My wife and I are happy to be a Nineties kind of couple. That's Seventeen Nineties, mind you. We have the kind of household where the man is in charge, the woman does her duties, and we all live happily ever after. Now, should you be a feminist, or even a so-called "modern" woman, this type of living arrangement might be considered shocking, or at least a bit bizarre. But it's an arrangement that keeps both of us happy. And isn't that the idea behind marriage?

Were you to observe us from a distance, we wouldn't look too different from your typical modern couple. It's not like my wife, Kate, walks two steps behind me. That's another culture. In fact, you'd see me behaving as a gentleman should; opening doors for her, holding her coat for her, allowing her to order first in any restaurant. You might notice that she never drives when I'm in the car, although that hardly makes us unusual. You might notice that at a party she always gets the drinks for us, and always checks with me before wandering off to talk with the other women. And were you especially observant, you might notice that when I make the decision to leave, we leave.

Even if you were to live with us for a while, you'd be hard put to discern a huge difference between us and today's liberated couples. Although she stays home during the day, Kate gets up and makes me breakfast every morning, packing me a lunch for the day as well. She keeps the inside of the house spic-and-span, while I tend to all the outside work, as well as the heavy-duty repair jobs. Were you a visitor to our home, you might notice that I make all the decisions as to what we watch on TV, listen to on the stereo, and which movies we go to see. Kate's preferences are limited to when I ask her opinion, which is only somewhat less often than some wishy-washy couples. But when she does offer a preference, I give it the respect it deserves.

So, to most observers, on most days, our marriage would appear to be almost normal. On some days and nights, though, we'd take you to a different century. Take this past Friday, for instance.

I'd stayed up late working on two reports for work, despite the fact that certain members of my team hadn't provided the needed information. My task, then, was to write the reports in such a way that the holes didn't seem quite so big, without making assumptions and projections that could be traced back to me. All that to prepare for a Saturday afternoon progress meeting scheduled by my boss, who has no concept of rest and relaxation. So, suffice it to say that by midnight on Friday, my nerves were frazzled and my mind was racing a mile a minute.

When I finally climbed into bed at one in the morning, Kate had probably been asleep for an hour and a half. I knew I wouldn't get to sleep until I'd calmed down a bit. So I decided to do what any nineties husband would do. Sliding between the sheets, I quickly rolled onto my side and reached out for my wife. Because I like it, she wears loose fitting babydolls to bed, with panties that are tied on each hip for easy removal. Kate's body never ceases to turn me on. At five-foot-nine, she's just two inches shorter than me. Right now her hair is full, blond and long, reaching the middle of her back. Sometimes I have her cut it or style it differently so it feels like I'm making love to another woman. But for now I'm in a long hair stage. Her body is perfectly proportioned for my taste, with her 38C breasts, 26-inch waist and 36-inch hips. As you can see, it highlights her bust, which fascinates me to no end. But that's not to say that I'm not equally enamored by what's between her long legs. And I love that I can have it any time I want.

Without any regard for her rest, (after all, I am the husband), I slip my hand under the sheer babydoll and grasp the nearest tit. While the contact causes her to stir, she doesn't awaken, even as I gently run my fingers and palm around and around her soft flesh. I smile in the dark as her nipple swells and hardens. My cock, too, has begun to harden, though not nearly beginning to reach its full length of seven-and-a-half inches. Curious as to the actual state of her arousal, I reach down and tug on the tie nearest me, releasing one side of the g-string. Running my fingers through her thin bush, which she keeps trimmed in a small patch, I slide a finger down to her slit. Pausing on the outside for only a moment, I thrust my index finger inside her, just far enough to feel if my ministrations have produced a wet response.

I find her upper regions to be dry, but on a whim I probe deeper, finding a damper environment, but only the normal body fluids. My incursion, though, has brought her out of her dream state, though she's still not fully awake. Leaving my finger inside of her for the moment, I reach back up with my other hand and find her nipple, giving ita good hard yank. This really wakes her up, though I can tell by her gasps that she's more turned on than upset. Another twist of her hard nipple confirms this, as she moans deep in her throat. But she still just lays and waits for my next move. She knows only to do what I tell her.