The day after our "double date", where my husband realized his fantasy of having sex with my best friend while I experienced my fantasy of having sex with his black coworker, neither Tom nor I spoke of what happened. We picked up the kids from my parents and went to church just like we did most Sundays.
Monday afternoon, I visited Karen. As she poured tea, I told her what happened after she left. "Tom never made love to me with such wild energy as he did that night," I commented. "You sure know how to turn a man on. I'm glad you're my friend, or I'd be worried he'd leave me for you."
"You think I'm the one responsible?" She queried. "You flatter me, but you're the one who did that to him. All night long his attention was on you. He was fascinated to see you and Nate together. The way people reacted to your dress, how you and Nate cozied up to each other to dance, the way people looked at you dancing. I saw Tom's expression and the way he kept licking his lips as he watched you dancing almost naked in front of Nate and then being fucked by him. He was fascinated. I saw a man who was compelled to arrange his own cuckolding. I was just there to balance things out."
"I also saw in you someone that liked the attention she was getting," she continued. "You sure enjoyed flirting with Nate in front of everybody. So tell me, when are you seeing him again?"
I wasn't prepared for what I had heard. What Karen was saying was totally unexpected, but as I thought about it, I realized that she was the impartial observer.
Karen waited patiently as I collected my thoughts. "Tom and I haven't even discussed what happened," I started. "He went off to work this morning as usual. Perhaps I'll never see Nate again."
As I said the words, I felt a sinking in my stomach and an unexpected feeling of sadness overcame me. I realized that since Saturday night, during all my waking moments, the memories of that evening lurked in the background; the memory of his skin, so smooth, dark and silky, and his eyes, dark as night; the memory of his body, toned and tight, not overly muscular, but sexy; the memory of another man's hands running smoothly over my body; and the memory of uninhibited sex with an intensity I had never before experienced. I could just close my eyes and visualize his dark penis disappearing into my pale white body.
Sensing my change in mood, Karen said, "Be patient. Tom will suggest we get together again. He won't be able to help himself."
"I hope he does," was my softly spoken reply.
I had plenty of time to ponder the situation. Weeks went by and neither Tom nor I mentioning the subject. My longing for Nathan decreased over that time so perhaps a whole day might go by without him coming to mind.
Then one evening, out of the blue, Tom asked, "What do you think about going out to diner again with Nate and Karen?"