Installment 1

 

Thirty years ago when my wife, Annie, was young and pretty and sometimes silly, before we had kids and debt and workdays that we hated, she was easily coaxed to do things that I wanted her to do and which nowadays she would never admit to have done, and which I think my kids would be shocked to know their mother had done. 

 

But you see we were all young once and there was a time when curiosity and sexual arousal and drinking could make a very strong intoxication, and if she was a little embarrassed that was part of the thrill, and she'd endure the embarrassment for her love of me, and for the sake of her own pleasure.

 

So we were what I would call just kids ourselves, newly married, twenty-two or three—somewhere in there—I remember I was working a factory job for the summer; my last year in college coming up.  Annie was waitressing at an Italian restaurant. 

 

We had a basement apartment near the university. Cheap.  One bedroom.  One of those mod units built of brick in the Fifties.  There were a whole city block of these units, side by side, we were in the middle of the five of them.  Barely enough room between them to throw a cat, and waste paper and other garbage got blown in between them.  That is what you saw if you looked out our living room window.  Looking out and up at a brick wall, for on this side there were no windows to other basement apartments, that way, people could not see in, was my guess.  But, there were apartments on the first floor and second floors above us, and I am sure people could look down and inside our apartment that way. Could look in right down in on our bed, in fact, because we had the bed shoved up underneath our window there.  Or look down on our sofa in the living room. I am telling you all these details because they will be important to the story.

 

It was a small apartment: the kitchen was just an alcove off the living room where you came in from the central hallway, which led to the front entrance up a stairwell; the bedroom was beyond kitchen; the bathroom with a tub was tucked in behind the kitchen alcove.  Here is just a little drawing to give you the layout.

 

 

 

 

 

To get back to my story—and my wife would not appreciate my telling this—she'd rather just forget it, I guess—not that she is a prude, but all of us have regrets.  Anyway, in the first part of my marriage there were several things that happened.  Some were my idea or my fault.  Some just happened when things got out of control.   We survived them.  Some of them were not pleasant. Some were fun.  They were all sexual adventures that give me a hard-on still when I think of them.  I wonder if Annie gets juicy thinking about it.  I don't think so, I think some of it she would like to forget, but I don't see how she can.

 

So let's start from the start.

 

So the first instances were just careless exhibitionism.  I liked the idea of my wife being seen naked by other men.  I don't know why.  I will never understand why.  But somehow her being seen naked made her more sexually exciting to me, and in my mind I thought she took excitement in it too and that excited me even more. 

 

I am guessing it has to do with sexual fantasies from when I was a kid.  I always wanted to see the neighbor girl naked and I thought she wanted me to see her naked.  I window peeped.  I was just thirteen or so.  She was sixteen.  Seeing her in bra and panties was real thrill.  She knew I was there, I was certain, because she'd leave her curtain parted just a little and deliberately undressed, looking at that gap in curtains with coy glances.  How I wished she'd take off her bra and panties too.  I shivered outside her window wishing it so hard, thinking I could just will her to do it.  But of course my mind control never worked; she did not do it.  Still I am certain she knew I was there, and that she deliberately sat about in her underwear with the curtain parted so I could see her. 

 

Anyway when we were first married I took some pleasure in seeing that our curtains at our bedroom window were parted a little when she undressed but did not quite have the courage to get her to put on a real show.  One time, fooling around in the living room on the sofa—because when we were first married we'd fuck anywhere just for the excitement of it—not just in the bedroom, but in the bath, in the kitchen, anywhere I could get her clothes off—we were so obsessed with fucking so much—anyway, we were in the living room and had fucked and I kept her naked, had her go naked around the apartment with all the lights on, curtains open, while I watched TV (also still naked); and so we were talking about what things turned us on, what sexual fantasies we had, and I admitted to her that I'd like to see her take her clothes off in front of some other guys and she looked at me surprised, but not really shocked; she shook her head but she was smiling and I told her it would be alright.  And I asked her: "Would you do that?"  She shook her head, but she was thinking about it.  I asked her again.  She said: "Who?"  That gave my stiffee a twinge.  She laughed to see it jerk.  I said: "How 'bout now?" 

 

Somehow, on a lark then, I got her to go to the door and I pulled on my jeans and followed her barefoot as she went out into the hallway naked.  Now it was maybe midnight, so who would be there?  She went nervously naked down the hall, jumping at noises, and crouching, looking back at me, calling me a "sicko," crept up the stairway to the well-lit front entry of the apartment, where all the mailboxes are, and great glass door with glass sidelights looking out and stood at that glass door, naked for all the world to see.  A car went by and she ran back to the apartment giggling.  I wished she'd gone outside and told her so.  We fucked like animals.  We were both breathless. I was certain she had found the whole thing as sexually intriguing as I did.

 

So anyway this led to other dares and experiments. Leaving the lights on and curtains open when I stripped her before making love.  Stripping her on walks in the woods and hoping somebody would come along.  Then one time, I stripped her in the car while we were driving out of state to visit her parents.  Her sitting naked in the passenger side of our VW while semi-trucks cruised by and down shifted to run side-by-side to see my naked wife.  One trucker motioned to her to masturbate but she would not and we got off at the next exit to escape him.  She did not do that again.

 

But in our motel room that night she did strip as she stood up on a chair in front of the window with the curtain drawn open and all the lights on.  I went outside to see how someone looking in might see her and it was incredible.  I stood outside myself and masturbated looking at her standing and stripping in the lamplight.  Unfortunately we were too far back from the highway, so I don't think she had any other audience than me.

 

But these were the things that got us playing with fire.  And as for me they just got me more and more crazy in my thinking.  That time with the truck driver really gave me a pang.  I told her that I wished she had masturbated for him.  She looked at me strangely and she did not say no.  So I wondered.

 

The first serious instance of showing off my wife came then when we were drinking one night with one of my friends who had come over for the purpose of drinking.  And she got very drunk and him too.  Now they had always been friends, and in fact she had dated him before she had dated me.  So it was perhaps only natural that it happened.  Anyway I was out of the room to take a pee and when I came back I saw them from the darkness of the kitchen where they didn't see me standing.  They were on the sofa side by side where'd we'd been sitting, she in the middle between us, sitting under a floor lamp.  The TV on at the corner of the room.   The coffee table in front of them.   I can still remember it vividly.  Anyway I was just as drunk as they were.  Standing there in the dark, I saw them kissing.  Instead of getting upset I was fascinated.  They were really mashing their mouths together and they both acted like they were horny enough to fuck.  My friend had pushed her sweatshirt up and she wasn't wearing a bra.  He tits were showing and he was feeling a nipple.  It looked like they had done this before and liked doing it.  With tits exposed, his hand left her tits and reached into the front of her shorts.  She put her hand to his and stopped him then and pulled her sweatshirt down.  I ducked back into the bathroom and then made point of turning on the light in the kitchen when I came out and of course I found them watching TV and looking like nothing had happened. 

 

Nothing more did happen but it got me obsessing.  I guessed or at least I fantasized they were fooling around when I wasn't around.  In the end, in the middle of one of our own mad fucks, I put it to her to tell me.  She loved me.  I did not doubt it.  I was not jealous.  I actually wanted her to tell me about it.  I more than half hoped it was true.  And it turned out I was right.  They had been another time, a time previous to the time I had seen when I was gone to work.  During the middle of the day actually.   He had come over to see her and she was still in her nightie watching TV, the nightie through which the color of her nipples showed, and he had started necking with her on the sofa, putting his hand up under her nightie and feeling her bare skin and feeling her between her legs (which she said she did not want him to do) and wanted more and was coaxing her to let him "do it" for old-times sake.  And she admitted then that yes she had fucked him before we were married, and so, yes, she had let him strip off her nightie and sat beside him naked on the sofa while he felt her up, but she claimed she refused to fuck him.  I asked her candidly: "Did you give him a blow job?"

 

She looked at me ironically, blushing, and uncomfortable: "No... Why do you ask that?"

 

I shrugged.  I asked again: "Did you?"  She sighed and said he wanted her too.  He had asked her to.  She had done a little but had stopped.  I asked if she ever had done it to him.  She asked me why I wanted to know and I told her I just did and I loved her anyway.  I was just curious.  We had fucked.  We were just cuddling.  I kissed and told her it was okay.  She said softly: "Yes... Once."  "When?" I wanted to know, "Before we were married?" "No," she admitted.  "After?" I looked at her.  She was unhappy about this but I reassured her.  I was not angry at her.  "When?"  She said another time.  She did not want to tell me.  She said: "It won't happen again." 

 

All of this of course obsessed me even more.  I wondered how many more of my friends had visited during the day while she lounged in her nightie, seeing her nipples showing, putting their hands up under it and copping a feel.

 

I had no reason to think this.  I never put it to her.  But I realized that I actually liked the thought of it.