I like to watch other men fuck my wife. We’ve been doing it for years. It turns us on.
Back when it started, I told her, “I’m totally involved in everything or we don’t do it.”
She’d agreed; she’d been the one to bring it up. “I want to fuck other people, but I want you there too.”
It seemed too good to be true. “And what if I want to have sex with other women?”
“That’s the idea. We do whatever we want, but always come home and fuck our brains out after.”
I said yes.
At first we went to swinger’s parties, but weren’t comfortable in more aggressive settings. The lifestyle resort was a disaster too. We discovered, quite by accident, hotel bars were fantastic for meeting men eager to fuck another man’s wife.
I would have preferred to switch it up. Though we’d agreed the sex was to be anything goes, my wife was surprised to discover a prohibitive jealous streak—she couldn’t deal with another woman in the equation. We tried several times before turning exclusively to men. I discovered the thrill of watching because of the first one.
Young, rough around the edges, he was a blue-eyed cowboy out of place in the downtown Atlanta, hotel bar. He was killing time until his room was ready and desperately wanted a shower. We told him about the whirlpool as big as a pond in our suite.
He knew the score. “One thing. I’m not into dudes. I’ll fuck your wife all night long, but you don’t do anything but watch. Try anything weird and I’m gone,” he said in the elevator on the way up.
We agreed, eager after months of thwarted attempts.
If it turned out one of us couldn’t handle it, we had only to say the word and it’d be over.