With their sex life stalling, he suggested her libido could use a third-party charge — and got a prompt bedroom bonus

“We have a — an understanding,” I said to the man who had come to pick up my wife for her first date with him — or with anyone else other than me. He appeared surprised to be greeted by a man at the front door. I looked at Rachel, wrapped my arm around her waist and kissed her, then stepped back to let her move to him. I explained, “She understands that I love her but don’t own her.”

“So you’re all right with her going out with me tonight?” he said, giving me the look of a man having difficulty believing his good fortune.

I said, “I suggested it.” He put his arm around her, and as they walked away, I said, “Just show her a good time, my friend.” She looked back over her shoulder and blew me a kiss.

It all started one Saturday a year ago when Rachel and I were home watching the rain dampen our hopes of a day at the beach. We sat on the sofa in front of the window looking out at the wet neighborhood. There’s something really sexy about a rainy day when you’re indoors with the woman you love. I looked over at her and she turned to me and I kissed her. She seemed to understand it was a “let’s have sex” kiss, and she nodded.

I thought about all the good sex we’d had over the years — before and after our wedding. However, it was undeniable that in recent months she had seemed less interested in lovemaking, wanting it less frequently, being less passionate when we did it and sticking to pretty standard hurry-up-and-come, old-married-people sex.

As we watched the rain, a thought occurred to me, and I asked her out of the blue if she ever thought of other guys during sex. “Whatever brought that up?” she asked me softly. There was no real displeasure in her voice, and really no rancor, only quiet curiosity. She laughed a bit as she spoke.

I said, “I just wondered,” and she leaned against me, then snuggled closer and said she had what she needed. Evidently, however, the rainy day was having a similar effect on her, and she put a hand on my shoulder.

I knew full well that women her age don’t just give up their hormonal urges, their need to be romanced, so I asked her about sexual fantasies. She looked out the window and was quiet for a few minutes, pondering my question while watching the rain, with her arm still around me. She smiled and then conceded in a low whisper that yes, she had, occasionally.

We talked for a while about how sexy rain is, and how good it can feel to be able to be completely honest about one’s sexual feelings.

“Do you?” she asked, glancing back at me. I told her that I did, sometimes while we made love, but I explained that when I did, it was nearly always thinking about watching her fucking someone else.

She frowned and looked surprised. “Really?” she said, taken aback that my fantasies would be about her having sex with another man, but obviously fascinated that this was the case — she did seem to believe me. I assured her it was true, and she asked, “Who?”

“Different people,” I said. She laughed an embarrassed laugh, then returned to watching the rain, presumably thinking about this.

I turned her face to mine, holding her chin in my fingers, and kissed her. It was a long and tender kiss. “I love you,” I said. “Your pleasure is my pleasure. Really.”

She said she loved me too, then smiled and kissed me back. It was a very romantic and special moment there on the couch on a rainy day. I felt closer to her than I had in years.

I suggested that maybe what she needed, every once in awhile, was a little excitement in the libido department. She looked incredulous, then asked what I was suggesting.

“Maybe you need a little rainy-day sex with someone else now and then.”

She shook her head, as if not sure she heard right, then finally grinned, shrugging her pretty bare shoulders. “You serious?”

“Think about it,” I said, planting the seed, letting her mull the suggestion over, allowing the idea to germinate.

We went quietly to the bedroom, and that afternoon sex came easily, naturally, quietly: rainy-day-sex type of easy. Our lovemaking was sultry and slow at first. Then the pace picked up, and we both climaxed with an energy I hadn’t felt in years.

Afterwards, Rachel put her head on my chest and we listened to the rain on the roof. “You mean that?” she said softly, without moving her head. “About me needing some sexual excitement, maybe even sex with someone else?”

I answered with a soft yes.

“You could handle that?”

“I could,” I said. “Especially if I knew you loved me and only lusted for him, I could. I could have someone else give you pleasure, particularly if you also want some from me once in a while.”

She kissed me, and we turned facing one another, stretched out on the bare sheet in after-sex closeness. I put one arm over her shoulder and pulled her breasts against my chest, and her hips against mine. We were quiet for a long time. Perhaps we dozed. Then we had marvelous sex again. Finally we slept.

When we woke, Rachel said, “It’s still raining.” We listened together. “I would like that,” she whispered. “What we talked about.”

“Rain?” I said.

“Well, that too, but I meant having sex with someone else.”

“Me too,” I said. “I’d like for you to be able to be comfortable enough with my love that you could relax and fuck whoever you wanted.”

“Sounds wonderful,” she sighed, putting her face against mine.

The date had been arranged, and now I watched Rachel and Rod walk away from the house, knowing that under her thin dress she was wearing nothing except warm skin and the need to feel another man’s penis inside her. It was their third time together, but their first “date.” The first time she had told him was to see if they “worked well” as friends. The second time they went dancing, and she told him that if she let him take her out for a third time, they would make love. He had held her out at arm’s length and kissed her, then said, “Your husband doesn’t care?”

“It’s my decision who I let fuck me,” she had told him.

I asked Rachel to tell me all about their time together. She curled up next to me and began to tell me all about her first time making love with another man as a married woman.

I told him I wanted to hurry up and get to the hotel. I also told him I wasn’t wearing any panties. He put his hand inside of my knee and I opened my legs for him, which he liked. He moved his palm up my leg to my bare pussy, then grinned. It was very wet. He made a deep groaning sound.

He inserted a finger, and I put my head back on the seat, savoring the feel of someone else pleasuring my pussy. “I like your husband,” he said as he moved his finger up and down between my pussy lips.” I told him I like my husband too.

When we got to the hotel, we sat in the parking lot for a few minutes and kissed. His hand was still between my legs and a finger still remained in me. I was so horny and wet that I warned him that if he didn’t get me to the room soon, I was going to jump him right there in the car. “That’d be okay,” he said.

In the elevator he lifted my dress up to just below my boobs and looked at me — the first time he’d seen my nakedness. “Damn, you’re beautiful,” he said. I kissed him, and as the door opened, I straightened my dress, pulling it down just in time. An older couple standing outside the elevator gave us a knowing look. I winked at them and smiled.

You can’t believe how free I felt, and how excited. I threw my dress on the chair and got into the bed, and he followed, then crawled up between my parted knees. I worked the end of his cock up and down my pussy slit, wetting it. Then I slipped him into me.”

I interrupted. “Circumcised?”

“Yes,” she said, “and his puffy helmet was, well, gorgeous. I kissed it when I first laid eyes on it and licked around the tip. I wanted to take it in my mouth. I told him I wanted that lovely thing inside me, and he grinned and nodded. When he slid it in, I couldn’t believe how good it felt to be fucked by a stranger. It was truly heavenly.”

That first night my wife and her beau fucked until long past midnight, then slept in each other’s arms. When they awoke, she climbed on top of him and fucked him the way she did when we were first intimate. As the years went by she stopped getting on top of me, but with her lover she brought her old favorite position out of retirement.

“I think I screamed when I came,” she said with a self-conscious grin, “and I held my hand over my mouth. He laughed at me and kept pushing in and out. I came a second time shortly after that.”

“It makes me feel good that you enjoyed it so much,” I said, and I planted a kiss on her cheek. “You want to do it some more?”

She nodded eagerly.

“With him?” I said.

“And others,” she replied. Her neck began to redden.

“So you like fucking other guys?” I asked.

“Oh God, yes,” she said.

Rachel had sex with Rod many times over the next few months. But it was after I introduced her to Stan that she said she was absolutely certain that we’d done the right thing for her “frame of mind.”

Stan was taller than Rod, broader in the shoulders and younger than either of us, probably by five years, and he simply oozed sex appeal, having the confidence of a man who usually gets what he desires, especially women. He had what my wife described as “a George Clooney smile” and “bedroom eyes.” I’m not sure I’d recognize those, but the effect on women, especially my wife, was obvious.

I told Stan about Rachel’s and my understanding, and when he looked at her picture it was clear to me that he would eventually be fucking the woman in the photograph. As it turned out, it was that same night!

Before Stan even said hello to Rachel on our porch, he stepped across the space between them, nodded to her and smiled, focused those bedroom eyes on her, gave her the George Clooney smile, then took her face in his large hands, leaned down and kissed her with a tenderness that she said later made her panties wet and her knees weak. After a few seconds their tongues began to play together and she turned her head to accommodate his mouth.

They kissed, forgetting I was standing there. “You’re a beautiful woman,” Stan said, still holding Rachel’s face with both hands, “and I want to eat you.”

“Okay” was all she could say as she stared up at him, captured in the bedroom of his eyes.

We went to the family room, where Stan and Rachel sat on the sofa and I watched from the overstuffed chair by the bookcase. She seemed to be in a trance, and her smile never faded. After 20 minutes, his hand was touching her thigh. In 30, it was resting on her knee. In 40, it had pushed the hem of her dress up her leg and was resting on her thigh. She didn’t pull away.

She answered his questions and nodded, then tried in vain to make casual conversation, but she was being romanced and she reveled in his courtship. At about the hour mark, he announced that they would be leaving and took her hand. I simply nodded acknowledgment. He hadn’t asked, just made the announcement.

Without hesitating, Rachel went off to pack some things. When she returned, I followed her and Stan out to his car. She kissed me at the curb, then got in the car. He was holding the door open for her.

“I’m sure you’ll have a good time,” I said leaning in the passenger window. My wife just nodded. “You won’t need many clothes,” I added. She smiled and looked toward the small traveling bag on the back seat which she had packed quickly with just a few essentials. I guessed they included underwear that she probably wouldn’t wear; maybe a swimsuit, which she might also never put on; a change of clothes, to be taken off; a minimum of toiletries.

I had met Stan at a business conference, and we hit it off right away. We chatted about sports and had drinks after the workshop, when we talked about our lives. He didn’t tell me much about his, but I found myself telling him more than I expected, including about Rachel and me and our sexual arrangement. I showed him her picture.

He looked at it intently, then handed it back to me, smiling. “She can fuck other men?” he asked as I put the picture back in my wallet. His tone was even and calm, showing no surprise or disbelief, no difficulty with a man offering another man his wife. I nodded, and he simply returned my smile, as if offering your wife to him was the only reasonable thing to do. Then he gave me the kind of a smile one gives when he knows he is about to get a big bounty. “That’s good,” he said.

It was the kind of response a person sure of himself would give, a person who is about to have his way with another man’s wife. Then he took a sip of his drink. “I like fucking other men’s wives,” he said. There was a candor that comes with confidence and makes men insecure and women wet.

“When can I meet your wife?” Stan said. The word he used was “meet,” but his eyes said, “When can I fuck her?”

“You can meet her anytime you’d like,” I said.

“Tonight,” he said. It wasn’t a question. I have to say, his assertiveness caught me off guard. Fumbling for a response, I said, “We live more than 50 miles away.”

“Give me directions, and I’ll be there in an hour.” I drew him a map. “I’ll show her a time she’ll never forget,” he assured me as we shook hands next to his car before we left.

We drove out together, but I didn’t see Stan again until I pulled up in my driveway and found his car already parked there. He waited in his car until I got out of mine, then walked up to the front door with me.

Seeing me coming up the walk with our new friend, Rachel opened the door and came out on the porch. When I introduced Stan to her, he looked her over like he was inspecting fine art, gazing openly at her breasts, panning down her body to her legs, then back up to her face, and giving her a smile I was sure made her panties wet. Then he just nodded to me.

After they went off together, I sat in the living room thinking about what they would do, imagining what kind of sex Rachel would have with this man I’d only just met at a business gathering. I wondered if he was bigger than Rod. I knew they would have oral sex. He’d told her he wanted to eat her, and I knew that she would be thinking about that the whole drive to wherever they were going.

Later Rachel told me that Stan drove her back to the hotel where our business convention had been, taking her first to the restaurant, where he wined and dined her, then to the dance floor, where he whispered in her ear while they danced what he was going to do to her when he took her up to the king-size bed in his room.

“Why does your husband let you fuck other men?” he asked her.

“Because he loves me,” she said. “And he trusts me. He decided I needed some variety.”

“Was he right?” he asked. She nodded. “How many have you been with?”

“You’ll be the second.”

“I’m honored,” he said. While they danced, he had his hand on the small of her back. Now he pulled her pelvis tight against his.

They danced for a little over an hour, then went up to his room. He asked her to stand still while he undressed her. He took each item of clothing off with slow and deliberate moves. When she was naked, he kissed each breast, her abdomen and each shoulder. Then he turned her around and repeated the process on her back and bottom.

“I want to taste you,” he said as he laid her back on the bed. She opened her legs, and he took his time positioning himself between them. He lowered his mouth to her pussy and kissed a circle around her vulva, licking each labia minor with long, purposeful strokes.

“Your pussy tastes marvelous,” he said as he opened her with the thumb and first finger of each hand. When the pinkness of her cleave was splayed wide, he dipped his tongue in her well and moved it in tiny circles, boring steadily into her soft interior. He covered her entire vulva with his mouth and reached his tongue in as far as it would go. He sucked over the whole vertical opening. While he ate her, she sighed and said, “I’m glad you like it.”

“Tell me what made you agree to let another man eat you and fuck your pussy,” he said.

“A rainy day,” she replied. His look asked for an explanation, and she gave it. “I couldn’t deny the truth any longer, and on a rainy day my husband saw it and posed the question. He thought I needed it, and he was right. I’d been dreaming about having sex with other men for a long time. I used to have regular fantasies about being taken and eaten by unknown mouths, fucked by brawny men with hefty cocks I’d never seen before. Maybe I’m a tramp, but he was right.”

“You’re no tramp,” Stan said. “You’re a healthy woman with normal desires. Most married women want other men. I’ve satisfied that itch for more than my share, and I have no regrets. I want to give you only happy memories.”

“Give away!” she said with a groan as he slid his husky cock in her. “God, you feel wonderful.” She put her arms around his broad shoulders. “My husband was right. I do need some variety.”

He answered with a faster pace, thrusting in her with such force that her whole body felt like it was on fire. Finally she exploded. He slowed his pace until he was holding himself still, pressing hard against her pubic bone. Then he filled her with his come.

When they’d both recovered somewhat, though were still breathing heavily, he said, “Happy memories?”

She said, “Happy memories.” Then, listening, she said, “Is it raining?” He nodded, and she said, “I love being fucked on a rainy day.”

At least that was the story Rachel told me!