My wife connects us with old and new friends
Part 1: Steve narrates.
"Don't you think we're too old for that now?"
That's what my wife said.
Ellie's face and posture indicted that she had resigned herself to our changed circumstances, even if I still held out hope for a return to the lifestyle we once enjoyed.
Ellie had a point. We had not been back to the resort for several years. We hadn't been back since Ellie's hip began to hurt whenever we had sex. When it became difficult for her to walk, Ellie finally decided it was time for her to have her hip surgically replaced. We didn't go out much the following summer while she was taking physical therapy.
Her physical therapist had told her that she had made an excellent recovery. Ellie could walk without a limp almost from the first day after surgery and now she could climb stairs with ease. Sex was back among the pleasures we shared together, although we were still careful not to stress her hip. She wasn't as flexible as she once was. It didn't matter to me. I was gentle when we made love. It was fun to have her back, even if half the positions in which we had once enjoyed having sex were now just memories.
And then there was the scar.
Ellie had not expected the scar to be that long. Neither had the orthopedic surgeon. But the surgery had been a bit more complicated than planned and the original incision had to be enlarged to complete the procedure. As complications go, it wasn't that big of a deal. Her life was never in danger. Her recovery was as quick as could be expected. Yet, there was the scar running several inches down her thigh. And it bothered her.
She recognized and admitted that she was being just a bit vain. Maybe a little more than that. She even apologized to me for it, which was totally unnecessary. Still, it was hard for her to get her confidence back despite my reassurance that she was still a very attractive and vibrant woman.
She had taken menopause in stride. Grey hair hadn't bothered her. She actually liked the way the streaks of grey made her look distinguished. The hip was a different kind of aging. It limited her active lifestyle. It made her feel old even after it was fixed. It was more than looks.
She had tried to just 'tough it out' when the hip started to bother her. She had been an athlete most of her life. She was familiar with the occasional pain of an injury. She tried to convince herself that she could work through it like she had so many times before. A couple weeks of stretching and whirlpools, then she would be back in form. That had worked when she was younger. That didn't work this time.
She didn't complain so I didn't notice at first. I commented when she didn't join her friends at the rowing club. She brushed it off as being too busy, although she wasn't. When she started taking an elevator instead of stairs whenever she had a choice, I knew something was wrong. We never lost the physical intimacy of naked cuddling as a married couple, but vigorous sex and swinging with friends was replaced by infrequent episodes of mutual masturbation at home.
The extended ordeal had caused my wife to lose her confidence. The new hip had taken away her pain, but it had not restored her confidence.
Her reaction was not entirely irrational. Competitive rowing was still out. A competitive rower powers the first phase of her stroke with knees drawn up to her chest. Even if she recovered the strength in her legs to power her stroke, her new hip was not designed for that sort of explosive force in full flexion. She could still row our dory, but she could not compete in a racing shell.
Ellie had always been as athletic in bed as she had been in a racing shell. She could buck as hard as any man could thrust. Our sex life was wide-ranging and inventive. She had more than one speed in bed. We could spend an afternoon fucking wildly in a variety of positions or we could have gentle sex spooned together on our sides that faded into a prolonged embrace. But she only had an orgasm with sex if she had worked up a sweat.
It had been a long time since she had an orgasm that didn't involve one of her vibrators or my tongue. She didn't trust her body to let another man fuck her, so what was the point of going to a resort where many of the couples were swingers.
She repeated her question for me.
"Don't you think we're too old for that now?"
I worked up my courage and gave her my best shot at an honest answer.
"Why don't we let Roger decide?"
Roger and Beth had been among our best friends at the resort. We parked our trailer next to their cabin for several summers. It wasn't just sex. We shared many meals on their deck as the sun set over the hills. And then there were all those late-night sessions talking about everything that mattered and sometimes laughing about nothing at all.
So, it was decided. After some emails back and forth with Roger and Beth, we would park our camper for the weekend next to their cabin again. We would sit on their porch and renew an old friendship. That was all Ellie promised. Maybe .... she said ... she would take her top off when we got there. She wasn't promising to swim in the pool or use the open-air showers, both of which would require her to be naked.
Part 2: Ellie narrates.
Both Roger and I could hear the noises coming from inside the cabin.
Giggles at first. That had to be Beth. Steve doesn't giggle. At least, not in a high sweet soprano register.
Then there were the grunts. Deep and loud. That either had to be Steve or a hippo. So, I assumed it was Steve. I imagined Beth's lips encircling Steve's cockhead as he leaned back against the headboard.
Finally, the bed springs began to creak rhythmically followed by a duet of deep guttural rumblings and high-pitched moans. It was obvious what they are doing.
Roger turned to me. His hand was on my knee just below the silky fabric covering my thigh. He was naked. His cock was still limp. I was topless. My nipples were already erect.
