It was an audacious idea, but finally my wife Penny agreed to it. The plan was to set up a scenario whereby I could fulfil a long-held fantasy of mine - that of giving another guy a blow job.
I'd discussed this on several previous occasions with Penny, but she would just laugh it off, make light of it, and that would be that. But I really wanted to try it, wanted to know what it was like to have a man's lovely thick, rubbery dick in my mouth and to know what it was like to have him cum in it too. I'd tried several simulations, the best being when Penny wore her strap-on, slicked with my own sperm - collected some time earlier in a condom - and then got me to suck on it. It was lovely, but while the sensation of a latex cock and the taste of my own cum was fairly agreeable and horny, there was always something missing, some vital ingredient that would give me complete satisfaction – a decent pay-off at the finish... the good old money shot.
What I really wanted, what I craved most, was to have some hairy-arsed biker bloke (or whoever else might be on hand and willing to deliver the goods at the time) hold my head against his rancid hairy groin while he shot his great white load down my throat.
When I pressed the point with Penny – she wasn't keen to start with, understandably - she finally came up with a few suggestions, blokes who might just fit the bill. But when I analysed it, none of them were the right stuff, if you know what I mean. Most of them were too normal and boring, too straight-laced and starchy and no sense of humour and anyway, I didn't want a straight guy getting the wrong impression of me, especially someone we knew well, that would be hard to arrange, and even harder to live with afterwards. The one or two gay men we knew were heavily into existing relationships and as faithful as hell, so they were out of the frame. I would have preferred a gay, it would have been easier. But like I said, the only two we knew well were not in the market for a bit of extra-curricular oral.
The only solution to our problem would be by the use of trickery, whereby Penny would have to go out to a bar in town, pick up some likely geezer, a stranger, and then bring him back to our place where I'd be waiting, conveniently ensconced in our big walk-in wardrobe.
She would make up some cock-and-bollock story about wanting him tied-up and blindfolded and the music up loud while she went down on him, because it made it "more kinky and exciting" for her, and then at the given moment she would slide (ever-so-quietly) the wardrobe door open, I would emerge from my hidey-hole, take her place on the bed, and bingo! She would disappear for ten minutes – or however long it took - and wait until it was all over, and then she would return and then we would swap places again with me leaving the bedroom for the spare room and waiting until he'd gone. Penny would in the meantime remove the blindfold, humour matey by saying how marvellous his cock was, how lovely his cum tasted, and how well it all went with the music, but now off home he'd better jolly well totter because she had to be up early in the morning. He'd be none-the-wiser that he'd just been 'gobbled' by a bloke, and not the tasty bit of crumpet he'd picked up in the pub. That was the plan, anyway.
***
"What if I don't pull?"
"Yeah, and pigs might fly. Look, Pen, if for some unfathomable reason you can't get anyone back here just give us a call. In the meantime, while you're out the way I'll set the scene."
I knew Penny could virtually have her pick whenever she dolled herself up. Sex appeal was something that oozed out of her pores. I was a lucky sod in that respect. Everyone and his dog wanted to shag Pen.
"Better put the family pictures in the drawer," she said "There can't be anything more off-putting than pictures of one's family staring accusingly at you when you're..."
"Yeah, leave it to me, particularly our wedding one above the bed. Although some guys might find it a turn-on – shagging a bloke's missus while he looks on, albeit from a picture frame... you know, like rubbing his face in it: "See here, mate, I'm shagging your missus and there's fuck-all you can do about it."
"Do I play it that I'm single, divorced, or just having a bit on the side while hubby's away?"
"I'll leave it to your intuition and imagination, babe. But I'd prefer you to play the slag-type wife, the one who's up for a bit on the side. I don't like the idea of you taking your ring off, I'm a bit superstitious like that – soft old sod that I am - and anyway, blokes these days are hardly likely to be put off by a married sort. In fact it increases the thrill for a lot of guys."
Penny was thoughtful for a moment. "How would you know? Are you experienced in that sort of thing?"
"Trust me, babes. But so's I don't spend the whole evening in the wardrobe waiting for you and matey to come back, perhaps you could just give us a ring to say you're on your way, a ten minute warning, something like that. You might have to say to whoever you're with, 'I'm just going to call a cab for us,' or something."
"You've got it all worked out, Dave, haven't you? I'm still not entirely happy about this you know... having some stranger in our bedroom, in our bed even. And how will I know if it's someone that's going to appeal to you, or what if I just happen to have picked up a psychopath?"
"Don't worry; I won't be far away will I? Just as long as it's no one gawky, or some spotty teenager with bad breath and a tiny dick. Bring me back Bob the Builder if you like, or someone in uniform... that would be nice, as long as they're well-hung."
"How am I going to find that out?"
"I'll pretend you never said that, Pen."
"And what about the blindfold and something to tie him down with... and then there's the music?"
"No sweat. You can use some of your old pairs of nylons or tights. I'll put them in the bedside table drawer along with my brown lambswool scarf and the mp3 player all ready to go on the top. I'll link it up with my little stereo speaker set which I'll do while you're out. That'll give us enough volume to hide any suspicious shuffling about. All you've got to do is switch it on when you're ready. Piece of piss!"
"I'm going to feel like a common tart doing this, coming on to some stranger in a bar."
"You'll love it, Pen. Every decent, clean-living woman wants to play the slut at some stage in her life. You ask any actor or actress who they'd rather play – a good person or a bad one, and nine times out of ten they'll say bad... it's always more fun. Tell you what... I'll come out with you to start with. I think it will be more convincing if we contrive to have some kind of disagreement in full view of whoever we choose as the victim."
"Oh yeah..? How's that going to work then?"
"Listen... Here's the plan. We'll hit a couple of bars, see what's about, you can eye the talent. When we find someone we're both happy with, well, obviously, me more than you, as it's me who... you know..."
"Just get to the point, David."
"Well once we've lined up Mr Likely Bloke and we know he fancies you, you know... like he's been giving you plenty of leering looks and suchlike – make sure you wear that tight dress, the white one, show your tits and arse off - we'll stage an argument, a falling-out scene."
"Isn't that going a bit far?"
