Only Me

by Vivian Ward

  She swears that we met at a little coffee shop, but we met once before that. I’ve brought it up before but she doesn’t remember, so I let her tell the story her way because I love her.

  And I love seeing her eyes light up the way they do when she tells our story. Her angelic face comes to life, and those smokey eyes pull you in, lulling you with every word.

  We initially met at a party that one of my friends threw. It was about four months before I saw her at the coffee shop, and I was so glad to have run into her again. Luckily for me, she was a damsel in distress and I’m all about being the hero of the story, so I saved her.

  At the party, she didn’t even give me a second glance, but I watched her like a hawk. She came alone and was dressed to kill. A short red dress hugged every damn curve of her body, accentuating her round bubble butt and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

  She definitely has that effect on men, and I see it all the time. I don’t get jealous because I know she’s mine and nothing or no one will ever change that. I’m very proud to call this woman my wife. She’s so beautiful and she doesn’t even know it.

  I know that Beth carries a huge torch for me, but in my eyes, she’s a complete goddess. She has no clue how much I treasure her, and I’m so happy to let the whole world know that she’s mine.

  Beth is beautiful, smart, funny, witty, and whatever else you can imagine. If it’s a good trait, she has it. And I know she’s not perfect. She gets cranky every now and then or stressed out, but that’s life. We all do it.

  From across the room, I watched a few guys approach her, but she politely brushed them off as she laughed and talked within her circle of friends. There was something about the way she carried herself that captured my attention.

  My plan was to go over and talk to her once her group of friends broke up and went their separate ways so that she wouldn’t reject me like the others but that’s not quite how things worked out.

  While I was watching her, I saw some drunk chic bump into her, and it caused a little of her drink to spill down the front of her low-cut dress. It took every ounce of me not to offer to lick it off of her.

  Instead, I approached her with paper towels and offered to go out to my car where I kept a gym bag with a spare change of clothes that she would be able to put on. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a pair of gray sweats and a t-shirt.

  Initially, she said yes, but by the time I returned inside the party and tried to find her, she’d already left so I never got to see her again. I didn’t dare ask who she was because I figured she might have a boyfriend or something, but I hoped that I’d find her again one day so when I spotted her in the coffee shop, I knew it might have been my only chance.

  She was so adorable with her wet hair that curled around the edges, and the way her wet clothes clung to her is a sight that I could look at every minute of every day.

  I love the swell of her hips and how round they are, and how they contrast to her waist. My wife has the perfect hourglass figure, and I thank my lucky star that she has some meat on her bones.

  There’s nothing better than kissing her thick thighs while I hold onto her full-figured hips when I go down on her. There’s nothing small about my wife—except her pussy.

  She’s no saint and has been with her fair share of men before our marriage, but that’s one thing—the only thing—that’s small about her. If she hadn’t told me her number of sexual partners, I would’ve assumed that she was a virgin as tight as she is.

  That’s one thing I’ve fantasized about: the pleasure she could give so many other men. We’ve always been exhibitionists and have had sex in plenty of public places, but just once, I’ve always secretly wished that one of the many men who’ve seen me banging my wife would join in.

  I can only imagine what another man’s face could look like as he enjoyed my wife’s body. And her face, that sweet angelic face. Those smoky eyes and pouty lips.

  I’ve imagined those puffy, swollen lips of hers wrapped around my cock while another guy fucked her from behind.

  So when I see other men flirting with my wife, I welcome it. I pretend not to notice and turn a blind eye because there’s some deep, fucked up part of me that wants her to experience sex with someone else and be pleasured by another man. I want to know how much she enjoys having sex with other people.

  I know I should probably go to sex therapy or something because something must be wrong with me for wishing these things but I can’t. I’m too embarrassed and ashamed to admit it. I can’t even tell my wife what I want. How am I supposed to tell a stranger with some high and mighty degree what I want my wife to do?

  And I know what the doctor would say. He or she would say, “Tom, you’re sick. There are some deep psychological issues that resonate from your childhood. Come see me for an hour a week for the next few months.”

  I’m not paying some head shrink to take my money to tell me that my fantasies are wrong. We all have different things that interest us, that makes our clocks tick. For some people, it’s food. For others, it’s drugs. For me, it’s sex.

  Beth has no clue just how much sex occupies my mind. While I’m at work, I imagine what my wife looks like as she’s bent over the bed of a hot military guy at the hospital as she takes his vitals or how she might be naked in the shower, lathering up her body with her scented body wash.

  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished she’d play a nurse in the bedroom with me so I could really imagine what she looks like while she’s working, but I’ve never brought it up. I’m sure she doesn’t want to bring her work into the bedroom.

  I know I wouldn’t want to bring my work into the bedroom.

  Sometimes I wonder if I’m enough for her.

  Not that she’s ever let on otherwise, because she’d never do that. Beth isn’t like that. She’d let me believe that I could live forever even if she knew in her heart of hearts that I had cancer and would be dead in less than a day. And she wouldn’t just let me believe it, she’d convince me.

  And I’d buy her lie just like an addict buys his crack because I’d need to be with her for just one more day.

  The sounds of Shawn and Hunter talking bring me back to reality and remind me that very soon, we’ll be back at the campsite and I’ll get to watch more of this dangerous game of flirting between my wife, Shawn and even Hunter.

  Hunter’s not as bold as his friend, but I can tell that he’s totally into her. He’s dropped a few subtle hints and I’ve been monitoring the way he looks at her.

  I think she likes Shawn—hell, I really believe she wants both of them if you want to know the truth.

  “These fish aren’t biting today,” Hunter says. “Are you guys hungry for lunch yet? You want to pack up and get back so we can grab some food?”

  I nod in agreement. I’m happy with my catch for the day. I’ve got three fish.

  “Yeah, I can’t believe all I caught was just two fish,” Shawn says.

  “That’s better than my zero fish,” Hunter says.

  “If you guys want,” I say. “You can eat with us tonight. There’s a total of five fish, and there’s only four of us, so there’s more than enough to go around.”

  They look at each other and shrug.

  “Yeah, that sounds good, and we can still drink together just like we planned,” Shawn says.

  I know exactly why he wants us to drink with them. The bad thing is, it’s partly why I want us to drink with them, too.

  “Sounds good,” I say.

  “Hey! Do you guys know of any good drinking games?” Hunter asks. “If not, we’ve got a few, and we can make up some new ones.”

  “The only drinking game I’ve ever really played was beer pong or quarters. Other than that, I don’t think so,” I tell them as we make our way back to the campsite.

  No sooner than we pull up, I see Beth wearing her red bikini. The one her ass hangs out of, and it looks so delicious. I just want to walk up to her, yank those little bottoms down and eat her boo
ty like groceries.

  I’m not the only one who notices either. Hunter and Shawn are eyeing her like a couple of starved men.

  “You’re back just in time,” she says, adjusting her bikini in an attempt to cover up. “The food is almost ready.”

  After we’re done eating, Beth cleans up and puts the food away while all of us men get the rafts ready for the water.

  Purchasing this inflatable gadget that plugs into the cigarette lighter outlet is the best ten dollars I’ve spent in a while because it beats having to go to the gas station that’s almost ten miles from the campsite.

  As I’m airing up Beth’s raft, I watch her hips sway as she approaches me with a bottle of sunscreen in her hand.

  “Can you rub some of this on my back? I don’t want to burn with us being out on the water today,” she says, holding the bottle out to me.

  “You’ll have to wait. I’m inflating your raft right now, and then I have to do the blow-up coolers so we can take our drinks with us.”

  This is one of the times when I wish I would have listened to my wife when we originally bought these things and spent the extra few dollars for the bigger cooler.

  She told me that they weren’t going to be very big on the inside, but I didn’t listen. Instead, I asked her how many drinks she was planning on taking. I didn’t think about the ice in the cooler taking up room, so we ended up having to go back to buy a second cooler before our next camping trip.

  “I can put some lotion on you,” Hunter says.

  Beth’s face drops in surprise, and she turns to me with that, “Did you hear that?” look that she always gets—the same one I always pretend to ignore. This time I don’t ignore it.

  Smiling, I nod with my cigarette loosely hanging out of my mouth and wink at her.

  “Yeah, let Hunter help you out. I’m busy, babe.”

  It’s so hard not to laugh because I can see it in her eyes that she wants to but she’s afraid. She’s not sure what to think of another man touching her, and I’m not sure she knows how to respond to my approval.

  Chapter Six

  Beth

  I can’t believe what my husband just said. Part of me wants to believe this is some sort of dream but I know better. It’s almost like he wants me to be touched by someone else.

  The problem is that I don’t know if I want another man touching me. I mean, he’s good looking but he’s not my husband.

  So good looking, maybe too good.

  He’s almost as dangerous as his friend but he’s not as direct and is more playful, and because of this I seem to let my guard down a little.

  “Sure, go for it,” I say, throwing caution to the wind.

  Um, what?

  Did those words just leave my mouth?

  Hunter rubs his hands together to create friction between them, warming them up before he takes the sunscreen out of my hands.

  “With pleasure,” he says with a broad smile that seems unable to go away.

  My eyes bulge out of my head as he squirts the lotion in his hands and I look at my husband for guidance.

  Shit! He’s really going to touch me. This guy is really going to massage sunscreen on my back.

  Tom continues inflating the coolers—if only he would’ve listened and bought what I told him to when we had originally gotten them, he could be done. Smiling as big as Hunter, he nods once again in approval and blows a kiss in the air after he exhales the smoke from his cigarette.

  What the hell has gotten into my husband?

  Yes, we’ve always been exhibitionists and have liked performing in public places but letting other men touch me is completely new.

  “How come I didn’t get asked to do that?” Shawn asks, catching Hunter rubbing me down.

  Oh crap!

  “What? She needed some help, and I was here to help her….and so glad I was,” he adds, a sly undertone in his voice.

  God, kill me now.

  I could literally die right now as I listen to these two talk.

  And there’s my husband, sitting in the car as he watches all of this go down while airing everything up. I’d really like to shove that air hose where the sun doesn’t shine on him to wipe that grin off his face. It’s so obvious that he’s getting a kick out of all of this.

  I shoot a smirk in his direction as my token of appreciation for putting me in an awkward spot with these two handsome guys.

  Hunter is totally rubbing it in while he gives Shawn shit, and I hate it. But I’m not sure what I hate worse: the fact that they can see my blushing cheeks or the fact that I can feel the heat between my legs spreading from my core.

  And I know that Hunter’s not touching me sexually. He’s just rubbing sunscreen oil on my back, but it’s the fact that I’m wearing this damn bikini that my ass hangs out of and he’s touching my bare skin with a perfect view of my ass.

  Feeling completely exposed and vulnerable in front of him, I politely ask him to hurry so I can finish gathering the rest of the things we’ll need for the float trip.

  Luckily, we don’t need much as the creek makes a big circle around the campsite—as long as you always veer to the left. If you turn to the right, the stream opens up, and you might wind up in the nearby river far away from camp.

  “All ready to go?” the guys come ask just as Tom grabs the last of our stuff.

  “Ready,” we both answer in unison.

  Half-way around the creek, we stop to take a break which I am so grateful for. As much as I was ready to go this morning, I need to rest.

  Sleeping in this morning while Tom got up and left to go fishing was nice, but I couldn’t wait for him to get back. I started missing him after I had my package of Pop Tarts as soon as I woke up because I was famished after the intense orgasm that I had last night.

  I guess it’s a good thing that I had some alone time, though. I’m never able to get much reading done since we’re usually on the go, but I finished the novel I’ve been slowly reading for the past week and a half and started a new one.

  For the first part of our float trip, the sun gracefully kissed my skin, warming it as I lazily reclined on my raft. Not too long after we were out on the water—about two hours—that soft kiss from the sun began turning into its stinging rays starting to nip my skin.

  “I really need some more sunscreen on,” I say to my husband as he helps me get my raft and floaty cooler out of the water.

  “When’s my turn?” Shawn interrupts us.

  How the hell did he even hear me? I was almost whispering to Tom.

  “Go ahead, I’ve got to get my beer situation sorted out,” Tom says, leaving me standing beside the bronze god.

  “How much do you like? A thin coat? A thick coat?” he asks, squirting some into the palm of his hand.

  “Um,” I try to form words, but it’s impossible to think around this man.

  This should be great when we hang out and drink tonight. I’d better be careful, or I’ll end up saying something I regret if I have too much alcohol.

  “Earth to Beth,” he laughs. “Hello?” he waves his hand in front of my face. “How much, babe?”

  “Oh, um, a medium amount. Not so thin that it will come off in the water—even though they say it’s waterproof. But not so thick that I have to scrape it off my back to get it off later tonight, either.”

  Shut up, Beth. Do you hear yourself blabbing? You sound like an idiot. Just don’t talk.

  I let out a deep sigh and will myself to be quiet for the rest of the trip. I always do things like this and stick my foot in my mouth.

  Wait! Did he call me ‘babe’? I’m almost positive that he did!

  His hands feel so good on my body. Not that Hunter’s hands didn’t feel good on my body, because they did, but Shawn’s hands feel like….Tom’s hands.

  They’re big, powerful, hit all the right places, and even feel a little callused. Pulling my long ponytail out of his way, I glance over my shoulder at him. He immediately catches me looking at him and smiles at m
e.

  “What do you do for a living?” I ask him.

  “Why?” he laughs at my question.

  “I’m just curious. Your hands, they feel like—oh, never mind. You’ll think I’m silly.”

  He stops rubbing my skin and the instant he stops, I wish he’d put his hands back on me.

  I like them there.

  I want them there.

  Shaking my head, I laugh along with him and nod toward his hands. They look just as powerful as they feel gliding across my smooth skin.

  “Your hands are strong like my husband’s and he has a very demanding job, so I was just curious what you do for a living.”

  “I’m a body builder,” he says. “My hands feel rough from lifting without gloves because of the non-slip texturing they put on the bars. What does your husband do?”

  “He’s a roofer,” I sigh, watching Tom organize his cooler while Shawn goes back to applying more sunscreen on me.

  “I hate that he works as hard as he does, especially when it gets super hot but he loves his job.”

  He squirts some more lotion into his hands to start doing my lower back and no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop myself from thinking about what his hand would feel like if it just happened to slip inside my bikini bottoms.

  “And what do you do?” he asks, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it before.

  “I’m a registered nurse and I work at the hospital. I worked in the ER for a while but I switched because you kind of get tired of all the split second decisions. It was very stressful.”

  He begins kneading my back, massaging the sunscreen lotion deep into it and it feels divine.

  “You feel pretty tense right now,” he says, rubbing a kink out of my back.

  “I work as a surgical nurse now and spend a lot of my time hunched over patients, which takes a toll on my lower back where you’re rubbing.”

  I think I could become putty in this guy’s hands. He might not have a physically demanding job like Tom’s but his hands feel the exact same on my body. It’s odd, yet comforting at the same time.