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Hurt. Scared. Puzzled. Curious. Angry. Vengeful. Understanding. Vindictive. Ashamed. Nervous.

When you discover that your wife of five years has an active account on a website focused on having discreet affairs, you have a few feelings to sort out. For two years she’d put herself out there and been up to God-knows-what. She needed something that I couldn’t provide? She wanted something I wasn’t giving her?

I found out about her needs on a random vacation Tuesday when she asked me to check her email for our flight information home. After some shopping spam and before the French airline was the subject “Good Evening CurlFriend”. The phrase Curlfriend annoyingly stuck in my head as I opened the airline email and read the details aloud while she was in the shower. As I closed the email and her phone I noticed the Curlfriend email was from a site named after Dolly Madison. Though I assumed the email to be about desserts at first, I remembered that it was a website built to connect not-so-single people for discreet encounters. My brain raced as I dropped the phone on the bed and assumed the worst.

But when my beautiful wife exited the bathroom, she looked and smelled like an angel in heels. I was obviously furious, but I decided the right time to bring up my unhappiness was some time after she’d dimmed the lights, crawled onto the king sized bed and pulled down my underwear. My head needed clearing and I was not about to stop her from baptizing this Parisian suite with one of her patented blowjobs. Our dinner reservations were 2 hours away and I assumed she’d need all of that time to unwind me in the state I was in.

I was dead wrong.

Within ten minutes her tongue had worked me – taint to tip – into such a frenzy I couldn’t hold out any longer. My anger wanted this moment forever because for all that I knew this would be the last time I’d be with this woman. Mind you, I’m not a prude. If she wanted to open up our marriage because our sex had waned I would have given it a try. Going behind my back was just crazy. I don’t know if I could forgive her for that. I was so pissed and confused I almost forgot that my dick was in her mouth.

Then I looked down and her big brown eyes pulled away long enough to whisper, “Dans ma Kastamonu Escort bouche ou sur mon visage. Se il vous plaît.” Then with one last stroke of her hand my cum was all over her face.

Neither of us spoke French, so whatever she said must have been some voodoo that dug deep into my soul, because I damn near passed out.

As she crawled from the bed and sashayed to the bathroom she looked over her shoulder to offer me one last look at the face I’d just sprayed. But somehow the victory felt like it was all hers.

When she returned with a fresh face and bathrobe I’d regained my senses. I cut straight to the chase as she snuggled up beside me. “Curlfriend?” I asked.

Her body tensed up and my heart sank. “I can explain,” she jumped.

“If I’m not enough, you could have told me,” I pleaded, realizing at that moment that I would do anything to keep her. I was going to fight for her no matter what I had to do.

“You are all that I need, swear-to-God!” she exclaimed as she pulled me closer to her. “I truly, truly, truly know that now!”

We were both in fear as I mustered up the strength to settle the situation. “From the beginning,” I begged.

“We fucked like rabbits in the beginning,” she laughed. “We didn’t need much to get going or to finish. In fifteen minutes we’d go from zero to a hundred and back to zero while we watched the news on Saturday Night Live.”

I knew it was funny, but neither of us laughed.

“But then life happened,” she went on. “We got busy. Out of synch. We had to try harder and it just felt, yaknow, forced.”

As she nuzzled into me tighter I knew that the jokes were over.

“I didn’t orgasm with you for 3 months,” she admitted. “We talked about it and everything, but nothing we were doing worked and I was afraid that maybe it was just us. So I panicked?”

“I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you,” she said softly, “but I couldn’t imagine not wanting intimacy any more than not breathing. So I wanted to find out if the problem was just us.”

I nervously swallowed as I waited for her to continue. I could see the moon through the Eifel Tower and thought that this should have been the most romantic anniversary Kastamonu Escort Bayan ever.

“You know that I don’t have patience to sit through three months of counseling, so I decided I’d see if the grass was greener on the other side,” she said as she continued to pull me tighter. My body was obviously going limp and she was holding on for dear life.

“I set up an account online with every intent of lining up a suitor to…” she started to say before I interrupted her.

“To fuck,” I said nonchalantly.

I felt a tear roll onto my chest as my coldness began to distance us.

“To fuck,” she continued. “I was sort of hoping they’d all be jerks and assholes, but they were all very understanding and honest. I didn’t know how to choose.”

She paused and started to loosen her grip on me.

“So I started to ask them what they would do to satisfy my needs,” she explained. “I wanted to know what they would…do to me. For me.”

I stared at the ceiling and began to wish I’d never looked at her phone. I seriously wanted her to stop. I wanted to go back to ignorant bliss.

“Without missing a beat, every comment I received was a testament to how they lovingly treated their wife in their open marriage or what they wished their wives would let them do if things were better,” she said with surprise. “They were all sweet and raunchy and hot. At first I caught myself touching myself with their collective words. No one guy in particular interested me enough to single out, but the combination of their yearning made me want to fuck. And then it happened.”

I braced myself and hoped it would just be once. Maybe I could handle once.

“I got a long note from a new member that wanted nothing more than to fuck me against a patio window while we watched the sunset and wondered if the neighbors could see us,” she laughed as another tear landed on my chest.

I didn’t get the joke but my nervousness begged her to explain.

“I got that comment just as we both got home from work before Thanksgiving break,” she said softly.

I was still confused.

“The Peterson’s dog,” she hinted.

And then I remembered. It had been two weeks since we’d had sex and I was horny Escort Kastamonu as fuck. We’d both gotten home from work and she was muttering on about what we should order for dinner when I simply and justly pulled down her pants. I was going to wet her pussy with my tongue until I realized she was already wet. So with little regard for what she was thinking, I pushed her panties to the side and fucked her against our patio window while the neighbor’s dog barked nonstop. The lights were off in our house so we assumed no one could see inside, but the sunset was so bright that we knew that if the Peterson’s were in their living room, they were getting a pretty good show.

“I came so hard and quick you didn’t even know until the third time,” she laughed.

I hadn’t.

“So I began to re-enact every letter with you,” she admitted. “I imagined that every request and every comment came from you. Those horny guys were telling Curlfriend how to fuck you!”

I began to understand but I was still a little foggy.

“The driveway. The movie theater. Your sister’s garage. Reverse cowgirl in Tokyo. The whip cream. The mink coat. The motorcycle bar,” she rattled off. The last two years of our sex life sounded like entries in an escort’s diary.

“The three fingers?” I gasped.

“The three fingers,” she confirmed.

I was in shock.

“At some point I felt so guilty,” she continued, “that I started asking these men what they wished their wives would do to them.”

“The ice. The camera. The chocolate. The football field. Sodemy in Alabama. The books. The tongue thing. The tuxedo?” I asked somewhat disgusted.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. And double-yes,” she laughed.

“So you never fucked anyone else?” I laughed. My relief was immeasurable. I didn’t know exactly where her infidelity ranked, but I was pretty sure that I could handle where she landed.

“Well, no,” she nervously replied, dampening my happiness. She then grabbed her phone and logged into her account where she pulled up her most recent suitor request.

“Curlfriend, I’d fly you to Paris where we’d stay in a suite overlooking the Eifel Tower so you could suck my dick in the heels I just bought and nothing more – while you looked out of the window and asked me in French whether I’d like to be swallowed. Then, the night before we headed home to our boring lives, we’d go to visit a likeminded couple in their suite where we’d watch them, show them or join them,” read the note.

“Not yet?” she smiled.

Nervously, I smiled, too.

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