We'd been thinking about it, talking about it, even joking about it, for years.
I thought it was all just a sexy fantasy, some spicy pillow talk. Something to get him hot. For me.
But now there's another woman in our bedroom. Young, achingly gorgeous, and undressing very slowly as my husband and I watch from our bed. And anticipate. Try to imagine.
In a few moments, I'm going to have to decide.
I was trying my best to just flow with it, not think too much. I always think too much. Feel, just feel. Breathe, that’s the key thing. Be sure to keep breathing. In and out. Nice and easy and smooth. I could get through this.
And don’t look! I couldn’t look. I will soon, I promised myself. But not yet. Breathe.
I stood in our bedroom. My back to our bed. Eyes closed even though I’d just turned off the lights. Trying to keep myself under some kind of control as my husband caressed my shoulders, my arms, that sensitive spot right at the back of my neck, right where the spine ends, that he knew I loved so much. His touch was light, sensual. And moving very slowly, that’s not usual for him. Once he gets going, he likes to go.
He’s trying to help, I suddenly thought. Trying to help me relax. That’s sweet.
He traced a finger across my shoulder, up my neck, under my chin. His other hand at the small of my back ever so gently pulling me into him as he lifted me to tiptoes, bringing my lips up to his. I wrapped him in my arms, trying to match soft with soft. A gentle, soothing, lingering kiss and I tried a little harder to not think so damn much.
After all, thinking is what got me into this mess.
Another tiny little kiss, this time right on the tip of my nose, brought a smile to my lips. Then one on my forehead as his hand allowed my chin down. I tilted a little and he pressed his nose into my hair, he loves the smell of my hair.
Usually I just loved all of this. And it still felt good. But tonight was different. I desperately tried to concentrate only on his touch, to feel just that, and not to think about the girl sitting across our bedroom, watching us.
God she was young. And gorgeous. And very modern. She had said “Yeah, I love to fuck girls,” as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
Nicole. We’d known her for years, ever since we bought a home just a few doors down from her parent’s house. On the first Saturday of every month, we usually picked her up, drove over to some friends, and she babysat their kids while we went out for the afternoon. Played tennis, biked, saw a movie. Then we drove her back.
She had blossomed slowly before our eyes. From a gawky teenaged girl in braces, acne and huge sweaters to a stunning young woman about to leave for college. Today had been her last day babysitting, tonight our last trip taking her home.
I could never, ever do something like this with a stranger. Some anonymous woman we met in a bar, at the mall, found on CraigsList. All of the different ways we’d talked about finding someone to share. And of course, a friend would be much, much worse. Someone I’d have to face the next day if it turned into a disaster.
So I thought I was safe. That it was safe to fantasize along with him, even tease him. About sharing. And being shared. Playing along with the game. Pointing out women on the street, in restaurants or the supermarket. Whispering into his ear later that night about how their bodies would look naked, how their lips would feel wrapped around his erection, how loud they would squeal orgasming to my touch. That kind of thing. And then watch him get hard for me with quiet satisfaction. Because I’d thought it over very carefully and I couldn’t imagine how it would ever possibly be ‘just right’ enough.
We hadn’t talked about Nicole this way at all. She was way too young, the thought of her simply hadn’t entered our minds. But tonight, almost as soon as the car door closed, she just came right out and said it. “Boy, I’d sure love to do you guys before I leave.”
About Jay Whett
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Published April 6, 2012
Erotica, Literature & Fiction.