by J P Books
I love listening to men grunt and swear when they fuck. It’s my biggest turn-on. Being with two men at once would be all kinds of sensational.
I didn’t realize I had this kind of fantasy in me until right now, but just the idea has me excited. I’m sure gay men aren’t interested in a woman, but maybe bisexuals would be?
I read his description anyway, just for the fun of it.
I’m searching for an anniversary present for my husband and would like to invite an open-minded woman out for dinner, drinks and a night of unknown pleasures.
He is looking for a woman.
Not for himself, it sounds like, but for his husband. How interesting.
I wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not the spouse was really on board with the situation, because it was the spouse making the offer.
He’ll make it worth my while, it says. A free dinner and some drinks would be good, but I wonder what else might be offered.
I wonder if his husband is as good looking as he is.
I wonder what unknown pleasures might be.
Before I know what I’m doing, I sign up for the website.
Single female.
Looking for a sugar daddy.
I put up one picture of myself, choosing one that compliments me the best way possible.
What should I write for my description?
Just out of a long-term relationship and looking to discover myself.
I decide to keep it very simple since I’m more interested in being in control of who I contact than in luring men into contacting me.
When I press the “Confirm” button I’m presented with some new options. I can now message members.
I return to the search and find the man again. There is now a little chat bubble that lets me send him a direct message.
My stomach is doing flips. I haven’t been this nervous in years, and it’s just a message. I’m going to be a mess if he actually wants to meet.
Hello, Designer.
I read your profile and I like the sound of unknown pleasures. I’m recently out of a relationship and hoping to meet some people who can help me put a little fun back into my life. Your husband is a lucky man, to have someone as handsome and generous as you.
Sugar Baby To Be.
Send.
Oh god. What have I done?
CHAPTER 4
Harley
It’s such a naughty feeling, going to meet a young woman without my husband’s knowledge.
I smile. It’s a good naughty, I think. I’m deliciously nervous.
It’s been exactly one week since I made a profile on the Sugar Daddy website and I’ve muddled through a shockingly depressing number one-liner “Hi Daddy” messages.
At first, it was exciting to see the notification sign light up my phone, but it quickly became mundane. Only three people had sent messages indicating they had actually read my profile.
The first had been an older woman to whom time had not been particularly kind. If I had to to be brutally honest, any sugar she is looking for from the daddies on this site should immediately be converted into plastic surgery. And I don’t mean to be mean.
The second was a woman whose profile indicated that her preferences leaned towards whips and chains, and the number of amateur tattoos that were visible suggested she had made some artist friends in prison.
The third had been promising. A very attractive young woman, newly out of a relationship and looking to let her hair down.
We’d messaged a few times and agreed to meet today for a coffee. I want to make sure the photo matches the person who shows up before I surprise Dexter.
I got to the coffee shop early so that I’d be there and waiting when she showed up. Never make a lady wait, that much I know.
Every time the door opens, my head snaps up.
Finally, I see her. She looks exactly like her picture, thank god. I stand up and wave, wanting to avoid any awkwardness.
“I half expected you to be old, fat and bald,” she says, coming in for a quick hug. I like a bold woman, I decide.
I dramatically throw my hands to my head, as if to make sure all my hair was still there. “Don’t joke, missy! My dad’s dad had a glorious mane until the day he died, but my mom’s dad. Well, his hairline receded off his head and made a new home on his back. I pray to god I have my father’s genes.”
Her laughter gratifies me. Dexter always says that I’m more of a drama queen than his actress sister.
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” she assures me. “When I first saw your picture, you reminded me of a young Jude Law, and you know he’s fine no matter what his hair is doing.”
“If flattery is what you’re going for, it’s working. I’m looking for a present for my husband, but if you keep that up, I might just keep you for myself.”
She giggles, and I find myself a little bit smitten by her. She’s just Dexter’s type if I’m any judge. I grilled him mercilessly when we first started dating. I wanted to know everything about what attracted him to women.
Partly because I was equal parts fascinated and terrified of the idea of a woman’s body, but mostly so that I could try to offer him some semblance of what he enjoyed, sexually.
It had taken me a long time to trust that he wouldn’t get tired of my body, which was so obviously different from the women he gravitated towards.
I was tall and slim, some have even used the disgusting word “lanky” to describe me. The women he dated were shorter and curvaceous. I’ve seen pictures of him with gorgeous women in tight dresses and high heels, with wavy hair cascading down their backs.
Just like Fiona.
“It’s so sweet what you’re doing for your husband. I find it so refreshing to hear about a couple in love deeply enough that they can honestly feel confident enough to explore non-traditional sex without jealousy. I’ve always thought that just because you love someone with your whole heart and soul, it doesn’t mean you won’t be attracted to another body ever again. Sex and love aren’t always mutually exclusive.”
“Exactly!” I’ve tried to say the same thing many times, but never found quite the right words. “I’ve never believed that one person can or should fulfill all the needs and desires of their partner. It’s too much pressure.”
“That being said, my husband pretty much checks all the boxes. He’s utterly perfect. The most handsome man you’ll ever meet, and a complete and total gentleman. You’ll love him. From a man’s perspective, he’s a stud in the sack. We’ve been married for 7 years and before I stole him away, he had only ever been with women. I figure there must be a few things that you can do for him that I can’t.” I make a gesture of putting my finger in a hole to illustrate my comment.
“If nothing else, yes, I have at least one entrance you don’t.” She laughs and I’m glad that my crudeness and blatant reference to sex hasn’t offended her. Even if we weren’t here to talk about her fucking my husband, crude and blunt is just who I am. Life is too short to waste time being all proper and sensitive.
“So…what is the plan?” she asks looking more curious than hesitant. I take that as a good sign.
“It’s going to be a surprise, first of all. He’d never let me arrange this if he knew about it ahead of time. He’s much too careful of my feelings to admit that he might like to fuck someone else. So, here’s what I’m thinking…”
I tell her my plan, which involves her popping out of a large, wrapped box, in Marilyn Monroe fashion. Fiona will be at the house early, and I’ll send her a message when we’re a few minutes away so she can get in the box.
I’ll make a big stink about him opening his present before dinner, and then Surprise! Pop goes the weasel and all that jazz. Then we’ll head to dinner and the two potential lovers can decide how they feel about each other.
And if they’re game, I’ll decide how I feel about participating.
“I’ll be honest, I have
no real plan as to what will happen when and if we all get back to the beach house. When I said “unknown pleasures” in my profile it was mainly because I really don’t know how the night will turn out. Of course, we won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. If you prefer, it can just be you and my husband in the bedroom, doing whatever it is that men do to women when they’re alone and frisky. But, if you’re open to the idea, there are a lot of other options.”
I pause, to gauge her reaction so far.
“I’m open to considering options…” she says, encouraging me to continue.
“I’ve never personally been with a woman.” I raise my hands in mock shock. “I know, I know, it’s impossible to believe, but it’s true. But I might like to watch. I might like to join in if you and he were interested in a company.”
I stop again, considering what other options might be there. I throw my hands up in the universal signal of “who knows.”
“Then again, I might run away screaming and crying, washing my eyes out with soap. No offense, darling, you’re gorgeous as can be, but I usually like my men with a little more penis.”
My last comment is greeted with a burst of laughter, and Fiona cups her breasts. “I guess these might be a little out of your area of experience, but I’m sure you could figure out what to do with them.” She winks at me.
“In all honesty,” she gets serious, “I’ve been in a boring monogamous relationship after boring monogamous relationship since I was a teenager. I just want to relax and have fun. I don’t want to imply that I’m using you or your husband, and I wouldn’t jump into bed with someone I didn’t have some connection with, but if your husband is half as sexy and entertaining as you are, I’m going to be very open to anywhere the night might lead us.”
I can’t remember the last time I had the feeling of butterflies in my stomach but fuck me if this pretty little woman isn’t making me swoon a little bit. She’s so dainty, and yet has just the right amount of crass. The way she fondled herself so carelessly in the middle of a coffeeshop actually gave me a little spike of lust.
I can tell that there’s something left unsaid though because she’s got a look on her face that says she’s clearly trying to choose her next words carefully.
“My only concern is the location. I’m a little worried my car won’t make it, and I’m not sure I have anything to wear to a classy restaurant like the one you’re planning on going to.” She gestures to her current outfit. “This is pretty much what my entire wardrobe looks like. It’ll get me through brunch, wears well at the office, and I can even pull it off at a club with the right accessories and makeup, but a Michelin Star restaurant might be beyond what eyeliner and a sparkly purse can do for the outfit.”
“Of course!” I exclaim, ashamed of myself for not making it clear that all expenses would be taken care of. “If you give me your address, I’ll have a car pick you up and bring you to the beach house. You’ll have the contact information for the driver and it’ll be prepaid return, so you know you can leave whenever you want to. You can talk to the driver before you even get in the car, just to be safe. He’s bonded and has public references, I promise. If you prefer to drive yourself, I’m more than happy to get your car serviced for you before Friday. It’s completely your choice. As for the dress, I actually had something kind of specific in mind and I was hoping you wouldn’t mind doing a little shopping before you pop out of the box. I’ve already talked to a friend of mine who owns a great little chic boutique in the city. She knows what I want and has a few different options for you to try and pick from. I wasn’t sure what size you were, but she promised she could have anything tailored in time for the big reveal. I’ll pay for everything, of course!”
I pull out an envelope that I had pre-emptively filled with $2500 and handed it to her.
“If you’ll agree to come meet my husband and play my little present game, this should cover a dress and any extras that you ladies like to wear underneath.”
She peeks inside the envelope and her eyes widen in shock. “Harley, I haven’t even done anything yet,” she says and then blushes.
I reach over the table and take her hand, giving it a squeeze. “I love my husband to the moon and back, and I want this anniversary to be special. You’re a big part of that. This is just to help you play the part I’m envisioning. If you end up doing something, and that will always be entirely up to you, you’ll feel no pressure from either of us, but if you end up doing more, that envelope doesn’t even come close to conveying how deep the pockets of my gratitude are.”
She looks at me intently for a minute and then gives a small nod.
“Thank you,” she says simply and then a smile breaks her serious face. “Where am I going shopping?”
CHAPTER 5
Dexter
Harley looks as handsome as I’ve ever seen him, and he’s an overexcited bundle of energy tonight. I know he loves celebrating, but he’s got something extra up his sleeve.
I can never hope to buy the right present, so I always gift Harley with a vacation. Every anniversary, birthday and Christmas since we’ve been together, I’ve done my best to show him how much he means to me with quality time together.
This anniversary we’re going to spend the weekend away in a secluded beach house at the tip of the island, just the two of us.
It’s not a surprise. Harley can’t handle surprises like that. How would he know what to pack?
But he loves to surprise me. I never know what to expect. When we first started dating, he would spend months trying to find some items of clothing or piece of jewelry that would be perfect for me, or so he thought.
I’d wear it once or twice, to make him happy, and then it would end up in the back of my closet, behind my black t-shirts and white button-ups. I don’t understand clothes and trends and styles the way Harley does.
After a few occasions, he learned his lesson. Since then, his attempts at finding something unique for me have ranged from adorably miscalculated to downright hilarious.
He bought me a table saw one year. I guess he didn’t realize that my job site and my home are two very different spaces. Where on earth I was going to use a table saw in our house I have no idea, but it was very sweet that he tried.
He overcompensated in the opposite direction the next year and bought us an appointment with one of the most exclusive tattoo artists in the state. He thought it would butch us up to have fierce matching tattoos. His words. Not mine.
I hate tattoos but didn’t want to break his heart, bless the man. Much to the frustration of the artist, I suggested instead of getting something ostentatious, like the tiger claws across our chests that Harley suggested, we get our wedding bands tattooed on our fingers.
He pouted, but in the end, sentimentality won him over and we walked out with matching tattoos on our ring fingers. I think he showed off his tattoo bravery even more emphatically than he had shown off his diamond-dusted wedding band.
I have no idea what’s in store for me tonight, but I do know that whatever he’s bought this year, it’s sure to make me love him even more.
The drive is about an hour away from the city, and the beach house is right on the sand. It’s next door to our favorite restaurant and we’ve often walked by this house, watching the sunset and appreciating how quaint and secluded it seems.
As I pull up the drive, Harley gets more and more electric. He can’t stop gibbering and my face is sore from laughing at him.
“What has gotten into you tonight?” I ask him, amused, as we unload the truck and carry our bags to the door. I check my phone for the keypad code, but Harley impatiently blurts out “94276.” Why he’s memorized the code I don’t know, but it works, and he flies past me to get inside.
Shaking my head in complete bewilderment, I follow him with our bags, turning on the light.
The house is quaint. I know Harley will be telling me all about the beach-chic décor over breakfast tomorrow, b
ut for now, I think I’m safe to just look around and appreciate the quiet.
I check out the kitchen and living room as I make my way to the bedroom. Harley is standing in the doorway looking like he’s about to explode. His eyes keep darting to something in the living room. Curiously, I turn to look at what’s got him so bothered.
There’s a giant box half-hidden by a footstool piled high with blankets. The box is wrapped in gold-flecked paper that seems to be in the theme of cakes. There’s a giant bow on the lid.
I look at Harley.
Harley squeals and claps his hands. “Happy Anniversary,” he shouts, jumping up and down.
“What is it?” I ask. I hope it’s not a puppy. We don’t have time for a puppy, please don’t be a puppy.
“You’ll have to open it up, silly!”
I’m suddenly very, very nervous. It’s a big box. If it is a puppy, it’s probably a very big puppy.
I drop the bags on the bed and come back out to the living room, assessing the box.
“Open it, open it!” Harley is losing all self-control and I’m getting more nervous by the second. Curious too, though.
I walk slowly over to the box and look at the lid. It will just lift off, it’s not tied down with the bow. Nothing seems to be moving inside so it’s probably not a puppy. I can’t imagine he’d buy another big tool and I have no idea what else it could possibly be.
I give him one more bewildered look and then carefully lift a corner of the box. When nothing escapes, I open it higher and peer inside.
I see...human hair?
“Take the lid off!” Harley shouts at me, coming to take the lid out of my hands and opening the box completely.
A woman stands up. A woman with wavy blonde hair wearing a short white, flowing dress.
I’m too stunned to understand what’s happening, so I just stare at her.
After a second, she gasps, covers her face and drops back into the box.