Bombshell in the Berkshires

A gay story: Bombshell in the Berkshires At first I thought the fallout would be insurmountable.

And for many weeks it seemed that way.

Opening the side door to our old New England farmhouse kitchen that late October Saturday, with sunset just around the corner, I was taken completely by surprise to see Barb standing by the window staring out into our backyard. She turned to face me when I entered, and the look she leveled at me said a galaxy of things. I was caught, the jig was up, and she was pissed.

I stopped and tried to collect my thoughts. I kept my voice low and even, but soft.

“I thought you wouldn’t be back ’til later. I was just going to start up some dinner for us.”

These were both true statements.

Barb’s eyes were keen, on the verge of accusing, and they bored straight into me.

“I sent you a text, Clay. Rachel wasn’t feeling well, and we called off our shopping early.”

We looked at each other.

“But you were occupied.” Meaning why I hadn’t seen her text.

Her words and tone revealed that she knew a lot.

“I saw you. In the garage. In that Volkswagen van of yours.”

She said “Volkswagen” like it was a hand grenade with the pin pulled.

“Roger’s pants were off,” she said in a flat voice. “You were between his legs. I couldn’t see his penis, but your head was plastered to his crotch and moving around. I knew exactly what you were doing.”

Her eyes got all strange and moist. She wiped the side of her left eye with the back of her hand.

“Clay. How could you? No wonder you two have been together so much.”

She turned away, looked out the window again.

Barb is not typically an imposing woman. A couple inches shorter than me, and I’m not even that tall, she has never been lean, but forty years and a couple kids meant extra weight, and in our little rural town in the Berkshires she passed as sweet but unremarkable.

But she held herself well, and no one could doubt her essential kindness with a touch of backbone. Pointed chin, long narrow nose, a face normally graced with a wide big-toothed smile. Her shoulder length dark hair with a touch of silver was loose, not in its usual pony-tail, and she had even worn a long skirt to go into town.

I had gone and created a world of unhappiness for her.

I did not like that my hands were clenched shut. That my stomach felt awful. That the warm glow that had been coming from my penis not moments before, which Roger had pleased so nicely with his energetic wet tongue and lips, had evaporated.

Not for the first time in a crisis, my mind went numb. Words eluded me, but I knew they provided the only possible route to safety. Silence would have been the worst possible option.

“Barb. I’m sorry. Let me explain.”

I stopped, while she still stood at the window, looking out. Her body was tense, unpleasantly rigid.

“Look, this is a bad move on my part. I still love you.”

I meant this.

“I did not mean to hurt you. This is just one of those things that…”

“Betrayal!” She whirled and faced me with a ferocity I had only seen a couple times before in our twenty-plus years of marriage.

“Behind my back! Sneaking around! Doing sex with another… guy.” She spat out this last word.

“Hey look, it’s Roger. Not just ‘another’ guy.”

She looked like she was going to say something, her face got all scrunched up, but her lips clamped shut. She held up a hand.

“Clay.” This was a command. “We need to talk. A lot. But not right now. I’m too upset.”

She turned away from me. “Get some dinner going and let me know when it’s ready. I’ll join you, but leave me be for the moment. I’ll be upstairs.”

She poured herself a glass of wine, and I heard her footsteps go up the old wooden stairs to our second story bedroom, sounding like the drumbeat at a dirge.

I made dinner, a decent fall stew with onions, potatoes, parsnips. My hands stayed steady some of the time while cutting the vegetables. I think one of the worst feelings in the world is when you have hurt someone, let them down, and you need to atone, make amends, not something I do very often or well.

I thought about every angle I might take in explanation. How I could outline the manner in which Roger and I had become an item, that it wasn’t about cheating, or infidelity, it was just two married guys who’d found ways to make their cocks feel good. No harm, no foul. But nothing I said to myself sounded very convincing.

And then I thought about Roger. I was going to have a hard time with Barb, but once Carrie found out, there was going to be a lit stick of dynamite in the old Roger/Carrie marriage world. I felt my whole body tense up. Maybe Barb wouldn’t spill the beans. Barb might manage this but not Carrie. But the moment I considered the chances of non-disclosure, I knew it would be inevitable.

At the kitchen table we ate in silence. Barb scarcely looked at me. Every noise in the room was magnified. Setting my knife down on the plate after buttering a bread slice. The wind rattling a loose window in its frame. The clank of a spoon along my bowl, fishing out the last bit of potato.

I stole a glance at her from time to time, thinking about our history together. Friends would describe her as a “horsey” sort of woman, down to earth, no-nonsense. She looked like she’d grown up on a farm, although she hadn’t.

I had been thrilled when we got married, and our mutual enthusiasm went on for several years, diminishing a bit with our first-born Stephen. Then when Jon arrived two years later, life became more of a domestic Olympic long-distance event. But now it appeared I had thrown a big wrench into the marriage works.

Barb turned to me when dinner was done. “I’m going to bed. Please don’t talk to me until tomorrow. But we need a conversation, Clay.”

I was quiet and assented with a head nod, feeling contrite. I was at her mercy.

New Englanders are not known for dealing well with big emotions, and this certainly qualified.

That night was not a good one. Although our bodies were in the same bed, the distance between us, both emotional and actual, felt like you could drive a big rig through the gap. I didn’t sleep a whole lot, and it bothered me how my thoughts ping-ponged around. Mostly about Barb, her feelings, the damage I had done to the marital fabric. How I might make good, regain trust. But there was another set of thoughts that crashed through my head.

The way Roger’s lips on my penis had felt so good that afternoon, coaxing semen load number two out of my cock. How I’d finished him off nice in the back of the Volkswagen, after a good long time licking those incomparable balls of his, all slick and wet and heavy with semen, with his legs out stiff and shaking at the end when he pushed his cock into my face, pumping out a good eruption of sperm. How that event might have been the last time anything like that would ever happen.

After breakfast the next morning, handled in silence, Barb turned to me.

“Let’s go to the living room.”

I followed her, and she settled into her favorite chair next to the fireplace. I sat on the chair on the other side, facing her.

“So Clay. Talk to me. You said yesterday you still love me, and I want to believe that. Although the evidence is against you. You’ve thrown a bit of a wrinkle into things.”

She pursed her lips. “Why? Why? Extracurricular sex! And here I thought we were married.”

She paused. “Tell me.”

“We are married. It’s complicated.” I had certainly used that phrase before. I didn’t think it was a dodge.

She sat back in her chair, with her arms crossed. Outside the day was cold and raw. More or less felt that way for me inside, too.

“You have heard about my little penis fascinations before. I’ve told you and not kept that a secret.”

“Yes you have. I more or less assumed all that was in the past. And you wouldn’t be acting on those particular urges any more. The little scene you’ve placed here in front of us is a bit different.”

So I told her the story. About Roger and me on our hike the summer before. My little dalliance with his member. How it turned into something greater. She listened and didn’t interrupt. And then I got to the delicate part.

“When Jon left home and it was just the two of us in the house, I had figured that our old sex life might return.” As our second and final son, he’d gone off to college two years earlier and except for brief stays at holidays and vacations, neither of the boys had ever come back to live at home. We were official “empty nesters.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember you saying anything about this.”

“I didn’t. But I did try, maybe not in a way very apparent to you, or with any narration, to sorta jump start things. I was hoping for a bit of our old intimacy.”

“That may be true. I honestly don’t remember any such attempts on your part though. You’re not trying to blame me here, are you?”

“No, no. We’re over forty Barb. I am still a horny guy. Maybe not like in college, but still. Didn’t feel like our urges, our wantings for sex, were matching up very well.”

We shared a long look.

“Things were a bit quiet at home. When an opportunity opened up with Roger, I went all in.” I spread my hands.

She looked hard at me.

“To tell you the truth, I didn’t think it was cheating.” I looked straight into her face. “Didn’t regard it that way.”

Here her eyes got big, and she was about to say something angry.

Before she could, I made an addition. “It was with a guy. No romantic involvement, just sexual release. Not technically adultery or anything.”

Now her words exploded into the room.

“Not ‘adultery’ you say! What, since he wasn’t a wife? Couldn’t get pregnant? Since no penetration was involved?” She looked puzzled for a second. “Or was there?”

“Nope. Just penis play, nothing more than mouths and hands.”

“But you didn’t do this openly, Clay, that’s the big part. This was a secret little behind-the-back thing.”

“Roger and I had our reasons.”

She snorted. “Right. Neither of you would’ve gotten the ‘go-ahead’ if you’d mentioned anything about it. Especially from Carrie. If Roger had said anything, she would have thrown him clear into Vermont. And I wouldn’t have blamed her.”

The stare she leveled at me made me want to look away.

“What hurts the most is the not telling. I can believe that you wanted to enjoy some ‘penis play’ with a pal, some sex without any strings attached like you might have with a fussy wife or something.”

It looked as if my phrase “penis play” had taken on a life of its own, and I regretted having used those words.

Barb looked at me hard, and I struggled to gauge her thoughts. I apologized in every way I could think of. Our discussion did not get much further that day.

We talked sporadically over the next few weeks, and I was made quite aware how much Barb had been hurt. Our talks were usually brief and revolved around the same themes. But mostly we didn’t talk much at all, and the house felt like a prison.

Roger and I only communicated a couple times, by text. I don’t think either of us wanted to show our wives any sign of friendship or desire to get together. The VW sat alone in the garage much of the time, but I texted Roger once when I’d taken it out on a drive.

‘u okay?’

‘yeah. carrie’s barely talking to me.’

‘same here too. I miss your u know what’

‘me too. I mean yours’

‘think it will blow over?’

‘not sure. not easily. hey clay, gotta go. hang in there’

‘u too. best’

I tried to stay busy around the house or outside doing chores. I went on long walks. But it is the time of year when you tend not to want to be outdoors much, especially when the cold November rain was coming down. Barb and I more or less orbited each other inside the house, keeping our distance, except for dinner and sometimes breakfast, never in the same room for too long.

I made it a point to take care of trouble areas that tended to be flash irritation points in our marriage. I made sure the waste bins, especially in her sewing/project room, were cleared promptly. I raked our lawn, was far more neat and meticulous about house stuff than usual. I think Barb noticed, although she didn’t say anything.

Sometimes she’d shoot me these looks and open her mouth like she was going to say something but generally didn’t.

Our longer conversations usually happened at dinner. She asked about what sorts of things Roger and I did with each other. I would answer when her tone was level, but deferred if she looked really upset.

“You’re saying you didn’t always do sex whenever you were together?” I could imagine she was doing calculations in her head. That we were penis-fondling every minute we were in the same place.

“Nope, of course not. Usually only when we had a good chunk of time free.”

“On your projects.”

“Or on a hike. Yes. But not every time. Sometimes.”

“I should have guessed, after that first car project, what was up. But I didn’t.” She sounded peeved.

She took a sip of wine.

“And that’s why you got that silly VW bus then, isn’t it? So you’d have a mobile bedroom, somewhere to lay down and do your gay stuff together.” She shook her head.

“It’s not ‘gay’ Barb. It’s fun with a friend. A guy who is married, yes, but this doesn’t affect the marriages of anyone.”

I got a glare back.

“Maybe not your view of marriage, but what about me? Or Carrie? How do you think we feel?”

“I think I know, Barb. You’re angry. I don’t blame you. I’m sorry. You think maybe I’m cheating, but I’m not.”

“But you’re doing sex stuff with someone else, who is not me. Isn’t that cheating?”

I shook my head. “No.”

I then got an even more alarmed look from Barb. “Are you in love, Clay?”

“No. Maybe with his cock, but not with him.”

This at least got a small laugh.

“So why? I still don’t get it. Why this penis attraction?”

“You can guess, Barb. My cock is not the first one you ever met yourself, right? Didn’t it feel good to play with one? Make it hard? Excited? Make the owner happy? You’ve stroked, you’ve licked. Cocks. Before me.”

I suddenly had a question I’d never asked.

“But maybe after me?” My eyebrows went up. This question I’d never ever considered, which tells you what kind of double standard I was operating under.

She laughed, not a cheerful laugh.

“No, Clay. Unlike you, I’ve never strayed. Been faithful our whole time together.” That stung.

“Well, same here. Roger and I played, no fucking, no other wives, nothing ever romantic or with an emotional connection. The sex was healthy, just us, no danger of STDs or anything.”

Barb furrowed her brow. “You ever kiss him?”

“No. Unless you mean his cock-head. Or his balls.”

She looked exasperated. “No, I mean a real kiss. On the lips, a proper one.”

“Nope. Never. Not into it.”

And here our talks generally broke down. She could not fathom sexual contact with someone else without a personal attachment. I tried to tell her that I cared for Roger as a friend, that our sex stuff was just for pleasure, just for amusement, that it didn’t infringe on our marriages.

We didn’t make much progress. She did make a good point though, that this constituted our first major challenge together as a couple. Over the course of our marriage we had dealt with aging (and dying) parents, and each of us had come through for the other during hard times. We’d had difficult kid events we’d had to navigate. But we’d never had a personal crisis between us like this. It was actually an encouraging sign when she pointed this out, I even detected a trace of compassion in her expression during that talk.

But there was one thing I couldn’t do, which I think would have made a world of difference for Barb, would have made for a complete apology. I couldn’t say that I would never touch another penis again. I don’t like making promises I cannot keep, and I do not like lying. Every time we got to this point, Barb’s lips would compress and her face got hard. I felt terrible.

There had been a couple Amazon deliveries to her the last few weeks, a bit unusual since we don’t tend to get much stuff online, preferring local buying if possible.

But I had spied a couple books on her side table once, the top one was titled “Hite Report” or something with “men” or “male” on the cover. Next time I passed by it was gone. She spent a lot of time reading alone up in the bedroom. More than once when I came into the kitchen from outside she would finish up a phone call, like she was in a hurry, then look hard at me, like I had interrupted.

Things got a bit easier, we talked about other life things more. We did Thanksgiving with her sister’s family in Northampton. I don’t think anyone noted tension between us. The d-word was not mentioned, or even hinted at. Life went on.

Her anger, of course, leaked out in various ways and times. As a couple we typically don’t argue that much anyway and usually not productively. One Friday I came home from work and although we had been conversing more of late, about the usual range of practical matters, I found that every single sentence I uttered came in for critique.

“Amanda did not get married in July, it was late June.”

“You said you’d paid the electric bill last week but the envelope’s still on your desk.”

“I would not describe Desmond up the hill as a ‘sweet old man.’ He’s a loudmouth prick, not just to his neighbors.”

I finally had had enough.

“Hey, Barb. Lay off, willya? I can deal with straight talk but not all this sniping. Did you do everything perfect this week yourself?”

We stared at each other, on the edge of a good fight.

She looked away.

“Sorry. I get it. But I’m still furious with you, Clay, and don’t have a decent way of getting over this scene we’ve got here.”

She had apologized, which I did not take for granted.

We didn’t clear the air entirely that evening but turned the temperature down a notch. She even suggested going to the farmer’s market together on the upcoming Sunday, which was a huge step forward in normalization. I took it as a peace offering.

The next stretch still went by uneasily, however. We didn’t talk much, and while the looks we exchanged were not always adversarial, there was an air of uncertainty that saturated the house. I confess that I was glad to go to work during those long, trying weeks, happy to be at a place where my actions and motions were positive, and results were concrete and satisfying.

The next week, on a Thursday, Barb surprised me at dinner. I’d made a nice soup, gotten some good bread at the bakery in town to go with it.

As Barb polished off her last buttered slice, she sought my eyes.

“Clay, I would like to make love tonight. I don’t like this distance between us at the moment.”

My mouth went open and stayed that way.

She laughed. “My period’s coming up and you know I sometimes get more aroused that time of the month. Okay?”

I was “okay.”

And of course the sperm tanks hadn’t been emptied in weeks, no Roger or anything. I think the look on her face told her everything she needed to know since she laughed.

“Excellent. Let me take a short bath after dinner, and we can call it an early night.”

If you’ve been married for twenty years, a good amount of intimacy can become routine. We each knew the other’s body, reactions, preferences, and dislikes. It’s not quite like seeing the same movie over and over again, since each time is unique in some fashion, but it does feel like a TV series sometimes.

Barb was sweet. Fresh from the bath, she removed her robe. Naked she’s a more handsome woman than most would expect. She rarely wore makeup, mascara at a wedding was as far as she would go. Neither of us wear good clothes often, and even at special events we remain on the understated side. She is short with soft, droopy breasts that she took pains to minimize in public, by bra choice and the shirts she wore. Usually she was bundled into a blue workshirt tucked into jeans, what she typically would wear to her half-time job at the hardware store.

I was already in bed, anxious for her to arrive. I inhaled at the sight of her wobbly, swaying breasts, her dark, well furred pubic triangle as her robe came off.

It was strange at first that night, to be honest. To settle in next to her in bed, I hadn’t felt her bare skin next to me in months. We were almost like a couple of scorpions, each of us wary, unsure of the other, emotional thresholds on hair-trigger settings.

It felt like we were on a first date. We were extra careful touching each other. I trembled when she ran a hand along my flanks.

But her hands on my penis felt marvelous. She even sucked me a bit before inviting me to tongue her. She got all wet and close, and when I first put my penis up her entry, she gave off a lovely little exhale of pleasure that was almost nostalgic. I pushed for a bit, but it was clear I was going to come first if I continued. So I pulled out and licked.

We took longer than usual, a treat to just feel each other’s skin and not do any talking. A lot of energy got dissipated that night, and I know she felt good after I had licked her close to a climax, penetrated her again for my own pleasure, then finished her off with my mouth. I liked how her legs got stiff, the way her dense bush pushed into my face, little squeaky noises of pleasure issuing from her mouth.

For the first time in quite awhile, I found some tangible hope.

The next morning she wanted to talk over breakfast.

“Thanks for last night, Clay. That was nice. I have a couple questions for you.”

I felt my body stiffen, never sure these days where conversation was going to go.

“Sure.”

She reached over and put her left hand on my penis through my clothes.

“I know you have had a history of some penis playing.” That phrase again.

She went on. “Can you tell me what goes through your mind?”

She waited.

“It’s funny, Barb. I’ve always been drawn to girls. To women. To someone like you.”

This was all true.

“But early on a teenage friend and I would do some touching. I’ve told you about my fascination with sleeping cocks.”

She nodded.

“There is just something so nice about an erection. Limp I don’t usually find a penis to be particularly handsome, but when one gets stiff, it’s that way for a reason. And some of this I really can’t explain. It just looks gorgeous to me, and I cannot get it out of my mind. I want to do something nice with it.”

`

We talked about licking and sucking cocks. She listened carefully. I told her about how Roger had never had anyone pull his semen out of his cock by mouth before, how that was such an amazing experience for him.

“Carrie never did that?” I was suddenly worried that I was divulging stuff that Roger had mentioned to me in confidence, probably never thinking it would get repeated. But we were in too far with this discussion to stop.

“Nope. She’d lick him but never to completion. You used to do me, once upon a time.”

She grew thoughtful.

“That was only for you. Wasn’t actually all that much fun for me.”

I told her about how nice it was, for both me and Roger. How much I enjoyed a pulsing, squirting cock going off in my mouth. And how sweet it was when he reciprocated.

“The ‘zipless suck.’ Ha!” She shook her head. “No strings attached.”

After our breakfast conversation ended it felt funny to go back to house stuff and life, but it felt like a start.

The following week was calmer by a large margin, but still hardly normal. With Christmas coming, it was shaping up to be a long, cold winter. I kept thinking about Roger, missing all the lovely bits of our connection, now blown to smithereens.

On a mid-December Friday Barb made a sweet dinner for us, her Quattro formaggio ziti dish. She’d bought a six of my favorite local craft beer at the market. I hadn’t even asked, so that was a nice surprise.

Towards the end of the meal she said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have Roger over for dinner tomorrow. Carrie’s out of town and you can make your winter stew.

I tried to keep my face from showing surprise.

“Sure. Always happy to have Roger around, but…?” How did she know Carrie would be away?

A slow smile. “I want to talk to you both.”

“Oh.” My heart sank. I hadn’t said “Oh shit” but “Oh.” I kept my voice even.

“About?”

“What do you think, Clay? About the two of you.”

“Mightn’t Carrie worry?”

“Nope. I’ve talked to her.”

Another surprise. The two of them talking. This of course had huge implications.

“Fair enough.”

The next night Roger came over with a bottle of wine, looking a bit undone at the door when Barb let him in.

Her eyebrows went up. “Not sure I’ve ever seen you drink wine, Roger.”

“No, I don’t. But I know you do.”

She looked at the bottle, one of her favorites, a moderately expensive California chardonnay.

She cocked an eyebrow at me.

“Yes. It was my suggestion. But at his ask.”

The bean and barley stew was still simmering away when we entered the kitchen, and Roger sniffed the air and put his big manly hands together.

“Sure smells good, Barb. You make a mean meal.”

“Thanks, but this is Clay’s work.” He gave me an odd look.

“Guess I haven’t cooked much with you around, bud.”

“Just done everything else though.” Barb snickered at her own joke, and Roger shot her an anxious look.

“Hey, let’s just get you a beer and eat,” she said. “We’ll talk after dinner.”

So I got Roger a good pale ale to match mine, and we had a fine meal, the conversation a little stiff at first but got easier as we went along, Barb asking suitable interesting questions about Roger and the machine shop, actually got him to talk about his routine a bit. I even learned a few things about his job and what he did that I hadn’t known.

Afterwards we retired to the living room and Barb requested a fire for some warmth.

Luckily this time of year I usually have a couple logs and kindling set up for whenever we want a fire, so it just took opening the flue and a little work before we had a good blaze going.

Barb settled back into her favorite chair, me on the other side of the hearth, and Roger maybe ten feet way from the fireplace, between us. An equilateral triangle.

Barb began by addressing Roger. “I’ve been talking to Clay, but I want to hear a little more from you about this little connection you guys have made.”

I couldn’t read Roger’s face very well, but it did not exude comfort.

“Tell me how it all began. How you got your crush going,” Barb prodded.

Roger shot me a look and I urged him on with my hands, basically indicating “go ahead, tell the truth.”

So he talked, at first hesitantly, then with more detail about our first hike, the pond, the “wet dream” he’d experienced napping after our skinny dip, unsuspectingly at my surreptitious instigation, and how things had gone from there. How we had graduated from masturbating together, then each other, to oral pleasures. Nothing Barb didn’t know already.

Was she just trying to confirm stories? When it comes to conversation she’s usually mostly a straight shooter, not the cunning lawyer type. It didn’t feel like a cross-examination situation, more just “tell me your side of the deal” thing.

She listened carefully to everything that had been said. There was not a moment where she looked irritated, or hurt, or even uneasy. That alone was both not what I expected and encouraging as well.

“So Clay insists it’s only about the cock, right?” She addressed this to Roger.

“Clarification.” I raised my hand. “His balls too. They’re heavenly.”

Luckily both of them laughed, and I described them to Barb in perhaps overly poetic terms, their size and shape, furry scrotum nest, their smell and taste. She listened with interest while Roger looked a bit embarrassed.

“You guys ever kiss?”

Roger’s face got indignant. “Never!”

Of course Barb had asked me this too, but I thought she looked amused at the vehemence of Roger’s reaction.

She took a sip of her wine and sat back in her chair, her favorite, with the worn armrests and the little table next to it where she kept her reading glasses, often a book, and a coaster for her wineglass.

“I would like to see both of you in action.” She paused. “See what you do when you get together.”

She looked at each of us in turn. “And are getting aroused.”

Roger gave a start and shifted awkwardly in his chair.

“What do you mean, Barb? I think I’ve told you about what we do, and Roger has too,” I interjected, unsure of what she wanted.

“Yes, you have described things. I want to watch in person.” She looked at me.

“Do you take his clothes off?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Usually we take off our own clothes. Sometimes not always all the way.”

She laughed. “Just enough, I get it. But sometimes?” She turned to me.

I nodded. Then held my breath.

“Why don’t you get our friend comfortable, Clay? It’s gotten warm enough in here that bare skin won’t be a problem.”

She was right about the room’s air temperature. She also said “our friend.”

Was she looking at me the way a voyeur might? Or just curious to see how’d I’d react? This was not my first clue that this was going to be Barb’s night, that things were going to go as she directed, but it was the most overt indication.

I stood up and moved over to Roger, who looked distinctly uneasy. I reached out a hand and pulled him gently up from his chair, and we looked at each other.

I removed each item of his clothing deliberately, wordlessly: his plaid shirt, boots and jeans, each stage generating a bit more tension, until he was standing in front of the fire without a stitch on.

That hairy, round chest with the dark nipples. Strong short legs, similarly furry.

And those glorious balls hanging low, underneath his penis, not the least bit excited, all just potential energy at the moment. Odd nerve endings were starting to fire in my own body. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Barb checking out my buddy’s body carefully.

Both Roger and I are in our forties, with bellies to match, but taut rather than flabby. We’re working men types, with a fair amount of body hair. I gazed with affection at Roger’s crotch thicket.

Unprompted, Roger unwrapped me as well, until both of us were facing each other, warm and almost comfortable in front of the fireplace.

“What might happen next?” Barb’s voice was low, urging, her eyebrows raised. “How do you start?”

There was no stopping at this point. I now felt I had a better idea of what she wanted.

I reached underneath Roger’s package and began to rummage, hand shifting between balls and penis.

Progress was slow but linear, and in a few minutes, due mostly to the fact that we had done this dance together dozens of times before, although not for some time, he got a nice erection going, not fully hard, but enough to push forward at maybe a fifty-degree angle.

I stepped back and all eyes in the room landed in on that one irresistible focal point.

God, he looked good.

Penis sticking out of that groin forest. Potential energy cycle started, the clock would need just a little more winding before it would tell time.

Roger was careful not to look at Barb, but basically did the same thing to me, until my own erection was unmistakable out there in the open.

So now there were two hardened penises in the cozy, overheated living room.

I like to see an erection out in the open. I like even better to see two, especially if I’m the owner of one of them.

I was keenly aware of Barb’s eyes on me. I had told her what we did, what we most liked, there were not going to be any surprises tonight, except that previously her awareness had only been second-hand.

I didn’t know what she was hoping to gain. Was she going to be grossed out? Disgusted? Or just wanted to see us operate as a pair? It didn’t matter really, all this was done at her request.

I knelt on the thick rug we had in front of the fireplace, glad it was fairly soft underneath for my knees, and took Roger’s penis into my mouth.

His cock was warm and soft and in that rubbery not-fully-hard phase that is so sweet. I rolled his cock head around in my mouth, licked the shaft from balls to tip, tried to forget for a moment that I was being watched. By an eagle. I almost succeeded.

So what’s it like to have your wife watch you suck another man’s cock?

I can’t really say. I tried to turn off the part of my mind that knew I was being witnessed, at least for the moment, and just gave into those lovely feelings of power and arousal that take place anytime you have an erection making a good home for itself in your mouth. Where you can let your tongue slide around a bunch of nerve endings that you know are guaranteed to please your penis-partner. Feel the hardness increase, experience skin surfaces getting wet and slobbery, and with one hand, sense some excited balls begin their ascent.

All was lovely.

And I realized just how much I had missed Roger in the last long, distressing weeks of abstinence.

So we got a little session going there in front of a crackling fire, safe to say I had never done anything remotely like this in our living room before. The setting was warm and inviting, and when I was able to tune out the fact that I was working with an audience, it was enjoyable.

I stroked and licked Roger, got him all worked up. We stood together and fondled each other in front of Barb, did some of the penis rubbing stuff we often indulged in before getting serious. If he was similar to me he likely had a severe sperm backlog crammed into those beautiful balls of his.

We alternated, as was our custom, each of us taking a turn with the other, until it felt like the arousal was getting a little too charged. We’d grown quite adept at the pleasure-prolongation game.

One time I was sitting in my chair while Roger was nestled between my legs, giving my cock a good oral workover.

I looked over at Barb, who was staring intensely at the proceedings. She had a good view of Roger’s taut ass and balls from the backside, his stiff cock bobbing with his motions. Her mouth was slightly parted when she noticed I was looking at her.

Our eyes locked. I could not read her expression.

I’d never done sex when seen by someone else before, this whole scenario was totally disorienting. If Barb hadn’t asked for it, it would have been surreal beyond belief. But I had gauged she wanted to watch, for her own internal reasons.

At that point some part of me gave in. I figured she might as well get a show.

I pulled Roger off me, gently, and maneuvered us onto the rug, into a sixty-nine with him on top on his hands and knees. I had the vague thought of not wanting him in a position to see Barb watching us, so I had him facing away. Although most of the time when we were doing stuff, particularly if I was pleasing him, he’d have his eyes closed anyway. Unlike me, he didn’t like the added visuals.

The few times I stole a glance at Barb she was completely engrossed. I saw her eyes fixed on Roger’s balls, waving around while he sucked me laid out on the floor.

I couldn’t blame her. They are a supremely handsome set of testicles, each egg drawn up and settled separately on each side of his shaft, all full and furry and impatient.

We swapped positions so I was on top. I knew Barb could see my ass cheeks heaving while I plowed into Roger’s face.

“Clay?”

I was startled to hear Barb address me. I turned towards her, letting Roger’s prick slop out of my mouth where it stood wetly proud, waving in the air.

“Please.” She glanced at his cock then me.

“I’d rather you don’t finish him with your mouth? There’s a chance I might want to be kissing you later.”

I tried to register this request, which had dozens of overtones. Might want to kiss me later? That at least meant she might want to be close to me. But not with the semen-in-the-mouth condition?

I am not sure that night I would have done anything she asked, but this request I could honor, however much it departed from the normal routine. Nine times out of ten, Roger and I would each take each other’s spermload orally, that was usually our preferred outcome.

Roger and I decoupled, and I had him finish me off on his knees while I was standing with my back to the fireplace, nice heat on my bum. Barb got a good look of me pushing my prick into Roger’s mouth, my quivering ass cheeks while I divested, my head thrown back, Roger’s handiwork in action. My whole body shook with the climax.

I had Roger lay down on the rug, his cock impossibly hard, and while facing Barb, I stroked him to completion, one hand on his cock, the other cupping and caressing his balls, until I fetched a nice shower of sperm out onto his hairy belly, a pool filling his navel. We were both pretty sweated up.

The room was quiet while both of us stared at Roger’s sperm mess. Barb got up from her seat.

“Stay there, I’ll be right back.”

She came back with two face-towels from the bathroom. She handed me one and helped with mop-up operations herself, a slight smile of amusement on her face as we cleaned up the semen. Roger’s expression was a bit undone.

She stood up, looking at both of us, then laughed quietly.

“Sorry Roger, I know that’s not how you usually finish yourselves. I appreciate you both for honoring my wishes.”

She looked at each of us with a gleam in her eyes. “That was actually pretty hot.”

She sat down again. “You guys looked good. And I’ve never seen gay sex before.”

Roger’s face scrunched up and he was just about to shout “not gay” when Barb held up her hand.

“Right. Gotcha. Not ‘gay’ it is. But still nice.” This was accompanied by an earnest stare at my buddy.

“Nice as in arousing.” She smiled. “Two nice looking guys. One of them I claim as my own.”

We were quiet for a moment while the fire crackled.

“Okay, here’s my proposition, and you can take it or leave it as you wish.” The evenness and earnestness of her words took us by surprise, low and quiet and serious. She looked at Roger.

“I want to take my husband to bed. I wouldn’t mind if you joined us, but I don’t want to ask you to do something you don’t want to do.”

She read the alarm on Roger’s face. “Carrie’s okay with this, I’ve checked. She just doesn’t want to know about it. Really about any sex not with her, she just doesn’t want to know. And no, you won’t be coupling with me, I will not do that with anyone but him.” Her thumb jerked in my direction. If there was any judgment in her voice I couldn’t detect it, more just a statement of her own principles. Her limits maybe.

She had seen me shoot my sperm into Roger’s mouth. Seen me lick Roger’s unit and then stroke him off. His pleasure had been as obvious as the pile of semen we needed to clean up on his furry belly.

Her eyes had a brightness I recognized. Her arousal was in full flower.

“Thank you both for what you’ve done this evening. I’ve learned a thing or two.”

Roger and I both looked at each other. Then, almost in synchronized moments, we looked at each other’s sloppy, limp cocks. Roger almost laughed.

Barb smiled. A sweet smile. Made me feel good.

“I liked how you guys both attended to each other. I know it’s not love. You’ve said that and I believe you. But it was care.”

She paused and took a deep breath. “You’ve each claimed you can do twice in a session. Here’s your chance.” The look she sent me basically was saying, “but not usually with me.”

“Clay, I’m going to bed.”

She turned her head to Roger. “You too, if you want.”

Roger’s face was a cement mixer of emotions. Surprise, sure. Then worry. Indecision. Paralysis.

I was taken aback myself. I had never considered this possibility.

The room was filled with a dense silence as each of us played with the notion in front of us.

Barb looked less undone than Roger and I, but of course, it was her idea. It was then that I noticed the elastic hair tie she’d put around her left wrist. Usually, if her hair was loose, the tie would be present on her wrist for only one reason. Her hair was loose now, wavy and mostly darkish in our softly lit living room. A little quiver of excitement coursed through my body.

I wanted to shake my head to clear the decks. It was crowded up there as one thought overtook another.

Barb rose. “I’ll be retiring. This may be a ‘one-time offer,’ just so you know. I can leave you guys to ponder, if you want.”

Roger and I looked at each other, and I read his thoughts.

“No, we’re right behind you.” I said this like I was aiming to follow my platoon captain into battle.

So we made our way upstairs. Roger’s clothes stayed in the living room, where he had carefully folded them on the arm rest of one of our chairs, boots in a perfect parallel on the floor. But I carried mine up.

I watched Barb’s ass in her jeans in front of me and held my breath at the possibilities.

I was surprised when entering the bedroom to see that Barb had left the electric space-heater on. Our old home is drafty enough it gets pretty cold in wintertime, and we often use the heater to warm up the room during the various cold snaps, always turning it off at bedtime. On a cold day the first one up might turn it on a bit to take the chill off the morning air for the other. But it seemed Barb’s notions about tonight had meant plans to keep the room warmer than usual.

For the second time in the evening, I was going to be involved in some sexual actions with a witness present. Nothing earlier in my life (or my imagination) had prepared me for this.

The way Barb stood in front of us, with a provocative hands-on-hips pose, suggested that it would be our task to disrobe her.

I moved behind her and reached around to reach the top button of her shirt. Roger edged over, took my facial expression hint to undo the next button. We took turns, a button at a time, until all were undone, Roger struggling not to stare at Barb’s bare skin as her shirt parted open in front of him, but that seemed to be the whole idea.

We each eased a sleeve off each arm and Barb slipped free gracefully.

I took a deep breath and unhooked her bra clasp in back and slid that off as well. Roger’s eyes got full- moon-like as her breasts tumbled forth.

Barb’s chest had once been firm, and her breasts had ballooned when nursing the boys, but afterwards they became longer and sloppier, their nipples pointing down more than out these days. The bras she chose and the shirts she wore gave little indication of their size and shape. I had once referred to them as “drifters” and got a sharp elbow in the ribs for that remark, which was never repeated.

They have heft, mostly at their ends, and as they settled onto Barb’s ribcage, Roger’s face struggled for composure.

I reached around and we got the front of her jeans unhitched and out of the way, then slid her undies off.

Barb stood stark naked in front of my best bud. I snuggled up and gave a kiss to her neck, my arms reaching around her small round belly for a hug, the edge of her pubic hair soft against my lower fingers. She turned into me and we shared a kiss. Roger was seeing my wife stark naked for the first time.

Getting to the bed was an easy next step, and as I settled in one one side of Barb, she patted the covers on the other, indicating that Roger was welcome there. Her hair fanned out on the pillows. I always found that look ravishing, and she knew it.

The next bit was a bit of a blur as so many thoughts and feelings dashed around in my head. But soon Barb was lying there between both of us, and we were kissing various parts of her body while she had a hand on two soft but stirring cocks.

Before too long, I had my right hand on her crotch triangle of fur, pressing and working her mons. She was damp, not wet. I licked a finger and soon had that condition rectified. Barb had put one hand on Roger’s penis, he had slid up closer to her, her other hand on my head. Felt nice to have her stroke my hair, rub an ear, drift a hand down to my neck.

Roger’s erection was on its way.

I settled down between her legs and licked her. The room was quiet except for the noises of rubbings and dampness. Both her hands were on Roger’s cock now, he had sidled up next to her head, back on his haunches, legs spread. Balls had begun their ascent.

My own penis had grown hard while pleasuring Barb. I had my own notions of what would come next.

I rose up and mounted her. My penis had gained just enough stiffness to allow penetration. With just the barest dalliance of my prick-head at her entrance, I felt the exquisite sensation ensuing with my first slow push in. She left off Roger and gave that little, short, familiar intake of breath as my penis slid past the first gripping ring of cunt muscle.

I lay on top of her and we kissed. The heat between us was sweet. Roger’s presence receded from the scene. I wondered what he might be thinking.

My hips began to move. She pushed back into me and we coupled for a few moments, kissing all the time.

Then, and this is not uncommon when we seek an extended coupling, she urged me out, flipped me on my own back and mounted me this time.

Hands on my shoulders, two breasts dangling in front of my face, a slow smile on hers, she began to grind into me. Her head hair waved about as she slid in and out.

She often liked it this way and could get quite worked up. I looked over and saw Roger’s eyes wide.

After a bit of exquisite grinding, as she would press her mons into me at the bottom of her pushing, I could tell she was getting close. Another flip, I wanted to finish on top of her. My next penetration was quick and urgent.

She lay back and looked at me when I went in, fire in her eyes.

Then, surprise, she turned her head, looking at Roger. She removed the hair tie off her wrist and awkwardly fashioned a pony tail. She opened her mouth, an invitation to Roger’s now insistent erection.

Her arousal must have been powerful, since it did not take a whole lot of pushing into her before she was close to the edge. This is a rare event for us, for her to climax from coupling alone, but of course that night I perhaps had longer staying-power with a second round than usual. Typically I would finish inside her, and then furnish her own climax with tongue or fingers.

She’d left off Roger’s penis as she climaxed, her face all scrunched up, breathing rapidly, eyes closed, while I continued to push into her. The sight of his own erection looked lovely as illuminated by the beside table light.

Her own energetic pleasure brought me close as well, as I felt her cunt clipping my cock.

Faster, harder, she was getting a good fuck. My anus clamped shut, my ass cheeks heaved, and she took my urgent discharge.

A few last feeble pushes and she had absorbed every last once of sperm I had to offer inside her.

The rest of my body then felt like a warm damp dishrag draped out on top of her. Her fingers ran up and down my flanks, a sweet embrace.

Finally, I uncunted and rolled to the side. She gave me a leer, then turned to Roger.

“Thanks for waiting. I don’t want you to be left undone.” Low voice, seductive.

So her attention went from me to my best bud.

She had Roger lay out on his back, his erection defiantly pointing up along his belly to his head, balls all drawn up in their furry nest.

Barb sat on her haunches at his side. She ran a hand down into his scrotal mass, cupping and squeezing. I think she remembered that I had said Roger liked this.

She leaned over and took his cock-head into her mouth. Her breasts drifted down, long and heavy, right in front of him. Roger couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Her pony-tail bobbed with her head movements. I watched while she did exactly the same thing to him that I had often done, only she looked much more handsome in the process.

Barb’s breasts waved enchantingly from side to side, back and forth, while she suckled him. I wondered how long Roger was going to be able to hold out.

After a bit of devoted licking, even what I might call worship of that organ that I knew so well, she leaned over and let him fondle her breasts, dangling them into his face.

I could tell he wanted to extend a hand to her crotch, but didn’t dare for whatever reason. I am not sure how Barb would have reacted.

She settled in at the apex of his crotch, urging his legs apart so she could fit, and gave him a look that could have launched a moon rocket, then began a longer suckling, again sitting on her haunches. He had an exquisite view of her twins hanging down, moving enticingly while she worked him. If I hadn’t come twice already, my own prick would have stirred, but I was thoroughly done for the night.

Long licks up and down his shaft, her right hand cupping his balls. Dalliance at his cock-head, she changed rhythm, depth, attention all around. Two cocks she got tonight. Was she doing a comparison? I would have to ask later.

Retreating slightly, she extended her tongue underneath his balls. She licked, sucked, running each one around in her mouth. She clearly was enjoying the sensations. I salivated myself.

But my bud was getting desperate, judging by how stiff his legs had gotten, the way his toes were clenching and unclenching. I’d seen this behavior before but of course I was able to notice things from a different angle now that I was watching and not doing.

Back to his cock, a quick look to his face, a check-in. His expression was similar to the ones I saw on posters of saints’ faces in the window of the local Catholic bookstore.

Barb was intent now. Lips to the head, little tongue laps around his ridge, mouth down his shaft, halfway, and then a good tempo going. Roger’s hips pressed back into her face with serious intent.

She left off with her mouth and began a slow insistent fondling with her hands, all slicked up, gliding up and down his shaft, caressing his cock-head, and she coaxed another sweet sperm load from my best friend.

Roger, who normally took his climaxes with eyes closed, could not keep them off Barb’s chest as she worked him, those heavy, dangling breasts jiggling as her hands moved. They did look nice. Rhythmic, liquid, pleasure skins.

I got up and brought a pair of towels from the upstairs bathroom. For the second time that evening, Barb and I cleaned up my buddy’s semen from his furry belly.

There was nothing left to do but gather Roger up. I stood while he put his clothes on. I slipped into my bathrobe and went down with him to the front door.

We didn’t say much at the threshold.

“Thanks bud, I think there’s some hope,” I managed. We gave each other a hug, not a normal gesture for us, but we were relieved. Then each of our hands went to the other’s crotch, almost instinctively. Everything was soft and exhausted. We both laughed.

“Drive home careful. We’ll check in in a couple days.”

And he was off, clumping down our front porch stairs, the sound of our gravel walkway underneath his boots and then his truck starting. I shivered as I saw him drive away.

After Roger had gone and Barb and I had hit the loo, we settled in together. Despite all the excitement, I still wasn’t quite sure where Barb’s head was about all this. I had to check.

“I didn’t expect this evening to go this way, love.”

She was nestled in next to me, head on my chest just below my chin, arms around me, the covers over us felt good.

“Me neither. I didn’t really have a plan.” I was not so sure of this but didn’t want to argue. After all, she’d gotten the bedroom heated up before we’d entered it, among other things.

“But you weren’t surprised either, though, seems to me.”

“Right. But I wanted to see you and Roger together. That was going to tell me everything I needed to know.”

“Which was what, exactly?”

“I needed to see your interest in him, or how you expressed it anyway. You guys were actually kinda sweet.”

I was quiet.

“But also, not romantic. I wasn’t really worried, but I had to see it with my own eyes.”

I was quiet again, trying to come up with the right words for the question I was harboring. I didn’t dare hope for goodness.

“So, am I forgiven?”

A small laugh. “I wouldn’t go that far. But we might have some ground to work with.”

“So Barb.” My words almost got stuck. “Is it possible to be monogamous…” I didn’t like how I said that word so I stopped. “Is it possible for me to love you, be married to you, and still see Roger from time to time?”

I waited for her reply, my eyes wide open.

“I think so. There needs to be a dynamic balance. I have not gotten over you keeping sexual secrets.”

She paused.

“I can see you guys getting together every once in a while, but you know what? I will need to be appraised. It can’t be a secret. I understand maybe sometimes your lusts may get insistent and spontaneous, but then I will want to know about everything afterwards, understood?”

“Yes babe.” I couldn’t believe it.

“Roger is going to have a harder time. Carrie’s pretty upset still, but I think she’s adjusting. I’ll keep discussing things with her. You guys are going to have to be careful. Thoughtful. Moderate.”

She exhaled slowly. “Carrie doesn’t want to know about what you guys are up to. And she really, really doesn’t want the rest of the town to know. But she also trusts me to, ah…”

“Manage us?”

“Not sure that’s possible. Monitor maybe?”

“Right.” My mind was easing.

“But you and I? We’ve still got some important matters to hash out. I’m not going to put up with any more sneaky stuff or withholdings from you from now on. Understand?”

“Yes. Thanks Barb. I love you. Completely.”

She hugged me back. “I want you to keep that thought in your mind the next time Roger has his lips over your penis and your sperm is rising.”

I had to laugh. “Okay.”

We slept good, later into the next morning than normal. I wondered how Roger was doing, what he was thinking. I wanted to give him the good news in person.

Barb was unusually talkative when we surfaced. Her hand which had been on my chest had drifted down to my early morning erection. Fingers were idly playing.

“So this changes everything, you know? From now on when I suck you”—my mind loved how she said this—”I will be thinking that Roger has done the same thing. Maybe better.”

“Babe, if it is your lips around my cock-head, please know that I will have no higher heaven.”

She laughed. I cannot describe how good that made me feel, that humor had come back into our life, and that sex was included.

“And if I let you cream in my mouth? An extra special spot in heaven?”

Her eyes sparkled, I loved the little crinkle lines at the edge of her eyes. The thought of ejaculating in her mouth was enough to make my cock twitch, which of course she could feel in her hand.

“Alright. There’s my answer. I guess I’ll have to work some special theological magic then.”

She gave me a kiss, fondling my ever increasing erection at the same time.

Then her lips worked her way down my body, kissing chest, flanks, hips. I trembled.

She pushed my legs apart and settled in between them.

Her eyes met mine through the gap in the covers, and then with a sly smile of pleasure, she began to lick my balls.

I closed my eyes. I could not remember the last time Barb had paid attention to my penis this way. Because I had launched two sperm loads the night before, the morning hydraulics took time. I do not think that Barb minded.

She licked, she sucked, she ran her tongue in a languid detour throughout all my favorite places.

My sperm was coaxed out, not in a frantic rush like the night before, but most happily. She continued to suction my cock-head after all my oozings were gone and I could take no more contact. She’d taken my sperm in her mouth. I could not remember the last time that had happened.

Pleasure and exhaustion radiated from my groin, as she settled back along side me, putting her head on my chest. I rubbed her neck and back.

“Was I as good as Roger?”

How should I answer this one? The truth was “no” but saying that would have been unconscionable.

“That was superb. I could not ask for more. You were wonderful.”

“But not as good as your bud.” She chuckled. “I’ll have to work on it.”

“You next,” I said after some silence and enough time had elapsed for my own pleasure to subside. I put a hand on her mons.

“No, Clay. Just hold me.”

We went back to sleep for another hour or so. It looked like there was an opening in the universe for another stage of life.

[zilla_likes]