by Sean Geist
Oddly enough, the situation didn't perturb me as much as it should have. I felt jealous, yet also enjoying the moment just the same. My wife, the woman I loved and trusted, was showing interest in another man, and the world wasn't ending. I knew, at the end of the night, she would be heading home with me and that confidence allowed me to indulge my dark fantasy.
I sat and nodded my head as Peter regaled us with his stories of safaris to Kenya while in my mind I imagined him speaking alone with my wife, drawing her into his web of seduction. He would speak softly so she had to lean into him to be heard. He'd brush a strand of her black hair away and whisper into her ear something salacious. She'd giggle. He'd steal a quick kiss on her neck and she'd playfully slap him away and call him naughty.
In my imagination, the bartender sounds last call. They move on to his loft overlooking Central Park. He offers her another drink, then moves in, grabbing her arms and pulling her close. She melts into his arms. They kiss, tongues exploring with wanton delight.
My cock ached as my fantasy played out in my head.
I said nothing for over ten minutes, and Lauren must have noticed.
“Roger.” My wife turned back toward me. “You need another drink.”
I looked at my glass. A tiny layer of amber liquid sat at the bottom. I flagged down the bartender and ordered another Stella.
“Peter, tell him about Rose.”
“Rose?” Lauren seemed to want me involved in the conversation and I obliged.
“My sister. She and Lauren here could be twins. Same height, long black hair, hazel eyes. That's why I stopped to chat with her, before I knew she was taken. I mean, married.”
I was sure it was her sexy dress and not her resemblance to his sister that lead Peter to hit on my wife, but I didn't speculate out loud.
“And.” There was obviously something else my wife wanted Peter to expound on.
Did he actually proposition her, invite her home for a nightcap. That would have been—. I'm not sure the right word, awkward, thrilling, catastrophic? My fantasy come to life. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Was I aroused to see this illicit union play out or terrified of it's effect on my marriage? Either way my speculation was way off the mark.
“I don't want to bother him.”
“Please, bother me.” I smiled, but inside I burned. I absolutely wanted to know.
“You told me.” My wife, quick to the point.
I was feeling frisky. “You're a beautiful woman, he was trying to chat up.” Let's see where this evening might lead.
“Hey.” My effort earned me a slap on the shoulder from my wife. “Don't be snarky.”
“Ren, you've known me how many years?”
Lauren rolled her eyes. “Peter, I think my husband thinks you're an asshole.” It was my turn to slap.
“I do not.”
Peter smiled at our performance. “I can't blame him. I would too, seeing a handsome stranger moving in on his girl.”
Peter's confidence was obvious, I had to give him that.
“I'm not a girl.” “She's not a girl.” Lauren and I answered in unison. All three of us laughed.
“Woman. Sorry. I moved in on his woman.”
“So you admit it. See, Ren, I was right.”
“Okay. Fine. Whatever. Peter tell him about Rose. You might earn some points back.”
My wife thought I didn't like Peter, and she was partially right. But it wasn't because he was hitting on her, that aspect thrilled me. I thought he was just another douche-y banker, one of the countless in New York City. That didn't mean I wasn't getting off on seeing him flirt with my wife, but I wasn't about to tell her that. At least not right now.
“It's kinda personal, but alright. Rose is in the hospital, recovering from surgery.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.”
“She had her kidneys removed.”
“And he donated one of his.” Lauren didn't wait for Peter to finish.
That's when it hit me. “That's why you were admiring his ripped body.”
“Yes. That's why I was admiring – no not admiring. I was looking at his scars.”
You don't look with your fingers, but whatever.
“Show him, Peter.”
I begged off. We chatted a bit more and I did start to like Peter a little more. He was more than just another money man. More than a generic filler for my fantasy. He was a real person, one I didn't fully understand, but one with his own motivations both good and not so good.
Lauren and I ordered one more drink. Peter got a refill for his club soda. We shared a plate of appetizers. Around one in the morning we said our goodbyes.
Peter and I exchanged phone numbers. It was Lauren's idea. We agreed to meet up again, once Rose had recovered so we could see just how much alike she and Lauren were.
I shook Peter's hand and turned to go. As I did, I saw Lauren go in for a friendly hug and a quick kiss on the cheek.
Of course my filthy mind took it much further.
***
We had a quiet Lyft ride back to our townhouse. The whole trip I couldn't help but fixate on that kiss. In reality, it was a simple peck, in my imagination there was lots of tongue involved.
Lauren was snuggling against me with my arm wrapped around her. My fantasies and her warmth aroused me. Unfortunately, my penis was at an awkward angle. As it hardened, I became very uncomfortable. I tried thinking of something else, something non-erotic, like work, traffic, or the Yankees, but like pink elephants, trying not to think erotic thoughts leads one to think only erotic thoughts.
I wanted to adjust my penis, but didn't want to draw attention to myself. So I let it go, and more blood flowed and my cock grew thicker and my pants got tighter and just when I thought my erection would burst from my slacks, like some creature from a horror movie – red and fierce and demanding – we arrived home.
Lauren slid out her side of the car and while Eric, our driver, was watching her, I deftly moved my cock to a more comfortable orientation.
“You two have a fun evening.” I couldn't tell if it was a question or a statement. I looked at Eric and he smiled and the twinkle in his eye confirmed he had sensed my discomfort and found it amusing.
I thanked him for the ride and followed my wife up the stairs.
Half hour later I was lying in bed, alone with my thoughts; Lauren was in the bathroom removing the make-up she wore in order to appear like she wore none.
Of course, I replayed our encounter at the bistro. I kept visualizing my wife and Peter chatting away. My wife is very tactile when conversing with people she likes. She'll grab their attention with a quick pull on their elbow, give an arm slap in response to a joke and even offer a hug of support when it's called for.
If I had to testify in court, I would say this evening, my wife kept her hands mostly to herself, save the incident with the scar. My imagination wanted to tell a different story.
I fed the events through the filter of my dirty desires and came up with a tantalizing alternate narrative.
Lauren absent-mindedly rubbing her hand along Peter's upper arm, her fingers playing up and down his hard abs under his shirt. Peter pulling her in for a deep soul kiss as our evening came to an end.
At this point my fantasy really ran wild. Peter grabbing her ass and pulling her body into his. Lauren undoing the buttons on his shirt, sensuously sliding it off his shoulders. She presses her face against his chest, inhaling his scent, teasing his nipple with her tongue, while he's hopelessly entangled in his shirt sleeves.
Peter eventually pulls his arms free and takes Lauren's head in his hands and they begin kissing again with renewed vigor.
I imagine the few late night patrons watching this spectacle and snickering at me, a weak husband, not able to control his wife. Little do they know, instead of humiliation I feel exhilaration as I watch my wife make out with another man.
In the heat of arousal, with my blood feeding my cock and not my brain, I couldn't explain why. Here
at home, reflecting on my wife-watching fetish, I can say I felt pride, having a confident and sexy wife, desired by others, with her own agency, aware of her sexual needs and desires.
The fact that this was all in my head did nothing to lessen the eroticism. Would she follow her desires and fulfill her needs? I couldn't say. I never got up the nerve to ask her.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Lauren slipped into bed next to me, wearing nothing but a pair of pink lacy panties. She wanted sex. I could read her tell. She usually wore a T-shirt and cotton pajama pants to bed. Plus, I could smell her arousal though the thin layer of silk that covered her pussy.
“You.”
Lauren smiled and leaned over for a kiss. Her tongue aggressively explored my mouth. She ran her right hand down my bare chest, combing her fingers though the thin tufts of blond hair and down into my boxers. Her left hand held my head in place.
I sighed into her mouth as she stroked my cock.
I felt taken. I loved it.
“And?”
I didn't answer immediately.
“Anything else?” Her hand glided up and down my shaft, lubricated by the pre-cum oozing from the tip of my penis. “Thinking about anything else?”
I didn't know what Lauren was expecting me to say.
“Maybe.” A safe honest answer, or so I thought.
“Maybe?”
“Ouch!” My wife's hand squeezed my erection.
“Better start explaining, mister.”
“You really want to know—ow, ow, ow—okay. Let go of me first then I'll talk.”
I moaned. She didn't let go, instead her grip tightened. This was no longer fun. I carefully slid my hands down and freed myself from Lauren's grip.
“You really want me to tell you?”
“I wouldn't have asked. Come on. Why the hesitation.”
“Don't get mad.”
Lauren paused and furrowed her brow. What started as a frolicking bit of foreplay had turned serious.
“You're thinking about another woman, weren't you?”
“No. No. Honestly, I was thinking about you.”
“So, why the hedging?”
I was having a hard time coming up with an honest, straightforward way of explaining my fetish, without freaking out my wife.
“There's more. And I'm afraid. It's a little. Complicated.”
Lauren pulled her head back and squinted at me. “Complicated?”
“Yeah. Promise me, you won't get mad. We're in bed. Making sexy talk. Don't get mad.” I began tickling my wife, trying to ease the mood. She gave a stifled chuckle and pulled away.
My erection had subsided, my mind was fully focused on our conversation. If I had my way, I'd have waited until I was inside my wife with her half-way to climax before I brought up my fetish, but I wasn't going to get that opportunity.
“You know how I like to watch you. Watch you play with yourself?”
Lauren nodded.
“We'll I've. I've... taken that fantasy. A little. Further.”
The furrow returned. “Further?”
“Yeah.”
“I'm not getting it.”
I took a deep breath and steeled myself for the backlash headed my way.
“So I told you I was thinking about you.”
“And you got hard.”
“Yes. But. That's not all.”
Lauren remained silent. Her eyes focused on mine. She waited for me to continue.
“I was also thinking about another man.”
The muscles in my wife's face slackened, her eyes lost focus. She was confused.
A few seconds later her eyes opened wide. “You're not. Gay? Are you?”
“No. No.”
“Bi?”
“No.”
“Then why were you thinking—” She stopped. I could see the realization pass across her face. “You were thinking about me and another guy?”
I nodded.
“You think I'd cheat on you?”
“No. No. That's not it.”
“Roger, I'd never cheat on you.”
“I know.”
“Roger I – but you were getting hard.”
“Lauren. Truth is. I've started fantasizing about watching you have sex. With another man. That's what I was thinking about. That's what got me hard.”
“You imagined us fucking?”
“Honestly. It hadn't got that far, but yes.”
Lauren pulled farther back, instinctively covering her bare breasts with her arms.
“That's—” My wife starred past me, trying to process my confession. “Are you.” A tiny tear drop formed in the corner of her eye. I reached out to her. She flinched.
“Lauren?”
“Are you planning on leaving me, Roger?”
The question stunned me. “No. Oh, God, no.”
“But you want me fucking other men.”
“I never said that.” Deep down, I felt a tingle. “I said it was a fantasy.”
“Like watching me masturbate is a fantasy?”
I had no good answer, so I kept my mouth shut. Lauren got up, grabbed a T-shirt and headed to our en-suite. I moved to follow until she shut the door behind her. The sound of the lock slamming home punched me in the gut.
There would be no lovemaking tonight.
Any other night I would sleep in the guest room and let our disagreement blow over but since that was taken for one more night and I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of my brother by sleeping on the couch, I was going to have to tough it out in my own bed, assuming Lauren didn't kick me out.
I pulled up the covers, rolled over with my back to the bathroom and fell into a fitful sleep.
***
“Roger. Roger. Wake up.”
The room was dark, save for the bars of light painted on the far wall by the neon glow coming through the blinds.
“Huh?” I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It read 4:12.
“Roger. Wake up. We need to talk.” The four scariest words one spouse can say to another.
“Lauren. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have.”
“No. Roger, wait. Listen to me.”
I sat up and wiped the crust from my eyes. “I didn't mean to hurt you, Lauren.”
“I know. I know.”
My wife had returned to bed after I had passed out. She was laying on her side, toward me, her face barely visible, her peach colored skin contrasting with her raven dark hair.
“I shouldn't be mad. I'm just, stunned.” Lauren paused. I opened my mouth to say something but she reached out and placed her fingers against my lips.
“Let me start. I thought about waiting 'til morning, but I don't like going to sleep in the middle of a fight.”
“We fighting?”
Lauren wasn't quick to answer. “No. Not fighting. But we are in the middle of something. Your fantasy caught me off guard. Stunned. I mean. A man wanting to watch his wife make love with someone else. It just doesn't make sense. It's not natural.”
“Lauren. I don't think I can explain it to you because I don't fully understand it myself.”
“How long have you felt this way?”
“Since I first caught you rubbing one out. You looked so beautiful, ecstasy on your face. Then I started thinking about other people watching us have sex and that somehow became watching you having sex with that someone.”
I felt her eyes lock on mine. She was silent in the dark, just the faint whisper of her breath as she lay listening.
“That someone have a name?”
Her question caught me off guard. I stammered out the first name that caught my tongue. “Peter.”
She wasn't buying it. “We just met him tonight. What about before that?”
“No one.” I lied.
“Really?”
“Yes.” Lying was easier this time. I should have told the truth, no matter how embarrassing. I should have told her that I fantasied about her fucking my twin brother. It would have saved me so much anguish down th
e road.
“And you don't get jealous?”
Thank God she moved on, although I'm quite sure I would have kept on lying. “Oh I get jealous. The thought of you with another man knots up my guts. And gets me so hard.”
“Why?”
“I don't know. There's some switch in my head that enjoys the pain. Maybe it's a mild masochistic tendency.”
“Mild?”
“Yeah. It is just a fantasy.”
“And it's gonna stay that. A fantasy. I'm not planning on sleeping with anyone else.”
“And I would never want you to do anything you weren't comfortable with.”
“Good. Now let's get some sleep.” Lauren rolled away from me. I slid into a spooning position behind her.
“Don't get any funny ideas.” The talk of watching my wife fuck had gotten me semi-hard.
“Sorry.”
Lauren turned her head back and kissed me. “I know. Just get some sleep.”
Silence quickly descended.
“And, Rog.” She used her nickname for me – a good sign.
“Yeah, Ren.”
“I don't share your fantasy. Anything more than a friendly hug and peck on the cheek between you and another woman and we'll have serious issues.”
I wanted to say, 'yes dear', but I'm sure it would have come out wrong, so I just gave her a hug and we fell asleep.
Chapter Four
For the next several months our lives returned to normal. Richard went off to his next assignment. Lauren still texted me when she felt like playing with herself, and I kept my dark fetish to myself.
Occasionally my wife would flirt with a guy if she knew I was around and watching. She'd give me a wicked grin when she caught my eye. It never went further than a touch on the hand or a quick peck on the cheek, light flirting that drove me crazy.
I should have asked her to stop, if she wasn't serious. Her flirting kept my desire to see her fuck another man alive. It kept me horny and longing for something I couldn't have. It was a false hope. Yes, we had great sex afterwards, and that's why she did it, I think. But still, that false hope remained.
