Tell Me Everything

by Amy Hatvany

  The blunt, raw nature of his words struck a chord in me that hadn’t been played in far too long. Our energies instantly shifted, and the heat between us became its own being—a living, breathing entity. I loved it when Jake spoke to me with such blatant eroticism. My throat went dry, so I swallowed, and licked my lips. “You wouldn’t go with me to meet him?”

  “No. I think you should meet him on your own.”

  “Really?” His suggestion surprised me, even though the times we had put our profile up, it was me who sifted through the rubble of responses to find the few men that actually met our standards. We preferred someone single, of course, easy-going and smart, with a healthy sense of humor, but didn’t have any particular requirements when it came to looks. (Privately, I preferred well-endowed men with dark hair, but I kept this bit of information to myself, not wanting Jake to ever feel like his more average sized cock wasn’t enough for me. It was, but I also couldn’t deny the pleasure of being stretched further, being filled up more than I was with him.) Jake was only interested in reading the emails from the men I wanted us to meet. With both Tim and Vincent, we’d kept to the same process as we had with Will: we all had drinks together, checked to see if the chemistry was there, and then embarked on a threesome, after which I would have monthly encounters alone with the men, and come home to tell Jake all about it. There was something reassuring about Jake’s involvement at the start, so that a potential lover saw him as a real person, not only some theoretical husband I went home to. It was clear that I belonged to someone else.

  “Yeah, really,” Jake said, now. “I trust you. And I like the idea of you choosing him on your own. Fucking him only because you want to, without any input from me.”

  “And then you’d join us,” I said, wanting to be sure I fully understood what he was saying. “Another time, after that.”

  “No,” Jake said. He held out his hand and I laced my fingers through his. “You fuck him. Without me. Always. I never meet him.”

  The air caught in my lungs, imagining this scenario. The idea of Jake knowing my lover only through my descriptions of the time I spent with him was a dizzying concept. I thought about the men who had looked at me at the bar the night before, and realized if Jake and I agreed to indulge in this new dynamic, and if they had fit our general parameters, I could have gone home with any one of them. That sort of unfettered freedom was even more enticing than what we’d already explored.

  I caressed the side of Jake’s hand with my thumb. “Why?” I asked. As thrilling as this prospect was, I felt like I needed to be totally sure he would be okay with it actually happening, because suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to do it.

  “Well,” he said, “seeing you fuck other men is incredibly hot. Watching you take both of us on.”

  “I sense a ‘but’ coming on,” I interrupted.

  “But,” he said, with a mischievous grin, “when you came home and told me what you’d done with him alone, I always had a clear visual of what he looked like...exactly how he touched you and fucked you, because we did the threesome, first.” He took a deep breath, and then released it. “I don’t know. It just seems like it would be even hotter if I had no idea what he looks like...what he does to you and how you react to it...except for being forced to imagine the details when you describe them.”

  “Upping the ante,” I said, realizing that I’d been holding my own breath, listening to him. All I could think about was how my body was reacting to the simple suggestion of trying something new. My pulse raced and my hands shook. The warmth between my legs ached.

  “Yes,” Jake said. Again, he searched my face. “Does it turn you on to think about doing it?” His voice was low, a little graveled. “Does it make you wet?”

  Instead of speaking, I surprised him by straddling his lap in one swift movement, lifting my nightie so my ass rested on top of his thighs. His coffee sat untouched, likely lukewarm, by now, on the table in front of the couch.

  “Well, hello there,” he said, sliding his hands onto my hips at the same moment I wrapped my arms around his neck, crossing my wrists at the base of his skull. He kissed me, then, and I answered by grinding against him.

  “It could be fun,” I murmured against his lips.

  “Just fun?” Jake leaned forward, and nuzzled my neck so he could gently kiss my collarbone.

  “Super fun?”

  He laughed, a low, rumbling sound; its vibration passed from his body into mine. Jake’s fingers wandered up and down the curve of my sides, teasing. “You want to fuck a stranger, totally on your own?”

  “Yes.” I shivered with pleasure.

  “Do you want him to do this to you?” One of Jake’s hands moved, his fingers brushing lightly over the outside of my panties, and he paused, raising an eyebrow. “Hmm...I guess that answers my question about it getting you wet.”

  “Shut up and fuck me,” I said, playfully biting his bottom lip. I bucked my hips, trying to get my husband to press harder. Every cell in my body begged for satisfaction; I felt like I was drowning in a pool of need.

  Jake shifted, and suddenly, we were laying down, me on my back, him on top of me. I liked the feeling of being trapped, unable to move; even though it was only for a moment, I liked it when he took control. Our ruined date night was forgotten, the months of too much work and not enough sex vanished from my thoughts. The only thing that mattered was that we’d found a new room to explore in the house of our marriage.

  Who knew how many more we might discover after that.

  Fourteen

  He was late.

  I sat alone at a Starbucks in downtown Bellevue, nervously waiting for Andrew, one of the men who had responded to the profile I had edited—removing our usual reference of having a threesome—and posted on AdultFun.com:

  Are you looking for zero emotional involvement, but something more satisfying than a one-time hook up with an intelligent, discreet partner? Me, too.

  I'm married, in a hot-wife relationship with my husband—he gets off on hearing about me playing with another man, and I’m turned on telling him about it. Definitely not something I do a lot, and I am very particular. Discretion is paramount.

  To be exceptionally clear—I am only interested in an ongoing situation with a single, available man. NO MARRIED OR OTHERWISE ATTACHED MEN. I'm not looking to be wooed or taken on dates or to fall in love—this is about sexual pleasure, pure and simple.

  I tend not to send pictures until we have a vibe going, for privacy's sake. But I am curvy and pretty—says the stranger on the internet who isn't sending you a picture—with long, brown curls, gray eyes, and a wicked smile. No smokers, heavy drinkers, or men into heavy drugs. Open to any race, age range between 35 and 50-ish. We are drug and disease free. You should be, too. Condoms required.

  I’d put the profile up the same morning as Jake and I had decided to pursue me meeting someone on my own, thinking there was no reason to put it off, especially because it had always taken us a while to find someone. But I was immediately flooded with responses, and Andrew had been one of the first I read.

  Now, as I sat in Starbucks, my pulse jittering, I impatiently checked the email account Jake and I still used to communicate with our “friends,” I wondered if I’d made a mistake in choosing to meet Andrew for my first time doing this without Jake, even though and the tone of his email had been appealing:

  Hey there. My name is Andrew and I'm in my early 40's, looking for this kind of fun. I've had some experience, yet I wouldn’t say it’s a regular part of my life. I'm a very open-minded and non-judgmental guy.

  Professionally, I’m an IT executive and business owner with roots in programming (yes, I’m a bit of a geek, but a cute one—ha!). I've got quite a lust for life. I’m laid-back, love to laugh and see where a moment takes me. Stat wise I'm 5'10", 170lbs., fit, dark hair and eyes.

  I have a keen understanding of your need for discretion. What you and your husband have worked out is incredible, and I have the utmost respect
for you both. It’s so important to know your partner, what makes them tick, and to be open to their fantasies and desires. I'm recently single, coming out of an 8 year, exclusive relationship, so I’m very safe. Happy to get tested if you’d feel more comfortable seeing those results.

  I work in downtown Bellevue and live in Kirkland. I can host, and have a somewhat flexible schedule.

  Let’s meet, soon. You won’t regret it.

  It was the confidence in that last line that convinced me to write him back, and his willingness to get tested for possible STDs. (We’d done this with Will, Tim, and Vincent, as well, just to be sure we were all healthy, despite my insistence that we continue to use condoms. I was on the Pill, but the last thing I needed was to get pregnant and not know who the father was.) Andrew and I discussed our general boundaries and expectations, eventually exchanging pictures, and then decided to meet for an in-person chemistry check. It was strange, at first, not showing the emails or pictures to Jake, discussing the pros and cons of a particular man, as I had with Tim and Vincent, but also exhilarating, more empowered than I’d ever felt before.

  “I think I found someone,” I told my husband, after Andrew and I had emailed a couple of times. “We’re going to meet for coffee on Thursday. If that’s okay.” I knew it was possible that Jake might change his mind about my going through with this set-up, alone, so I felt compelled to continue to check in on how he was feeling.

  “Of course it’s okay,” Jake said. “Just make sure I know where you’ll be.”

  I nodded, feeling a deep, overwhelming sensation of adoration for my husband. The level of trust he had in me, when I really stopped to think about it, was astounding. Part of me still wondered how he was able to allow me this kind of freedom when I couldn’t do the same for him.

  “Where does that kind of confidence come from?” I asked him, later that night, when we were discussing how most people would think that having this kind of sexual openness in our marriage was a sign of its dysfunction rather than its strength. “I mean, honestly. You don’t have a single jealous thought about me doing all of this on my own?”

  He shook his head. “You already have the most amazing man in the world. You’d have to be a serious idiot to fuck things up with me.”

  I laughed, because he was right. Being with Will, and later, Tim, and then Vincent, made me fall a little more in love with my husband. I would come home, still a little drunk with lust, feeling confident and sexy in a way that was new to me—feeling desired by another man, and then having sex with him, leaving almost immediately after that, was a potent experience. Walking to my car, knowing what I’d just done was the most delicious secret I’d ever had. When I got home, Jake would take me into his arms and reinforce everything I was feeling about myself, saying how beautiful and strong and sexy I was. How much he loved watching me embrace this side of myself.

  But now, waiting for Andrew, my stomach twisted, as I considered the horror stories of women disappearing after meeting a man they’d found online. Maybe that was part of the thrill—the not knowing what to expect, the illicit nature of what I was doing. Jake had the address of where I was, and I’d already texted him to let him know that I’d arrived, and would do the same when I left. Still, my heartbeat thudded inside my ribcage as I waited for Andrew to appear; I had to take a few deep breaths in order to slow my sprinting pulse. When I was single, and before I met Jake, I’d been on a few first dates after having met someone online, but the stakes in this situation with Andrew were higher. This wasn’t a casual get together to see if we’d want to go out again—we were meeting solely to see if we wanted to fuck.

  I glanced at the coffee shop’s entrance, hoping to see Andrew walking through it. The pictures he’d sent bore out the general stats he provided in his first email, even though the images were taken at angles and with shadowy lighting that didn’t reveal his entire face. In some, he had on a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses; in others, the shot was taken from behind, so I could only see the back of his body. I understood why he’d chosen those particular images—the ones Jake and I used were similarly discreet, so if anyone saw them other than the person we’d sent them to, it would be difficult to be absolutely certain that it was us. But taking a bit from each of Andrew’s pictures, I could see that he had black, somewhat wavy and longish hair, olive skin, and dark brown eyes. He had a nice body, but no sculpted, gym-rat muscles, which was fine with me. Neither Tim nor Vincent had possessed six-pack abs, but both were handsome enough, and more importantly, highly invested in making sure our encounters were filled with steamy details that I could pass on to Jake. They understood that my husband was as much a part of this dynamic as I was.

  “You’re pretty exceptional,” Tim told me once. “I swear every other girl I’ve had sex with immediately wants to discuss wedding venues.” We were lying in his bed after having sex, and I was thinking about how long I would need to lay there before I could leave. Usually, I gave it ten minutes, just so I wouldn’t seem rude. He rolled over onto his side to look at me. “How do you manage to keep everything so separate?”

  “You mean why am able to fuck you and not stalk you?” I said, remaining on my back as I considered his question.

  “Exactly.”

  I shrugged. “To me, sex and love are two completely different things. I love Jake, but not you.” This was the easiest explanation I could come up with when it came to describing how I was able to indulge in casual sex. I understood that it was generally assumed that women weren’t supposed to be able to engage in sex without becoming emotionally involved, but clearly, at least in my case, that wasn’t true.

  Tim laughed. “Be honest with me, now. Don’t hold anything back or worry about my ego.”

  “Sorry,” I said, laughing, too. “Here’s the thing. My emotional connection to sex is with Jake. He meets those needs, so there’s no risk of expecting you to do the same. There’s nothing missing in my marriage that I’m trying to compensate for by being here—it just adds to what we already have.” I waited a beat. “Also, I have sex with him all the time, which only reinforces how we feel about each other, while you and I only get together what, once a month? That’s by design.”

  When I first met Tim, Jake and I were so enticed by the renewed intensity that another man brought to our sex life that we got a little greedy. Tim and I started seeing each other every other weekend, every time the kids were with Peter and Kari, which turned out to be too often. I found myself constantly thinking about the next time Tim and I would be together, instead of focusing solely on Jake, which scared me, so I told Tim I was too busy with work to meet more than once a month. My off-hand comment to Will the first time we’d been together alone—“where the clitoris goes, the heart soon follows”—wasn’t too far off the mark. Controlling the frequency of my encounters with someone else, as I had with Will, was the best and most efficient way to protect my marriage.

  “Jessica?” a man’s voice said, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  I looked up and saw Andrew standing next to me, feeling like I’d swallowed something sharp. Now that he was there in person, I instantly suspected that I’d seen him before. Did I sell him a property? Or maybe he strolled through one of my open houses? “Andrew?”

  “That’s me.” He flashed a smile, showing off a set of straight, white teeth. “Really sorry I’m late. I got stuck in traffic.”

  “No worries,” I said, deciding that it wasn’t that big of a deal. Traffic on I-405 was insane pretty much any time of day, despite the toll lanes the residents of King county had voted for. I always factored in at least an extra half-an-hour when I used the freeway to meet clients.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” he offered, glancing at the long line leading up to the counter. The buzz of the coffee grinders and other peoples’ conversations filled the air. Being in the midst of this normalcy and knowing I was there to decide if I was going to fuck the man I was sitting with added an extra kick of adrenaline.

&
nbsp; “I’m good, thanks,” I said, hoping my voice wasn’t as wobbly as my body felt. “I’ve only got about half an hour.” He was twenty minutes late, and I had a property to show that afternoon. Normally, Jake and I liked to spend at least an hour with a potential match, even though I usually knew in the first five or ten minutes whether or not I wanted to sleep with him, the same way I could tell if a client was going to make an offer on a house. I read the energy in both situations, the subtle signs a person gave away about themselves that they weren’t necessarily aware of. In this case, checking for chemistry meant I looked for a certain set of characteristics. I wanted to fuck men who made and maintained eye contact with me when they spoke. I wanted to fuck men who possessed a good mix of confidence and playfulness—who knew how to be funny and insert clever, not crude, sexual innuendo into our conversation. I liked men who told me I was beautiful—because really, what woman didn’t want to hear that? I liked men who bantered with me, men with a quick wit, like Jake. It was an immediate turn off if a man walked into our meeting already assuming that he was the “chosen one,” simply because we’d asked him out for coffee or drink. I automatically rejected men who thought that just because I was sexually adventurous—that I’d posted an ad with my husband, looking for sex, or, “shopping for cock,” as one man we’d met crudely put it—he didn’t have to work a little to seduce me. A desire to explore outside the bounds of my marriage didn’t automatically make me a sure thing.

  Andrew grimaced as he sat down across from me. “God, sorry again. Did I just take myself out of the running? I’m usually very punctual. And on time.” He leaned back against his chair, rested the tips of his fingers on the edge of the table, and gave me a charming smile. He had full lips, and I immediately wondered what it would feel like to kiss them. I did a quick check of his left hand—no ring on the fourth finger, nor any tan lines or indentations that would indicate he was married and pretending that he wasn’t. He’d said he was recently out of a relationship, but I always checked for physical confirmation, just in case.