Tom and I rode home from the Valentine's Day Ball in silence for the first several minutes. Tom was behind the wheel, having stepped in as the designated driver in light of the champagne and cocktails I enjoyed throughout the night. Normally I enjoy being the passenger princess. At the moment, I was gazing out the passenger window, reflecting on the evening. It had been an amazing evening and unlike any Valentine's Day I have ever known. I was dressed sexy and felt sexy. I had danced and laughed with a complete sense of freedom. Tom and Dwayne got along great. It was tempting to permit this lifestyle to feel normal... natural. Then I replayed my goodbye to Dwayne, the things I said, or did not say. My face grew warm again. I heaved a heavy sigh. 'It was just the alcohol,' I assured myself. I was already starting to get a clearer head; I was sure of it.
Perhaps I could blame the alcohol for nearly whispering, 'I love you,' to Dwayne. The romance of a lovely evening combined with the thrill of feeling sexy and adored by two men, swept me up in a wave of emotions that made saying such a thing feel natural in the moment. I had only caught myself by the narrowest of margins and tried to recover by saying 'I loved' having him with us this evening. Even so, the underlying emotions were getting complicated. How many times could I have deeply satisfying sex with a man, who was also kind and caring, without developing strong feelings for him? Was it possible to love two men at the same time, just in different ways?
I had to acknowledge my hormones were playing a role in all this. Sex with Dwayne was routinely flooding my mind and body with pleasure chemicals. My seemingly instinct driven urge for unprotected sex with him had become self-reinforcing. Each time I felt him come deep inside me, I felt a bond grow between us. Increasingly, it made me want to linger with him after sex; to be held and possessed by him. That even after one pregnancy scare, I continued to allow the fuzzy math of my menstrual cycle and the biology of our bodies to control my fate, took my thoughts in directions I quickly had to push aside. I insisted to myself this was just about pleasurable sex and nothing more; even as hollow an explanation as that felt. This should stop before things got out of hand, but I did not want it to.
The feeling of Tom's hand on my thigh pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked down at my lap. Tom was enjoying the feeling of my legs in the red pantyhose. I smiled. I was glad he liked them. I knew he would. I wondered if Tom knew how sexy it was when he put his hand in my lap while he drove. I looked up to Tom's face and admired my husband. My smile broadened. I had to admit I did not fully understand what turned Tom on about this relationship dynamic, but maybe I did not have to. It made him happy. It made me happy. I genuinely love my husband. I sat with that emotion for a while, just acknowledging the deep love I have for the man in the car with me.
I parted my legs in the passenger seat, so Tom could enjoy caressing my thigh more easily. His hand moved further up my thigh, then ventured towards my inner thigh, tracing his fingertips along the red nylon fabric of my pantyhose. I hummed my approval for Tom's gentle caresses. His hand moved further up my inner thigh. His fingers found the edges of the hole Dwayne had torn in my hosiery. I recalled the moment he ripped open my pantyhose and fucked me in our hiding spot during the Ball. I gasped at the memory and at feeling Tom's fingers finding bare skin through my torn nylons.
I focused my thoughts on the man in the car with me. Tom. My husband. He did so much for me and not just sexually. He was a supportive and loving husband in all aspects of our marriage. He had needs and desires too. A need for thrills and new experiences. I had an idea and gently guided Tom's right hand from my thigh and onto the steering wheel. I rotated in my seat, reaching a hand into his lap. I opened the front of his tuxedo pants and freed his erection. Caressing my thighs had gotten him aroused. I began to stroke him while he drove. Tom shifted in his seat and grinned. He approved of this new experience.
"Dwayne said we should enjoy the rest of our evening. Maybe do something special," I said, stroking him slowly.
"Make some magic, I think were his words," he grinned.
"I don't know any magic tricks," I chided at his correction. "But I want to do something special for you. So, what should we do?"
"This is nice," Tom said, referring to the novel experience of getting a handjob behind the wheel of a car.
"And when we get home?" I nudged, hoping this handjob would encourage some creative thinking.
"You could look in the toy drawer," he suggested. "I'd be delighted with anything in there."
It was not a specific suggestion, but I acknowledge that drawer contains a number of 'suggestions' he has made over the years. I was sure I could find something which would excite my husband.
"Ok, I'll do that!" I agreed cheerily.
I decided to pick something out that Tom would really like. Whatever it was I resolved it would be for Tom's pleasure. He deserved to be the center of my attention for a while.
...
When we got home, I slipped out of my dress and went into the bedroom closet with the sex toy drawer to survey the options. Tom collected the dress and hung it, along with his tuxedo. The toy drawer contained a number of options, most of which were purchased with the notion of finding some new way of pleasuring me. I was on the hunt for something to please Tom. I noted a crumpled tangle of toy and straps at the back of the drawer. I pulled it out.
"We still have this?" I called to Tom wherever he was in our bedroom. "I thought we didn't need it anymore."
I was holding a red dildo, secured to a leather harness with a ring and some snaps. It was a relic from years ago, when Tom was on a combination of anxiety and depression meds. The meds combined with his alcohol consumption at the time, made it difficult for him to get or sustain an erection. It was his idea, not mine, to buy this strap-on. He justified it as wanting to be intimate with me even if he was struggling with performance. The dildo was a normal looking analog for the human penis. A bit longer than Tom and wider, but nowhere near the dimensions of Dwayne. Near the base of the toy, it flared out in width for a couple of inches and then resumed its normal width at the base. I recalled the bump, or knot, was a pleasant sensation when it entered me. Altogether it was an enjoyable experimental toy, but Tom had recovered mentally and physically. His sexual performance returned, and this toy's utility seemed to be behind us. Yet he had not thrown it away. Tom popped his head around the corner of the closet door to see what I was referring to.
"Oh, that," he observed. "Well, I hung onto it in case you ever wanted to use it on me," he finished and then disappeared back into the room.
"Wait, What?" I asked, then immediately flinched at my feigned ignorance.
I recalled that he floated that idea once or twice. I can admit to my journal that at the time it raised vague questions in my mind about what using a sex toy like this on Tom would imply about his sexuality. Back then, I pushed the uncomfortable question along with its suggested use out of my mind. I regretted my line of thinking back then and realized this was probably just the sort of thing I had resolved to do for Tom tonight, even if this specific thing would never have occurred to me.
"Didn't you suggest using it with the WeVibe toy?" I said, trying to recover.
Keeping the strap-on in one hand, I pushed toys around looking for the u-shaped vibrator.
"Oh, it wouldn't hold a charge. I had to toss it. But I did replace it with a Lovense toy. Same idea. More features," he called back to me.
