By the time we’d reached our third anniversary, my husband and I were sleeping in separate bedrooms.

It had been four months since we’d last had sex, and every interaction was tinged with resentment. My therapist believed John felt emasculated by my success in business and role as breadwinner. As my career thrived, John’s continued to stall. Still, I wasn’t buying this justification for our sexless marriage. Something crucial was missing.

I first met John under precarious circumstances during my final year of college. I’d just moved off-campus into a cramped two-bedroom with my friend Rachel, a stripper who danced under the name Cinnamon.

Rachel and I couldn’t have been more different: she was petite, brash, and attention-seeking, while I’m tall, slender, and reserved. It was never surprising when my male peers found reasons to drop by unannounced and eye-fuck Rachel.

It was just after 2 a.m. when I first encountered my future husband. I’d just finished an exhausting bartending shift and could hear the rhythmic pounding of Rachel’s headboard as I unlocked our apartment door. I slipped my boots off and tiptoed across the living room. Her bedroom door was cracked just enough that I could see Rachel’s round, pale ass writhing in the air.

As I peered into her room, her lover noticed me in the doorway. We held eye contact as he continued to pound my oblivious roommate from behind.

“Do you want my come?” he asked me, not her.

I was instantly wet. I nodded silently, transfixed.

He pulled out, flipped Rachel over, and pushed his cock into her mouth, watching me as he fucked her face until he came.

It all happened so fast. I felt lightheaded as I retreated to my bedroom. I laid down and masturbated to the thought of this mysterious stranger locking eyes with me as he unloaded in my roommate’s mouth.

When I woke up the next morning, I noticed that Rachel’s car wasn’t in the driveway. As I headed toward the kitchen for coffee, I saw her lover stretched across the bed. He smiled and I froze in the doorway. The room still smelled musky from sex.

Neither of us spoke as we sized each other up. Like a woman possessed, I pulled my shirt off and walked over to him. “I haven’t showered,” he warned. He reeked of pussy and the cheap drugstore perfume Rachel wore.

I grabbed his face and he twirled his tongue with mine. I pressed my body into his and slid down to his waist. As I sucked and slobbered his cock, I asked how he knew Rachel. He told me she’d given him a lap dance the night before.

“Go on,” I pressed, trails of drool running from his dick to my chin.

He said that she’d offered to give him a handjob in the champagne room. I was on the verge of bursting as his fingers reached down to my clit. He thrusted in and out of my mouth. “I told her that I could easily jerk myself off, and would rather feel her tight pussy.” With that, my entire body tensed and I came all over his hand. Seconds later, he exploded into my mouth.

The missing element of our sex life suddenly became very clear: My husband lusting over other women made me insanely hot.

A year later we were married. But as time passed, that wild, intense electricity between us drained away. Sex became depressingly routine. Eventually we took to sleeping apart. It got that sad.

Last week, I caught John masturbating to internet porn. It certainly wasn’t surprising, but I felt hurt, given that we hadn’t had sex in months. Once again, I found myself watching him. The longer he touched himself, the more turned-on I became.

I pushed the door open and touched his shoulder lightly. He flinched and ripped the headphones off. “Christ, you scared the shit out of me!” I smirked and slid my pants off, then took a seat in his lap. I had a sudden urge to fuck him.

The open tab on his computer was a POV of a man receiving a blowjob from a brunette with pigtails. I yanked the headphones from the speaker jack so I could hear the deep-throat gagging. John looked embarrassed as he paused the video, leaving the starlet’s eyes wide as she choked on her partner’s dick.

The missing element of our sex life suddenly became very clear: My husband lusting over other women made me insanely hot. Maybe I had been afraid to admit it to myself? It all seemed so obvious now.

“A threesome?” he asked matter-of-factly.

“I mean, maybe? It’s not necessarily about me interacting with other women. It’s more about watching you fuck them.”

I hit play on the video and the gagging continued. John spit into his hand and reached into my panties, thumbing my stiffening clit. With his other hand, he jerked himself off, still fixated on the computer screen.

“I should have realized this when you clearly enjoyed the taste of your roommate’s pussy on my cock,” he whispered, rubbing my clit harder and harder. He felt strong again. Suddenly, he lifted me out of the computer chair and threw me over the desk.

“Did you know I had sex with your friend Sara before we met?”

My stomach lurched. I thought I’d introduced Sara to John at our wedding reception. The idea of them sharing a knowing look during our ceremony made me sick with jealousy, but it also made me so hot I couldn’t control myself.

John grabbed a handful of my hair and thrust deep and hard. I shoved my fingers into his mouth and let his spit gather on my hands before rubbing myself. He grabbed my hips and I rose to my tippy-toes, fucking him back as hard as I could. I was panting and screaming for him while he slapped my ass cheeks like I was being scolded.

With a synchronicity that we hadn’t experienced in years, we came together. Too exhausted to move, we collapsed on the floor and he pulled my face toward his. Our first kiss in months.

That was exactly one week ago. Tonight, once we’re both home from work, we plan to download Tinder. I’m going to suck my husband’s cock while he swipes right on prospective dates and explains (in great detail) why he wants to fuck them. Then I plan to read John’s messages to them and masturbate myself into oblivion.

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