Opening Lines

My name is Tim. I have a mechanical engineering degree, and I'm the production manager for a large company that makes heavy logging and milling equipment. I'm also a husband, married for more than a decade to my wife Amy. Her college degree is in marketing, and she works from time to time in advertising sales for a local cable television system. We've got two kids, a 9-year old son and a 7-year old daughter. We live in Northern California in a small, upper-middle class community not too far from any number of major metropolitan areas, but just far enough away to be comfortable and somewhat isolated from the madness of the masses.

Someone peeking in at our world would see that Amy and I live a rich, full life. By all accounts, we're viewed by our family and friends as a happily married, loving couple, and we're not hesitant to express our affection for one another. I've been told by some that I'm a reasonably nice-looking guy, and Amy is an attractive, natural beauty with a shapely, naturally feminine figure. We don't buy or sell sex, and we don't shave every hair on our bodies, and we don't have tattoos, surgically enhanced bodies or pierced genitals. We've got lots of friends, and we're respected in our jobs and for what we do in our community. We're a typical family, with young kids who are doing well in school, starting music lessons and active in lots of things with their friends. That's normal stuff for kids, and we do normal things, too, like going to parties, and having fights about stupid things, and then making up. Like everyone else, we have dreams and hopes for our future.

I'm not a trained philosopher or psychologist, but over the years, I've pieced together some theories (albeit uneducated ones) about any number of subjects. To me, one of the most perplexing subjects of all is that of relationships between men and women. Based on my engineering background and some recent experiences I'll tell you about, I've come to believe that relationships are analogous in many ways to a weld between two pieces of metal. The weld joins two pieces of hard, resistant and strong material - - like a woman and a man. If the weld is a weak one, it might break from any kind of a jolt, or even a sudden change of temperature. If it's a strong one, however - - they're called "full penetration welds" - - it can withstand almost anything nature can hurl at it. Even severe stresses, cataclysmic temperature swings and impacts from external sources won't break it - - in fact, a good weld makes the two pieces stronger at their union than they are independently. It follows, then, that a good marriage can be likened to a "full penetration weld" - - and "full penetrations" sure make a marriage better, too. Sorry, I couldn't resist. I'm delighted to say that my marriage is the best weld I've ever seen, or even heard of.

We're the picture of an ordinary American family, you might say. Nothing about how others see us is deceiving, but like so many other people and things, there's a bit more to our situation than meets the eye. You see, we communicate very well with each other, and it's these open lines of communication that let us express ourselves in our relationship. We know each other, and ourselves, better than any other couple I know, but it wasn't always that way. Here's how we got there.

It was a typical mid-summer evening for northern California - - a hint of cooling from the day's heat, a slight breeze and the ever-present fragrance of the nearby mountain forests. Our children had been safely stowed a couple of blocks away at a neighbor's that Tuesday night, rowdy participants in Amy's sister Wendy's 8-year old son's birthday slumber party. We'd enjoyed a quiet evening, just talking and relaxing. Though we'd been married for quite a while, it didn't take long before we headed upstairs. Amy and I were looking forward to making mad, passionate love without worrying about kids interrupting us.

As Amy slipped into bed beside me, for some reason (and I really have no idea why I did it), I commented to her that I just couldn't figure out why men and women seem to have such different views about sex. She asked what I meant, and I told her: "Well, there are lots of things that really excite a guy but just don't appeal to a woman for some reason." She said: "Yeah, kinda like the way you always want to know about things I did in bed with other guys before we got married? I've never understood why something like that would interest you." She has such a way of getting right to the point sometimes.

A bit more amateur theorizing before I continue. Men are often our own worst enemies when it comes to sex, but ladies, we can't really help ourselves. It's biological. At a neighbor's dinner party one night, I overheard a doctor's medical explanation of why. According to this doctor, anatomically speaking, men just don't have enough blood supply to support the proper functioning of both of their heads (the big one atop the shoulders and the smaller, bald one below the belt) at the same time. As the smaller one swells, the effect on the big one is just like alcohol - - it reduces our inhibitions and clouds our judgment. Of course, the accuracy of this explanation was somewhat questionable because the doctor was a woman. But she was married, too, and she had probably seen the same thing happen with her own husband.

Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. Amy was lying in bed beside me, wearing a button-up, satin pajama top, but nothing else. So sexy. It never takes me long to get hard when she comes to bed like that, and that night was no exception. Sure enough, my smaller head grew, and the intoxicating effects on the big one began to appear. In my rapidly weakening state, as I reached over to unbutton her top, I answered my wife's question like this: "Actually, I'd really like to know what you did with other guys back in college. It turns me on when I think about you doing wild and crazy things like that."

I knew right away by the look on her face that I would have been better off just saying nothing and dropping a subject I should have known better than to bring up in the first place. "What do you mean?", she asked suspiciously, stopping my hand from unbuttoning any more.

Having already opened what was obviously a touchy subject with her, I should've also known better than to continue. My better judgment was now impaired, however, and stirring hormones kept me talking. I decided to tell her what I meant. "You remember me telling you about that girl from Arizona State I used to date?"

"What about her?"

"She dated other guys, too."

"So?"

"Well, that was fine with me . . . no big deal. But one time, I drove down to see her, and I got there the night before I was supposed to arrive. I went by her apartment late that night, just in case she was home. I figured she might've had another date that evening, which was OK, but when I drove up, she was sitting on the patio, smoking a cigarette.

"Yeah, and . . .?"

"She'd had another date, all right, but he was already gone, so we had a drink and then went straight to her bedroom. She was really horny that night, and as we made love, she whispered in my ear that she was so hot and wet because she'd already done it with the other guy earlier that night, too. It shocked me to hear that. I guess it shouldn't have, because I knew she liked sex. My reaction to what she said really surprised me, too. Instead of being jealous or angry, I got hornier than hell as I pictured her with that guy, whoever he was, her legs wide open and gasping for breath as he pounded into her. I totally lost control, and she did, too. For the next few hours, we screwed each other's brains out.

Oops . . . again, the wrong thing to say. Her silence, coupled with an icy stare, made it clear that my wife was now really unimpressed with what I'd said. Her mood quickly changed, and she got angry. Almost immediately, Amy pushed me away and turned over, saying, "That's it . . . I've heard more than enough about it. You're so perverted, Tim. Now you've made a mess out of everything tonight . . . just leave me alone."

I'd never forced sex on my wife, and I sure wasn't going to start now. "OK, then . . . but I didn't mean to upset you, Amy" was all I could say. But what I really meant to say was "damn it", because the more I remembered that night with my Sun Devil friend, the hornier I was getting, and now I couldn't do anything about it.

For the next week after that, there was distance between us, and some lingering anger on Amy's part. After the kids were off to sleep, I'd go to bed and ultimately fall asleep while Amy would watch TV, surf the 'net or find something else to do to avoid any situation where the possibility of sex might come up. So much for those "open lines of communication" women always say they want to have with their husbands. That would teach me to bare any more secret thoughts to her about sex (or about anything else, I told myself in angry frustration).

Then came a remarkable chain of events that would end up drastically changing the shape of our relationship.

In the same way Amy stayed up late by herself, the morning was my time. I usually got up early, downed a couple of cups of coffee, and took advantage of the early morning peace to think, to do paperwork and, generally, to be by myself before showering and going to work. One morning, I was getting dressed in the bedroom, as usual. I didn't know where Amy was - - she hadn't been in the bedroom with me in a week except when we were both asleep. I was standing by the big chair in our room, looking absent-mindedly out the window as I tied my tie. As I turned around to check the results of my handiwork in the mirror, there stood Amy. She didn't say a word, but instead pushed me backwards, forcing me down into the chair. I couldn't tell from the look on her face whether she'd just boiled over in anger and was going to take it out on me (she's not violent at all, and not all that strong, either, so I wasn't worried - - just a little surprised), or whether it was something else.

It was something else, all right, but nothing like I would have ever expected. Without even taking her robe off, she slipped to her knees between my legs. Then, as I sat there speechless, she took my cock in both hands, looked up at me, then moved her head forward and took the tip of it in her mouth, resting it on her tongue. Making sure that her eyes had my attention (and believe me, they did!), she slowly swirled her tongue around the entire head of my cock, licking it like an ice cream cone, before taking it completely in her mouth and sucking its length in as far as she could. It didn't take very much of that to get me real hard, real quick.

Though it wasn't that way in the beginning, over the years of our marriage, Amy had adopted an attitude of "very special occasions only" for giving me head - - and it sure looked to me like this was going to be one of those times.

"That feels good. . ." is all I could say.

"You taste good . . ." she said, taking me out of her mouth a little to speak, then devouring me again.

She took me out of her mouth once more, and began to stroke me again, this time a little harder and a little faster, knowing that if she kept it up like that, I couldn't hold back much longer. The, she plunged me back into her mouth and continued to drive me crazy.

This was very exciting!

"Stop, Amy - - let's get on the bed . . ." I moaned, lost in the sensations, only to hear her say "No, Tim, I want it just like this", and swallow my penis again.

It felt real good.

I tried a little to lift her head, but she held her position. She hadn't let me come in her mouth very often in all our years together, not even on those "very special occasions." But Amy knew exactly what she was doing to me, and exactly what the outcome would be if she didn't pull away, and she kept right on doing me like that.

Without pulling away, she also began to play with the underside of my balls as she continued to inhale me. Soon, I felt that familiar throbbing and twitch of my cock. There was liquid fire on its way and I couldn't stop it. I began coming, thrusting into her mouth. She never withdrew but kept sucking, swallowing my release as I erupted into her.

She kept me in her mouth until the last spurt ended and my cock softened, then looked up at me with a sexy smile as her tongue licked off the last little drop that seeped out. Finally, she moved upward, kissing my chest and then my neck, until she reached my lips. She kissed me deeply, and then curled up beside me on the chair and nestled her head against my shoulder, all of which confused the hell out of me. Though I sure knew what had just happened, I had no idea why.

We got up off the chair, then I took her to the edge of the bed and we sat down. We had to talk.

"Amy, that was fantastic . . . like a dream come true. But you've been so mad at me for what I said. What brought that on?" I asked.

Her answer surprised me. "You're right. I got really mad about those things you said, you know, about getting turned on at the thought of me having sex with another guy . . . about that little story with your friend. I just couldn't figure out how a husband can supposedly love his wife and still like the thought of her romping around in the sack with someone else. I was so pissed off at you, Tim. I didn't even want to be in the same bed with you, because I didn't see how you could really love me as much as you say and still think like that."

"I did a lot of late night surfing on the Internet, just to kill the time until you'd go to sleep, and I finally wandered into one of those 'just for women' chat rooms one night, and they were talking about some pretty risqué things. I knew there was no way anyone could find out who I was, so I sent a question asking if any of their husbands had ever shown an interest in them having sex with someone else."

"I was amazed when, almost immediately, someone sent me an e-mail that told me why you might have said what you said. It was a story written by some guy, about his wife doing all kinds of sexy things with another man who'd seduced her. He even described how he'd helped set up her seduction - - he actually helped the other guy arrange it - - and how incredibly aroused it got him. When it happened, he was right there with her, too, just watching as she got real nasty with the other guy. Several others sent e-mails, too, each with a little different story but all assuring me that your comments weren't nearly as horrible or perverted as I thought. These ladies all kept insisting that just because a wife has sex with another man, she's not cheating, and she's not being a tramp, so long as her husband knows all about it and actually wants her to do it. I couldn't believe it . . . there were 14 women logged into that chat room that night, and only one of them thought there was even anything wrong with doing something like that . . . and even she admitted she had a close friend who'd done it, too."

"All of this made me think about you and your hot little girlfriend that night, and that maybe you weren't as terrible as I thought at first. Judging from the chat room comments and e-mails I saw, there are lots of wives out there - - a whole lot more than I'd have ever believed - - who are doing the wild thing with other men, and their husbands know all about it, and even watch them do it. I even began to wonder about some of our friends, whether any of them have ever done it. Maybe there's a little more than we think to those sexy little comments some of them always make when we all get together."

"Any way, I just couldn't believe it at first, but the more I thought about it, I realized that the only thing that really matters is what it takes to make a marriage work, and if a husband and wife both want something like that, even though it might sound just awful to someone else, there's nothing wrong in them doing it. In fact, it might even strengthen their marriage. And, actually . . . I shouldn't admit this, I know . . . but I found myself getting turned on, too . . . I began to think about having hard, hot sex with some tall, dark, handsome stranger . . . about how good it could feel . . . especially if you were there to watch me, and then maybe you'd join in, too (she smiled playfully!) . . . I can't believe I just said that, but it's true. Whether we admit it or not, every woman has a little bit of a 'slutty' streak in her, and that's not a bad thing. We like to dress up really sexy every now and then, and we know what it makes you guys think about when we do . . . why do you think Victoria's Secret uses those hot chicks strutting their stuff to get you guys to buy things for us? And yeah, it's true . . . we think about the same kinds of kinky, nasty things you guys do . . . I've had thoughts like that too, but I never wanted you to know about them . . . I guess because I thought a 'nice wife doesn't do that'. We grow up being told that 'nice girls don't do that', and lots of women never get past it. Well, I've thought a lot about it the past few days, and it's kind of silly to still think like that after being married to you for so long. Believe me, darling . . . even though a woman may not 'do' those things, it sure doesn't mean she doesn't 'want to do them' . . . and I'm no different . . . I like thinking about them, just like you . . . and maybe I'd like doing them, too. Does it shock you to hear that as much as it shocks me to say it? First, though, I want us to talk more about everything, how you feel, what it is you really want . . . I need you to really tell me what's on your mind, so I can be sure I understand what you were trying to say the other night. Were you really trying to tell me something?"

"So, you're not pissed off at me any more?"

"No, I'm not. And, please trust me, I truly want to know . . . were you really trying to tell me something, darling?"

"I don't know what I was trying to do, to tell you the truth. The words just kinda came out of my mouth. But, OK, I admit it, Amy . . . I've thought about you with another man, actually quite a few times, and yeah, it turns me on when I do . . . and yeah, the idea of watching you getting it on with some other guy excites me . . . but I don't want to even talk about it ever again if you're going to get so mad. I really do love you, Amy . . . I hope you know that . . . and I wouldn't ever want to do anything, or even suggest anything, that would hurt you, or that would hurt our marriage. We're both 34 years old now, and we've got a lifetime of loving each other ahead of us. I don't want to lose 'us' just to fulfill some wild fantasy of mine."

By then, we were holding each other tightly, as if afraid to let go of this tender moment our marriage seemed to have so few of these days. Another soft kiss, and then it was time to get the children ready for their car-pool ride to their weekly gymnastics class. I called the office and told them I wouldn't be coming in until later that day. Amy didn't have anything too pressing on her schedule that morning, either, and she made her arrangements to postpone things so we could spend it together.

As soon as the car-pool drove off, I grabbed two cups of coffee and rejoined Amy upstairs in our bedroom. She was already snuggled under the covers, but sat up and took her coffee as I climbed in beside her. She looked over at me with an expression I knew quite well by now - - the one that said she really wanted to say something but wasn't sure how I'd react to it.

"Tim . . . can I ask you something?"

"Sure, Amy . . . what is it?"

"What I just did to you in the chair . . . do you really want me to do things like that with someone else?"

When she put it like that, so direct and specific, I was caught off guard. Images of my wife, of what she'd done to please me, of her doing those things to someone else, flooded my mind. Was that something I really wanted? If it came right down to it, could I share my wonderful, loving wife like that?