by Vivian Ward
“When I saw your ad, I thought it was perfect. It’s the ideal situation for me. You’re married, I’m married, and neither of us is looking for any emotional attachment, no reasons to leave our spouses. Just sex, and that’s all I want.”
“That makes sense,” I agree with him.
“I love my wife, but it’s hard not to have sex. It’s something I love to do, but with her medical condition, it’s not possible for us to do it, so I’ve patiently sat by her side. For the longest time, I was creative and tried to find ways to engage her, hoping that something would work, that I’d find something to stimulate her.
“Sex for the woman is just as important as sex for me. I take great pride in making sure the lady always gets what she needs otherwise there’s no fun in it.”
From the sincere tone of his voice, I can tell that he means it. This guy is the real deal, there’s nothing fake about him, and I like it.
Most of the guys I’ve talked to or have tried to meet were only in it for themselves, but this guy seems like he has something to bring to the table—for my pleasure, not just his.
“I hear that,” I nod in agreement as we walk past a patch of tall oak trees before we reach the small bridge that leads us to the pond.
“I’m the same way,” I tell him. “I like to please the man I’m with, and I usually do a pretty good job.”
We smile at each other, and this might sound crazy, but it feels like we get each other.
“I’ve read about stories where men have complained about women lying in bed like a dead fish, and I can assure you, I’m no dead fish. I’m more of a,” I pucker my lips as I come up with the right word. “I’m more of a firecracker in bed. I’m lively, full of energy and I make sure things end in a big bang,” I laugh.
“Yeah? Sounds like a good time to me,” he says. “One thing that I didn’t mention to you before is that I’m clean. I don’t have any diseases—I’ve never had one. And I’m fixed, I got snipped about 20 years ago.”
“Oh, um, that’s good. My husband got fixed too, and it’s nice. Neither of us has ever had anything either.”
We’ve made a full circle on the walking trail and are back by the commuter parking lot where we initially parked.
“Scott, I’ve got to say that I like you. I don’t know why but I feel completely comfortable with you.”
“I was about to say the same thing,” he bobs his head. “It feels like I’ve known you forever.”
“So…do you want to see each other on your next day off?” I say as we come to a standstill.
The warm afternoon sun is beaming through his blonde hair, making his blonde hair look red in certain patches. Even if he were a ginger, he’d still be cute.
“Would I? Yes, I’d like that,” he flashes me a warm grin that makes me feel good.
It’s the kind of smile that says, “I really dig you.”
We walk back to our vehicles and saying goodbye is a bit awkward but mainly because neither of us wants it to end because we were having such a good time talking, but I have to get to work.
“I guess I’ll talk to you later?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’ll email you.”
We shake hands before I get into my car and head in for my shift. Work is going to be mighty hard to concentrate on tonight.
The kids are outside playing while Brett and I enjoy our Sunday off together. He typically works Monday through Friday, so we don’t get to hang out much on my second day off.
Typically, I’ve always reserved Monday’s for house cleaning days while the kids are all at school and I dreaded them. But now that I’ll be doing some extracurricular activities, they don’t seem nearly as bad.
Work was so busy last night that I didn’t get a chance to tell Brett about mine and Scott’s conversation during our walk. By the time I got home, he was sprawled out across the bed, snoring.
“Is that all the two of you said?” he asks.
I’m trying to rack my brain to remember every detail, but it’s hard to do because we talked about quite a bit. Our walk probably lasted about an hour because many parts of it were interrupted since we were being cautious about what we said around others.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure. All I know for sure is that things started well and ended well. I couldn’t ask for better.”
“Why is that?” Brett’s brow furrows to the middle of his forehead.
He’s insinuating that I like Scott based on the inflection of his voice and his body language.
“I don’t mean it like that!” I throw a couch pillow at him. “It’s just that he’s friendly, respectful and not a tool like most of the other guys. I like him, and I think this is going to be awesome.”
“Yeah, except the fact that I’m loaning you out instead of being included,” he sulks.
I feel bad. I really do. When we started out on this venture, it was always supposed to be a threesome with some occasional one-on-one time with the other guy.
The problem is that none of the guys responding to us are interested in threesomes. They say they are, but they’re not. You can always tell right away too because they’ll ask about us having sex alone without Brett almost immediately.
It’s like they don’t even try to beat around the bush that they only want me. They’ll say things like, “So does he always want to be there? Will he always watch?” or my personal favorite from the creepiest of creepy dudes is, “When do I get you all to myself?”
Cringe.
It makes my skin crawl.
“You know what, I want to ensure he’s going to be okay with the camera when I go over there. Let me email him real fast.”
“Hey Scott,
Before I come over tomorrow, I wanted to mention something. Since it'd be just me and you (I don't think you're interested in doing a threesome), are you okay with taking video/pics?
The only person that would ever see them is my husband that away he gets what he wants which is why he allows me to do what I do. As much as I enjoy the experience, he gets off on me fucking other guys. It's a HUGE turn on for him. And we don't ever have to record your face if you don't want, but he loves getting pics/video of me being fucked and giving BJ's.
We would never EVER upload or share them or anything like that. When guys ask for naughty pics (and they do it all the time), I refuse. You never know what people will do with that kind of thing, and I don't trust men. Most of the guys who respond are pic collectors.
I won't have pics of me (sexy ones) floating around on the internet because I have kids and one day that shit can come back to haunt you. lol”
Brett snickers as he watches me hit the send button.
“What?” I ask him.
“Our kids are never going to look at porn because they’re going to grow up to be priests and nuns.”
“Dream on! If those kids take after us, we’ll have 20 grandkids. Easy,” I tell him.
He shakes his head and then nods toward the computer, “You’ve got a response.”
I look at the screen and see that he’s right. It’s Scott responding to my email.
“You should not assume that I don't want to spend time in a three-way. I have done that before but some one-on-one time would be nice.
I talked to my wife about you, and she is concerned that I’m going to fall in love with you. I told her that she has nothing to worry about. She said that she knows me and knows that I’m not the type who can just have sex and leave it at that because I like to get to know people.
Usually, I’d say she knows me better than anyone, but this is one thing she’s wrong about because I love her very much.
While I have you to myself, your husband will get what he wants. Don’t worry about that. I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. I’ve included my address at the bottom of the email so you can put it in your GPS.”
WhenI look over, I notice right away that Brett’s giving me some serious side-eye as he crosses his arms across his chest.
Oh, no. He didn’t li
ke something he just read.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
“Uh, the fact that his wife is worried about him falling in love with you? Now, she gave him permission to find a ‘friend with benefits,'” he air quotes that last part. “And now she’s worried that he’s going to fall in love. Cathy, I think this guy likes you a lot more than you think.”
I shake my head. There’s no way this can be true because we just met and I hardly know the guy. We had a longish walk on the walking trail—the very public walking trail—and we shook hands. That’s it.
“I think maybe his wife is a little paranoid, babe. I mean, you worry about me developing an emotional attachment to every guy that I talk to, but it’s not about that. This isn’t why we do this. We do this for the sex only, for the thrill. It’s not fun when people get hurt, Brett.”
He shakes his head as though things still aren’t sitting right with him.
“You and this guy have been emailing back and forth for days—a lot. What if he’s crushing on you because you talk to him all the time?”
His words strike a chord.
“What? Are you listening to yourself?”
I pause, waiting for him to answer but he doesn’t.
“Brett, you don’t seriously expect me to find a random stranger on the Internet, take a 45-minute walk with the guy and go to his house alone, get naked and fuck him without knowing something about the man? What if he’s a serial killer? And his wife doesn’t know? Or what if he’s got a torture dungeon and they’re both in on this? I’ve gotta feel the guy out.”
He shrugs.
“If you think you’re going to get murdered or raped while you’re over there, maybe you shouldn’t go,” he smirks.
His words are confusing me and none of this makes sense. Why have me put an ad up on the Internet to fuck someone—by myself—and then get pissy because I want to know something about the person? It sounds crazy.
Maybe I’m crazy.
Or maybe he’s just jealous.
I’m going with the latter.
“Look, babe, it’s not like that. I didn’t mean that I think he’s a bad guy or that I’m worried about him. But for me, there’s a whole mental aspect in all of this. I have to know—or at least think—that he’s interested in me and attracted to me. There’s also a need for me to know that the guy’s not a complete tool or creep before I get naked with him while it’s just the two of us.”
He sits in silence, staring at the TV without acknowledging me and it pisses me off.
“Brett!” I snap my fingers. “Look at me, babe.”
He turns his head and looks at me with the dullest expression on his face like he’s bored or bothered by listening to me talk.
“Don’t look at me like that. Before I met you, I had quite a few friends with benefits….and we all used to hang out together, but guess what? None of them knew I was fucking the other one. In fact, you wouldn’t know unless I told you. Why? Because I don’t kiss and tell.
“Everything was casual. We were literally FRIENDS. Nothing more, nothing less. We laughed, talked and hung out. That’s what friends do, and if you want me to post ads for friends with benefits, you need to let me be friends with these guys. Like my ad said, I have to like them in order to fuck them.”
“Cathy, I get what you’re saying but where is the line? When does that line get crossed? What happens when the two of you become such good friends that those lines blur and you start developing feelings? Then what? How will you know when it’s time to cut things off?”
He’s raising some very valid points, but I can’t even fathom thinking about entertaining the idea or thought of falling in love with another man. To me, this is truly about friendship, and before I can go to the dude’s house and fuck him, I need to feel safe.
I need to feel wanted and desired, and I want to feel comfortable.
“I’ll tell you how you can tell if I’m developing feelings for someone.”
“How?” he whispers.
I know this is tearing him up because it’s one of his biggest fears: losing me. Ironically, one of my biggest fears is losing him, too. The difference is I have the confidence to know that he’ll never leave me.
For some reason, he doesn’t have that same confidence with me, and I hate it. I’ve never done anything—believe me, I’ve been very good—to make him believe otherwise.
I know the Bible says you’re not supposed to worship anyone other than God, but I truly idolize my husband. He’s on a pedestal that’s completely out of reach for any other human on this Earth.
We may have had our ups and downs, but the truth is that if a billionaire walked up to me and promised me the universe, I’d tell him to go fuck himself.
I’m not for sale, and I cannot be won over. My eyes are only for Brett, and everything I do is for this man.
“You know how you have veto power and can object to any guy at any time?” He nods. “Well, at any time, you’re welcome to veto him—even if it’s just a test. If I get upset, then you’ll know there’s something more to it but other than that, I don’t have a way to answer that. All I can do is try my best to assure you that you have nothing to worry about.”
“You mean that, don’t you?” he asks.
“I do,” I walk up to him and stand between his legs as I lean over and hug him. “If we don’t matter then none of this matters.”
“I love you, Cathy,” he squeezes me in a bear hug.
“I love you, too.”
While I’m making dinner, all I can do is wonder what the hell Scott told his wife about me, and it makes me nervous. Before I pull everything out of the oven, I send a quick email from my phone.
“What did you mean when you said you talked to your wife about me? I’m surprised that you told her that you found someone or that you were going to have someone at your house.
That makes me nervous. Are you sure she won’t be there tomorrow? I really don’t want her to catch us together, even if she knows about me. It would be weird and awkward.”
I leave out the part that I’d also feel like a giant piece of shit for fucking her husband when she can’t (or won’t) but this isn’t about her. This about giving my husband what he wants while I have some fun in all of it, too.
Chapter 17
“Cathy,
Don’t worry about my wife. She works almost every Monday, and if she were ever to have a Monday off for some reason, I’d tell you ahead of time so that you didn’t come over.
And what I told her is that I found a lovely woman who was willing to be FWB and that I am going to see you on my days off. When we talked about this in the past, I always told her that I’d be honest with her, so that’s what I’m doing.
She asked some questions about you like whether you are pretty and if you’re intelligent and things like that. I did tell her that she is much prettier than you but don’t take that as a bad thing. I think you’re incredibly attractive, and my wife is very good looking for her age. She’s the best looking 45-year-old woman that I know. Also, I told her that you are intelligent.
I know from talking to you that you’re a Type A personality, and that’s a good thing. You pay attention to details, you remember things, and you seem like you prefer to be in charge of things.
Other than that, we just talked about you and what you’re like, generally speaking. I didn’t give her too many details, but she is curious about you.
I told her about you as soon as we started emailing (before we met) because I had this feeling about you and after meeting, I can see I wasn’t wrong. She trimmed my hair tonight and even joked with me and said, “There, now you’ll look cute for your little girlfriend.” I think she’s slowly warming up to the idea of you.
If you have problems finding my address in the morning, call or text me. My number is (555)555-1091.
—Scott”
Wow.
I wasn’t ready for all of this just yet, but it is what it is, I suppose. My main fear is tha
t she’s going to know that I’m in her house, fucking her husband and she’s going to pay us a surprise visit with a gun or something.
Of course, she could be the complete opposite. She might be intimidated by a woman who would be so bold as to fuck her husband in her bed while she’s out working.
But that’s none of my business, and frankly, I don’t care.
While her man is good looking, smart, funny and charming to be around, all I’m concerned about is having a little fun while exciting the hell out of my husband.
I sincerely hope he means what he said about he’s not against having a threesome with Brett because that’s what we really want, Brett and me.
“Hurry up, or we’re going to be late,” I call out to the kids as I try to get them off to school.
Brett’s already busy working this morning because he has to put together a big slide show for his job so I’m running solo today and my morning has been so hectic.
I got up an extra hour early today, so I could privately—and quietly—shave all the right places today before going over to Scott’s house. If I would’ve tried last night before we went to bed, there would’ve been no hot water after the kids bathed.
“Mom? Have you seen my glasses?” Dakota asks.
“What?” I ask my son. “No, I haven’t seen your glasses. Did you check in front of the TV where you usually take them off?”
“No,” he says.
“Well, then go look!” I tell him, waving him on to move it.
“Alex,” I smile at him. “Are you almost ready?”
“Just a minute mom, I’m trying to tie my shoes, but this one has a knot in it.”
It does. There are about four knots along the length of the rope.
“Come here,” I sigh. “I’ll get them out for you.”
After I finish getting the knots out of his shoelaces, I cup my hands around my mouth and yell out to our little princesses to see if they’re almost done.
“Girls! Are you ready?”
“Almost, give us two secs!”
“I’m going out to the van!” I yell through the house as I take the keys off the hook by the front door. “Come on out when you’re ready. I’m leaving.”