his dress shirts, finding, of course, nothing, tossing them back into the wisket, mingling them with her intimate, innocent clothing. Together they returned to the bed, and cuddled again until sweet unfettered sleep returned to claim him. When next he awoke, shafts of bright light invaded the room, provided by a sun that was obviously high in its orb. Kelly was absent from the bed, but in the light of day Andrew was unconcerned, sure that she was somewhere in the cottage waiting for him. And when he descended the stairs, he found her reposing on the chaise, studying the current issue of Better Homes and Gardens. A long, silken robe covered her, revealing the beauty of her neckline, a curled knee peeking from the wrap. "Good morning, sleepyhead, I was beginning to think you’d spend the whole day in bed." He reclined beside her, placing a hand on the exposed thigh. Stubble greeted his touch. "Sorry," she apologized, "my legs are terrible, aren’t they? I meant to shave for you last night, but got so wrapped up in phone calls with the kids and chores I simply forgot. I hope you don’t mind too much." "Not at all," he truthfully replied, glad for the attestation of her virtuous behavior during his absence. "What would you like for breakfast?" she asked, and after receiving his reply they strolled into the kitchen. He sat at the table, watching his domestic prepare the morning feast, sipping tea, wondering at the unrealistic phantasms of the previous days. Over the meal they discussed the coming day. It was agreed that they would go first to the nursery to purchase annuals for the garden, and would later go shopping for a new blouse or two, perhaps some casual clothes for him. They agreed to dinner at a local restaurant during the evening. He donned jeans and a T-shirt, and after placing the dishes in the washer, she appeared in somewhat baggy shorts and faded smock. Together they traversed to the local greenhouse, he accompanied her as she selected five flats of petunias and begonias. He became aware of a younger man in their environs, one of the employees, muscled and handsome. When the stud waited on them, he realized his wonderful wife simply conversed politely with him, obviously unconcerned with his rampant maleness. In their front yard, they arranged the new plantings, buried them in the soil, fertilized and watered them. Andrew began traipsing behind the lawn mower, long strides forth and back through the yard. The next-door neighbor waved to him, then went to Kelly and engaged her in conversation. Andrew believed him to be a bit of a womanizer, he knew from bedroom dialogues that Kelly found him attractive. Andrew was chagrined when he recalled suggesting that Kelly visit the neighbor with a home-cooked meal and other goodies while the wife was on an extended holiday; of course, she declined. With a jaundiced eye, Andrew watched as the man placed a hand on her shoulder, and he approved as his modest woman quickly stepped away from the incursion. Later they showered, removing the debris of the day from their bodies. As Andrew stood under the streaming water, through the rippled glass he viewed his wife raising a foot onto the sink, stroking her legs with the razor, beautifying herself for his own pleasure. He felt a tremendous combination of love and lust for her, his wonderful, chaste wife. As the cocktail hour approached, the married couple drove to the local mall, Kelly clothed in tailored slacks and blouse, a jeweled necklace adorning the neckline, drawing attention to the hint of cleavage. Together they roamed the boutiques, trying on various articles, selecting a few pieces, comfortable in their familiarity. A restaurant closer to downtown was selected, a somewhat smart crowd. The tables surrounded the bar, couples and foursomes inhabited the grillroom, imbibing and conversing. Andrew was attracted by a few of the women, and in past times might have wondered which of the men Kelly might be interested in, might select that evening as a potential lover in their sex games. Andrew felt, now, that the play was too dangerous, too close to reality; he understood that he might never ask Kelly again if she would like to have intercourse with someone other than he. Two men sat on bar stools, probably divorced, studying the various females, selecting prey for their evening. Kelly excused herself to the restroom and on her way she passed close to the pair. The taller of them stopped her, and from a distance Andrew watched her converse with the man. The stranger stood above his wife, seemed to leer down her bosom. Andrew became concerned, and after forty-five seconds considered strolling to the tête-à-tête and putting an end to the foolishment. But soon Kelly left them and continued to the ladies’ room. Upon her return, Andrew queried her about the men’s attentions. She sloughed it off with, "Oh, they just wanted directions to another restaurant." Andrew considered it unlikely, he was sure they were testing her availability, but understood his innocent wife was unable to understand their ulterior motive. The dinner was tasty, the wine delicious and after coffee and a shared dessert, the couple returned to their suburban home. In the living room, Kelly inquired, "Would you like to go to bed?" Since the hour was not yet late, Andrew understood the purpose of her question was unlikely to be sleep. He joyfully agreed to her suggestion. They climbed the stairs, Andrew observing with new-found interest how her rear end quivered as she walked, and in the bedroom they watched each other as they undressed to their intimates, he in a pair of white briefs, she adorned in a frilly combination of silky brassiere and bikini. Together they reclined on the bed and began a slow deliberate cycle of mutual stimulation. With little hurry the remaining garments were removed, sensitive areas were aroused by fingers and lips. Once again they found themselves in that state of relaxed agitation where true, unfettered communication was encouraged. Andrew was beginning to postulate how he might inform his bride of his new desire to abandon the concept of immorality, mentally selecting the specific words that would provide the most sublime impact, would explain his new insight, when she first spoke. "I have a gift for you, my love." "What?" Perhaps his innocent bride was about to bestow him with a CD from their youth, a book he’d desired. He gazed into her eyes, hoping for a hint of his surprise. And there, deep within her corneas, the window to her soul, he saw the specter, and suddenly knew what he was about to discover. He found his body shaking with dread, his lips dry, his heart pounding. And yet, he had to know, be absolutely sure. "Did you?" As the blood roared to his ears, his brain, she confided with gleeful expression, "I went to bed with him."
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