Slow In Coming

It was a long time coming. We had joked about it casually, mused about the distinct possibility, discussed it soberly for days, since it was more my idea than hers, then with some more weak attempts at coming up with arguments in favor and just plain coaxing from me, we finally made the decision. She would agree to make the move and take a lover, and I would agree to sit home and imagine what she was doing with the paramour she had picked. That's the way I wanted it. That's the way it had to be.

I had lost my enthusiasm for sex and the ability to maintain a hard on for long enough to even think about a lovemaking session. Her fucking and me fantasizing about what she was doing with the gentleman she had picked was what I had decided was the only option. It was no quick decision,either, so by the time it was in motion there were no doubts, at least not from me.

I was nearly ice cold in bed those days and she was, it seemed, getting hotter, so the only choice was for her to find a fuck buddy to copulate with, giving her what she still needed and I had lost all desire for. The only thing left for me was mental sex, fantasizing what my wife was doing. It actually gave me somewhat of a surprising charge. I swear, to know she was getting the fucking she wanted, and I was able to not have to worry that she was being deprived of cock when I could not live up on my end, and that I figured would give me a great deal of satisfaction if it worked.

By that time the desire for her to suck my cock had dwindled to near nothing, although there was still some hidden enthusiasm in her, and any enthusiasm I had was just not for her sucking mine. I was just eager for her to get what she wanted and I figured she needed, but I actually thought fondly about her with a man's penis in her pussy that did not belong to me. Strange you say for a man to want another man's sex organ to pleasure his wife. I would agree, but weird or strange didn't even approach where we were in our relationship at that point.

The fact is we get along, like each other, enjoy each other's company, but we just don't have much interest in having sex with one another. I don't have much interest these day in fucking anyone, but I am absolutely certain Claire still gets wet panties from handsome men much of the time and would benefit from having a man in her more than a few times a week.

She is still sexy, attractive to men, and appreciates a well-built stud with the ability to keep it hard for over a New York minute. Actually, I was the one to suggest she take a lover, but after a lot of talking she finally didn't argue. She listened on that last day for the entire time I made the point for the two thousandth time, then finally, after a year of coaxing, she smiled and nodded her acceptance of my proposal.

"I think I would like that," she finally said, looking off to her right, reluctant to actually say she truly wanted to fuck someone she wasn't married to, someone who wasn't me. I took her into my arms and kissed her.

"You think about that, right?" I asked, knowing that she obviously did, sure that she still had pleasant thoughts of a hard penis inside of her. It actually gave me a strange charge to think about, to imagine her with someone with a sexual pulse, to enjoy once again the feel of a man inside of her and not have to wish it was someone besides me.

We had been married for twenty-five years and had been a couple most of our adult lives, but by that time in our marriage things had cooled and finally froze solid: like a solid block of ice, although as I said there was no animosity, no anger, no real sexual feelings at all. I wasn't angry at her for losing sexual desire for me. I would have lost sexual interest in me.

When she came home and told me she had found a candidate, I was actually excited, as if it was me who had found a prospective lover. We actually kissed when she told me. I asked her to tell me all about him, as if we were sorority sisters discussing a new boyfriend in the mix, as if we were asking for details about how things went on her blind date.

"Is he tall?" I asked, actually interested in knowing about her prospective love mate. She described him and I almost felt giddy as I listened to my wife describe her possible new sex partner.

"He is a college professor," she told me excitedly. "He is tall, has blue eyes, and a great smile." I didn't care about the color of his eyes, or how charming his smile was, but I was totally interested in the important things. What size shoe did he wear, did he have big hands, and was he virile and manly? Did he have a wife, which I preferred, since I didn't want to lose the one I had, so I wanted him to have one of his own.

She said his name was Julian, and I liked that. Her lover should have a good name. He needed to be a Julian not a Fred. He should be a Jacque not a Bob. He needed to be someone you'd write a sexual romance about and provide housewives with someone to fantasize over. No woman dreams of a Lem or a Danny.

We would want her to be able to say, "Julian made love to me with animal passion last night." I do not want to hear, "Bill screwed my pussy at lunch." There should be romance in her affair, not mediocrity, not blandness and uninteresting, ordinary housing-tract sex. She should be fucked in an estate house not a shanty or lean-to by the shacks across the tracks. It should be hot, almost literary copulating and fornicating in the heavy curtained rooms of a England country mansion. My wife's affair should be x-rated movie-type stuff. It should be upper-class fucking, not low-class rutting on a dirt floor. Extraordinary not commonplace. It should be eroticism not porn. She should be made love to, not banged in the ass at a cheap motel.

I thought carefully about her liaison, planning the elegance of it, envisioning her dalliance with a stallion and being taken by a manly lover who would be featured on the cover of a romance novel in the x-rated bookstore. I pictured them in a four poster bed with silk sheets and elegant pillows. She wore a lacy night gown and perfume that cost more than I made in a month.

If she was going have sexual intercourse with another man he had to be handsome, well-educated, and rich. He should be sophisticated and worldly, well-traveled and articulate. He should speak three languages, well-read, and adept at games of chance and a fine athlete with trophies on his mantle.

I imagined her romance unfolding like a Jane Austin novel: exciting, tender, and passionate. I visualized them in long and animated kisses that raised their heart rates and warmed the sheets. I saw her taking him into her mouth and looking lovingly up at him with excitement in her heart and commitment in her active tongue.

If they were going to engage in sex I wanted it to be slow and deliberate, warm and devoted, and I wanted her to climax loudly and with energy that left her spent and satisfied. I wanted it to be Sound of Music, From Here To Eternity, Casablanca, and Titanic all at once. I longed for a romance for her that turned her into Ingrid Bergman or Grace Kelly or Julie Andrews or Kate Winslet.

The closeups of my mind saw her sighing in reverie as he pushed into her, turning her smile into a gasp, her grin into a struggle for air as her breath went out of her with her exploding desire. If my wife were to have an affair I wanted it to be explosive, intense, and unforgettable.

When she returned from her first night with the man she had chosen, she looked happy, satisfied, and exhausted. Of course, I wanted details. I wanted to know that he had filled her, pleased her, catered to her every need, and I wanted to know she did not regret any part of it. I needed to share the night of sex with the woman I cared for and dreamed of having her libido enriched and enlivened, given new life and vigor.

She smiled as she described her lustful night of sex with the person she had chosen, and I don't think I have ever seen her happier, have never seen her so fulfilled, so absolutely ecstatic, and I watched her face with a feeling of pleasure I am not sure I had ever experienced before myself.

She told me they arrived together at the Hyatt Hotel where I had reserved and paid for the penthouse suite for the night. They rode up in the elevator together and kissed on the way up the floors to the penthouse. He opened the door and motioned her in, then began undressing her soon after closing the door. "The suite was elegant," she said. "Positively breathtaking. I stood and let him undress me, then I went right to the bed and stretched out for him."

She told me he entered her with one quick push into her, as she was already so wet and ready. She held her legs apart and her knees wide, giving him as much access as he needed. She described him as larger than normal and very thick, although he went into her easily since she was so thoroughly lubricated and ready. She told me he continued to pump into her but she came quickly and had to stop him for a while while she gained her composure and her pussy became not overwhelmingly sensitive.

When she was able they continued again and she had numerous orgasms, finally coming again with a loud squeal and he came at the same time, filling her with thick streams of cum that drained out of her for most of the night.

"I am glad you let him come in you," I said.

"I wanted to feel him inside of me, and his cum was part of that. I felt maybe I would even have his baby," she admitted. "It was part of it. I wanted him to come in me. I wanted all of him in me," she added again.

"I am glad you did," I said. "Will you consider making love with him again?" I asked. She said yes, but I didn't have to pay for a room at the Hyatt. I told her I wanted her first time to be really special.

"It was," she said. "It was really, really special. I will never forget last night as long as I live," she said, kissing me with a warmth that increased my pulse.

Funny that it took another man fucking my wife to give me such a rush. I told her how glad I was she had taken my advice and chosen a man to have sex with. I said how pleased I was that she finally decided to do as I suggested. She thanked me for urging her to make the move and seek a sexual relationship with someone else.

"I had not been interested in sex much before now," she said. "I apologize to you for that, but you gave me the chance to get that back, to renew some feelings I had forgotten I still had. When I was in the hotel room with Julian I was reminded I still am a woman capable of feelings that had left me. I was able to gain back some physical desire I had let go of, and I have my loving husband to thank for that.

"I don't know if I will see Julian again. He has a wife and I am not sure he wants to see me again, but if he does I will go to him and give what I can to make him feel what we experienced at the Hyatt last night," she said.

It has been six months since my wife spent her first night with her pick for a sexual partner, Julian. She now has spent many weekends with him since and has thanked me many times for suggesting she make love to him and forget fidelity and give herself sexually to someone she is not married to.

My low testosterone levels have not changed, my interest in sex has not spiked, and I still can't keep an erection for longer than it takes to put on a shirt, but my wife has a sex life and I am happy for that. She is currently with him at a hotel not up to Hyatt standards, but she and Julian are having a good time I am sure. She is a happy wife and yes, that does make for a more happy life. Life is good.