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My Wife
With Another
Man

Often, and without any objection from her, I would mutter to my wife, as I sat on the brink of ejaculation, "Imagine you're with another man." Dutifully she would imagine it, vocalize as much, and I would come immediately, with the usual tremors and exclamations.

There happened, once upon a time, (forgive the fairy tale introduction), where our routine imaginings were interrupted, irrevocably, by the the real thing. I have no regrets.

My good friend from college happened to have a few days free over the course of our annual summer visit to the coast, where we stayed in a suitably themed cottage. Jim was good to have around, and my wife enjoyed his company and had said as much. Thus, we invited him to spend his free time at the cottage.

As happens in the course of summer evenings spent in cottages on by the sea, we sat on the porch drinking cocktails, reminiscing, joking and carrying on without too much intent in one direction or the other. My wife was wearing a terrycloth robe, having bathed earlier following a swim in the ocean.

At no particular point I noticed that, when she leaned in to grab her drink, or tap her cigarette into the ashtray, the fullness of her right breast was plentifully exposed to both myself and Jim. I have no idea when this action began, nor did I notice Jim taking any notice. Perhaps he was being polite. 

Regardless, my wife has exceptional breasts, and I was immensely aroused each time she reached for the table.

I made another round of drinks. Devilishly, I positioned my wife's fresh cocktail a few inches further from its previous location, encouraging a broader reach. As she leaned forward, her robe moved a bit more off her shoulder, unnoticed by her, and when she reclined, this time with drink in hand (rather than having her usual sip and putting the glass back down), her breast was more or less fully engaged in our field of vision.

Then it occurred to me—this might, after all, be intentional.

Before this could fully register, and in advance of a proper diagnosis, she said suddenly, with a hint of boozy abandon, "Well Jim, have you ever thought of what it would be like to sleep with your best friend's wife?"

Of course, Jim and I laughed and he said something like "all the time." At once everyone was exceedingly thirsty, and we each retreated into our beverages.

Her breast, like a fourth presence, could no longer be ignored.

"Did you know your breast was, or rather is, fully exposed?" I said.

"Initially, no. But when I noticed a stare from you I became aware, and decided to leave it out, so to speak."

Playfully I said to Jim, "So, have you been watching my wife's heaving bosom all this time?"

"Well, I have to say I did notice. I mean to say, I've suspected all along Gwen had beautiful breasts, and I see now my suspicion was justified."

"Thank you, Jim. I thought you might appreciate them." With that she blushed and pulled her robe over to its proper place. 

My reaction was of immediate let-down, like coming off cocaine in my earlier, pre-model citizen days. I wasn't quite sure what to do. I was now bathed in an abundance of hormonally charged, erotic fervor. The air and all other environmental energy stood suddenly still. I felt that if touched, even carelessly, I could erupt.

"Them?" Jim said, with mild impatience. "I've only seen the one."

With that my wife pulled her robe off her shoulders and let it fall down to her waist. She winked at me; I looked to Jim, and he looked as if a semi was about to run him down, but in a joyous way...

 

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