Recently I have been receiving the impression my wife wants to enjoy other partners. I don't mean she wants to dispense with me -- she is still very affectionate and she says that she loves me -- but rather that she wants to swing. It is nothing she has said or done directly, just the odd comment I have picked up here and there, the glances she trails after people sometimes. However, the idea makes me feel extremely uncomfortable, so whenever I perceive her mind wandering in that direction I ignore or suppress it, mentioning how happy I am with her and how there is no other girl for me. And though she always responds with an appropriate degree of affection, she never exactly reciprocates with her own verbal affirmation of commitment. Perhaps it is because we were married quite young -- when she was young, that is -- and now that she is hitting her late twenties and approaching her physical prime, her libido is receiving a boost.
Whatever the reason, she is certainly in spectacular physical condition: with firm, ripe flesh, curvaceous, deep pink lips and rich brown hair. Her eyes are large and green, and she has the kind of figure to make any variety of clothing appealing. Like I say, I'm not too sure what the reason is, and I can't point to any direct evidence per se, but in recent months I have just been getting this impression that she wishes to expand our sexual liaisons. All of which came to a head last week.
We were attending a party hosted by a new couple we had got to know through our daughter at nursery school. She had befriended another little girl, and my wife had had her and her mother over to play a couple of times and they had returned the invitation. The mother was a large women, not fat but tall and strong in the body, still feminine, with broad shoulders and a large, prominent bosom, long, powerful legs with thick thighs and shortish, sandy blond hair. She was the type of women to dominate a social group, loud and confident, authoritative, always well dressed, well spoken, and not one to suffer fools gladly. She was quite fun, I thought, on the few occasions that I'd met her, but I was glad it wasn't me that was married to her; my wife was far more demure.
Her husband (whom I had only seen the once at a summer fete, but hadn't spoken to) was small and weasel-like, with mousy brown hair and a wispy moustache and glasses. For all that he didn't look a pushover, but the type of man to sit behind political figures; he had something of the Richelieu about him.
These two lived in quite a grand house on the edge of town, a little drive into the country. It had many rooms and was decorated in the classical Georgian style; everywhere were flowers in antique urns and delicately spindled hall tables and lounge chairs; floor to ceiling curtains of rich crimson fabric, and there was even a crest of armour in the main entrance hall.
Anyhow, this evening my wife was quite excited and was busy telling me about the place and all the rooms it had as we made ourselves ready. We decked out quite smart and set off around nine-ish, not wanting to arrive too early.
When we got there, the place was in full swing. There must have been at least a hundred guests, many of whom were spilling out into the driveway and the immaculate garden at the rear. The atmosphere was one of decadence and sophisticated revelry, with music emanating at a reasonable volume -- not too loud that you couldn't hear your conversation, but not too quiet that it didn't feel like a party. Many of the guests were already quite drunk, and when we picked our way round the side of the house to go in via the back I noticed some of the women in the pool at the bottom of the garden were topless.
Maria, our hostess, collared us in the breakfast room as we made our way in from the patio in the back, and hugged and kissed us both warmly in welcome. You could tell she was an experienced party-giver, and was evidently unfazed and enjoying herself, despite the potential hazards on offer with so many guests (some already quite drunk) and so much finery on show. She must have caught me looking nervous because she grabbed my hand protectively. She smiled maternally at Rhianna, my wife, and said affectionately,
'You didn't tell me he was nervous, Rhianna,'
Then she took my wife's hand and guided us skilfully through the revellers.
'Come, first we must get you a drink and then I want to show you around. Your hubby hasn't seen the place yet.'
Becky grinned at me excitedly behind her back as she led us off to the bar, equipping us with two large and impressive looking cocktails, before sweeping us off on the tour.
All the while she kept up her chatter, telling us stories attached to this and that bit of furniture, or what her children had done in this room or that -- she had two elder ones from a previous marriage -- and still managing to engage all of those she met on the way politely and sincerely, introducing us to the notables and fielding questions and queries unperturbed from all those she encountered: there were more glasses in the cellar, she thought; there was probably some plasters in the draw by the television in the front room; and so on.
After a while we came to a second floor drawing room. It was stylishly decorated in gold and cream, with expensive drapes and ornate furnishings. There were some bookshelves and in the middle of the room a divan, upholstered in embroidered gold velvet. On it sat two gentlemen, smartly dressed in tuxedos, handsome and rugged looking, like the kind you see modelling outdoor-wear catalogs. They rose when we entered and Maria approached them and kissed them familiarly on the cheeks.
'Darlings,' she enunciated outlandishly, 'This is the girl I was telling you about. And her husband.' She turned to the two of us, 'Rhianna, these are the designer friends I was telling you about the other week. She smiled at my wife as she said this, and beckoned her over giving her hands to the two gentlemen by way of introduction -- my wife is a web designer by trade. The two men started to make polite conversation and Maria, seeing that her intros had worked according to form, turned to me with a twinkle and put her arm in mine. 'Now, there is still something I want to show you, too,' she said somewhat conspiratorially, and led me towards the door way. I glanced over my shoulder as we exited, not wanting to be rude to our hostess but a little bit nervous about leaving my wife alone with two such strapping young men, with them apparently having so much in common as well, but my wife just smiled at me happily and blew me a kiss, laughing at the exuberance of our hostess and winking at me to 'Have fun'.
With that I was whisked along the corridor and up a small flight of stairs, stepping over a couple quite far advanced in traditional ceremony of love-making at parties -- in other words snogging with abandon and him with his hand creeping up her shirt. Up the stairs we passed another row of doors, with much fewer people milling about than on the lower two floors but still a couple of bedrooms that appeared to be occupied.
