"Darling, I love the stories you make up for me in bed, they really bring me off but I'd also love for you to go out one night and well, have another man. If you brought a guy home that would be even better."
"It's not going to happen honey, I promised myself and I promised you that yours was the last new cock I would ever have. After I had been taken by three men in quick succession in my late teens I was worried I was turning into the slut my mother was, so I set myself a limit of nine and no more. You're number nine so you are the last."
Disappointed but not surprised I let the matter drop and contented myself with the confessions from past relationships she had been in and with the fiction she had become a mistress of.
The years ticked by. I had reached an age where her tales became a necessary part of our lovemaking, I was reliant on the verbal stimulation of her stories and of course the images they conjured in my mind. She always seemed to orgasm more when her stories were based on the reality of her experiences before she got with me. This was especially the case when she was relating how she had cheated on her fifth boyfriend and how she did things with the guy she was cheating with that she refused her then boyfriend.
So that is where we are now, or rather it is where we were. Three days ago we boarded the Britannia in Southampton for a Med cruise. Yesterday, as we sat in Brodies Bar a dark-skinned guy, slightly older than ourselves, came across and said "Hello Elizabeth."
Never have I seen my wife colour up so fast or blush so deep a shade of red.
"You remember me then Liz?" said this well built but fit looking stranger in his velvet baritone voice, "I hope so because I have never forgotten you. Is this your husband? I'm Mike" he said offering me his hand to shake. The tone of his voice and the firmness of the handshake were his, probably unconscious, way of showing that he was the alpha male here.
Before I knew what I was doing I said, "Mike? You must be the guy Liz cheated on her boyfriend with years ago."
Liz shot me a look that I interpreted as "Shut up" and "Why did you say that?"
I shot her one back that I hoped she'd realise meant "You never told me he was black."
Liz shrugged a "You never asked."
Mike took hold of Liz's hand and pulled her to him, closer than was necessary, and kissed her on the cheeks. It didn't escape my notice that in keeping hold of her hand between their bodies he was effectively rubbing her nipples with the back of his hand. Liz wasn't making a fuss about it, in fact she had developed a glow about her.