For a moment I thought maybe it hadnt really happened. I thought
maybe it had all been some vivid dream that seemed real, like
dreams sometimes do. But I could smell him; I could smell him
on the sheets, on Jamies pillow. And the bedroom was just as
we had left it last night; evidence everywhere of what had happened,
the video camera still aimed at our bed, Jamies ruined panties
on the floor, the scattered stains on carpet, too many to count.
And I realized fully, suddenly, in a way I hadnt last night,
that I no longer had a marriage in which my wife had fucked only
me; and for the slightest of instants I felt the familiar pang
of uncertainty creep back, like it had last night when Jamie first
went down on him, telling him, between starving mouthfuls of cock,
how much she loved it. And he was telling her, between gasps,
how beautiful she was and how good of a cocksucker she was. And
it almost felt like regret when I watched her gaze up at him,
into his eyes, like a child wanting praise, and she showed it
to him, opening her mouth to let him see his semen pooled on her
cupped tongue before swallowing it. And for one panicked moment,
I knew this was a mistake. And I had felt suddenly frightened.
But I didnt feel regret. Because we had promised each other:
No regret. No matter what.
Last night Jamie told me, You know, if we were smart, wed just
forget this. We turn around and go back home and forget all about
this. These things never end well. You know that. Jamie had inhaled
the last of her cigarette and cracked the window, the wind rushing
in cold and loud, and flicked the butt outside before sealing
the window again. We were almost to the restaurant, where he would
be waiting for us, where we would go over the ground rules one
last time, where we would make sure he knew the safe word. Fantasies
never translate well to the real world. Expectations dont get
met. Or expectations get exceeded and someone likes it too much.
Then someone gets jealous. Feelings get hurt. Bad things. She
was right. But it didnt matter.
And a day earlier she had said, Lets say we go through with
it. Lets say hes nice and good-looking and we both like him.
And lets say we all agree and hes willing to play by our rules.
And we go through with it. I had nodded to it all. What if its
the worst experience of our entire lives? What if we hate ourselves
for doing it? What if we hate each other? I had thought of all
these possibilities but I let her go on. Or worse. What if we
love it? I mean fucking love it. What if its everything both
of us have dreamed it would be? What then? Itch scratched? Jamie
had let what she was saying sink in. Or is it better that its
a fantasy? Could it be that the anticipation is always sweeter
than the fulfillment, that the fantasy is always better than the
real thing?
It was a good point. They were all good points. But it didnt
matter. I just want to see you fuck another man. And then I can
get on with my life.
On our way upstairs to our bedroom last night Jamie had whispered
to me, so he couldnt hear, I want everything tonight. Everything
weve ever fantasized about. Everything weve never been in the
right place or the right time or the right frame of mind to do.
I want it to happen tonight. And she got it. He and I fucked
Jamie the entire night and never tried the same thing twice. I
did my best to choreograph and direct us through the variations
and different positions, locations, and arrangements. We fucked
Jamies mouth, her cunt, her ass. We used her in tandem, Jamie
on her hands and knees sucking my cock, him fucking her from behind,
punching his cock into her again and again, making her bounce
back and forth between us, Jamie needing only to keep her lips
closed around my cock and his thrusts would push her mouth up
and down my shaft. Jamie asked us to fuck her at the same time,
and I lay flat on my back on the floor, Jamie on top of me, riding
me, calling for him to fuck her ass while I fucked her cunt. For
an instant, she seemed to be in pain, but only for an instant,
and I watched Jamie's face as he entered her, watched her expression
transform as he slid into her. It seemed as if he was forcing
the air out of her, a long, low moan emanating endlessly from
deep in her chest, growing louder as he filled her completely.
Over her shoulder Jamie growled at him, fucking back against him,
meeting his thrusts halfway, spreading her legs apart and I awkwardly
thrust my hips upward, penetrating her in syncopation with him,
my rhythm slightly off, sometimes entering just as he withdrew,
sometimes entering simultaneously, out cocks pushing against one
another, wrestling for space inside of Jamie's body as she gasped
for air like a drowning fish, begging us to stop and then begging
us not to, begging for more, desperate for more.
But now he was gone. He left as soon as we had asked him to, just
like we made him promise to.
Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe it wasnt, that Jamie came back
to bed at the same time I awoke. We didnt say anything at first;
instead we just lay there in our bed, like we did most mornings,
acting as if everything was perfectly normal. As if our marriage
hadnt been fundamentally and irrevocably altered forever.
She was still naked. We were silent for a long time until, abruptly,
I asked her, Was it what you wanted?
I think so. Yes.
Then I said, What was it like, fucking him?
I dont know. It was Jamie began, but then, I dont know.
Tell me, I said. Its okay.
It was like fucking. I dont know. And then she said, Maybe
I should do three now. She gave me that little wink of hers that
means shes either joking or shes being dead serious, I can never
tell which.
Would you?
I dont know. Maybe. He told me the gene for red hair is recessive,
Jamie said, changing the subject almost without me noticing.
He said it was rare to see a
howd he put it?
Truly beautiful.
Truly beautiful redhead. He said the gene is recessive not just
to dark hair, but to blonde hair, too. And that since neither
of my parents were redheads, they only had a one-in-four shot
of having a redheaded kid.
I remembered everything he had said, but let her tell me anyhow
before I asked, Was it different?
Was what different?
Fucking him.
Of course it was different.
Did you like sucking his dick?
Call it a cock, Jamie said.
Did you like sucking his cock?
Jamie pretended to not know before saying, Yes. She was smiling
again. I could feel both of you inside me. I could feel both
of your cocks, pushing against each other, pushing against that
wall, that membrane. And I was scared for a minute that it might
rip; that you and he might actually, physically rip me open.
Jamie was breathing heavily. And the thought of that turned me
on so badly. I just kept thinking, Yes, yes, rip me, rip me open.
I wanted to just fucking faint, just pass out right there between
both of you and just lie there and let you fuck me to death. Just
lie there and listen to the two of you panting my name; and smell
you cocks and your sweat and let you just fucking rip me open.
Jamie stopped to catch her breath, and then almost giggled. I
was screaming in his ear. We were so loud. I was scared at first
that Old Lady Walters next door was going to hear us. And then
I kinda wanted her to hear us. As Jamie talked I remembered the
sounds we made, how loud we were, our grunts and groans echoing
through our house, punctuated by Jamies squeals. I remembered
how, from time to time, we would all fall suddenly quiet for just
an instant before resuming, the eye of a noisy storm, when only
our labored breathing and the slapping together of our sweaty
flesh could be heard. I remembered how rough he was with Jamie,
much more so than I had ever dared be, and how she struggled to
keep her mouth on my cock as he fucked her. And how I awkwardly
fucked at her open mouth, missing more often than not, and how
she didnt even realize at first that she had made me come, coughing
as she ejected my spurting cock form her mouth, gagging as she
spilled a mouthful of semen onto the carpet of our bedroom.
Do you like being called a whore? I asked.
I dont
no.
You liked it last night.
Last night, I didnt
I didnt want to be some silly, stupid,
suburban wife. I wanted to forget all that. Just for a little
while. If for just one night, I wanted to be something else. Something
different. I wanted to be something dirty. There was a familiar
fluttering in my stomach, and for a moment I thought it was jealousy.
Isnt that what you wanted?
Yes.
But it wasnt jealousy.
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