Hot Dates: Becoming a Shared Wife (10 page)

“Were you ready for what happened in the bar?”

“Christ, Dana, it was hot. My fantasies didn’t prepare me for how it would really feel. First, any jealousy was gone really quickly. I wasn’t so shocked by that—I wasn’t jealous at all when you were with Shane, but I always thought part of that was that he was my friend and I knew he wasn’t a threat.”

“No one is a threat to you, honey,” I said. I was back to touching him and his shaft slowly grew stronger.

“Anyway, we are playing with fire, aren’t we? And I think that’s part of the thrill. Even though we
think
we’re totally okay with this and ready for it, we can’t really
know
until it happens.”

“Right.”

“But I was okay with it. And no kidding this time, I was a little shocked you just let him do that right there.”

I smiled. “You know I like the risk of getting caught.”

“That was when we were a lot younger and people sort of expect kids to behave badly. We’re grown-ups, parents with our own kids. We’re supposed to be responsible. And besides, it wasn’t a risk of getting caught. You were going to be noticed.”

“That made it hotter,” I admitted.

“I could see how much you liked it. I was a little torn then. I wanted to keep watching, wanted to see you misbehave, but god I was so hard. All I wanted to do was drag you out of there and fuck you in the first quiet space. I might have even dragged you into that bathroom.”

“That would have been hot.”

“But watching you was hotter.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” His cock was just about at full strength again, and I had plans for it.

“When you came, I thought that was it. I didn’t think you were going to fuck him, so I didn’t know what else was going to happen.”

Dave didn’t
think
I was going to fuck Charles. That meant he thought there was a possibility of it happening. And he didn’t sound upset about it. Dave seemed ready to let these games go all the way, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Playing with other men was a huge deal, and I liked it a lot. But I didn’t know if I wanted—or
needed
—to go all the way. I would deal with my questions later.

“Did I surprise you by going off with him to the men’s room?”

“Yes and no. I was surprised that you seemed so into it. You weren’t hesitating at all.”

“Are you calling me a slut?” I mock teased.

“Only in the best way possible.”

“Okay then.”

“It was so hot to see you let go like that. I never got to see you like that—from the outside. It was like watching a movie that was made just for me.”

“It was for you, honey.” And a little for me.

“So when I saw how into it you were, it did not surprise me when you went off with him. I watched you two go into the bathroom and then I waited a few minutes. I didn’t want it to be too obvious that I was following you.”

“And you could tell what was going on by listening?”

“Pretty much. I closed my eyes and tried to picture it too. I knew what you were doing. I could tell he was in charge.”

“Did you like that—having another man in control of me?”

“Christ yeah, Dana. I almost jerked off in there, but for some reason I thought that was weird.”

“
That was weird
!” I laughed. “Of all the things we did tonight,
that
was the bridge too far.”

“I didn’t claim I make sense!”

“True.”

Dave went on. “When I knew you guys were finished I practically ran up here. I couldn’t wait to get you naked and alone. Are you okay with all this? You don’t feel like I don’t love you, or that I pimped you out, do you?”

“Of course not. I liked it—loved it. A lot more than I thought I would. It was such a rush honey! It was like I was someone else, so there were no rules and I could be that slutty girl we were always don’t we shouldn’t be.”

“Has there been a secret slut inside you all these years just waiting to get out?” Dave sounded amused.

“I don’t think it’s so secret, is it? And I’ve let her out to play here and there.”

“You have. And I love you for it. I’m glad you don’t regret anything from tonight.”

“I have nothing to regret. I was that slut and I loved every second of it. So now I have one more question for you, my loving husband.”

“Which is?”

“Now that you have you slut alone and naked, what do you plan to do with her?”

Dave rolled over onto me and entered me in one smooth motion. That was the answer I was hoping for!

Dave and I had crossed a line and there was no turning back. I wouldn’t say we were ready to call ourselves swingers, or that we would be doing it every weekend, but we were hooked after that night at the casino. Our sex life was on fire. Before that night, Dave and I were good for two to three nights a week on average, but we made love every night for weeks after that, and it was fiery and consuming, leaving us sweaty and exhausted. During those nights we would relive our crazy adventure and I was to the point where I could vividly recall every little detail. It also kept that night constantly on my mind—and that kept me constantly horny.

I tried to ask Dave what it was about me being with another man that turned him on so much. He tried his best, but he could not explain it any further than he already had. Just seeing me as an insatiable sexual creature was his ultimate turn on. I could tell Dave felt like I was grilling him after a while and I backed off with the questions. He started to think he had a screw loose because this was his fantasy and I didn’t want him feeling that way.

My motivations were perhaps easier to understand. I think inside most women  is a naughty girl dying to get out. We want to express ourselves with no judgments and what better way to do that than to break one of society’s ultimate taboo. Knowing that it drove my husband out of his mind with lust just made it all the hotter.

We knew we wanted to continue, but it wasn’t as easy as just going out every Friday night and letting some stranger pick me up in a bar. The simplest complication was that we do not shuffle our kids off to a babysitter every weekend. We enjoy our family time together and had no intention of shorting that to go play our kinky games. Then there was the problem of where to go. We were not going to trek up to the casino every time we wanted to go out and be naughty, but we still needed to go far enough away from home that we would not run into anyone, and all that driving extended the night. So it was over a month before Dave and I went out again with the intention of my meeting another man.

Sadly, our second hot date night did not go as well as the first. We were probably naïve to think we would just go out and I’d have some hot encounter every time. For our second hot date we chose a popular bar and night club on the far side of the city—almost an hour away from home. It was a good mixed crowd, though we were on the high end of the crowd’s age. I hung out at the bar in a short skirt and low-cut top—our tradition of Dave choosing my outfits for hot date night really took off then—but I did not like any of the guys who approached me. I feel like I’m cradle-robbing if the guy’s too young, but that wasn’t the only problem. A couple of the guys were just gross. I could not imagine letting them touch me. By midnight I was frustrated and ready to go home. I could tell Dave was disappointed I didn’t hook up, but I blew him on the drive home as a consolation and we had a lot of fun at home imaging what
might
have been. Our next couple attempts did not go much better. The stories we read on the internet definitely made this look easier than it was in reality.   We kept mixing up the places we went. It would not do to become regulars anywhere.

It occurred to me after that second date that Dave and I should have some kind of signal in case some nasty guy kept hitting on me and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Or what if a guy got too pushy and I needed a rescue. Dave readily agreed—he would have agreed to anything as long as we continued playing—and I decided that if I needed my husband to swoop in and save me from a bad date and couldn’t just text him I would tap my temple, like I was trying to think of something. We both hoped it would not come into play.

Before we could become too discouraged, our luck changed for the better. I met a businessman in town for a convention at a downtown bar, and after a couple drinks he was all over me. Like Charles, he wanted me to go back to his hotel room, but he was too proper press the issue in the same way Charles had. It could be because he was out of practice—the indent of a pocketed wedding ring was impossible to miss. I had a couple of these encounters and we decided downtown bars near the convention center, especially hotel bars, were good places to find men looking for a quick, casual hook up. I had three such encounters over a couple months, but none of them went past some making out and groping at the bar. There was the promise of more if I went to a hotel with these men, but that was not going to happen. At least, I wasn’t ready for that. I think Dave had begun to grow restless.

Dave liked seeing me flirt with and kiss other men, but he wanted more, like an addict who needs to increase his fix. When we made love after my hot dates, he would propose fantasies where things had gone further. My husband liked to pretend my dates took me into the men’s room like Charles had, or even that it would be hot if I did go back to their hotel rooms. It was hot in the moment, and I always came hard thinking about it, but when I was thinking rationally later I just thought it was crazy. I should have just asked Dave straight out if he wanted me to fuck someone else, but I think I was afraid to hear the answer.

My dates took a hotter turn when we decided to try some corner neighborhood bars—the kind where hard working guys went for a beer after work and everyone knew your name. You might think that sounds like
Cheers
, but these places were a little more blue collar than that. They were the kinds of places Dave and I might go on a Friday night before we moved out to the suburbs and started going to places with craft brews. I asked Dave why the change. These weren’t the kinds of places you went if you weren’t a regular.

“I just think those guys might be more fun. They won’t be as uptight,” he answered.

“Probably not,” I replied. I knew exactly what he meant by
more fun
. I remembered hanging out in those bars. Those guys were aggressive when they drank and their happy hands roamed everywhere—they didn’t care if a woman was wearing a ring or not. I would be easy bait if they thought I was at the bar alone.

Although we’d been out on a handful of hot dates over the four months we’d been doing this, I still got nervous every time I walked into a bar by myself, and going to a corner bar was even worse. It was a little after ten on a Saturday night and Kelly’s Pub was pretty crowded, but people still took notice when I came in the door—especially the older regulars who occupied the corner of the bar nearest to the door. I felt their eyes follow me as I crossed the short distance to the far side of the bar, where I squeezed up the narrow aisle between the backs of the bar stools and the wall. Dave had taken great pride in choosing my outfit for that evening and had proactively picked it instead of waiting for me to model several options for him. He paired a tight rust-colored V neck sweater with a short kilt I hadn’t worn in ages. Black tights and knee-high boots completed the outfit. The outfit perfectly showcased my curves and was fun without being too dressy. I could tell by the way the regulars by the door looked at me that Dave had chosen well.

Kelly’s Pub was long and narrow, with a small open space at the rear that made do as a dance floor for the DJ who was crammed into the corner. A bunch of girls were up and dancing, some holding their glasses over their heads as they moved. A quick glance around left me feeling like I was the only one in the bar by myself. I found a place to squeeze in on the backside of the bar and when the young buck bartender came around I leaned forward and ordered a beer. Kelly’s Pub was not a place to order wine. I had to shout to be heard over the DJ’s oversized speakers and the din of loud conversations being shouted over that. I’d forgotten how loud those little bars could be on a Saturday night. I swear the bartender pretended not to hear the second time so he could keep me leaned forward, which gave him a perfect look down my sweater—though I’m sure he was just admiring the gold locket that hung there.

Dave warned me he would be waiting a long time to come into the bar. As neither of us were regulars—and thus stood out—Dave wanted to leave a nice long gap between our entrances so no one connected us. He had been there once, which was how we found the place. The company had a building project in the area last year and Dave bought the guys drinks for happy hour on the final afternoon of the project.

I paced myself, but I was down to the end of my first beer and still no Dave. That was also all the time it took for someone to hit on me. Pat seemed to come out of nowhere, but there really was just a wall of people around me. Pat was short and muscular, very Italian, and about my age. His thick black hair was carefully jelled and his goatee meticulously trimmed. He wore an Italia soccer t-shirt and baggy jeans. He really was not my type at all, but he had a charming smile and his obvious confidence was attractive.

“Hey beautiful, don’t tell me you’re here alone,” he said.

I smiled and tried not to hold the
hey beautiful
opening against him. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“Oh? Who would be crazy enough to stand you up, honey?”

“My boyfriend can’t help it if he’s stuck at work, can he?”

I decided on a different tactic this time. It really wouldn’t be believable that I’d go to a place like Kelly’s Pub for a drink by myself, so I invented a boyfriend who didn’t show up to meet me, thinking a husband might be pushing it. I suspected a boyfriend wouldn’t slow a guy like Pat down. I rubbed my thumb on the back of my ring finger as we talked. I still was not used to being without my wedding and engagement rings.

“I’d quit my job to be with you. I’m Pat.”

“I’m Dani,” I lied. I’d decided that using a fake name completed my transformation into my tramp persona. We awkwardly shook hands in the cramp conditions. “So you’re the kind of guy who’d be looking to me to support him?”

“You got me all wrong, Dani. I’m just saying nothing would keep me from being with you.”

“Aww, that’s sweet, Pat.”

“Is he still coming, or are you stuck here by yourself?”

“He says he’s going to try.”

“Why don’t you come over and join us? You don’t want to sit here by yourself. Some of the guys in this place can be assholes.”

“My boyfriend might not like coming in to find me with another guy.”

“Then he shouldn’t leave a hot chick like you alone in a bar, should he?”

I smiled. As cheesy as Pat was, he had his charm. “You have a point, but I think I’ll wait here and give him a little longer.”

“If you change your mind, we’re back there.” Pat point to a spot in the back, against the wall, where three other guys and two women were hanging out.

“Okay, maybe I’ll come over if I really get stood up.”

The bartender came over and took Pat’s order, which included another drink for me. I tried to beg off, but Pat would have none of it. I thanked him before he returned to his friends. And the bait was dangled out again.

Dave came into the bar about twenty minutes later and I spotted him taking a seat at the far end while some really skeevy older guy tried to chat me up. I don’t know why some man who seemed like he hadn’t bathed in a few days and was old enough to be my father thought he had any shot at picking me up, but he gave it a try. He was persistent, but I shook him off. It took a while after that for another guy to approach me and I could see Dave getting impatient there on the other side of the bar. He really wanted to see me hook up, and I don’t think he was as choosy as I am. I was hit on by a couple other men I had zero interest in, and by then a couple hours had passed. I’d also had more than a couple drinks. I certainly was not drunk the way I had been that night with Charles, but I was feeling good and flirty, which is probably why I decided to go see what Pat and his friends were doing.

“Hey you. Looks like Prince Charming came to rescue you,” Pat shouted. The music was very loud. They were only feet from the DJ’s blaring amp and it was impossible to be heard without leaning close as you would to pass a whisper.

“Nope. He left me all on my own.”

“Maybe another prince will ride to your rescue.” Pat took my hand and pulled me closer to the group. “Guys, this is Dani.” He introduced his friends, but I couldn’t hear their names clearly. Two of them were a married couple about my age, while another of the men was probably forty, but was with a girl who had to be in her early twenties. That always makes me smirk because I know exactly what's going on. The girl thinks she's so worldly because she's dating an older guy and that guys her own age just aren't mature enough. I know because I was that girl. What I know now that I'm older—that I couldn’t understand as a twenty year old girl—is that the older guy doesn’t think of you as worldly, or this incredibly mature woman. He may be fifteen, twenty years older than you, but he still wants to fuck a twenty year old and he wants your tight, young body. He doesn’t care that you can’t truly have anything in common—you’re at different stages in your lives—he just wants what he wants. I wished I could shake some sense into that girl, but she would have just thought I was pushy and might have even thought I wanted to steal her man. Besides, that was not the mission for the night.

Pat and his friends were pretty nice and made an effort to make me feel included, but there could not be much chit-chat with the music pounding right beside us. Pat was attentive and asked me all about myself, which caused me to invent a web of lies. I tried to keep it simple so I wouldn’t trip up. My name was Dani, I’d just moved to the neighborhood and I was divorced and single. I think the only reason I mentioned I’d been married was because it seemed like I should have been at my age—that, and although I know I have a nice body I also feel it’s obvious I’ve had kids and if Pat should happen to be lucky enough to see me without any of my clothes he would notice. It’s funny how we over-think things when we’re lying.