Transformation 1/3, a wife watching and  sharing story

We dated all through high school, as steady a couple as could be. Yet, I never
got past kissing her. "I'm saving myself for my husband, Bob" is how Tina
explained it. Sometimes going to Catholic schools instills great will power - it
did for both of us.

"I'm going to be your husband, someday" I told her, not as a way to get past that
barrier, but because I really did love her. At least, I loved her as much as high
school kids could love.

Then came that awful day in our senior year. "Bob, I decided I'm going to become
a nun. I'm going to a convent, not to college."

I took Ruth to the prom, and she taught me that all Catholic girls weren't like
Tina

God, I missed her, all though the rest of my senior year, all through college,
and for four years after that. I dated a lot and screwed around a lot. The woman
who shared my bed might have wanted more. They were, often, surrogates for who I
really wanted there, and really, when I rammed into them, I was in a way getting
even with Tina. The good thing was these women knew so  more about sex than I
did, and were willing teachers, too. "Touch me there - a little softer, oh, yes,
like that."

I was living on Long Island, a four hour's drive  from my home town of
Pottsville, PA. Life was working out just fine. I worked on the technical side of
 an electronic surveillance company. (Want to know where the company trucks are
going? Our GPS unit kept track, and our mapping software would show  their route,
almost to an individual address's resolution.. Visual/Audio monitoring in a noisy
convention room? Come on, give me a challenge!)

Mom made her usual Saturday morning call (I called home on Wednesday evenings).
"Bob" she said, after the usual family updates, "I've got some news for you."

"What's up, mom?"

"Tina left the convent. She came by to visit yesterday, and asked about you. I
think she still likes you. Why don't you give her a call or something?"

Tina? Tina! You bet I called.

We set up a date for the next weekend.

Tina changed from high school girl cute into something else, way past beautiful.
10, on a scale of 1 to 10, wasn't even close.

We started dating again during my monthly, then weekly, visits home. I was  in
love again.

"Bob, honey, I'm still saving myself for my husband" she said after I pushed a
little too hard one weekend.

"Is it that religious crap all over again?"

"No, honey.  I even stopped going to church. It's just that I think sex is for
marriage."

"Well, marry me!"

Seven months from the date she left to convent, she did!

I should have expected some kind of sexual problems. . After all, even though
she's awfully smart, anyone who had been in Catholic schools all of her life,
then went to a convent for eight years before deciding that being a nun wasn't
the life for her could be expected to have some hang- ups.

She was so shy it coming close to us breaking up.

She would always undress in the bath room, and came to bed wearing stuff my
grandmother would have worn: not at all sexy. Speaking of sex: it was always in
the dark, and although  "the highest form of expressing love" she'd say, it sure
wasn't erotic.  After a while, having your wife passively on her back, not
moving, not responding to anything I was allowed to do, and not being allowed to
do some of the things I wanted -going down on her, having her go down on me, for
example - became a huge problem.

I even told her, after another  one-sided intercourse session, that " I love you
more than anything, but you're lousy in bed!"

I wanted more than she could give in the bedroom! I was so frustrated I went on
to tell her how good some of the other women I screwed around with were while she
was still in the convent. Yeah, I know, I'm a rat.

She cried herself to sleep.  The next morning we agreed to get some professional
help.

Talk therapy didn't work for either of us. Neither of us were willing to use
prescription pyschotropic medications, either.

"Sexual inhabitions are often a problem. Maybe 'flooding' would work, it does
sometimes" Dr. Span suggested.

He explained that flooding meant exposing the subject to an overwhelming
stimulation of a phobia, in a safe environment. Once that was done, in some cases
at least, the phobia was controlled. It could lead to a breakthrough, if Tina
wanted to change. I, on the other hand, could take sometime to reduce my own sex
drive.

"Maybe something like that would make me less ashamed of my body, more willing to
do what you want me to. I hope we can find a  way. . ."

There had to be a way.

"If you trust me, I know how we can beat this thing" I assured her.

"I do trust you."

The following Saturday - it was July - I told her we were going to Fire Island
for swimming and a picnic.

We went to Robert Moses State Park. We parked our car in the lot closest to the
light house and I insisted we walk east.

Finally we came to my destination, a nude beach - something Tina had never seen
before.

"But they're naked!"

"Yep" and I put down our pack, and spread out the blanket.

"Here? You want to stay here?"

"Yep."

She watched, open mouthed, as I stripped, wearing only sunglasses, and lay  on my
belly,  for obvious reasons.

"Your turn."

"I can't. . ."

"Tina, if we can't get through this thing, I don't know what I'm going to do.  I
can't deal with it anymore. I love you, but I won't go through life married to a
woman who doesn't enjoy sex and who's so shy her husband can't even see her body.
This is flooding.   It's still your turn. Strip!"

She lay on the blanket, pulled the towel over her, and somehow squirmed out of
her clothing, holding back tears as she did.

"Lay down!"

She did, on her belly.

"I'm so ashamed. . ."

"Don't be. You're not the only woman on this beach. Lots of people are naked
here."

We lay for a while, me, ass hanging out, exposed, an erection (why?) poking into
the sand, and Tina, also on her belly, covered with a towel, on her blanket.

She lay very still, pretending to be asleep whenever anyone walked by. I knew,
though, she watched men, some nude, and women, also some nude, go to and from the
water, enjoying themselves.

"It's not so bad, is it?" I asked after an hour.

"No, I guess not" she responded, her voice not quivering so much anymore.

I noticed she had moved the towel covering her so it exposed her back. I could
actually see part of the side of her breast!  In daylight!

"How long do you want to stay here?" she wanted to know.

"A just little more, honey: I want you to be proud of how nice your body is!"

And besides, it had me as turned on as I could be. I DID NOT want to stand up!

I saw a group of three guys, fully clothed, probably just in their early 20's
walking towards us. It was one of the problems with this beach - voyeurs of
either sex came by, to ogle at the bodies. I had done it myself.

"Tina, do you see those guys coming?"

"Yes."

"Tina, take the towel off of your body."

"Bob, I couldn't. . ."

I rolled over and sat up, and took it off her, and used it to wipe perspiration
from me.

We both watched, her on her belly, me sitting, as the three men came closer,
altering their path so they'd walk within ten feet of our feet. I saw one nudge
the other, as they looked at the pale body, the pale ass, of my wife, as they
walked by.

Then, they were gone.

"Bob, how could you do that to me?"

"Honey, we're going to beat this shyness once and for all. We're flooding, like
Dr. Span said. It'll work."

She was sobbing a little, laying there, looking at me, but after a few moments
the tears stopped.  She looked again at me: the towel couldn't quite hide the
fact I was aroused.

"You're enjoying this!"

"Yeah, I am. I don't often get the chance to look at your body, and I don't think
any other guy has seen it either. I AM enjoying it!"

"Some therapy. You get excited while I get embarrassed!"

"You've got a nice body, honey, be proud of it. I'm proud of it, and I like you
showing it off."

"Yeah, and you're getting off on it!"

She knew, and I confirmed her suspicions. "Yeah, maybe a little. It's nice to get
horny over something you're doing once in a while!"

She turned away from me, obviously stung by what I'd said. You know,  I was mad
enough and horny enough so that I didn't care.

I watched as the threesome, off in the distance, turned, and began walking back.

"Tina, those three guys are coming back."

"I guess you want them to get  another look at me."

"Yeah, I do. Show them more!"

"I can't do that!"

"I want you to show them everything, damn it. Get over this shyness! Do it!"

They came closer, and again left walking the water line so they'd pass closer to
us.

I rolled  on my belly, watching them, my eyes still concealed by sunglasses. Tina
had her eyes shut tightly.

They were twenty feet away.

"Damn it, Tina, roll over now!"

And she did. She rolled over, her arms at her side, just as the guys were at the
foot of our blanket.

"Oh, hi" one of them said, looking at legs, pubic hair, vagina, breasts. . .

"Hello" Tina replied, in a soft voice, seeing them,  stare at her.

I couldn't help it. As they watched, my own erection became demanding, and
untouched, I ejaculated as quietly as I could, spreading seman onto my blanket.

And then they  were gone.

"Let's leave now." She wasn't asking. That was a demand.

Tina began dressing, and couldn't help noticing  the stain on the blanket under
me as I got dressed, too.

We  gathered our stuff, and walked to the car. It was a silent trip back home,
and silent into our house.

I went to the bathroom, and came out to find Tina on the bed. Naked.

"Maybe you'd like to see what those guys did, and do what they wanted to do."

Did I ever!

"And maybe", she said, as I mounted her, "You can tell me what was so exciting
when you watched those guys looking at me that you spread your seman all over the
blanket."

I couldn't explain my excitement to her then.

She changed, after that, into a more willing sexual partner, still not a good
one, but better than before. And after all, there's more to a marriage than sex.

But there was still tension over what I had said to her about her not being very
good at sex before we went for help, and for what I wanted her to do on the
beach.

Which leads to the real part of this story.

We bought a house in Northport, Long Island, New  York. For those of you who live
elsewhere, it works like  this: a three bedroom raised ranch, real estate taxes
of $6800 a year, electrical power bills of $200 a month! The house itself cost
about $225,000.

We decided to put in a one bedroom furnished apartment. Her snowbird parents
would use the apartment in the summer, and we would rent it furnished, including
linens, almost like a hotel suite,  to short term tenants the rest of the year.
Because it was for parents, some nasty zoning restrictions about rentals in
Northport were overcome. The short term rental was a great idea, too. People who
were transferring here needed a place to live until they found permanent housing.
Professionals,  visiting scientists at one of the nearby research institutions
(Cold Spring Harbor Labs, Brookhaven National Labs, or the like) would pay $2500
a month  or so rent for a furnished apartment if that price included the costs of
a professional service coming by a couple of times a week to clean and change
linens, too.

Since our house is on a bit of a hill (most of Northport is hilly ) one whole
side of the basement is above ground.  The apartment, with its private entrance,
and patio,  was really suitable for a professional needing temperary quarters.

Finally, after a bunch of weekends' work, the apartment was ready for a tenant.

Tina told me about Betty, one of her co- workers, who was just separated from an
abusive husband. She needed a short term place to live. She'd be an ideal first
tenant.

Betty moved in with a two month lease at a discounted rental. It was a trial run
for us.

It didn't take long before we knew Betty was getting her social life back
together. We watched a stranger leave our driveway in his car on a Sunday
morning, after being downstairs all night.

"I wonder what she does with them down there?" Tina wanted to know.

"She fucks them!" I told her.

"I wish I knew just what she goes about that: maybe I'd learn something."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I am."

For God's sake. My business is security - I have cameras that look like six inch
long dowels. I could video-bug that apartment in a heartbeat.

I told her so, and asked  "Is that what you want? Remember, her lease's up in a
week."

"Maybe it would help. Could you do it so she wouldn't know?"

That would be child's play.

That afternoon, when Betty was at work, I installed a camera in the living room,
and another in the bed room. It was easy - the hvac ducts in the ceiling were
ideally positioned, and I could run the cables out to my shop, and then A/B
switch them to the cable TV serving our bedroom.  Some wireless audio pickups
finished the job. They went to a receiver that talked to a really fast noise
reduction software program. (One of our engineers used to work on designing sonar
software. Picking voices out of noise is easy compared to finding a submarine.)

What a disappointment! The first night we saw her go into the bathroom - why do
people close bathroom doors when they're home alone? - and come out dressed in
pajama's.

That was repeated the second night.

The third night I was happy to see a strange car in the driveway. We went to our
bedroom, and watched what I hopefully called channel 30. You know, XXX.

Our unkowing stars spent the time packing her stuff into boxes. At their bedtime
we watched two people finally light a couple of candles in the bedroom, undress
each other, and Helen went down on her date/helper. Soon they were screwing, and
after that  we saw them  hug, kiss, and turn off the light. Ah, technology - the
cameras worked in very low light environments. Betty and her cock-bearing helper
rolled over, and went to sleep!

Tina, finished watching channel 30, rolled towards me, and  insisted on hugging,

that changed to caressing,

and kissing,

so that, before too long, my hands were under her nightgown, holding her
buttocks, and she found my groin, and a hardening penis,

and then her nightgown was taken off, and my pajama's, too,

and I was in her.

Her hands were on my hips,  helping me with each thrust, and her eyes were
closed, and I suspected - no, I knew - what she was thinking about what we
watched only minutes earlier. My movements became uncontrolled, my control went
non existent, and I erupted, pushing hard into her.

After we both recovered, and were in each other's arms, and were falling asleep,
I heard her whisper. . .

"I was thinking about what it would be like to be like Betty, to do some of the
things she does. That's bad to think about, isn't it?"

I knew what she meant, and it wasn't!

I couldn't help planting a seed for the idea I had. "Think about this," I told
her. "Think about what it would be like to have a man with you in bed, a new man.
Think about what it would be like to feel his cock in your hand, and to feel it
pushing in you, and opening you, and spreading you, and filling you up, and him
coming in you, flling you with his sperm."

My words got me horny again, and her, too.

"I am thinking about that," she said, "I'm thinking about what that would feel
like. I guess I'll never know."

Maybe not, maybe she'd never know, but the idea was hot enough for us to postpone
falling asleep for a while.

Finally it was time for Betty to move out. Tina, who helped Betty finish packing,
had become friends with our channel 30 star. She asked Betty about her life as a
new single,  and repeated the stories to me. We both concluded each  of them had
something the other wanted. Tina's stable relationship looked unattainable to
Betty, and Betty's single's life style began to have a real appeal to my wife.

I thought about it. My wife wished she had had more experience with men. Hmmm.
And why, cock, does that thought start to make you get hard?

Tina enjoyed telling me about it. "She's been having all kinds of fun. I guess
it's rebounding after a divorce or something. When she talks about romantic
dinners out with strangers, then bringing them back to her place, well, it sounds
so erotic and sexy. Maybe I'm jealous."

I offered my opinion. "She's paying a high price. Divorce is rotten, and she's
just making the best of a sorry situation."

"Yeah, I know."

"Active socially, isn't she? I guess when your husband screws around, that's one
way you can  remind yourself you're still an attractive woman," I suggested.

"Maybe. She's dated more guys in a single week than I did in a lifetime", was
Tina's reply.

"Well, you found the right man early - twice." I shouldn't dig at her about
leaving me for the convent, I know.  "Are you really jealous of  Betty?"

"Some times.  I'm jealous of all of the new men she's meeting. And of all the
women you dated, for that matter."

Tina was obviously mulling something over, and finally asked a life changing
question.  "Bob, I know you dated a lot while I  was in the convent."

"Yeah, Tina, I did.  I'm sorry about comparing you to them. Let's not go there
again,  honey."

"Bob, I know you had a couple of serious relationships."

"I probably shouldn't have told you about them."

"How many serious relationships, Bob?"

"Just a couple, you know about Barbara and Harriet."

"Do you mean you slept with two women before you married me?"

"No, I was talking about serious relationships, you know, where you think you
might have found someone you might marry, serious like that. Having sex wasn't
the same as having a serious relationship in my mind."

"How many women did you have sex with, Bob? That's what's I want to know."

"I don't remember. . ."

"Bob, everybody remembers.  Now tell me, how many? I really want an honest
answer."

"Tina, why. . ."

"Bob, you've never lied to me: don't start now. How many?"

"About twenty five."

"Twenty five! When did you start?"

"In high school, with Ruth, after the prom."

"Oh." Tina's eyes filled with tears.  "I guess I had that coming. Was she any
good?"

"Come on, honey, we were just kids. We didn't know anything."

"You mean, sort of like me, now? No experience, pretty screwed up about sex, not
very good at it?"

. "No, not like that: besides, I do love you."

"Well, at least tell me this. The kinds of things you want to do sexually: were
you taught them by some of your partners, or did you make them up all by
yourself?"

"Honey, please . . "

"Bob baby, you keep wanting me to be better in bed. How should I learn? Can you
teach me?"

"I don't know," I replied, "because we have so many hang-ups and habits with each
other now.  I just don't know."

"I guess I was stupid, not doing anything like when I was younger, or when I came
out of the convent . And, maybe that's why you act as though sex with me isn't
very exciting. I don't have as much experience as some of the other women you
screwed around with."

This was turning into a fight. I responded "I think it's because you're very
inhibited, and now you're in the habit of being inhibited with me."

"So you love me, but you'd rather fuck other women?"

My "Of course not" didn't carry any weight. Soon, we were asleep, with a physical
and emotional space between us.

I was afraid this subject wasn't closed, and I was right.

The next evening the conversation continued.

"Maybe I needed more sexual experience, Bob, to be a good wife for you."

"No.  I love you for who you are, not for your sexual experience."

"How come," she went on, "you ejaculated all over the blanket at the beach when
those guys were looking at me at Fire Island last summer?" She did notice that!

I didn't have an answer.

But she did. "I've been thinking about it. Maybe you're  a voyeur!"

Now I was angry. "Well, I'd rather be that than screw around!"

Again we went to sleep, miles apart emotionally

But the door was open. Our intimate moments began to include some of Tina's
stories about Betty's dates, and I encouraged her to tell me more about her the
kinds of experiences as a single woman she'd have wanted to have.

She knew what she'd have wanted pretty well: how she would have been touched,
what she touched, how dating progressed to erotic weekends away. I at times
became a surrogate for these imagined lovers, and at the same time all of this
awakened a strong  voyeuristic aspect of my own personality. Our intimate moments
often became more erotic than loving, and each of us began liking that. The long
silent times, as our minds thought about other people while our bodies were
coupled, often ended in  mutual orgasms, and then embarrassment. We are open
enough so we could at least hint about, and joke about, what was on our minds
while we used each other's body.

Another piece fell in place for us. Computer Associates, a major employer on Long
Island, was in a hiring frenzy. They wanted to rent our apartment until May, at a
fixed monthly rate, for executives in transit. But, it was going to remain empty
for the next four weeks. Paid for, but empty until the end of January.

I was getting more interested in being a real voyeur, and wondering what it would
be like to be  willingly cuckolded. When I held her, and thought about her with
another guy, I got horny.

What really gave me the courage to do more than think about being a voyeur
happened between Christmas and New Years. We agreed to meet after work for dinner
at Squadron 56, an interesting restaurant nearby that also is an active singles
bar. We watched people meet at the bar, and I turned to her, and said "Hello, my
name's Bob. What's yours?"

My wife's very smart, and very quick. She reached for my hand, shook it, and said
"Tina".

I invited her to join me for dinner, and she told me about having just separated
from her husband. After dinner she 'invited' me to follow her home for an after
dinner drink.

I had forgotten what it was like to date someone. As a married couple, we'd
undress, get into night clothes, and meet in bed. As strangers, it doesn't work
that way, and it was a LOT more fun.

She 'led' me to our house, and waited while I parked the car. She took me by the
hand - and we went - to the apartment!

We started in the living room, sitting on the sofa, having a cocktail.

And somehow, we were kissing each other. And somehow we slid from sitting, to
laying beside each other, holding each other, and the kissing became more
intense.

It's been too many years since I found myself fumbling with the buttons on her
dress, and far too many since I felt someone else's hand release my belt, undo a
pants clasp, and move against my skin, my belly, and lower, until it found my
penis. And too many since my own hand moved up a pantyhose clad leg, and hip, to
that place where the hose ended. And then feeling skin, and soon, warmth and
moisture, too.

It was amazing and wonderful to watch  as my wife, the woman I picked up, sat up
and said "we really should go to my bedroom", and led me there.

She played her role to perfection, and excited me, aroused me, to the point where
she could have asked for, or done, anything.

We awoke in each other's arms the next morning. "Well, if you were a date,
buster, you couldn't have stayed the night. That's only for 'special' men, like
my husband."

She obviously liked the game, and I liked it, too.  I wanted to know how much she
was really into this: could it be as much as I was?

She answered the question indirectly, when she pointed to the hvac vents and said
"Just think. The landlord might have been watching".

We were in each other's arms, still in the bed that Betty had used not so long
ago.  I asked "Like we watched Betty?"

"Yeah."

"How is she doing, being newly single?"

"She's still dating a lot. She hasn't found anyone really special yet, but she
sure is having fun. She's having sex with a couple of guys, too."

Tina made some of the motions that told me she was still turned on Betty's
activities. Good! My own cock was erect again, too, and Tina noticed that.

There were some more kisses, and stroking and talking.

"What would you want to do if you had been going out on dates before we got
married?" A leading question.

"I guess I'd do what Betty does."

"You mean, date a guy a couple of times, and if you like him a little, take him
home, and. . ."

"Yeah."

"That really excites me."

"You don't have to tell me that" she said, her hand stroking the evidence, "Too
bad I don't  have stories, like Betty does, to tell you."

I rolled on her, horny again. I couldn't help saying  "maybe you should get some
stories, like Betty's."

I told you Tina was smart. "So you can get turned on by the stories  or do you
want to use channel 30?" she wanted to know, as I proved I was turned on, but not
by the stories, but by thinking what it would look like to see someone between
her legs, like I was, right then.

At the height of that passion, her own motions became more urgent. I didn't help
by suggesting a scenario.

"Maybe this could be like flooding. Maybe you could  pretend to be separated."

Now I could feel tension in her body, and her pelvis was working in opposition to
mine,  meeting  mine hard, then us withdrawing together, and meeting again,
matching me, stroke for  stroke.

"You could pretend to live in the apartment."

Her feet, which had been on the bed, extended, and she wrapped her legs around
me.

"And you could bring your dates back there."

Her breath became shallow, and fast. So did mine.

"And if you liked them, maybe you'd let them have sex with you."

There were gasps in her breathing, now, and her legs were wrapped tightly around
me, her arms, too. I wasn't exactly calm, either.

"And,  " I continued, "All the time you'd be fucking them, you'd know I'd be
watching, every move."

That thought, that statement, did me in, made me come: she did, too.

After we cooled down, she had a realization. "You want to watch,  like you did on
the beach. . ."

"Yeah, if you did that, sure. After all, we are married. And you couldn't fall in
love or anything: you'd be just dating, and getting more experience, flooding. .
."

As we lay there afterwards, Tina pressed the issue. "Look, don't be mad when I
tell you that  just then I was pretending you were someone I was dating. And I
think you were thinking about what it would be like if I was, weren't you?"

I confessed.

She went on. "Getting married, then dating, is kind of the wrong order. So's
fucking, then falling in love, or fucking, and not loving the guy. But just
fucking for fun is kind of like masturbating, huh?"

"Maybe - mutual masturbation?"

She had an epithony! "You want me to date, don't you? To do that? Even though I'm
married to you?"

I was silent.

"Come on, big guy. 'Fess up. You want me to do that, don't you?"

"Mmm hmmm."

"And  have sex with someone?"

"Mmm Hmmm."

"While you were watching? - No, SO you could watch. That's it, isn't it?"

"Maybe. When you say it out loud like that it sounds awful, but maybe."

She wasn't angry at me when I said that.

I continued. "And I think watching you, then having sex with you, would be the
sexiest thing in the world."

She still wasn't angry.

"Maybe. Maybe it would be," is how the she ended the conversation.

The next night I took a huge chance, and tried to move the idea along. I offered
the whole scenario I had imagined.

I wasn't subtle. "Tina, if you want to, you can act single for a while, until
Computer Associates starts using the apartment next month. We could take some of
your things down to the apartment, and you can pretend to live there. We'll get a
separate phone number  for you, and it'll ring up here, too, and you can do what
Betty does, and still be married to me. You could tell the guys you were moving
out of state soon, too, so they'd know it wasn't a long term thing."

Then we were  quiet, each lost in our own thoughts, and ashamed to talk about
them.

"Exactly what do you want?" she asked.

"You know, pretend you're divorced or separated or something. You can meet some
guys, fool around and all, then break it off, because you're moving away. . I
don't want you to get serious or emotional about someone else, but, like, you
know,  I do get turned on when I think about you dating like that.  Look, when
people do stuff like this they create what's called a legend. Yours could be that
what we've been talking about, that you're separated, and if you need a way to
break off a relationship you could say you're moving out the end of the month,
maybe back home, to, oh I don't know, maybe where Betty came from. Use her story
as your legend."

"And you'd want to watch everything I did, huh?"

"Yeah, I'd watch. That would have to be part of the deal. Otherwise, it would
seem like you were kind of cheating."  What a line of bullshit, and I believed
it, too! "One other thing, Tina. Only do it if you can open yourself up to new
experiences. That's the whole point."

OK, we know the whole point was me being a voyeur.

We had sex - she started it  - again, and again our minds at least had someone
else in the bed with us that night.

"I was talking to Betty about dating," Tina told me the next night, after still
another night of sex, instigated by her.

"What did she say?"

"She meets guys through the personal ads in Newsday."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, she talks with them a couple of times on the phone,  kind of  screening
them. If she likes what she hears, they arrange to meet for a drink or dinner or
something.

"If that goes well, she may tell them where she lives, and on the next date she
gets picked up at her place."

"So that's how it works, huh?"

"Yeah. Here's the thing though. She told me if she likes the guy, they'll
probably have sex on the third or fourth date. If she doesn't, there is no third
date!"

"Oh! How often does she have a third or fourth date?"

"Honey, she's had sex with about six guys in the last couple of months. And now
she doesn't even see four of those guys anymore - what ever attracted them
together wore off, and they just 'went away' with no bad feelings or anything.
She's kind of serious about the other two, but so far she's mainly just having
fun. Honey, she told me she had dated people within a week of placing an ad."

"I didn't think people as old as we are (we, dear readers, are in our late 20's
now) dated that much."

"They do here, Bob."

Well, she left it out there - it was an unasked question.

I asked it. "Were you asking her about this because you were curious, or were you
asking her because you're thinking about, uh, doing it?"

"A little of both. Bob, I don't know anything about dating or anything, except
for what Betty told me, and what we used to do."

"I guess you'd have to start by putting  an ad in the paper. Do like she does,
talk to them, decide which ones you'd like to meet. You know, that part scares
me. I don't want you meeting guys you really like - just guys you'd like to date
a few times. Then, I guess you'd meet some guys, date a couple you like, stuff
like that, stuff like Betty does."

"You really want me to do this, don't you?"

"Just so long as you remember this is for fun, and you are in real life married
to me, you could date them."

"How many guys?"

"The apartment's ours for only the rest of the  month. As many as you want, for
the month."

Tina likes to tease me. "Remember, honey, Betty told me that if she liked some
guy, she'd bring him home on about the third date.  If I thought a guy was nice, 
honey, how many times could I date him?"

My own cock was stirring.

She pushed through my silence.

"Could I date them three times?"

Instant erection.

"Bob, what if I wanted to date some guys who weren't like you. You know, not
engineers, not 6 feet tall: as different as I could find. Would that be OK?"

"Sure."

"And if I thought some of the guys was nice, I would date them more than once."

She didn't often touch my penis, but she had it in her hand, now, and was stoking
it.

"Yes," I agreed with her statement, and with her touching me.

"If I wanted to,  I'd  date some of them three times."

The magic number!

Her hand was moving faster now.

"Because, these days, if you date someone three times you're probably going to
fuck them."

I was very aware that my wife, an ex nun, was  masturbating me, and I could tell
by her expression, enjoying the power she had over me at that instant.

"I'll do it. I'll do it if you say I can date them three times, and screw them,
Bob. . ."

My cock throbbed worse than it did on Fire Island. We just had sex, I was empty,
I thought, but what she was doing, what she was saying, all felt so good. "Yes,
three times. . ." I said, my penis throbbing.

"And?" she prompted, her hand moving faster.

"And have sex with them" I puffed, watching myself ejaculate, jetting from my
penis, over her hand, over her hip, to the bed,

" I knew you'd say that."

And we slept in each other's arms, my last thoughts were of her with  someone
else downstairs, and her thoughts, probably, of exactly the same thing.

I was out of the house before she awoke the next morning. Just as well, I didn't
want to face her after last night. That's not the kind of stuff I was brought up
to think about, and neither was she. Guilt and shame were a big part of that
whole day.

I got home with some "forgive us our trespasses" roses that evening. I found her
at the computer writing ads.

She wasn't insulted or angry at all, and accepted the roses with a big kiss -
lots of tongue, lots of promise for the night.

"Look!" She showed me the results of her efforts on the computer.

"N/S WF 29 yrs, blond, 120 5-8, fit, ready for fun, not ready for a serious
relationship. Respond with photo to box TBD or leave voice mail at extension
5551589 extension TBD." the box number and extension number are provided by the
newspaper.

"Where did this come from?"

"Well, it's kind of what Betty wrote."

"Are you really going to place it?"

"You place it for me!"

And, we were off to bed again.

And this husband, the next day, went to the Newsday office and placed an ad his
wife wrote, for the express purpose of getting dates so she could get fucked!
Does that make me a pimp? I went through the next week really distracted. Sure,
we fucked and played around. "Is being a voyeur worth being cuckold?" she asked,
more than once.

During the first ten days of January Tina got 24 letters, and about as many voice
mail messages. The letters were much more informative. About ten of them were
hardly readable, but five were written by guys who knew who to write, and whose
photos were nice enough. All were professionals, one obviously a light skinned
black man, a couple of dark haired guys, and two light haired ones.

"You write a good ad, honey. Are you going to call any of these guys?"

"How? I need  a private phone line."

Bell Atlantic had a new dial tone on the downstairs phone us in two days. I wired
a couple of extensions to our part of the house. Now it was the twelfth.  So,
this erotic adventure cost $45 for the ad, and so far, $85 for a phone line. And
I'd bet 95% of the voyeur husbands out there would spend the money. There were 18
days left to the deadline we set for ourselves.

I sat listening in (unscrew the mouthpiece and take out the microphone, they'll
never know you're there). She was really into role playing. "I'm going to pretend
to be Betty. I'll even use her first name." I listened to her talk to the guys
whose letters she liked: one guy was so angry about his marriage failing, he was
a lousy prospect. "I want a good time" Tina told me after talking to him, "not
baggage".

A few men talked about looking for the "right woman". That made us both
uncomfortable. She wanted  dates, not a long term commitment.

There were three "possibles."

The black guy, Paul,  was a manufacturing manager, he had been divorced for three
years, and was going to be transferred out of state in a month - that was an
advantage. He seemed a bit crude, but that wasn't a problem for Tina.

Phil sounded like a nerd - a CPA,  but there was something about him that
appealed to Tina. He  had never been married.  "Just playing the field, meeting
some wonderful people" he said.

Joseph was a cop. He'd been divorced three times, he said, and decided he'd
rather be a cop than be married, but he still liked to be around women. "So long
as you weren't kidding about not wanting to get serious, we could have a good
time" he claimed.

By the end of the evening, she had a "let's meet for a drink" date with Paul, 
"dinner at Marybelle's", a nice restaurant, with Phil, the CPA.

Joseph, the cop, had an interesting line. He soon established that Tina (AKA
Betty) had just separated. "Look,  I know how hard separation is. I've gone
through it three times. Cops don't make good husbands, I guess, at least this one
doesn't. Anyhow, you have to start somewhere. I don't want a serious
relationship, just like your ad says you don't. Meet me for a cup of coffee or
something, and we'll be able to figure out if we even want to see each other any
more."

Joseph had some other advantages as far as I was concerned. He lived in Queens -
60 miles away. That, in the jargon of singles here, makes him "geographically
undesirable". He's just too far away. Any dates would be casual - and infrequent.

Tina agreed. "OK - where?"

No, it wasn't at Dunkin Donuts. They agreed to meet at the Candlelight Diner, a
few miles from Northport, the next evening after Joseph finished his shift.

"That's pretty quick" I told Tina when she hung up.

"We only have three weeks, honey" she reminded me. I'd like a couple of dates
before it's too late."

We were both as excited as teenagers the next day, as Tina drove off on her first
date, for a cup of coffee!

She didn't return for two hours!

"What happened?" I demanded to know.

"We just sat and talked, and drank coffee. He's really pretty nice, and you know,
maybe I have a thing for men in uniforms."

"Are you going to see him again? Did he try to make a date or anything?"

"Yeah, he did. We're going to eat dinner there tomorrow - is that all right?"

"You mean, at the diner?"

"Yeah - big deal, isn't it? But Joseph says he has to be careful where he goes
when he's in his blue bag - that's what he calls his uniform. He offered to take
me to dinner someplace else over the weekend when he'd be off duty, but, you
know, this seemed like a good idea, so. . ."

"Is this like going to be your first real date with him?"

"Bob, are you keeping score or something? I don't think so, I'd count tonight as
a first date."

"Oh."

At bed time, Tina rolled to me, wanting to be held, wanting loving and romance.
"I'm glad we're doing this." she said.

"Is Joseph someone you might, you know. . ."

"I don't know. I do feel safe with him, though, he's not aggressive or anything
the way I'd expect a cop to be. . ."

By then I had her nightgown pulled up to her waist, and rolled onto her, erect,
horny.

We started. "I wonder," she said, "if I could really do this with someone else. .
."

And just a couple of minutes later, still under me, actually moving with me, she
muttered, in a small voice. . . " . .yeah, yes, I could. . ."

The next night after her dinner she came home, eyes glistening. "He wanted a good
night kiss - he kissed me in the parking field! And he hugged me really tight,
and even though he had on his uniform, I could tell, I could tell. . ."

"Tell what!"

"I think he had an erection! He held me tight against him, honey, and I think I
felt that!"

She talked about dinner, almost a fork by fork description. Joseph's job took a
lot out of him, he told her. His wives, all three of them, felt he was more
married to it than to them. "'And they were right,"' Tina repeated what he told
her, and she reminded him that she sure didn't want a serious relationship so
soon after separating, and besides, she was going to move away soon anyhow.

"Even so, he wants me to eat with him again tomorrow," she told me, and I agreed.
Is that OK?"

Three dates in three nights!

"Sure!" I agreed.

The special phone line rang early the next evening. "Betty, we had a bit of a
emergency, and I'm working until 9 tonight. I'm sorry," he said.

"I can meet you then," Tina offered.

"That's a problem. I'll still be  in uniform, and I wanted to get home and
change, and take you to a nice place.  I'm really disappointed. I'd like to see
you again." I remembered he lived a long way away - he wasn't going to drive all
the way home, and back out here again.

"Uh, Betty, don't think I'm too forward or anything, but maybe I could order a
pizza and bring some beer to your place?"

Tina paused, exchanged glances with me, then without prompting, said "Sure. I
like that idea."

She gave him directions to her 'apartment.' "I think it's OK to bring him here.
This is all so new to me," she said to me. That evening she, wearing a simple
button down the front dress and sensible loafers, went down to assume her role.
"Wish me luck!" . "I'm sorry you'll be moving away" were the first words he
uttered when Tina let him in. "I think you're kind of special, and I wanted to
get to know you better."

He was in his full patrol uniform. "I gotta get rid of some of this stuff."

His coat come off, and his equipment belt. Tie off, shirt opened at the neck.